Subject: [FFML] Re: [fic][original][DRAFT] Chronicles of War, ch18
From: rgorman@telusplanet.net
Date: 1/13/2006, 9:26 PM
To: Jared Waddell
CC: "ffml@anifics.com" <ffml@anifics.com>


Quoting Jared Waddell <rick_spiff@yahoo.com>:



"Isn't she something special?" James added a big goofy grin at
this
point. "So, now that I've made my introductions, it's your turn."

Didn't he already introduce himself?  


The demon finished his right hand and shifted his stance, making
the
AK-47 sitting on the cardboard box behind him visible. "Karl
Banks.
Lieutenant, United States Marine Corps, Recon Force One."

Why is a Marine who is prepared to identify himself using an AK-47?  

"Yes. You don't understand, power, Lieutenant of the United States
Marine Corps, Recon Force One. You know nothing. You are the not
the
manager of this operation, and you know very little of what your
men,
your government, or what your god thinks of you. You don't believe
in
one very important human emotion. You don't know what you stand
for. You
kill people in the name of freedom, having no understanding of
what
freedom truly is. And if you kill for fun, in my military,
operating on
behalf of my country, under the orders of my President, 

What makes him think that Karl is having fun?  He certainly doesn't
seem to be having fun.  In fact everything you've described is a
man who is under horrific stress, from the neglect of personal hygiene
to the outbursts of irrational temper. 


I'm going
to
kill more than just you. Don't you fucking GET IT? It's OVER!
You've
LOST!"

This is just another ploy in his ongoing effort to make people not
take him seriously, right?


"Very impassioned." Karl grabbed the AK-47 and pointed it at James.
"And
very misguided."

"I don't need to know everything about you to win. I don't need
dirty
tricks or overwhelming force, and neither do my fellow man. I don't
need
to be right or wrong, because those things have no meaning in the
world
you've build. You don't even know if love is real. How can you beat

you build or you've built



James had sent her body spinning as he pushed her over the boxes,
so
that part of her landing was cushioned by her shoulder, the rest by
her
body. The force of impact was spread out so that nothing felt
broken,
but she would be sore and bruised like a prize fighter by this
evening.
Just before she opened her mouth, she remembered the armored guys
that
had captured them. It was very easy to remember them now, as she
could
hear them burst into the room like a heard of elk.

Then there was gunfire.

And a brutal cry like a man tearing his soul in half.

A trifle overwrought.  


And a moment of silence.

Then a muffled crunch and snap, sounding so much like ice wrapped
in a
towel and hit with a hammer, sound too familiar. Kat froze.

James' head and the smoking end of an M16 appeared over the edge of
the
boxes. "Sorry about that. No time to pick your cuffs."

"I'll live," she said in a daze. Had James... "Are they dead?"

Damn her mouth. She'd just lost him with those three words. 

In what sense did she lose him?  

Some
day,
she would learn some tact. She promised.

"Yes. Karl's knocked out, though, and I have no intention of
waking
him."

"Was that display for my benefit?" She asked.

"I don't think I have anything to say to that," James said.

Kat squirmed a bit, feeling the handcuffs bite into her wrist. "You
mean
you don't want to offer an opinion, or you mean you don't know what
I'm
asking for?"

"The later."

latter



Bastard, she cursed. Bastard! He was reading her like an open book
with
a study guide.

"That speech says how I really feel," he continued, "but don't
tell
anybody. My bad-ass reputation for being a callus bastard will

callous


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