I was in the military for 3 years, as an Infantry specialist, so the knowledge is first hand.
Short Story / Concussion (Analysis)
It was a night like any other, another late patrol for the “dependable” chalk. The Blackhawk helicopter was a roar in my ears as I looked at the faces of the men I was responsible for through the dim glow of the instrumentation lights. I always looked at their faces; I never wanted to forget what my responsibility was: bringing them all back alive. I counted and recounted, committing the number and their faces to memory: I wasn’t getting back on this bird if I was missing even one of them. Through the roar of rotor and engine came a voice indicating we were approaching our drop zone and I exhaled slowly as I closed my eyes and pictured their faces.
“Thirteen, I have 13. We all go home or no one goes home.”
I opened my eyes as the side door slid open and the swirling air tore through the belly of the bird. My mind was focused on the objective at hand as I pulled the laminated topographic map out of the chest pocket of my tactical vest. I checked the drop zone and the clicks to our objective, checked and rechecked to ensure I wouldn’t get us lost. My concentration was lost when a voice with a deep southern drawl erupted in my ears.
“We on another ghost hunt tonight, Sarge or is this the real deal?”
My eyes shifted upwards and slanted half-closed as I focused on a young kid from Tennessee. We called him “Country boy” if for no other reason than he had the heaviest southern accent I had ever heard, this making it hard to understand him when he spoke quickly over a radio. I was met with a huge, toothy grin and I drew my gloved thumb across my throat, he knew what it meant. I was the new joke in my platoon, the “kid” with enough rank points to advance to an E5, but was still a specialist. This meant that I had a sort of “field rank” as a Sergeant and was responsible for a chalk, though I couldn’t wear the insignia or answer to the title of sergeant. He knew how sore I was about it, they all did, and made a habit of reminding me. I gave him a shit eating grin and snapped back.
“You know what a sarge is boy?”
He shook his head and I heard his slow laughter echo in my ears for a moment, but he said nothing more. A sarge, for reference, is a “shit eating fish that lives on the bottom of the sea”. You make a rather large mistake by answering an Army Sergeant with the word, “Sarge”. My gaze dropped back to the map and I checked once more before slipping it back into the pocket it was drawn from.
I peered out the open door into an abyss. It was cloudy so there was zero visibility outside the cabin, which meant we were dropping blind and possibly right on top of a hostile force that would know we were coming before we knew they were there. Just another day, like any other: we always seemed to be dumped into the worst of situations. I lifted my Kevlar helmet from between my booted feet and put it to rest on my head before fixing the chin strip firmly in place. Another voice filled my consciousness and I turned to meet the nearly terrified eyes of the chalk cherry. His feet were making his knees move so rapidly it was almost dizzying as he clung to whatever courage he could muster. This was his first patrol and he was my liability tonight.
“Do you think we’re going to see any action tonight?”
He tried to put on a brave face, but with over a year and a half in country I saw straight through it.
“Why, you ready for some action soldier?”
My tone was half sarcastic and I grinned broadly at him while I ran a gloved hand across the stock of my M4 assault rifle. He didn’t immediately answer, I believe he was trying to collect himself to keep from pissing his trousers, but when he did his voice was shaky and anxious.
“H..Hell yeah Grunt!”
Everyone called me Grunt; it was a nickname I had received in basic, one that had been used as a taunt instead of a compliment. We were on a 10 mile road march when one of the men in my platoon fell out of formation. The Drill Sergeants, of course, were all over him, inches from his face and screaming. I broke formation, grabbed him by his arm, and drew him to his feet. This silenced the screaming minions for a moment, but then they refocused their attention on me: the point of me involving myself in the situation. I helped him shrug his ruck, slung it over my right shoulder, and wedged my left under his right arm pit before moving him to the back of the formation. For almost 3 miles they were screaming and circling us.
“You trying to be a fucking hero boy? You know what happens to heroes don’t you Dick?”
My name was not Dick; it was a form of insult used by the Drills. Then came the fated phrase that would forever brand me as Grunt.
“What the fuck, you some kind of super Grunt now son?”
I wasn’t fazed by their taunting and wouldn’t be moved. My body ached from the extra weight and I felt my feet might explode in my boots, so I focused on the pain and ignored them. I drug the man nearly 7 miles back to our company area. After that I was not referred to as anything other than super grunt, by the Drills, and just Grunt to the rest of my platoon. Later, at graduation, one of the Drills approached me, Drill Sergeant Smith, and told me that what I did by carrying the man through the march was what I was supposed to do, that I had become what they were trying to teach us to be. You see, an infantry soldier’s greatest assets and main concern are the men to the left and right of him. I have made it my primary objective to ensure that each and every man makes it back from a patrol the exact same way they left the bird.
Laughter erupted across the closed comm. and Country boy leaned into him with his shoulder. I just shook my head with half a smile on my face a moment before responding.
“Just follow our lead and you’re going to be alright.”
Suddenly we were called to action as the pilot’s voice came across the comm.
“Drop zone acquired, door deploy ropes”
We needed no instructions as this wasn’t our first time. The doorman fixed a large rope to an outrigger on the side of the bird and kicked the coil out into the black; my heart sank with it into the gloom. It is customary for the chalk leader to be the last out the door, but I believe in leading by example, something that is both favored and shunned at times. Without hesitation I approached the door in a half crouched position and put a hand on the rope.
“The cherry is on my six, hooah?
A chorus of “Hooahs” answered in my ears before I pulled the muffs off the back of my head and hit the rope. I was on the ground in seconds and moved like liquid death in the dark to take up perimeter. I heard a thud behind me and whispered.
“My two o’clock.”
The response I got was the shuffle of booted feet and succession of thuds and more shuffling. Then the roar of rotor and engine faded into the distance and we were alone.
“Call it in”
I snapped to the radio operator as we all held position. I used the time to read my compass and get a bearing. Once the radio operator gave his “out” I gave my orders.
“Single column, 10 feet, on me.”
I rose and waited for my chalk to form before I began to move at a deliberate pace. It was nearly pitch black, but the glowing “ranger eyes” on the helmet bands would keep us from losing each other. I pulled the night vision goggles from the pouch fixed to my hip and snapped them in place on the helmet mount. With a well practice movement they slid down in-front of my eyes and the world became a fuzzy green. All was well and I sighed in relief only to find myself on my back with my head reeling and ears ringing.
It was like nothing I had ever experienced. Sure, I’ve planted breech charges and been near enough an exploding grenade to feel a bit of the concussive wave that emanates from the blast, but nothing had prepared me for this. The sheer force of the blast from a 120mm mortar, that had apparently been fire at us, knocked my entire chalk flat on their backs. We had dropped right on top of an enemy squad or at least within mortar range and the bird had given us away. They were firing blind, I hoped, but were damn near on the money with the first round.
I recollected myself, opened my jaw to depressurize my ears only to be greeted with the tell-tale whistle of an incoming round. I was on my feet in an instant and barking.
“Incoming, cover it up!”
Another explosion rocked me, but not close enough this time to throw me back. It hit to my left about 100 yards out and then came another whistle, 120 yards. I knew then they had multiple tubes and were blanketing the area, they didn’t have an exact fix on us, but we were dead men if we hung around. Another order was shouted into the chaos.
“Redirect, my right, double time”
I stood still until I couldn’t hear their heavy footfalls and then headed in the direction I had told them to go, they were my responsibility and it was mine to ensure they were gone before moving myself. We ran for 50 yards before I gave the order for them to stop and grab cover: that cover being a large copse of high bushes that would have been incinerated with a direct hit. I whispered to them.
“Sound off”
Each in turn called out their names and I whistled as the 13th man sounded off.
“That’ll make the dick hard boys”
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Matthewtuckey reviewed Version 2 -
Read 33% of the Item
Your first sentence is very typical in terms of starting a story. Your second sentence would have made a better opening.
Put the voice indicating the drop zone into speech. It puts us in the narrators shoes.
The second “13” should be written as the word “thirteen”.
You put “shit eating fish” in inverted commas as if it’s a quote from somewhere. Is it? How does the narrator know what the fish “sarge” is? Perhaps you should include the name “sargassum fish” as an explanation. (The wonders of Google… I’m not a marine biologist or anything.)
“worst of situations”- like what? Give a couple of tough missions that the character accomplishes regardless. Trawl through cnn.com, you’ll find a few real-life tales on there for inspiration. Or bbc.co.uk/news. Base it on reality.
“Dragged”- not “drug”. Unless they are a group of “crack commandos”. Boom boom.
The two main problems with this story is: Not enough originality, so no new insight to army life, and your first page is repeated twelve times. After “dick hard boys”, the whole thing recurs repeatedly. Why?
If you keep things original (like with the sarge fish) and actually show the rest of the story, you could be onto a winner.
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napalmwriter reviewed Version 2 -
Read 75% of the Item
Lean on descriptives. What does the “kid” look like? When the door slid open, was the air hot, or cold (gives us a sense of setting)?
Very expositive, like you are explaining the story rather than telling it from the character’s point-of-view. The story should describe the actions, not explain them. Show, don’t tell.
Very long-winded and wordy. Ex: I lifted my Kevlar helmet from between my booted feet and put it to rest on my head before fixing the chin strip firmly in place. 26 words to say I strapped on my helmet. Now, the 5-word version leaves out some details, but are they important? Do we need to know that it is Kevlar, or is that just GI lingo to make it sound like you are in-the-know? Do we need to know that his helmet was between his feet? Do you really need to specify that he put it on his head? If not, ditch them, because they bog down the story.
Repetitive. Lots of sentences that begin with “I…” Vary the structure.
Plus, the story doesn’t really go anywhere. They go on a mission. They come under fire. They succeed. What’s to make this story special enough to want to read it?
a night like any other—Very cliche intro.
chalk—I’m not up on my military lingo. “Chalk” means what? Don’t assume the reader knows the jargon. Some things, you can just say and the reader will imply it (like saying “bird” instead of “chopper”). Others are unclear.
on this bird—Loss of temporal distance. The story is past tense, so the narrative speaking of “this” bird reads like a slip into the present tense. Try “that” bird.
Thirteen, I have 13.—Numbers twenty and below, and even tens (thirty, forty, etc.) should probably be spelled out. Others, use numerals. But, keep it consistent.
concentration was lost ... helicopter was a roar ... It was cloudy—Frequent use of linking verbs. Use active verbs whenever possible.
I sighed in relief only to find myself on my back with my head reeling and ears ringing.—There’s no transition between him being okay and him being knocked down. Describe the sensations of being hit by a blast. Send him flying. Feel the shock in his limbs. Otherwise, it reads like he just kinda fell over and didn’t know it.
120mm mortar—Is he absolutely certain it was a 120mm? Could it have been a grenade? A mine? From the character’s point-of-view, all he knows is that he got hit by a blast. Unless he’s just that darned skilled of a soldier, I doubt he would know what kind of ordinance had just been lobbed at him. You could make him guess, in the dialogue or something. But, don’t explain in right-out like that. It sounds like military name-dropping.
sleeping reviewed Version 2 -
Read 58% of the Item
well written and clear .
i like the attention to detail .
W_L_Carter reviewed Version 2 -
Read 100% of the Item
Just a small error I noticed- “that had apparently been fire at us,” , as opposed to fired at us.
Also, I noticed a bit of passive language that can easily be changed. Things like…”Blackhawk helicopter was a roar in my ears”. Blackhawk helicopter roared in my ears works just fine. You use “was” and “had” quite a bit, when you can simply take the words out, change the verb if you have to, and it reads smoother.
I liked your use of military jargon, because it gives me then sense that this is real. You explained the terms I would be completely unaware of, but not too much that it takes away from the story. I feel you either did your research for the story (which is a key) or you in fact have first hand knowledge.
Also, is this a first chapter or a whole story? The ending felt abrupt nor did it feel at all complete. There was no closure for me, unless of course it is just an intro, which works great.
Overall I enjoyed it, however, be careful of your passive words.
likelytodance reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
Right away I’m interested in this character. He takes a hard approach, but he’s genuinely concered about his men. He also admits his weakness, even if he doesn’t do it knowingly. His weakness is that he is constantly counting his men. I think it would be interesting if this was something that became a hinderance to him for whatever reason later on in this story.
On that note, is this the end of teh story, or is it just the beginning of a piece? A first chapter? I’m not sure. It definitely needs to be more because I’m not sure if it can completely stand on it’s own as it is. There isn’t much character development and we don’t really see the main character (what’s his name by the way?).
The tone and voice you’re writing is has a hard edge to it, which is good, but you need to make it stay that way throughout. Keep us in this situation where one mistake means that someone dies. Keep reminding us that this is real and not just a story I’m reading. I want to believe this situation. There is a line where you say “Just another day, like any other.” It’s so nonchalant and casual suddenly. It takes me out of what I’m reading and reminds me that this is just a story. Maybe if I could hear the sarcasm in there it would seem more natural for it be put there. But I need to hear and understand that it’s sarcastic.
DCAllen reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
In general, this kept me reading. Your ending is very good. It shows the strength and determination of this “Sergeant”. The pace of the story picked up nicely after they jumped into enemy fire. This was effective.
Things that I think weaken your prose:
Phrases like “echoed in my ears” and “filled my consciousness” when “heard” would work just fine.
The use of “seem” in sentences like “I peered out the open . . .”. Why not let it be an abyss rather than just “seem” like it? If you go past the “almost”, “half”, “nearly” and “seem” statements to stronger images, your prose will come alive. It would be a good idea to go through this story to find all the “half” statements.
Proofreading notes:
I always looked at their faces, I never wanted to forget what my responsibility was; bringing them all back alive. (comma splice, incorrect use of semicolon. Remedy: replace the comma with a semicolon or recast the first two clauses, and replace the semicolon with a colon. The colon is used when what comes after it explains what comes before it.
13 (When a number begins a sentence, spell it out.)
tonight Sarge or = tonight, Sarge, or (address)
ever in my life heard (Delete in my life. Redundant. ever means this. I’m from TN, and I find it implausible that Country Boy would speak quickly on the radio. A drawl is by nature quite slow.)
sarge is boy?” = is, boy?” (address)
He know how = knew ??
were coming . . . are there = were there
action soldier?” = action, soldier?” (address)
answer, I believe he was trying (comma splice. Remedy: use the colon to indicate that the second clause explains the first.)
learned into him = leaned ??
black, my heart (comma splice. Remedy: use the full stop or the semicolon.)
moments hesitation = moment’s
“Hooah’s” = Hooahs (plural, not possessive)
wave the emanates = that ??
but nothing prepared me = had prepared
them to go, they were (comma splice. Remedy: use the full stop here.)
cropse = copse ?
hard boys” = hard, boys.” (address, terminal punctuation missing)
hypatia reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100% of the Item
I have to say war stories is something I steer clear off, due to the technical nature of the writing, the jargon loses me.
But, wow, I felt every emotion, like I was treading in their footsteps. I felt so much respect for the sergeant, a credit to your writing. I gave you a low score on warming my heart, perhaps a female trait because your writing made me think of every soldier that has lived or died on battlefields.
Following urbis rules here are my humble suggestions:
My mind focused on the objective at hand, in that moment, as I pulled the laminated topographic map from the chest pocket of my tactical vest.
and (he or I) drew my gloved thumb
map and I checked (the co-ordinates?) once more before slipping it back into the same pocket.
Country boy (leaned) into him
feet and (a) succession
Your writing style is really smooth and writing from the Sarge’s perspective really works. Keep on writing.
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