Markellus' Stories

Hot breakfast from a mess tin

2008-06-19T18:32:17Z

The field kitchen was serving hot breakfast. The cook ladled a thick stew made of chunks of corned beef mixed with water, potatoes and cooking oil. The concoction smelled like it tasted – bad.
“That’s food for hardy souls,” Captain Kiryijian remarked as he tasted the breakfast from a mess tin the ever faithful Sergeant Kubic had brought him.
The Captain was well ensconced in the abandoned farm house. A good fire burned cheerfully in the blackened fireplace, there was a carpet on the floor, and the Captain’s bed in the corner was covered with two thick woolen blankets over a sturdy mattress.
“Ah, Kubic,” the Captain exhaled pouring himself another glass of raspberry liqueur, “war is nasty business, but who said we need to give up everything?”
The rogue mortar round exploded right next to the window the Captain was sitting by, killing him instantly but leaving the rest of the room strangely untouched.
Kubic stood uneasily, dusted himself off, looked furtively at the body, and sunk his spoon in the mess tin.

Ambush

2008-06-19T16:45:25Z

They broke cover at 0400 and moved down the bone dry valley to investigate the helo wreck.
”.. we gotta find the green box and the attachments,” Belken said, pointing down to the burned out hulk.
”... nobody’s finding nothing in that pile,” Ayoob hissed between his teeth, clutching the Remington closer to his chest.
They started downward swiftly, with the ease and coordination of men who’ve done it a million times before.
Something moved way up the gradient and Ayoob caught it with his peripheral vision.
“Movement at 180,” the old scout quietly warned.
All five of them killed their movement, went down onto the knee, scanning their sectors, instinctively raising their weapons to the ready position.
The valley was eerily quiet.
“Maybe it was just a goat,” Belken said.
The Somali tribesman aimed his Dragunov sniper rifle at Ayoob and fired.
The large round slammed into the old scout’s left shoulder with a terrifying crushing sound.
“Aimed fire,” Belken shouted.
The ambush was set up perfect and waited …

Joyce

2008-06-18T18:34:54Z

Dr. Theodore Woods died on Friday morning. He weighed just 115 pounds.
His very last thought was about his elementary school back in Irving. He saw his buddy Fred throw the ball and watched the Dimbley sisters eat ice cream from the same bowl. The air was fresh and the sky was unblemished blue. It was spring.
He was now standing in the corner of the room watching these three men remove his body on a stretcher. They wore black and one of them smoked. He smoked in his house!
Strange, I don’t seem to remember this fellow on the stretcher. He surely looks awful. He must have had a painful death.
Then Joyce walked in with a bucket.
What does she want with the bucket?
Joyce unmade the bed, threw the sheets and covers on the floor, pulled the mattress off, and methodically cleaned the bed irons with a sponge she regularly dunk in the bucket.
That’s good habits, good habits….
Joyce finished, wiped her hands with her apron, looked at the pile of sheets and covers on the floor … and spat on them.
Joyce?

No prisoners

2008-06-16T04:05:48Z

The action around the ice factory was short and brutal. No prisoners. The men of 22 Commando were by now exhausted and all carrying wounds of varying severity. And night was closing in.

The sniper hiding in the factory aimed his rifle carefully..

The shot rung out eerily loud and Dorset, the lad from Devon, fell in one fluid, gyrating motion.

“Sniper, sniper straight as you look,” Pearson, who had caught a glimpse of the muzzle flash, cried out.

The sniper moved swiftly to a new position.

Rowan, the confirmed sniper killer, was already slithering past the burned out hulk of the tank and into the factory’s main floor.

The sniper eased himself next to a boiler and took aim again…

This one moves from west to east, Rowan thought, clicking the sniper’s possible motions in his head. Move around the boilers.

In one moment of extreme fast forward motion, Rowan caught the sight of the rifle barrel extending past the hulk of the boiler.

“Caught ya!” Rowan cried as he drove his knife hard and exhaled…

No map, no exit

2008-06-15T15:29:23Z

She was struggling like a wildcat. Three men and they couldn’t take her down… ‘till Swarski stepped forward and slammed her with the digging tool.

She fell like an empty sack letting out a strange hissing breath.

“Search her,” the captain said.

Hands traveled fast over her body clad in an old, muddy uniform.

“Nothing,” Sartini grunted… “and she’s an ugly bitch, too, ey?”

The men were now growing desperate. Without the map, nobody stood even a remote chance of getting out of this alive.

“Wake her up, wake her up,” the captain snorted, his life slowly emptying into the ground from the shrapnel wound.

Water poured over the woman’s head. Swarski slapped her hard, but the bitch gave no sign of life.

“I think you corked her good,” Maizen said putting his rifle’s muzzle under the chin of the prisoner and lifting her gaunt face up.

“We better push on while there’s light,” the captain gasped.

Silently, they lifted into single file.

“They’re walking straight into where I want them to,” she thought ..

Check out the mount

2008-06-14T06:35:44Z

They trudged silently. Now 70 friggin’ pounds is a load … in 110 degree heat.
Corporal Henney was 20. Shapely. Women in the Marines, they said. Join, they said. She had joined. For no other reason than looking for action.
Corporal Jonas was 19. Loved Henney. But had never told her anything.
“Yo, Henney,” the sergeant called … “Check that mount at 3 o’clock… Jonas, go along…”
The mount was some 60 yards out. There was no wind. The sand was smooth, powdery.
Jonas had instinctively taken point. His head felt like it was on fire. He was sweating like he had never sweated before. But he pointed his M-16 at the mount and moved forward.
BOOOOOMMMMMOOOOOOM !!!
All hell had broken loose! Jonas felt a sharp pain in his right arm. He was flat on the ground, looking straight up into the sky obscured by a thick cloud of dust.
“Henney,” he screamed … “Henney, are ya aright….?”
He could see her on her side, sand around her head turning into a deep crimson.
“Henney,” he screamed, frantic…
Mount checked. Out.

Infidelity

2008-04-12T19:37:31Z

This is unusual, he thought …

... for his wife not to be with her boyfriend at this hour …

... and not have already gone up to the hotel room …

Was she getting cold feet?

Because she had found the message?

Boris Yeremenko

2008-04-12T19:35:22Z

Boris Yeremenko lit the last cigarette and shut the door.

Outside, the wind howled.

Boris Yeremenko looked at the mirror.

He was old.

He put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Success

2008-04-12T19:32:33Z

What is it in a man’s life that makes him drive himself mad in pursuit of success?

Food for thought.

(For those who want to succeed).