#military fiction

[jellyfishsthings]

Warnings: rough ummm yeah

For the military grumpy x grumpy situation in the beginning I had in mind that you are both in the military. Choose whichever branch you want (air force, navy etc.) You see each other all the time because you are in the same squad. You aren't friends exactly but there is some mutual respect.

Yet he always catches your eyes. Is he training for combat and his sweaty shirt clings to his body?

Of course you are looking at the practically see through shirt, admiring his abs.

Is he using his gun?

Well, look at how his hands flex.

Or is he carrying something while walking away?

His muscled back and sturdy shoulders need some attention don't you think ( hot take but this is the most attractive thing for a man, screw veiny arms). And well you get the point.

Now due to some kind of miracle you end up on a mission together, just the two you. But the stakes are high. You both know that there is a high possibility that you won't survive the following days. All the stress and tension ends up in...

You guessed it, a really hard fuck like it's the last time you will ever see each other. And I am talking against a wall, probably missionary because you want to see each other as you fear that soon one of you or both will be dead. Head banging in the wall and the sound of your skin slapping filling the room. You legs will be wrapped around his waist, your back resting in the wall and will everyone of his thrusts your body will move up and down.

But that is not enough. And he grabs your hips as leverage to bounce your body on his as much as possible.

Or... the needy sex you get when your military boyfriend is missing for a long time. Don't even get me started. Throwing you into the bed, grabbing handfuls of your body, trying to convince himself that you are real , that you are there with him and that you are not going anywhere, not letting you get out of your bed until you are both fucked out beyond recognition.

#elena's smutty scenarios #military fiction #smut #remus lupin #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #remus x reader #remus x you

[uwmspeccoll]

Steamy Saturday

"Flaring passions behind hospital doors."

". . . hospitals are sex-charged places full of the pressures of unfulfilled and unfulfillable yearnings. . . ."

". . . soldiers return bedridden . . . and women . . . were all too eager to supply what they missed."

". . . there are some who will read this book furtively, looking for the lurid passages."

". . . revealing the seamy side of hospital experiences."

". . . a dozen intertwined tales of love among the limbless."

Whoa, whoa, whoa!! What kind of steam is this?! Despite its lurid cover art with its inflammatory copy to entice readers, this pulp novel is not nearly as sordid as it is made out to be. But it is about the rehabilitation of soldiers disabled by war and the nurses who care for them. And, yes, there is some romance.

Ward 20 is by American military and Western writer James Warner Bellah (1899-1976). Despite writing for the pulps, a number of his stories were turned into films, such as John Ford's "Cavalry Trilogy," Fort Apache (1948), She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949), and Rio Grande (1950), and with Willis Goldbeck, Bellah wrote the screenplays for Sergeant Rutledge (1960) and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962). Bellah himself was a veteran of both World Wars, leaving the service with the rank of Colonel. As a veteran, he wrote his military stories with authority, and Ward 20 was heralded for its stark authenticity.

Ward 20 was originally published in hardcover by Doubleday in 1946. Our copy is the first pulp-fiction edition published in New York by Popular Library in 1953.

View other nurse romance novels.

View other pulp fiction posts.

#Steamy Saturday #pulp fiction #pulp novels #romance novels #romance fiction #military fiction #nurse romance fiction #nurse romance novels #nurses #soldiers #veterans #disabled veterans #Ward 20 #James Warner Bellah #Popular Library

[itsstrange]

The Promise

Relationship: Rip Wheeler x Reader

Fandom: Yellowstone

A/N: A small idea I had while daydreaming at work, hope y’all like it. 🥹

Summary: Saying Goodbye Is Always The Hardest. So Is Keeping A Promise.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: (No) Angst, Mention of Military, Farewells, A Little Sad Moment, Angry Rip, Sad Rip, Arguments, Small Confessions.

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ENJOY 🐎

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“So… you’re really goin’ back?”

You look up, meeting his eyes before averting them back down to your duffel bag where you toss the stack of clothes inside. The clothes that have been folded, locked away underneath the bed for the past five years. The clothes you swore you wouldn’t wear again, wouldn’t dare to see until you had kids in the future to explain to them why you had a pile of clothes and photos locked away in some old worn trunk that dusted away underneath your bed.

Unfortunately it didn’t last to reach that day because here you are, packing away the clothes into your tactical duffel bag that was also locked away.

“How long?”

You inhale deeply through your nose before slowly exhaling, still not meeting their gaze you continue packing away, placing the frame photo of you and the boys in the center before zipping the duffel shut.

“Not sure.. too early to say,” You answer as you move the bag to the foot of the bed before sitting down,

“When do you leave?”

You swallow, feeling the way your chest tightens at the thought, “Tomorrow, before sunrise,”

Thick silence hovers the room. Everyone thinking and feeling the same thoughts, emotions.

“And why are you going back again?”

“Will you morons knock it off with the questions,” Lloyd’s husky voice bouncing off the wooden walls brings a small smile and a chuckle from you,

“A buddy of mine needs help,” You still answer Jimmy’s question, which he doesn’t respond with another mostly because he can see the way Lloyd gives him the look,

No other questions were sent your way, neither of them wanting a look from Lloyd as well, nor did they want you to dwell on the heavy mood that hovered. So instead, Ryan and Colby were the first to bring up a farewell party, change of topic. You kindly decline their idea, but of course neither men listens to you.

As Ryan and Colby begin listing items on what to bring for the farewell bonfire, and yelling at one another on who gets to keep your bunk (because it’s the closest one to the bathroom) you couldn’t help the small chuckle that falls from your lips. You were really going to miss every single person in this room. Despite them making you lose a few strands of hair from their idiotic actions, and constant bar brawls, you were surely going to miss them.

They made every other day interesting, every night annoying and fun at the same time with their childlike games that they come up with that sometimes leaves them with bruises or a chipped tooth. Everyday, every night, they made it special and you were definitely gonna miss it.

“Hey I’m not leaving just yet, I still got the whole day and the night before y’all start fighting over my bunk,” You say as you stand from the bed, punching both men on their shoulders,

They both share a laugh with you as they continue listing whatever alcohol they should buy, asking if you preferred hotdogs or burgers as you all walked out the house.

Saying goodbye to them was hard, but not as hard as it’s gonna be when you say it to him. Now that.. that will definitely break your heart. The look in his eyes when you tell him, you can already picture them and from the way your chest tightens, you know it’ll be difficult.

*******

You were currently feeding the rest of the horses inside the stables. Marking down the ones who needed a wash and a trim, which stables needed cleaning. Same old routine before having to check up on the rest of the animals, considering your main job at the ranch was analyzing and tracking the animals health. You weren’t exactly a veterinarian, but you learned a few things throughout the years which John persuaded you to take up on his offer of being in charge of the animals when it came to their monthly health checkups. So of course you took classes to advance your knowledge, to help around the ranch, make it easier for the old timer.

Yes he did have actual trained, experienced, veterinarians working on his animals before, but knowing how you easily picked up the job, how much love and care you gave to the livestock, he knew it was a good investment on both parts. Besides, he trusted you dearly in that department.

Hours had flown by, nearing six o’clock in the afternoon as you were finishing up in the stables before heading out to help Lloyd and the boys to check out some of the cows that were further up in the land. As well as putting up a new fence since the one hanging on was already rusting away due to the weather these past few days, as well as some idiotic trespassers cutting through the fence simply to test the Dutton family.

Just as you throw some fresh hay into one of the stables and patted the horse in its neck as he eats his dinner, the sound of loud rough boots marching against the ground ring in your ears.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” His loud, rough voice settles behind you, words firm as you dumped hay into the last stable,

You sigh, taking off your gloves and placing them in your back pocket before looking up at him. Eyes wide, angry, betrayal, and fear were written in them. Just like you pictured.

“Yes.. I was,”

“When? Tomorrow? When you leave apparently?” Betrayal can be heard in his voice, blue eyes confirming his tone,

“There hasn’t been a good time to let you know,” You tell him, voice calm, tired, heartbroken,

It wasn’t a lie. When he had gotten back from running an errand with Kayce you were determined to lay it on him, but things got hectic that you weren’t even able to spare him a word. It remained that way for the rest of the day, work after work, problem after problem, when lunch came around he wasn’t at the table eating his supper with everyone else, he was out with Dutton, doing the man a favor, so wanting to talk to him during lunch didn’t happen like you were hoping for.

You told yourself you’d let him know when he came back, but apparently he was out and about with Dutton for the rest of the day. So by the time he had came back was at this very moment, catching you feeding the horses inside the stables. Dutton must’ve told him at some point during their errand runs, who else could have? You weren’t annoyed it was your boss who gave him the news, but you were hoping it’d be you who told him because it came from you, no one else.

“Do you not remember what that place did to you?!” He harshly whispers, taking a step closer to you, “Cause I sure as hell can!”

You lower your gaze to the floor with a faint sigh at his words. Of course you remember. How can one forget something like that? The constant nightmares, the flashbacks, mood swings, not knowing what was real or not, the cold sweats, all of it you remember. The first few weeks of being home after being honorably discharged were rather difficult, your body knew it was home, safe, but your mind was still at war. Constant nightmares played in your in head, bullets flying everywhere, blood stains surrounding you, staining your hands and vest. Screams echoing in your mind on a daily from those who were gunned down, who were injured and were slowly bleeding out in your hands.

It was an everyday thing. The boys, Rip, would beg you to get help, to talk to someone, but you’d just shrug them off telling them you were fine, that it’ll pass.

But you were in fact not okay and the nightmares never ceased.

It was after one particular night that everything had changed. The one night that had you finally reaching out for help, the night that had you admitting that you were not okay.

You had been home for two weeks when it had happened. All it took was a hectic, drunken brawl to trigger the episode. One minute you’re enjoying your beer, slightly laughing at a joke that one of the boys shared, letting lose to ease the noise in your head, then the next you’re being pulled off a blonde head who’s face was nearly disfigured beneath you. Blood covering her once fresh face and clean hair, along with your hands that shook from adrenaline, anger, fear, shell shock.

Once Rip got word of what happened he stormed his way to the bunkhouse which is where he had found you staring at your own reflection in the bathroom. The way a cold and lost look was written in your eyes will forever be embedded in his mind. It wasn’t you who stood standing in front of the mirror with tensed shoulders, hair a mess from sweat and dried blood, the real you was trapped in your mind.

It nearly took all night to bring you back, but not once did he give up.

“Rip,” You softly call his name with an exhausted sigh as you close the door to the stable,

“No. You’re not going!” Blue eyes widening more with fear and rage,

“Yes I am,” You respond in a whisper, “They need me,”

“And we need you here!” I need you here.

It was what he should’ve said, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Wasn’t exactly how he wanted to let you know the truth, wanted to do it the right way, a more intimate, genuine way. But now, he’s out of time. And most likely lost his chance.

He lost you.

“Rip-,” You begin to say but was interrupted by Kacey walking in the stables,

“We’re loaded to fix the fence,” You turn to him before giving him a small nod,

The youngest Dutton switches his gaze from you to the brute man staring intensely at you, knowing then he had walked into something and immediately sensing the tension surrounding the air. He’s felt this mood before, felt tension between you two every so often, but for some reason this time it was stronger, as if one wrong word said would ignite the awaiting flame. So without another word and only a simple nod, he turns to walk away, giving you two privacy. However, you didn’t stick around. Both to just get the day over with and also to postpone the argument.

If you even get a chance to talk about it with him again.

You hear Rip call out to you as you walk out the stables, halting your steps. You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes, but no words were said, so instead you let out a sad sigh through your nose as you continue walking out the building. Leaving the brute man alone in the stables with angered thoughts.

*****

Hours had flown by. After fixing the fence, which took nearly the whole day since it was worse than anyone thought, doing daily health checks on the animals, running a quick errand with Beth, everyone was finally able to wash up and spend the remaining hours with you. Everyone sat around the bonfire sharing stories about anything and everything, chatter, laughter and music can be heard in the darkened night.

Empty beer and whiskey bottles, sticks with dried marshmallows and chocolate littered the ground around everyone’s feet. It was a night you’d deeply remember, a night you’d miss, a night you wished would happen every Friday, but you knew it wouldn’t be possible. At least not with you. Not anymore. You tried keeping a strong face, positive thoughts, positive energy, for the sake of everyone around you. They all had high hopes of you coming back home, claiming you’d be home in less than two months because you were tough as a bull, but you knew the truth. The reality of it all.

Obviously you didn’t remind them of the truth, didn’t want to take away the little happiness they held onto for you, the strong faith they had. So all you did was smile at them, raise your glass and down the last bit of your drink. Every so often you’d get lost in your thoughts, thinking of the mission, the serious consequences, the challenges that will come with it, the horror you’ll soon face, but before you can trap yourself in such thoughts they were there to bring you back. Invite you to their conversations, their stories they were sharing, their jokes, which you were thankful for.

What you didn’t notice was the way a pair of blue eyes have been secretly staring at you from across the fire pit. A dark corner where the fire barely illuminated his features. Light or not he didn’t care if he was caught staring at you, everyone was able to read his opinion of the whole situation but no one dared to ask him about it. He was already a fumed bull waiting to be provoked.

There were times where you’d glance up and catch him staring, but not once did you confront him. Making a scene in front of everyone was the last thing you wanted, so you ignored him and his glaring daggers.

Although, at one point during the night, Colby was the one to mention they had ran out of marshmallows, which you volunteered to grab the extra pack from the bunk house. Slightly buzzed you make your way through the Dutton ranch with sluggish steps till you push open the door to the bunks. Walking to the kitchen you grab the new pack of marshmallows sitting on the counter along with another couple chocolate bars. Just as you turn to head back out, your steps come to a stop when you see Rip standing by the couch.

Face emotionless, but eyes dark, red. Was he crying?

“Havin’ fun?” Rip questions, tone cold and firm, yet his blue eyes have another written emotion in them,

You shrug a shoulder, “Tryin’,”

He scoffs, “Yeah I see that.. but it ain’t workin’,”

You knew exactly what he was referring to. The constant lost in thought when the conversation was directed somewhere else. What you didn’t know until now was those same eyes that have been staring at you from the dark were analyzing you throughout the entire night. Watching the way your smile quickly faded as you once again lost yourself in your thoughts, watching the way your fingers peeled off the label from your beer bottle, the way your leg bounced uncontrollably from nerves, fear, and anxiousness. He knew you were afraid, he read you perfectly, but he knew nothing he’d say would change your mind. Not now, not ever.

You were stubborn like a goddamn mule.

“Yeah well, it’s a little hard to have fun when I got two sets of eyes throwing daggers at me all night,” You say, matching his tone as you stare into his eyes,

Heavy tension once again surrounds you two, the muffled music coming from outside was the only thing that can be heard in the room. Neither of you said anything for a good minute or so, just staring at one another with pain written in both your eyes with tears threatening to build. This wasn’t how you wanted to give your farewells to him. Having an argument with him before you left was something you did not want, but yet here you are.

“Can we just..,” You pause, letting out an exhausted sigh before continuing, “Enjoy the rest of the night before I have to catch a flight in a few hours?”

Rip stares deep in your eyes. Hurt, sadness, anger, and fear were written in his blue ones, they were easy to read, especially when he stared at you the way he was staring. He didn’t bother to hide it, yet he didn’t express it to you verbally. Not like he had to or wanted to, it was obvious on how he felt of the whole situation.

“They’re out there celebrating your death..,” He says pointing a long finger at the door then continues with, “.. and I ain’t being apart of it,”

His voice slightly breaks with each word. His blue eyes standing out more when tears begin building, but not one dares to slide down his cheeks, at least not in front of you. Not saying another word, he turns around and heads out the door with a harsh shove that has it banging against the wall.

Whatever string was left holding your heart in place had finally snapped as you watched the door shut behind him. The last memory you’d have of him. This wasn’t how you wanted to leave things with him, he was the only one who could have helped you through it, fought through the dark times, the constant noises in your head. He was the only one who you stayed alive for while you were out in the field, but now that he’s walked away, not wanting any part of it, you didn’t know if it was even worth staying alive once you landed on base. He was your anchor to it all.

And now you’d be stranded in the dark, drowning with nothing to hold you upright. Keep you up float when you felt like sinking, when you felt like the water was too strong for your fighting body. The one person who could’ve saved you from it all was now walking away, leaving you alone.

‘Maybe it was for the best.’

You tell to yourself. You convince yourself. Maybe him not being apart of it, apart of your life would one day guide him to a better life with the love of his life, guide him to someone who can make him happier, stronger, happier.

It was for the best that he left.

*****

4:30 am

Throwing your duffle and backpack in the backseat you shut the door before facing the small crowd. You give everyone a big hug, including the man himself, John Dutton who hugged you for a good long minute before being slightly shoved by Beth who took you in a stronghold as she secretly let the tears fall down her cheeks. You don’t know how, but you kept your own tears from spilling down. Once departing from the woman you go ahead and start hugging the cowboys, sharing a few laughs with them as they joke with you one last time. Which you appreciated their effort in trying to lighten things up, but you knew they knew nothing they can say now will help. But still, you appreciate it.

“So.. who won?” You say when Ryan and Colby stand in front of you,

They both share a look, small smile forming on their lips, “Neither,” Colby says,

You give them a confused look, but Ryan continues with, “We decided to leave it ready for you when you come back,”

Come back. Something you knew was a big word at the moment.

“Can’t have it ready forever,” You say with a sad chuckle,

“We can and we will,” Ryan firmly states, letting you know no one will come near the empty bed unless it’s you,

It was a faint demand from them. They wanted you to come back, no matter how hard it will be, they demanded that you come back to reclaim your bed at the bunkhouse, and that alone brought the ball back in your throat.

“Gonna miss you dorks,” You manage to say before quickly bringing them both for a group hug,

Both men wrap their arms around you, burying their faces in your hair as they cherish the moment. As you go to pull away both their hands on either side of your hip tighten, not wanting the hug to end, but eventually step away from you.

You give them a small smile and then a small wave to everyone huddle in front of you before turning around to climb into the truck where Roscoe patiently waited for you.

“Ready?” The soldier asks as you take one last glance out the window, watching everyone wave at you with saddened smiles, the ranch standing tall and beautifully behind them.

Letting out a small sigh you give him a nod.

In a matter of seconds the truck roars to life before beginning to move down the driveway and out of the Duttons ranch. Silence engulfs the car, only the sound of the radio softly playing in the speakers is heard. Leaning your head against the headrest behind you, you let your mind drift away, thinking about everyone at the ranch, playing their faces in your mind to not forget them, your fingers softly playing with a small deer origami that Tate had made for you last night for good luck. Then thinking about him once again.

Remembering how things were left between you two. Wishing you could’ve fixed things before you left, wished you could’ve said the truth, wished he could’ve have given you the chance to let you show him just how much he meant to you. But he didn’t. None of it happened.

So now, all you’ll think about is What If.

While driving halfway out the ranch and you still being lost in thought, you didn’t capture the moment a large black figure blending in the dark speeding in your direction until the truck comes to an abrupt stop. Causing your seatbelt to lock just in time to catch your body from going forward.

“The fuck?” Roscoe reacts, putting the gear in park as he eyes the figure that is currently blocking his way,

You clench your jaw as you make eye contact with him, even in the dark and with the only source of light from the headlights you both immediately lock eyes.

Of course it’s Rip on top of his horse. Black hat on his head with his black jacket wrapped on his frame.

“I’ll take care of this,” You say, never breaking eye contact with him as you unbuckle yourself and open the door,

“(Y/n) we don’t have time for this,” Roscoe tries arguing back, but you repeat yourself as you hop off the truck,

Shutting the door and standing by it you face him, where he still remained on top of his horse.

“Rip seriously what is your problem? I don’t have time to deal with you right now!” You yell as the brute man climbs off his horse,

A grim look was written on his face as he makes his way towards you. A look he only has when he’s angry about something, and right about now he’s angry at you, you knew that.

“I swear to god Rip if you don’t get out the way I’m gonna-,” Your words were cut off by a pair of rough lips latching onto yours,

Your eyes grow wide in anger, shock, and confusion. But once you feel the way his hand gently cups the side of your face you realize what exactly is happening and only react back. Your own hands finding their way to his face, fingers slowly tangling themselves in his soft, dark curly hair at the base of his neck. A deep, saddened relieved sigh escapes from you two as you both pour the hidden truth into the kiss. Deepening it and cherishing the moment at the same time, neither one wanting or planning to break it off, but you both knew it had to happen, you had to leave.

Which is why Rip got a little selfish for a second, he deepened the kiss, licking his way into your mouth as he held a tight grip on your hip to not let you out of his hold. Just a few more seconds of this, he had to. If this was the only time he would get this opportunity until you came back home, then he was sure as hell he would take every second that was available to have you in his arms, have your lips molding with his, have your fingers tugging on his hair, have your breath fanning his lips, have both your hot tears smear against his own cheeks. He was taking advantage of the moment because he knew it would be more than a month that he would be able to feel it again. Feel this moment again.

Eventually, you both do break the kiss, but not once did he let an inch form between you two. Leaning his forehead against yours, he lets you both catch a breather from the intense, beautiful moment.

“You come back to me you hear?” He whispers, beautiful blue eyes now searching for your own,

When he finally does find your (E/c) eyes that he has grown to love, he whispers once again, “You come home,”

New tears fall down your cheeks at his words, you knew you couldn’t make such a big promise, especially in your line of work. It was a rule, a rule everyone in the military who serves knew they should never make, because they knew reality was always behind that promise.

You stare into those blue eyes of his that have tears of their own, some finding their way down his rough skin, while the rest build at the brim of his eyes. You knew he knew you couldn’t make that promise, but he knew you’d fight for it no matter what, no matter how impossible it might seem, because he knew you always kept your promise. That’s who you were. Loyal, loving, protective, unafraid, and a true fighter.

You stare into his eyes a little longer, feeling the way another tear slides down your cheeks then feeling the rough pad of his thumb gently wiping it away. The words get caught in your throat, the words where you wanted to tell him to be realistic, to not make you promise anything because disappointment and pain is the only thing he’ll receive, but before you can even force them out you hear your name being called from inside the truck.

“We gotta go,” Roscoe softly says, hating to interrupt the moment, hating to part you from the man you clearly love,

You sniff, looking down at the ground then back up to Rip where he only gives you a small smile.

“C’mon,” Rip whispers as he leads you back into the truck,

Once sitting inside, shutting the door, Rip points at the man behind the wheel before saying, “You look after her you hear?”

Roscoe nods at him, “You’ve got my word man,”

Rip nods back before averting his eye to you. You sat there, tears still slowly sliding down your cheeks, you weren’t ready to say goodbye to him, not after you both finally confessed to each other. Which reminds you, you had to say it, in fear of not being able to ever again.

“Rip I-,” You try but he cuts you off with a shake of his head,

“No. Don’t say it. You say it when you come back,” He demands, small smile tugging on the corner of his lips, “Just know I do too,”

I do too.

You sniff once again, tears falling down as you glance behind him, seeing the ranch and the bunkhouse glow in the background. Memories flash in your mind. All those laughs, tears, injuries that you’ve accumulated over the years with everyone who lives and works at the ranch played in your head, reminding you that you had a family to come back to once again, you had friends who were also waiting for you to come back with open arms. You had a life to get back to.

Come back.

Averting your eyes back to his that had tears of their own falling down his cheeks, you stare at him as you remembered, you had him to come back to. He was your main reason to come back home, he was the reason why you weren’t going to die in the field, he was the reason why you weren’t going to give up when shot down, he was the reason why you weren’t going bleed out. He was your reason why you were coming home.

And if anyone tried stopping you from doing so, then it would be the last thing they ever did.

Because you are coming home.

Reaching a hand out the window, you let your small held cup his bearded cheek before letting your own thumb wipe away the tears that fall down. Looking into his eyes with a firm stare, a promise, you let him hear the words.

“I’m coming home,”

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-Ahhh It’s Finally Here!!! I’m Not Kidding I Have Been Going Back & Forth With This One. Mostly Because I Had Writers Block, But Also Because I Would Change A Lot Things & Finding New Ideas To Replace The Old Ones.

-But Again! Thank You To Those Who Have Been Patient & Have Been Waiting For This Wheeler Fic! More To Come!!

-Lastly, Make Sure To Turn On Post Notifications!! 🔔 🔔 For More Updates!

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Part 2 ?

#rip wheeler #rip wheeler x ofc #rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler x female character #rip wheeler x you #rip wheeler smut #Yellowstone #yellowstone x reader #cole hauser #cole hauser x reader #Cole hauser x you #angst with a happy ending #pain and fluff #military fiction

[kolibripilled-canine]

THIS REST WAS EARNED

"Good morning Sister-231 Catherine" said Sister Eirnan as she sat down across the dining table from the hollow looking girl, "how are you settling in?"

Sister-231 Catherine didn't answer, nor did she take a bite from the plate of eggs, toast, and turkey bacon that sat before her. All the other girls had finished their breakfast almost half an hour ago, and Sister-231 Catherine was the only one left in the dining room.

Sister Eirnan sighed and stood up. Some of the retirees took longer than others to adapt to their new lives out of the service, and Sister-231 Catherine hadn't eaten a bite since she finished the ration pack she'd arrived with on the truck five days ago. It was time to try another tack.

"Sister-231 Catherine," she barked in clipped military patois, "you have lost 7 kilos since you arrived to this duty post! Eat your damn breakfast or I'll take take you off the duty roster so fast your fuckin head'll spin for the next three weeks! Do you understand?"

"Yes sir!" Sister-231 Catherine shouted in the strongest voice her hunger weakened body could muster, and she began to eat. She nibbled cautiously on her slice of toast, then moved onto the eggs. By the time she finished the eggs she was shoveling them into her mouth with gusto.

Sister Eirnan hated to speak to her retirees this way, it wasn't at all conducive to their recovery, but neither was ration starvation. This was probably the first time in three years that Sister-231 Catherine had eaten real food instead of ration paste, and Sister Eirnan took the opportunity to go into the hall to fetch a bucket.

She got back just in time, and shoved the bucket under Sister-231 Catherine's chin barely a second before the poor girl vomited up her breakfast. Sister Eirnan patted her on the back.

"There there, let it all out," she cooed softly, "You're okay, sweetie. You did well. It's hard at first."

Sister-231 Catherine stopped heaving, and Sister Eirnan wiped her mouth with a handkerchief she pulled from her pocket.

"I want to try again" said Sister-231 Catherine in her shakey voice, and Sister Eirnan smiled. She looked up, up at the symbol emblazoned on the cieling. The same symbol that was on the handkerchief she'd just tossed into the bucket: a fallen mech, its guns broken, its cockpit cracked open, birthing its pilot into a circle of women kneeling in benediction. Around this image was text, written in gold filagree; "THIS REST WAS EARNED".

A tear welled up in Sister Eirnan's eye. The girl would make it yet.

"Of course, honey. Let me make you another plate."

#fiction #mech pilot #traumaqueer #military fiction

[shadows-on-the-sky]

Beach Head by Ensan Case

Beach Head is Ensan Case's (author of Wingmen) second novel. It was published in 1983 and has been out of print ever since, so I decided to digitize it to share with my fellow Wingmen fans.

There are some notable similarities between Beach Head and Wingmen, like their structure, the World War II setting and the realistic and slow burn style. However, the (mostly investigative) latter half of Beach Head takes place in the 1960s, and the story has American and Japanese characters. The plot is also much more complex, and there's also much more explicit violence. And while it doesn’t center its narrative around a gay romance like Wingmen, Beach Head has LGBT characters as well.

You can download Beach Head here.

If the link isn't working, or if you have any additional questions, don't hesitate to contact me!

For those who want to know a little more about the novel's plot, here's the (spoiler-ish!) back cover synopsis:

The sand and water were stained red, the beach littered with the bodies of young Marines he had just met. The screams of the wounded and dying rose above the sound of the gunfire.

It wasn't what Carl Randall expected when he left his job on the society pages to become the war correspondent for his father's San Francisco newspaper. When he left the smouldering ruins of Pearl Harbor, he still expected his role to be drinking and storytelling. Randall never imagined that the end of the war would find him stranded on a deserted Pacific island… or the key to a secret the government would never want revealed!

The nightmare of the war stayed with Randall. A generation after the Japanese surrender, it was about to become reality… again!

#beach head #wingmen #ensan case #military fiction #historical fiction #gay literature #lgbt literature #ww2 #wwii #world war 2 #world war ii #books

[out-of-context-fanfics]

"the US Air Force's Early warning and control aircraft Operators had quite a shock when they see a swarm of Type 022 flying through the air. "

——Unmanned Swarms: type 022 tactical vessel, armed with 48 Cruise missiles with the range of 300 kilometers by Xiaoyingping

This is from one among a series of well thought out what if naval vessels which I would recommend if you can read Chinese or has a good translator and doesn't mind the political view, and when I read that sentence I legit loled.

#contribution #submission #Military fiction #Fictional Vehicles #WeChat public accounts

[lightdancer1]

This also applies to one of the most basic tropes separating military fiction from military reality:

Now granted, at the start, there is always the reality that a story is a story and reality is reality. Real life differs from fiction in all kinds of ways and just as it's perfectly acceptable to portray a medieval past without reliance on a historically accurate dung-filled literal shithole unless you're doing a Monty Python movie, there are good and cogent reasons why these factors of real wars tend to be left out.

Yet, and I admit to a bias here because it's how I write my own stories, I believe that aspects of this can enhance a war story told in another fashion while not bogging down the narrative.

The most obvious factor is that war stories, most often because writers do not bother to really read into how real wars are fought, neglect logistics entirely. In reality real wars are almost entirely matters of logistics, which shape what actually happens in a battle or a campaign. It is this side of real wars that is almost invisible in war stories because unless you've got a Good Soldier Svjek style approach it's rather boring to write some REMF making sure the armies are fed, equipped, clothed, or to get into the kind of detailed aspects that account for what gives higher officers their actual ranks.

In reality generalship really is an artform requiring a person to blend multiple skills at once, only some of which are military. Bullshitting and political aspects are very important aspects to a point that generals that pretend they can ignore them are forgotten and the ones that are remembered excel at them. But fiction will show you a general pulling an Albert Sidney Johnston and acting like an overranked sergeant and seldom shows you the general getting killed like the actual people who did that tended to do.

The second is the factor of friction/fog/confusion, aka Murphy's Law in military uniform. Anything that can and will go wrong always does in the most grimly hilarious ways possible, people do not have perfect information about what's happening and the misunderstandings can have a gallows humor all their very own. This factor is left out of fictional wars not because it's not dramatic, but because people like their wars with superheroic wunderkinder who always know what's on the other side of the hill, where in reality the wunderkinder was a lucky son of a bitch and the other side was taking a shit break and he timed the attack right when they were crapping.

And the third and especially blunt factor is that no matter the era war is long elements of boredom (with all the havoc that can happen with armed people trained to kill) interspersed with deadly peril. Whether or not it's face to face with the more visceral aspects or the indirect and impersonal horror of a modern battlefield, actual peril is a relatively small, if extremely memorable, part of military life. Fiction, of course, really leaves this bit out unless it's the rare (these days) military comedy where this is the primary setting.

This is by no means stating that stories should mirror reality. There are entirely cogent reasons why they don't, but this is also why it's very hard to do a truly antiwar film because films almost always leave the boring and ugly parts out, and the result makes war look ten times more glamorous than it is.

The extra factor is that almost any kind of story you can think of will have these points where they fiddle with reality for the sake of the story. The task of a good writer is to deal with this very truthful problem for all writers and make the story so good the readers never really notice all the bits fudged for the sake of the craft.

#lightdancer comments on literature #meta #fiction writing #tropes #military fiction

[rd-lancaster]

Chapter Three

Silas:

"Are you sure about this? It just doesn't feel right, no matter how desperate we are," Ivy's voice quivered with uncertainty, her doubts echoing in the air.

I stood above her, my grip firm on the pistol aimed at the door. The sound of the lock clicking confirmed Ivy's successful attempt at picking it. "Don't worry, I don't plan on shooting anyone unless we have no other choice. It's more of an intimidation tactic, you know?" I glanced down at her, my eyes filled with a mix of determination and concern. "We can't afford to let compassion cloud our judgement. We need to find food and supplies, even if it means making sacrifices along the way."

Together, we searched the house, rummaging through cabinets to find any canned goods we could. I headed upstairs, gathering medical supplies and spare clothing, ensuring we had what we needed for our journey. In just a short span of ten minutes, our backpacks were overflowing with the weight of our supplies needed for travel. We aimed to blend into the world, unnoticed.

As we ventured through the dense woods, our footsteps muffled by nature, we moved in silence. The only sounds that broke the silence were our occasional breaks to quench our thirst or answer nature's call. My mind couldn't help but dwell on the unsettling idea of a traitor lurking within the military and government. It didn't seem far-fetched. Our government had always been filled with officials driven by self-interest, willing to employ anyone to further their own agendas. And now, we were pawns in their game.

The memories of Marcus and Owen flooded my mind once more, their sacrifices intertwined with my own. We had fought for a cause, only to be discarded and left to fend for ourselves. Anger bubbled within me, the thought of justice becoming a driving force propelling me forward. These traitors would sink with their own ship. They had become my collateral, the price they would pay for their actions.

"You've been quiet. Everything okay?" Ivy's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, her concern evident.

"Yeah, just lost in my own thoughts," I replied, meeting her gaze with a slight nod. "I think it's best if we stop for the night. It's getting dark, and travelling at night is risky."

She halted abruptly, appalled determination flashing in her eyes. "We can't afford to waste time. We need to keep going."

"Travelling at night is asking for trouble. I know even you know that," I reasoned, sliding off my backpack and letting it rest on the ground. My tired shoulders received a soothing rub from my hand. "Take a break. Rest for the night. I'll gather some firewood and we can have a meal."

"I don't feel like resting. Unlike you, I still have the energy to keep going," she retorted, resuming her stride. I reached out and grasped her arm, trying to assert my point.

"You don’t know the location of the safehouse, but I do. We're staying here for the night. No arguments," I stated firmly, locking eyes with her defiant stare. "I’ll tie you to the tree if I have to because believe it or not, I'd rather have you alive. So, sit down. Now."

With a defiant jerk, she freed her arm from my grasp and flung her backpack onto the ground, plopping down beside it. I sighed, exasperated by her stubbornness, and walked away to gather supplies for a fire. The darkness grew, but I was determined to provide some warmth and comfort in the midst of uncertainty.

—————

The warmth of the crackling fire enveloped me, sending waves of comfort through my weary bones. Satisfied with the simple meal of canned food that had managed to fill my stomach, I leaned back, lost in my own thoughts. Ivy and I hadn't exchanged more than a few words since our earlier conversation. But I figured she was used to my silence by now.

As I stared into the dancing flames, my mind raced frantically, trying to find the best way to handle the situation with the traitor. Should I confide in Stewart right away, or should I gather more evidence before revealing anything? What if I discover Stewart is the traitor or he tells someone and gets himself and me killed in the process?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Ivy's voice broke through the silence, her tone gentle.

I turned my gaze towards her, the soft glow of the fire illuminating her face. The flickering flames reflected in her eyes. It struck me for a moment how beautiful she was. I brushed that thought away quickly and let myself ease the tension in my shoulders. "Just trying to figure out how to expose the traitor without divulging any details," I confessed.

She nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "You’re not telling Stewart? I thought you trusted him."

I sighed, grappling with my conflicting emotions. "I can't take any risks. The only person I can truly rely on is myself," I replied, my voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "And you."

A smile played on her lips, a glimmer of a teasing spark. . "So, that's what you meant earlier by wanting me to stay alive?"

I rolled my eyes, attempting to brush off the deep-seated emotions developing that threatened to surface. "Sure, let's go with that," I said, tending to the fire, stoking it slightly. "So, I guess you've let go of your earlier fit?"

She chuckled softly. "Sure, let's go with that," she replied, mirroring my words.

"Good. Get some rest now. I'll keep watch for a couple of hours and wake you up," I instructed, a hint of concern seeping through my authoritative tone.

"But you've been..." she began to protest.

I interrupted her, a note of command in my voice. "Just go to sleep. I’m the one calling the shots here.” I said, settling back against my backpack. She sighed in response, turning away from me to find a comfortable position.

As the night wore on, the sound of nature surrounded us. The wind whispered through the trees through their rustling leaves. A chorus of crickets joined in, their rhythmic chirping filling the air. The fire crackled and danced, its glow diminishing with each passing moment, almost demanding I tend to it.

Amidst the ambient sounds, I couldn't help but notice the gentle rise and fall of Ivy's breathing. It grew deeper and more steady, a testament to her weariness. I knew I was exhausted too. As I mapped out the remainder of our journey, pondering the challenges that laid ahead, I reflected on Ivy's struggle to keep up with my pace.

With a sigh, I approached her backpack, quietly unzipping it. Carefully, I redistributed some of the weight into my own, careful not to wake her. I didn't want her to feel like I was coddling her, but I knew that lightening her load would help her to keep up. Besides, having her close by brought a sense of peace, knowing that we had each other's backs.

I trusted Ivy more than she possibly realized. I could only hope that she felt the same.

Grace:

My fingertips brushed through the tall grass as we ventured deeper into the woods. The trees served as our shield, allowing us to move swiftly with minimal breaks. Today, I found myself keeping up a better pace, managing to stay close to Apollo's back. He had this habit of mumbling to himself, his eyes glued to a compass as we continued our trek. As it turned out, he wasn't all that bad. In fact, I had grown accustomed to his presence and even started to admire him. There was something about him that demanded respect, and it was easy to give it. Sure, I couldn't resist teasing him from time to time, but I didn't mind following his lead. I just knew deep down that I could trust him.

Eventually, we reached a peaceful area filled with more grass and an abundance of wildflowers. The sight before me was truly breathtaking, an open field adorned with a vibrant painting of colors.

"We'll take a quick break here," Apollo announced, a faint smile playing on his lips as he caught me getting lost in the beauty around us.

Unable to resist the allure, I crouched down to take in the sweet scent of the flowers. Their petals and the tips of the grass gently tickled my face and brushed against my hair, filling me with a sense of peace. It reminded me of the garden my mother used to have back home. I raised myself upright once more. The fields turned upside in my eyes to reveal a scene of her garden. Strands of her red hair appeared above the tall flowers. The lilt in her voice threatened me with tears.

“Grace! Darling! Come help me with the weeding, please!”

I closed my eyes almost calling out to her. I wanted to tell her I was coming and beg her to stay before another voice sliced through my deleting escape.

"Quit fooling around over there and grab a bite. I'm not waiting here forever," Apollo called out, his mouth full of jerky.

I rolled my eyes, unable to hide a smirk. Despite his gruffness, he had a point. We couldn't afford to lose track of time. Our lives were hanging in the balance, and I wasn't about to keep them hanging any longer.

With determination, I reached for my backpack and prepared to refuel. The sting of my mother’s voice rang in my ears. I pushed it aside though. Like I always did since the day of the accident.

Words faded into the background when the hike commenced again. The silence suited me just fine. It allowed me to stay focused. I trailed behind Apollo, keeping a watchful eye on his back, mirroring his observations of the treeline.

—————

"The sun is getting low," I panted, my breath catching in the steep and rocky terrain that demanded every ounce of strength to climb.

"I'm well aware of that, rookie," his voice raspy and filled with thirst. He took a sip from the canteen before continuing, "I need to use the bathroom. Once I'm done, we'll find a suitable spot to settle for the night."

As he disappeared behind the trees in search of privacy, I gratefully removed the backpack from my aching shoulders, giving my sore muscles a desperate massage.

With the backpack unzipped, I began rummaging for food when the sound of a twig snapping behind me sent a jolt through my stomach. In an instant, my hand darted towards my pistol, aiming it towards the source of the noise. Two men emerged from the shadows of the tree line, their hands raised in a seemingly non-threatening manner. Despite their starved and ragged appearance, their presence still made my heart race.

"Hello there," one of them greeted, his slimy smile oozing with a hint of menace. His eyes lingered toward the backpack. "You got any food in there to spare?"

My palms tightened around the pistol as I clicked off the safety, sending a clear warning. "None for you. Now, leave before things get ugly."

The other man scoffed, his mocking tone dripping with disdain. "Look at this princess, thinking she can give orders. Maybe a lesson in manners is in order." His hand reached behind him, and panic gripped me.

Without hesitation, I fired, and the men crumpled to the ground in front of me.

Before I could fully process the chaos around me, a powerful force wrapped around my chest, squeezing the air out of my lungs. I struggled against the large figure, desperately trying to keep him from wrestling the gun away. His fists hammered into my stomach, each blow an attempt to incapacitate me. Gasping for air, I refused to yield.

He shoved me to the ground, his weight bearing down on me. I aimed my weapon quickly, but he grabbed hold of the barrel, redirecting it towards the sky. His free hand clenched beneath my jaw, pushing my cheek into the mud. Sweat mingled with dirt on my brow as I clenched my teeth together. The pistol wavered between us, threatening to turn against me.

"Stop fighting it, sweetheart. You're no match--"

Suddenly, a splatter of crimson landed on my face, and the man collapsed on top of me. Pushing his lifeless body aside, I scrambled to an upright position, my weapon still trained on the source of the noise.

Apollo.

Lowering his pistol, he jogged towards me, his voice trembling with a mix of concern and relief. "Are you alright?"

I nodded, my trembling hand wiping the blood from my mouth as I managed to speak. "Thank you," I whispered, my words ragged and breathless from the exertion. My eyes darted to his victim, taking in the gruesome sight.

Apollo crouched beside me, offering a comforting touch. "It's alright. It’s over. We're okay." His hand briefly brushed against my cheeks, wiping away the blood. Rising to his feet, he extended a hand, helping me up.

Confusion filled my mind as he swiftly zipped up my backpack and handed it back to me. "What are you--" I began, but he cut me off.

"We can't stay here. It's too dangerous now. They might have others come looking for them," urgency laced his words. "We need to keep moving through the night. I won’t be a sitting duck and neither will you." His resolve was unwavering.

I couldn't argue with him.

Silas:

Ivy and I finally reached the safehouse in the early morning hours, the remainder of our hike shrouded in an unspoken tension. The events that had taken place had done a number on her. I could see the weight of it in her eyes, but I knew her resilience. She was strong. A quality that I had become accustomed to since day one.

However, the incident had heightened my senses, making me aware of every small noise. We approached the secluded house nestled in the woods. Its wooden exterior, chimney, and front porch gave it a rustic facade that seemed to blend with nature.

As we neared the front door, I raised my hand, silently signalling for Ivy to cover me.

"I'll sweep it. You cover me," my voice held firm in its command.

"Copy that," Ivy responded.

With practiced precision, I swiftly cleared every corner of the house, ensuring our safety. Exhaustion began to seep into my bones, threatening to pull me into a deep slumber. I collapsed onto the worn leather couch, fingertips massaging my temples to alleviate the beginnings of a tension headache.

Meanwhile, Ivy settled into the armchair, shedding her jacket and releasing her tattered hair from the hair tie. As the adrenaline subsided, my eyelids grew heavy, tempting me with sleep.

Fighting against the pull of exhaustion, I shifted my gaze to Ivy. The soft morning light filtered through the windows, casting a gentle glow upon her bloody dirt-streaked face. Dark circles formed under her eyes.

"You need to get cleaned up. You look like hell. I’m worried about you," I found myself blurting out, unable to suppress my concern for her well-being.

She nodded, emitting a tired groan as she rose from the armchair. She made her way down the narrow hallway and into the bathroom, the sound of running water replacing the silence.

In an attempt to keep myself alert, I began to explore the safehouse. The traces of dust that settled on the surfaces and furniture spoke of a reminder of the absence of recent visitors.

Continuing on, I found myself in a back bedroom, where a full-sized bed occupied the space. With a swift motion, I released clouds of dust from the pillows and blankets, watching as they danced in the sunlight that streamed through the window.

Settling onto the bed, I positioned myself near the window, my gaze drawn to the large birds perched in the nearby trees. They stood motionless, their presence seeming almost unnatural. It dawned on me—they were cameras, surveilling the outside and waiting to alert us to potential enemies.

Ivy’s throat cleared behind me and broke my spell. I turned to see her clutching a towel wrapped around her body. I closed my eyes and she chuckled a bit.

“Damn… sorry. I should’ve waited—“ I stuttered with an apology.

"No, it's alright," She interrupted, allowing a brief pause before continuing. "Are there any clean—“

“Yes- uh drawer on the left. I’m sure something in there should work.” I stuttered once more. Keeping my eyes shielded, I listened to the sound of Ivy rummaging through the drawers as I made my way out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, eager to wash away the grime that clung to my body.

The hot water cascaded over my tired muscles, washing away the dirt that had accumulated. Leaning against the shower wall, I let the water soothe my senses, attempting to find a moment of calm in the chaos that had consumed my life.

Restlessness and exhaustion intertwined within me, a heavy burden that refused to leave me be. The sting of betrayal lingered in the air I breathed. With every step and turn, I found myself waiting for the ground to crumble beneath me. Trust, a commodity that once carried stability for me, threatened to crumble.

"You alright in there?" Ivy's voice permeated through the bathroom door, her knuckles lightly tapping against it.

Startled, I snapped back to the present, scrambling to regain composure. "Geez yeah, I'll be out in a second."

"It's alright. Take your time. I just got a bit worried…. You've been in there for 30 minutes," she replied, her voice laced with understanding.

My eyes widened in disbelief, suddenly aware of how lost in my thoughts I was. Hastily, I shut off the water, a tinge of guilt in my voice. "Sorry. I didn't realize how long I was in here."

Ivy's reassuring voice soothed me. "Like I said, it's alright. I found some MRE's in the freezer. Chili with beans. I'll start making a pack for you." Her footsteps faded away as she made her way to the kitchen, leaving me standing there, struck by her thoughtfulness.

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, a rare moment of warmth. I appreciated Ivy's kindness, her ability to provide comfort relieved some tension building within me.

A reminder that I had someone I could depend on.

#militaryromance #military fiction #female protagonist #male protagonist #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #writers on tumblr #creative writing #female writers #writing #angst #light angst #military #romantic #writer on tumblr #i wrote something #i wrote this #writer on wattpad #writeblr #writblr #angst with a happy ending #romance writing #realistic fiction #i write #writer of tumblr #i wrote it #writerscommunity #slow burn #slow build

[casbooks]

Books of 2023

Book 29 of 2023

Title: Run Run Cricket Run Authors: Tom Thompson ISBN: 9781636240374 Tags: FAC, Fiction, FRA Bernard Fall (Author), LAO Lam Son 719 (1971) (Vietnam War), LAO Laos, LAO Laotian Civil War (1959-1975), LAO USAF Steve Canyon Program - Ravens FAC (Laotian Civil War), Military Fiction, O-1 Bird Dog, O-2 Skymaster, THA RTAFB Nakhon Phanom Royal Thai Air Base, THA Thailand, US USAF 20th TASS - Covey, US USAF 23rd TASS - NAIL FAC, US USAF 7th ABCCC Airborne Command and Control Sqd - Hillsboro, US USAF 7th ABCCC Airborne Command and Control Sqd - Moonbeam, VNM Ho Chi Minh Trail (Vietnam War), VNM Vietnam War (1955-1975) Rating: ★★★ (3 Stars) Subject: Books.Fiction.Military.Vietnam, Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.Fiction

Description: Young American pilots feel the weight of destiny as they are tasked with shutting down the Ho Chi Minh Trail in Laos. 1970—the height of the Vietnam War. A group of young Forward Air Controllers based in Thailand is assigned with supporting the Truck War and the People's War in southern Laos, where the fate of the Vietnam War, and Laos' very future, is being decided. Tasked with shutting down the Ho Chi Minh Trail—the North Vietnamese supply lines running into South Vietnam—literally stopping the constant stream of trucks in their tracks, these American airmen, call sign "Nail," fly missions 24 hours a day. Daily, they run the gauntlet of intense anti-aircraft fire to bring in accurate attacks by American fighter bombers. At night, streams of red tracers scream up from the ground, seeking the metallic flesh of their fragile craft. During the day, they search the skies for the telltale black puffs of smoke that reveal the self-destructive warheads of the North Vietnamese gunners. Even when tragedy befalls the group, they persevere with their mission. But will courage and dedication be enough?

Review: Just finished reading this and I'm so disappointed in Casemate. There is a good book somewhere in here, but the author needed a good proofreader/editor in the worst way. Fiction needs structure and a narrative which this doesn't have AT all! It needs to have a compelling story to tell, and this is instead a mishmash of multiple small stories that muddy whether this is a story about a unit, or the main character (who is rarely a part of the book), or about ... what?!?! But the worst crime is the repetition. There is absolutely no reason to repeat the same paragraph (+) length info over, and over, and over, (ex why Lam Son 719 was named 719) in the course of a couple of pages. Any good editor should have redlined that! I can forgive the little issues like after repeating over, and over, and over, and over again about the whole right door being the ONLY door, they say they got in on the left door later. Or mixing up Callsigns, where Hobos become Zorro's and then back again. These are things all authors deal with in drafts and that often find their way into SELF PUBLISHED books. But a book from a publisher??? I expect so much better and thats why I don't fault the author at all, but definitely fault Casemate. Where the hell were the editors??!?!?

#Books #Ebooks #Booklr #Bookblr #Vietnam War #Laotian Civil war #Ho Chi Minh Trail #Forward Air Controller #FAC #Fiction #Military Fiction #USAF

[thesadpilotclub]

Military movies ranked by levels of ‘Hoorah’.

As someone from a multi-generational military family, I’ve always had an infatuation with military fiction. Also, I just think soldiers are hot. But based on my families experiences, I am VERY much disillusioned to the military industrial complex. Therefore, its become a guilty pleasure for me, and the level of patriotism depicted definitely effects how I feel about the film.

Here’s a list for people who want hot men in tactical gear or just a shooty bang bang story, so you can know what you’re getting yourself in to.

Nary A Smidge Hoorah: Saving Private Ryan, Full Metal Jacket, Apocalypse Now, Enemy At The Gates, All Quiet On The Western Front, Catch-22

Minimal Hoorah: Top Gun, Tears of The Sun, Inglorious Basterds, Top Gun: Maverick, Jarhead, Dunkirk, Sand Castle, Fury

Medium Hoorah: Zero Dark Thirty, Platoon, American Sniper, The Hurt Locker, Hacksaw Ridge

Very Hoorah: Black Hawk Down, Lone Survivor, War Horse, Red Dawn, Behind Enemy Lines, GI Jane

Cringe Worthy Hoorah: Act of Valor, Battle: Los Angeles, Pearl Harbor

Please note: This isn’t an assessment on the quality of the film. Some of them are good and some are junk food.

Feel free to add to this list if you feel so inclined.

#military fiction #top gun #military movies

[sh-vi]

Wednesday July 7th

Outskirts of Dramican, The Eryad

Time for it then. After months of surveying the area, Blue Planet has discovered the location of an immensely powerful relic called The Book of Thunder, dating back hundreds of years. Although none of our wizards can make use of its magic, it is equally important that we keep it out of the hands of the enemy: Changer and his cohort. The book is hidden at an old ritual site in what’s left of Dramican. The region was sacked ten years ago in the battles following Changer’s resurrection.

The Eryad has only become more dangerous in the years since, and we’ll unlikely make out of the area unmolested if the rumors are to be believed.

Tomorrow we break camp and rendezvous with a detachment from Blue Planet, the arcologist-knights responsible for the capture and disposal of interwar artifacts like these. our mission is to make a path for BP who’ll swoop in to recover the book once we secure the area.

#dungeons and dragons #black company #journal #military fiction #military fantasy

[booomcha]

The Good Shepherd, WWII Fiction

From Amazon: The mission of Commander George Krause of the United States Navy is to protect a convoy of thirty-seven merchant ships making their way across the icy North Atlantic from America to England. There, they will deliver desperately needed supplies, but only if they can make it through the wolfpack of German submarines that awaits and outnumbers them in the perilous seas. For forty-eight…

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#am reading #am writing #books #booomcha #c.s. forester #historical fiction #military #military fiction #naval history #navy #reading #reading community #story spinner #war fiction #world war ii #Writing #writing community #wwii

[thetruearchmagos]

Bristling Skies [Excerpt]

Hey all! I haven't posted original writing stuff in a while, but the barest hints of inspiration for one particular scene have finally come out in full enough form for me to put to a Google Doc. So, uhh, here it is!

Tagging @lividdreamz @sanguine-arena @fictionalbullshitter @wip-nook @thatndginger @orphicpoieses @theprissythumbelina

To say that Lieutenant Commander Seon Mun-Hee was not entirely pleased with his bird's present orders would be a perverse understatement. The gregarious, twin-propellered Airborne Combat Controller was at its best at high altitudes, which gave its onboard Wave Emissions Sensor long lines of sight to reach out to a distant horizon. At the moment, his pilots up front in the cockpit were keeping the Auxin Auspice about a hundred metres off the deck, and the waves below weren’t looking terribly accommodating.  And to think we’re supposed to be flying at eighty! When he’d first heard these instructions, Seon had thought the world had gone madder than usual, but the Vice Admiral himself had entered the briefing room to clear those doubts. And so here they were, flying about as high up as the top of the bridge of the carrier they’d taken off from. Which was, Seon mused, rather point. 

#original writing #worldbuilding #writeblr #my writing #writing #my wips #writeblr stuff #military fiction #I decided to experiment with using italics for thoughts here #think it went well enough

[sanguinequestlp]

Let's Play Final Fantasy XIV Stormblood Chapter 37, "Spectre of the Gun," is now LIVE! The Warrior of Light returns to the front lines. Well, Lyse does. Kheris stays and guards the base. I'm sure they can handle it without her...

#ff14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #warrior of light #wol #essay #lets play #critique #fantasy #scions of the seventh dawn #lyse hext #everybody dies #military fiction

[desdasiwrites]

"The universe is a big place. Maybe we're not in the best neighborhood."

– John Scalzi, Old Man's War

#book quote of the day #john scalzi #old man's war #sci fi books #john perry #space opera #military fiction #aliens #literature and libraries

[shadows-on-the-sky]

My Ensan Case collection: the first editions of Wingmen and Beach Head.

#wingmen #beach head #ensan case #gay literature #lgbt literature #military fiction #historical fiction #gay books #books #booklr