I think somewhere along the line I have mentioned that I would like to be an author. If not then that’s what my dream job is. To be an author. Buy a cabin up in the woods and put all the goodies that I want in it and crank out novels like there’s no tomorrow.

While school is going on I don’t have much time to think about writing. Now that it’s over, I have a bit more time. I should also add that I am DONE with school. DONE DONE DONE. Well that is until I decide to go for a masters, but that’s going to be awhile! Okay back on topic. And since I’ve had a big fat zero to post on this site, I thought I’d let you take a glimpse into my writing. There’s a chance that I may post this up and then take it down quickly because I don’t really like people reading my writing, but I guess if I’m going to be an author I’ve got to put it out there.

Any how here’s the first part of a story that I wrote a few years ago. It’s fiction mostly, but based on some information someone told me about. So without further ado, I give you the first glimpse at some of my writing (no title at this point).

Technorati Tags: fiction, writing, stories

The mission was supposed to be simple. Insertion by helicopters. Sit and observe for a couple of weeks, reporting back to base came and then the D-Boys would come in and do the close up work. That was then, this was now. Two days before Delta Force was supposed to arrive.

I was peering through my scope at man who held a little boy to his chest. The man was gesturing wildly at the jungle with a wicked looking knife in his hand. He and the rest of his small army knew we were there watching and observing their every move, but they’d not yet found us. We knew where they were at all times and if we wanted to, we could’ve taken them out. Easily.

The boy was a new part of the equation and I wasn’t sure what part he played. Whatever part he did play I didn’t like what the future held.

Knife man stopped the gesturing and put the blade to the little boys throat and drew it across in a mocking motion. He smiled.

I stroked the trigger on my rifle ever so slightly, wanting to send a 150 grain projectile of destruction into his head. It was an easy shot. One that I’d made hundreds of times before and not just at paper targets.

“Back off Rick,” My spotter said quietly.

Slick, my spotter of two years, didn’t even have to look away from the spotting scope to know I was caressing the trigger like one would caress a woman.

I pulled my finger away from the trigger and backed away from the scope with a grin.

I motioned Slick to pull out and we backed out of position covering our tracks as we went.

Back at base came we met up with the rest of the team, which was another 4 members. Once we were back another 2 man team went out for their 8 hour observation run.

I sat down on the wet ground and jotted notes into my journal about the observation so I could call them into home base. When I got to the point about the little boy, I stopped and remembered my childhood.

We grew up in northwestern Montana. Since mom had left dad for another man the three of us had grown closer and were nearly inseparable. I was 13 at the time and Josh was 9.

Dad was a hunting guide for as long as I could remember and a damn good one. He’d always come home with photos of trophies his clients had taken. When I was 12, old enough to hunt, he took me on my first hunting trip. I bagged a spike elk and the client missed a six point bull that I could’ve killed with my eyes closed. I was pissed that I had to settle for a spike, but in the end we got the money from the client and dad went onto his next hunt.

The next year I remember in particular. It was the year we brought Josh along as well. Dad’s usual babysitter wasn’t going to be in town for the week we were going to be gone, and this was a client that dad couldn’t pass up. This client was paying a lot of money for a trophy elk and dad knew exactly where such a beast was to be found.

It was the last week in November, the last week to hunt, when we took off. The client was a dentist from Texas. That much I do remember. Dad did a good job of keeping him entertained while we drove to his hunting spot. When we arrived at the take off point, we unloaded the horses and loaded them up with supplies for the 10 mile trek to base camp.

Five inches of fresh powder had fallen the previous Friday and it dulled the sound of the horses walking. It was like walking through a tomb with no sound. I kept waiting to jump something in the silence, but we never did. It made me nervous that we didn’t see or jump anything on our way in, but I could tell dad was confident.

At camp Josh and I went about unloading the horses and giving them some feed that we’d brought in earlier in the fall. Dad left the tents setup until the last week, and then we’d spend a few days breaking them down and hauling them out.

“Before you feed the horses boys, we need to take the food over to the food tent,” Dad called out.

“I’ll take it over there,” I called out.

I took my horse, Zeus and the pack horse that had the food on it, and rode over to the food tent which was a mile away. Food was always kept at another site because of the dense population of grizzly bears. I learned that lesson the hard way when I kept a pack of jerky in my tent the previous year.

When I returned to camp I heard a bunch of yelling followed by silence. Dad would never yell so I knew it wasn’t him that was yelling. I slid off of Zeus and led him into camp. As I rounded the corner and came into the opening where the camp was I saw three new men that had their guns pointed at Josh, my dad and the client. I stopped and stared for half a second and then turned around.