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Old 12-16-2014, 08:35 PM
SPEMack618 SPEMack618 is offline
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Default Short piece

I have written anything in half of forever.....

Things were bad for Jake. Real bad. His nose was bleeding, and every so often the gash on his head would open up and stream blood into his eye.
As near as he could tell, no one was left by the burned out hulk of the Nighthawk. He could still hear the heavy chatter of the Dishka off to his left.

Got to take that thing out, it's killing us. Jake thought to himself as he tried to pull himself up.

He patted down his plate carrier. Things were looking up; even though his back hurt, and he was bleeding, he still had his M-468, and his M-45 was tucked into the waist band of North Face hiking pants, the DeSantis holster worth every sent of the sixty dollars he had spent on it at Cabelas.

Jake allowed himself a brief thought of Nicole, she was working from home in their small Fayetteville apartment. She was wearing a pair of his wool boot socks, a pair of gray briefs with a pink waist band and his West Point bathrobe. He kissed on the way out the door and said he'd be home in time for breakfast.

Jake did a brass check on his carbine, the mean, pointed 6.8 SPC rounds looking hungry in the chamber. Wiping his nose one last time he crawled towards the Dishka position, a semblance of a plan forming in his mind.

Fayetteville, N.C.

Nicole was happily pecking away on her MacBook, writing critiques for her senior seminar students at Duke. Jake had emailed his DEROS Date and it was going to coincide nicely with the end of the spring semester. Wearing an a starched out white oxford of Jake's, along with a faded pair of his old Wranglers always made her feel a tinge better when he was gone. The phone rang. The dog barked at a black Chevy Impala that pulled in the drive way with Government tags.
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Old 12-16-2014, 11:04 PM
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Swordfish941 Swordfish941 is offline
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Okay, this is pretty good!
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Old 12-16-2014, 11:45 PM
SPEMack618 SPEMack618 is offline
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Thanks! I appreciate feedback; especially positive feedback.
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I like to think, that before that Navy SEAL double tapped bin Laden in the head, he kicked him, so that we could truly say we put a boot in his ass.
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Old 12-23-2014, 08:34 PM
SPEMack618 SPEMack618 is offline
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Eight years earlier

Jake was nursing a Rolling Rock at the bar of the small club on the outskirts of the college town. An old buddy from his brief stint in the North Carolina National Guard had talked him into coming down for the Duke/West Point basketball game over Christmas. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He was on leave. He liked beer. His friend said there would be girls aplenty.

All of the above was true, but most of the coeds he had met so far didn't seem to give the West Pointer a second glance after taking note of his high and tight hair cut. His friend, who despite being an ROTC cadet, was wearing his hair long in what he called a "frat shag."

Jake was considering calling a cab and packing it in when another group of twenty-something sorority girls walked in. Jake decided to order another beer and conduct a visual recon. His friend was on the dance floor attempting to grind on a recently found coed to the strains of "Copperhead Road" by the cover band.

There was a brunette, a shade over five feet bringing up the rear of the group. While the rest ordered Bud Light and Vodka Shooters, she wrinkled her nose in disgust when told they had no red wine. Obviously, miffed she settled for a martini. While her friends moved off to the bathroom, booths, and towards boys, she dejectedly pulled out her cell phone and began to play on it.

Jake mentally flipped a quarter in his head, drained his beer, sub-consciously rubbed his loafers on the back pantsleg of his jeans and slid down next to the brunette.

"Hi, I'm Jake." He said in a rapid burst of speech.
"Nicole." The brunette said, almost shyly a bit taken aback by Jake's bluntness. Oh my gosh, that's the most beautiful name I've ever heard Jake thought to himself.
"What fraternity?" She asked as a follow up. Jake chuckled a bit before responding.
"How about USA?"
"Do what?"
"I go to West Point, I visited a friend for the game tonight."
"Oh, gotcha. So major?"
"History and international relations."
"Isn't West Point an engineering school?"
"It is. But the day of the professional Army officer being a civil engineer went away when Bobby Lee resigned to fight the yankees. You?"
"English Literature."
"Oh." Jake was at a loss. He was out of small talk. He glanced at Nicole's drink and a plan started to formulate.
"Buy you a drink after a dance?"
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I like to think, that before that Navy SEAL double tapped bin Laden in the head, he kicked him, so that we could truly say we put a boot in his ass.
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Old 12-24-2014, 08:48 PM
SPEMack618 SPEMack618 is offline
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Whether by coincidence or design, the cover started to blue an old Willie Nelson song as Jake led Nicole on to the dance floor. Even Kevin, his old Guard buddy, was slow dancing with the same sorority girl. Jake expertly placed his hand on the small of Nicole's back, low enough to be intimate, but not too low as to be vulgar.
"So did the Army teach you to dance?" Nicole asked, pleasantly surprised by Jake's gracefulness.
"Actually, Mrs Lewis did at Cotillion every Tuesday afternoon from four to six during fifth grade."
"Oh, so you did cotillion, huh?"
"Yep. Cotillion, golf, polo, Boy Scouts, and the rifle team." Jake replied, generally he was uneasy discussing his hobbies, for they marked him as somewhat wealthy, which his family indeed was, but something about Nicole made him want to talk.
"Oh, good. Then you want be off put when I tell you I just had my deb ball."
Jake stifled a laugh.
"No, not at all, would you believe my sister's deb ball was the first time I wore my mess dress?"
"What's mess dress?" Nicole asked. Before Jake could reply, the song ended.
"Well, tell you what, let's find a booth and I'll tell you."
"You owe me a drink first, soldier boy."
"A Scout is trustworthy."
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Old 12-25-2014, 12:35 AM
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S&Wshooter S&Wshooter is offline
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tl;dr get back to me when you have it in book form so I can give you money for the privilege of not reading in little chunks
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