Fan fiction

[advocatexxx 0]

Flashpointcenter used to have a section for fictitious stories written by Flashpoint fans, but since it's closing down I thought perhaps some creative writers might want to share their stories here.  Some constructive criticism would be helpful.

Here's one I wrote a few days ago while bored.  It's an account of an American soldier, a gunner of the M1A1 Abrams tank during one of the last days of the Gulf War.

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"The Last Day"

by Advocate (advocate@materialized.com)

"Someone find me a target!" Commander Harris shouted as the battle's ambience echoed within the metal hull of our Abrams. Whether it was the eerie green glow of the nightvision reflecting upon my sweaty face, or the chaotic radio chatter humming in my head I couldn't tell, but for a short moment I utterly hesitated. I fell into a daydream, sheerly disconnected, until a pat on my shoulder refreshed me, putting me back into the gunner seat of our tank, hearing the ruth and fearless voice of my Commander coming from the back of me. "Nicols, target straight ahead dammit!" he yelled anxiously. So I lurked through the cushioned slits of my nighvision, past the dusty terrain at what appeared to be an Iraqi T-72 facing us head-on. Seeing its 125 milimeter cannon barrel looking right in my face sent an unforgiving shiver running down my spine.

Then... suddenly, it became dark. I heard but the ringing noise filling my head with a painful amplitude. "Cough, cough"..... I choked on my spit when I realized I was laying on my side, feeling my helmet's pressure upon the forehead. Through my eyelids I peeked, struggling to open them, yet I saw nothing. It seemed as if though I was knocked unconscious for a moment. "Nicols, are you alright?" someone asked, though the presistent ringing in my head made it sound more like a distant call. "Check him out, see if he's okay". Shortly afterwards I felt my right arm grabbed while being turned around. The blurred collage of lit-up instruments and the face of our loader-Kozlowski slipped through my glued eyelids. "He seems to be in shock Sir. He's got a concussion near his eyes" he replied. "Sit him up and load me a Sabot now!" Harris ordered impatiently. I endured being a spectator with a sense of sadness. There was little that I saw, but hearing their nervous voices nevertheless gave me a fine view of the life-to-death struggle in which they were in. "Up!" Kozlowski responded. "Fire!" said Commander. The tank shook upon firing our smoothbore cannon, and as I indulged in smelling the residual smoke from the gun like I have so many times before, Kozlowski screamed in joy "Target destroyed Sir!". "That's some nice shootin' there Kozlowski" replied Commander... There I was, smiling on the inside, battered on the outside, sitting in a 60-ton chunk of metal.

The next morning I have awaken to a sweet female voice calmly saying my name... "Corporal Nicols. Corporal Nicols". Opening my eyes with vision back to normal never felt so good. An Army nurse was leaning over me, checking the thermometer. And as she stepped back, leaving her pleasant scent, Kozlowski in his oil-stained uniform slowly approached me. "Don't you act all stupid now, you hear me? I always said that brick melon of yours can take quite a punishment... They tell me you've got a seriously fractured skull bone, but you'll be alright. I know you will" I smiled at him with a strained grin. "It will be a day or two before our Abrams gets serviced... but I doubt we will see anymore action to be frank. 24th Mechanized gained some serious ground last night. There's some Iraqi infantry left to mop-up, but their armored divisions are very much a wreck. I have a feeling... Ah nevermind. Get some rest kid. You did alright. Commander Harris will be stopping by later today... Well... I'll see you around Nicols."

He got up, slowly walked away, and so did any chance I had left of getting back into combat. As a strange sense of anguish filled me by his endgame departure, I stared up at the ceiling, thinking, with the realization which I've come so hard to accept.

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[Guest]

Moving to OT

[Duke_of_Ray 0]

What was flashpointcenter? Is it still up at all?

[Julemanden 0]

www.flashpointcenter.com

Its closing down due to numerious reasons.

[Tex -USMC- 0]

Here's a little fan fiction: OFP Fans loooove the new patch

[InqWiper 0]

</span><table border="0" align="center" width="95%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="1"><tr><td>Quote </td></tr><tr><td id="QUOTE">Here's a little fan fiction: OFP Fans loooove the new patch

<span id='postcolor'>

Do we have to hear negative stuff about the 1.85 patch in every thread?

Even if you dont think this is negative it reminds of all the negative posts and FFS, no more of those unconstructive bullshitposts.

[Julemanden 0]

</span><table border="0" align="center" width="95%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="1"><tr><td>Quote (InqWiper @ Oct. 16 2002,17:00)</td></tr><tr><td id="QUOTE"></span><table border="0" align="center" width="95%" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="1"><tr><td>Quote </td></tr><tr><td id="QUOTE">Here's a little fan fiction: OFP Fans loooove the new patch

<span id='postcolor'>

Do we have to hear negative stuff about the 1.85 patch in every thread?

Even if you dont think this is negative it reminds of all the negative posts and FFS, no more of those unconstructive bullshitposts.<span id='postcolor'>

Chill out, man.

[Placebo 29]

I agree with Ingwiper completely, there are enough 1.85 threads in the correct places, Bis have acknowledged there are problems with the patch, they've said they will work to iron out those problems.

People should either post their problems/thoughts/opinions constructively and in the correct place or not mention it, frankly the whinging about it is getting tiresome, most forum users can choose to read the whinges or not, moderators don't get that luxury

[Papageorge 0]

If OFP had radio channels, and Anti Personal Mine Fields... I could re invent one of my Dads infamous stories of walking through a mine field pistol out going to another Huey in the middle of the desert to get them on the same channel. He didn't know it was a mine field until later that day he was told to strafe if to clear the mines. Fun huh? Crazy GSgts.

[Placebo 29]

BTW apologies advocatexxx for hijacking your thread to rant, please everyone else stick to the topic of the thread and nothing more

[Ex-RoNiN 0]

How about an impromptu story?

Based on my mission Hamburger Hill

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John jumped off the truck, his back aching from the constant vibrations, his muscles tight from holding on and from telling his dad's story.

His dad had been an unsung, anonymous hero. Had saved the lives of quite a few kids during those murderous days. They never had a chance to thank him - instead, he had to watch them die a few hours later, one of them on the last day, during the last assault on the last trench.

His dad had told him stories about the Hill over and over again ever since John had joined the army. Had told him stories of valour, of lionhearts and stories of tragedy and fear. His dad was proud of his achievements in the 'Nam, proud of all the kids he served with, proud of the army and what it makes out of you.

He was especially proud of John.

John knew that. John knew that his dad expected him to be just like him. And John was ready for that challenge. In fact, he had already risen to that challenge. 3 weeks ago he had written his first post-combat letter home. It had been his first assignment with the 101st, his first combat mission, his first visit to Everon, a paradise that had turned to hell. With shivering hands he wrote his dad about the chopper insertion, the combined arms attack, the rush of adrenaline, the confusion, the noise. He knew his dad would be proud.

3 weeks later, this letter is already forgotten. He was now a seasoned battle veteran, had seen the action, knew what he was supposed to do, where to go. He sucked in some fresh morning air. Felt strange, might rain soon, he thought. Together with his squad he walked over to the tents. The others were there already. The colonel in charge was nowhere to be seen. Probably finalising his battle plan. Making minor changes. Maybe drinking a last cup of tea?

The colonel steps out, looks into the squad leaders's faces. He sees determination, some fear, but the men are ready to get the job done. He steps forward and addresses the men: "Gentlemen, you have all done a tremendous job in the past few days and weeks. Ivan is on the run, on his way out back to Kolgujev. Like a frightened cat, Ivan is clutching desperately to something he can hold on to, something that might help him fight back in this war. What he is holding on to is that short mountain behind me. The Marines tried to flush Ivan out 2 days ago, but they got beaten and they got beaten badly. We are not the marines, therefore we won't get beaten. We will take this hill and kick Ivan off this island with such strength that his balls will shatter into a thousand pieces. The briefing you received last night is still effective, the battle will proceed the way you were told." Here he stopped for a minute, looking into each soldier's face, hoping he might see them again after the battle. "I know you will do your best. Good luck gentleman, I will see you at the top. Last man on the hill top will cook for the entire company!"

The men laughed, then organised themselves into their squads. 10 minutes later they were assembled in front of the mountain, ready to take it. The idea of it sounded pretty easy, walk through the forest, drop a few grenades into some bunkers, walk up to the hill. Easy peasy.

The colonel bellowed, then started running. "Move out squads!" The entire formation started towards the hill, the dark forest, where light seemed to be impenetrable. Suddenly a loud thunder. A lot of men duck, some are ready to hit the ground, even the squad leaders seem surprised. Then suddenly rain starts falling. Rain follows thunder. Bad weather. Easy guys. That is normal. The rain keeps on falling, drenching everyone and everything.

The colonel reaches the edge of the forest. Stops, laughs, turns around, says something to John's squad leader. "We are getting wet, but the fucking forest is dry as a bed!" The colonel turns around, ready to lead us into the dry, dark bed. He steps into it. Another thunder, the colonel's head explodes in a read cloud. Sniper. The men realise instantly what has happened. They charge forward, hoping to find cover in the forest. John stays behind, surveys the scene. Turns out to be a good decision. Mortars and grenades start exploding amongst the charging men, killing them by the half dozen. Heavy machinegun fire erupts cutting through the men, stoppping their advance.

John leaves his squad, goes off to the right, hopes Ivan is too busy with the main attacking bulk. A quick look to the left when he enters the forest shows that he wasn't the only one with that idea. The attacking formation has broken down, people start splitting up, too many targets for Ivan to cut down at once. The damage is done though. Scores of wounded and dead are lying in front of the forest, on a field with no cover. John tries to ignore his fallen friends. He has to get to the hilltop. John hates cooking. He kisses the ground, starts crawling from bush to bush, to tree to tree.

Gunfire is sporadic now, occasionally an explosion tears through the forest. John concentrates, looks through the foliage. Suddenly he sees a Russian stand up from behind a bush, aiming at someone to John's right. John quickly raises his rifle, aims, but the Russian shoots first, John hears a scream to his right. The Russian notices him, tries to move his rifle around, but John, more shocked than calculating shoots first. First blood.

Rage and adrenaline feed on him. He was too slow, he failed, he led his comrade in arms die because he was too slow. This will not happen again. He stands up, runs up a few metres, shoots surprised Russians hiding behind trees. He sees the first fortification, the death it is spitting. He takes his grenades, draws the pins, throws them quickly infront of the fort, tries to scare the Russians behind it. While the explosions go off, he charges ahead and manages to get behind. He hides in a bush next to the command bunker, then charges into the complex. 8 Russians, all lying down, aiming at and killing his comrades. He will not fail again. His index finger never was that quickly. 12 quick shots, 8 dead bodies. Only the machine gun remaining. John picks up a handgrenade, lobs it into the machine gun nest. Silenced. One fortress down, 3 to go.

John has lost every conscious thought, bar the fact that he has failed and must prevent failing again. He slowly starts for the second defensive complex.

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And hear, my friends, Auto Save kicks in I am tired and shall go to bed now If you liked it, I will finish the story in the next few days, if not, then fair enough

Good night