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Monday, November 17, 2014

My Take on TIW C89 DL Mackenzie Challenge :-)

I haven't written a 'battle' scene for a, here goes :-)
My take on this week's TIW challenge :-)

89 - (DL Mackenzie Challenge) - Vengeance

(4 elements - A Montblanc Fountain Pen, Vengeance, Telekinesis, The Tigris River)

Davis took out the little black box and opened it, revealing the pen. It wasn’t any old pen, it was a Montblanc fountain pen, with its hand-engraved gold nib and iridium tip. But it was still a cheap trinket in comparison to the time and blood lost. Here, on this day, thousands of miles from home and burning in the hot desert temperatures, he saw it for what it was. Nothing. Retirement was sweet but vengeance was sweeter. He dropped the pen in the dust as a few shots zinged by his helmet.
"Alpha Niner, Alpha Niner. Some heat on the top. Heat on the top. Send a present from Santa."
"A-Okay, Roger that, Two-six."
Another ring of shots came dangerously close. The Mosul Dam on the Tigris river, apparantly the third of four rivers which ran from the Garden of Eden, if that could be believed,  was not what Davis had envisioned as his last resting place. He knew that history would call this a Peshmerga and the Iraqi Army operation to retake control of the dam from ISIL militants, but those coalition fighters weren’t worth shit. It was up to himself and a few buddies conscripted for the job. Plus the Flyboys, who flew over and hit the ISIL positions once again with two missiles.
"Alpha Niner, Alpha Niner, thanks for the help."
"Roger that, Two-six. Have a good one."
And they were off, leaving Davis alone on this side of the dam to his thoughts while the place settled from the attack. It was here, in Iraq where he’d lost his foot. Only after 6 months of rehabilitation and 3 months with a prosthetic while sharing a room with a crazy guy who believed he had the power of telekinesis did they finally retire him out. Then the picture came. He’d asked a favour for copies of any satellite surveillance photos showing members of the ISIL, hoping to spot the men who’d held him captive, and he found ’him’. He made a few calls and now, sitting behind a concrete wall on a shitty dam deep in Iraq, he was about to reap his revenge. Those weeks of captivity had all but broken him. They questioned and tortured him, spat and pissed on him, and finally this man, the man whose face he would never forget, cut his foot off. But he told them nothing, absolutely nothing. They would have killed him but for the bombing. One moment a gun was held at his head, the next he was alone with the crumbling room. The ceiling fell in on him and broke his chair, loosening his restraints and he was able to crawl and find a way out. The next thing he remembered was the helicopter, taking him away, back to base.
He heard some shouts and watched six armed men climb out of a doorway. One of them was him, the man, more haggard looking than before but still recognisable. The time for vengeance was now.

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