Manuscripts Burn


MANUSCRIPTS BURN

"Manuscripts don't burn"
- Mikhail Bulgakov

Hi, I'm Splatterpunk Award-winning horror and science fiction author Steve Kozeniewski (pronounced: "causin' ooze key.") Welcome to my blog! You can also find me on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Amazon. You can e-mail me here, join my mailing list here, or request an e-autograph here. Free on this site you can listen to me recite one of my own short works, "The Thing Under the Bed."

Friday, December 18, 2009

The Last War: Chapter 76, Part 19

SAC Sarah York sighed. She was in the middle of a maelstrom haze. All around her was utter chaos, but she could barely concentrate on anything. A German messenger was asking her questions. She was still too dazed from Dan Hayes' death to concentrate on understanding the German.

"Drei, drei," she said finally, beginning to understand that the messenger was asking for reinforcements and how many brigades he could hope to receive.

The man seemed satisfied and left. Sarah cradled her head for a moment, trying to sort out the random thoughts which were still running through her mind. She felt a tug on her hand. It was Omar.

"I can't walk you now!" she exclaimed.

She started to walk the dog anyway, allowing him to drag her along. Her head cleared instantly, and she found herself able to concentrate again. She found herself wondering if Omar was really smarter than he let on. He had known just what to do to help her out.

"General York?"

"Yes?" she replied, looking up.

"The west column is awaiting your orders."

She looked down at her scanner.

"Tell them to advance one...no, two miles ahead. Convert it to metric for the foreigners. Dismissed."

"Yes, ma'am."

"General York?"

"Yes, what is it?" she asked, feeling a little annoyed now.

It was a messenger. He was holding an envelope and a DNA scanner. It was very odd.

"I have a package for the SAC's eyes only, ma'am. I'm afraid I have to test."

Sarah nodded and held out her hand. The messenger pricked her with the needle of the DNA scanner. A moment later he was satisfied and handed her the package.

"Thank you, sergeant," she said, absently saluting.

When the man had left she tore open the envelope. It contained a parchment which was inscribed with the flowing letters of the Mongol language and was translated into the English alphabet, which looked ugly in comparison. Her eyes scanned lazily to the bottom to see Bleda Khan's signature. She was impressed.

When she had finished reading it, her knees nearly buckled under her. It was a request for a ceasefire and armistice. His troops had already been ordered to stop fighting. The Winter Offensive had been successful

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