fact or fiction
Is it fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the myths and beliefs we hold about the military and the physical, logistical, emotional and moral obstacles involved.
The Citizen Journalist
For Nour, technology was critical, but there was only power for a few hours a day at most, and online she was hunted and traceable. She frowned wondering how much they knew - she wasn’t a big fish, but she wasn’t small fry either, people had been killed for less. Right now the roads out were kill zones, bombed alleys of death, then there was Aleppo city, now home, being pummelled by the Syrian regime, with it’s Russia Hezbollah ‘Axis’, fighting rebel and religious factions, the civilians, forever in the crossfire, now huddled together at night, with the eerie advantage of understanding exactly what lingered in the skies above. Barrel bombs - oil drums and fuel tanks filled with explosives and metal fragments fell from helicopters with indiscriminate targets. Cluster munitions with their baby bomblet cargos and white phosphorous, rained down, targeted hits on hospitals and aid convoys, all apparently illegal internationally, it was 2016, after five years of war the whole world knew what was happening in Syria - Nour could never understand why nobody made it stop.
Rebecca SmithPublished 3 years ago in ServeMemory of Something Almost Lost
The crooked smile of a crescent moon hung over the gutted skeleton of the place once called ‘Boston’. Even at this hour Rusty could hear the shrieks of the things that still lived here but they were far enough into the Commons now to safely make camp.
Stan ToynePublished 3 years ago in ServeInside Leningrad, 1941
PROLOGUE 21ST, JULY, 1941. The overwhelming sense of air that had been thrown off of it’s course made itself far from silently known, as it passed by the once muffled eardrums of a courted soldier, lining his back up behind the substantial bags of sand that seemed to become their fortified blockages over time of what was genuine defense being used for the centric blockades around the city. Though, it seemed to be what he once mistook for the angers of Mother Nature, were the graces of lead that their rival formalities found so comforting in their times of need. With the quick motion that ducked his head behind the fortifications, he instinctively courted the rackety SVT-40 of a fallen comrade closer to his chest-- a quick breath in, and a longer one out-- bringing him back from the chastise of slowed fantasy, and into reality.
Tyler BarryPublished 3 years ago in ServeA room on the Moika
The room was filled with the sweet smell of candle smoke. Despite the tall, broken windows offering grandiose views of decorated façades across the Moika’s frozen waters, the high-ceilinged room was dark. The sun had set long before dinnertime, and Oleg’s candle was the sole source of light.
Sébastien MouretPublished 3 years ago in ServeA Figure For A Shell
A dark figure approaches... Its hand picks up the... About a month ago. "Honey I'm home!" Daniel shouts as he walks through the front door.
Over the Panj
“What do you know about Matthew McCann, Lieutenant?” Lt. William Fox heard the colonel’s voice over the shouting gale of the wind and the propellers. He held onto the strap above, by now all too used to the heat and the dry air that buffeted into the helicopter.
Gordon HawkinsPublished 3 years ago in Serve100 Little Black Books
Mrs. Bernice Pink always carried her little back notebook with her wherever she went. Even her husband Chester, known to all as "Chester Pink the Mattress King," couldn't pry that little book out of her thin, pale hands that very special sultry evening in Chicago when he knelt on one knee with a heartfelt proposal at their favorite Italian restaurant.
Melissa G WilsonPublished 3 years ago in ServeAll Threats
“Grandpa, tell us another story!” the children shouted. He’d finished opening their cards and now everyone had a birthday cupcake on a paper plate with colorful balloons. “Tell us the one about your leg!”
Horace WheatleyPublished 3 years ago in ServeDisillusionment
The dark splodges of ink sprawled across the pages of the journal arrest my attention. Pitch black, their meaning engulfs me and I marvel at their dazzling intensity and depiction of the horrors and triumphs of war, exuding sorrow, hardship, loss and suffering. As my eyes hungrily devour each syllable on the page, I am swept away by the depths of its message, transformed by its profundity. Inexplicable darkness pervades it, yet it is laced with hope, the simple musings of a young man caught in the throes of war.
Tahlia HunterPublished 3 years ago in ServeReaching for the Stars
I, Reggie Fishbourne, had reached for the stars and fallen short. Like a boy, climbing his roof, only to topple off the edge and land in the bush below. I would be lucky to walk away from my current predicament with only a few bruises and thorns stuck in my side.
The Balance Demanded
The wind cried as it slithered across the battlefield carrying with it the stench of rotting bodies and the promise of more bloodshed. The cries of the wounded and dying followed the wind up the massive hill to the encampment of the victors of that day’s battle. Most of the tents were dark, the soldiers in them either asleep or dying on the muddy field beneath the safety of their bedrolls. Three tents at the center of the camp blazed with firelight and the bustling of bodies between two of them identified them as hospital tents. The third, slightly larger and filled with dire conversation held five people around a table covered in maps and battle plans. A sixth person, cloaked in the enemy’s colors and tied to a chair in a far corner, tried to remember every detail spoken in her presence.
The Desert Raid
A short story based on a dream I had Maxwell turned his head to look at everyone in the hanger. 150, 200 people, he reckoned. He still couldn’t believe he formed a team this big to go after his goal, a goal that became shared, a goal that was about to be achieved… Of that, he had no doubt!
Gabriel MohrPublished 3 years ago in Serve