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I really genuinely like the poem. It's unique. I have this funny feeling that there's a new writer in the AMW~
I don't really have any CC for you just now except some really trivial stuff like:

They stare across it, eyes glazed

As it has, and always will, do

You have begun the flood

As the first line of the poem, it doesn't draw me in as it should because it's very vague. Usually the who's and what's and why's are open for interpretation in a poem, but I don't actually understand this line. What are they staring across? :/

I just think this line could have been more.. exciting, because the first two lines of this stanza are cleverly written.

You have a fine command of meter. It's a better iambic tetrameter than most are able to produce around here. As for criticism, Jezz basically caught the inconsistencies in meter as well as the vagueness in a couple of the lines.

Also, for that stanza you're deliberating on, the semi-colon is not grammatically correct. I think the coffins of mud one is the best. Even though it's odd metrically, the imagery is much more striking.

You have a fine command of meter. It's a better iambic tetrameter than most are able to produce around here.

As for criticism, Jezz basically caught the inconsistencies in meter as well as the vagueness in a couple of the lines.

Okay, so would you say that is better or worse?

Corpses rot, in coffins of mud

It paints a picture, but I just need to know if you can understand what I mean by "coffins of mud".

And please, both Hyper and Parsat, call me Jess >___<

The comma isn't correct, I don't think. Unless you were looking for a pause there?

The phrase 'coffins of mud' gives me the image of thousands of dead bodies littering a wet, muddy battlefield, the mud providing not literal but metaphorical coffins. Was that the impression you were going for?

Yep, the revised stanza is definately better.

Excuse the double post, but I do believe I have something to add.

The Secret War
Chapter 1


Pvt. James Chesterfield kicked at the snowy ground and laughed drily. The sound of his laughter echoed eerily back to him from the valley.
"Stop that," barked Cpt. Thomas. "Shut up and sit down, Chesterfield."
"Whatever you say, Captain," responded Pvt. Chesterfield with a shrug. He sat down on a log as commanded, next to the blazing fires that lit the campsite. The fifty or sixty other soldiers around the fire didn't blink an eye, and continued their conversations. "But you know, sir, I don't see a reason why we should bother bein' quiet. Since we've already got this fire started, the enemy could spot us whenever they liked. Hell, Sgt. Daniels over there isn't being too hush." He indicated a tall, red-faced man bellowing at no one in particular.
"I wasn't talking about the noise," answered the captain. "I was talking about kicking the snow. You know this mountain's unsafe. And Daniels, well, I think he's earned a good shout or two, wouldn't you say?"
"Well..." muttered Pvt. Chesterfield, "I suppose he has, sir."
"Whadd'ya mean?" asked the American. Chesterfield had forgotten his name, but his patch indicated he was a lieutenant.
"Daniels' best mate was shot in the head last time we encountered them," Lieutenant Thompson answered. "And 'e wasn't that well-adjusted to begin with. He went half-mad, he did. Almost got us all killed, chargin' at 'em and screaming like some barbarian to boot." The American shook his head sympathetically.
"That's too bad," he said. Chesterfield snorted.
"What would've been too bad, leftenant, is if he'd got us all killed. He's not the only one who's paid in this war." Chesterfield rebutted. The lieutenant backed off.
"A'right then," he replied. Chesterfield rubbed his temples.
"Captain, we've been sittin' here three days and three nights and not a breath of them, or anythin' but ourselves. You'd think they'd have done something by now," Chesterfield prompted.
Captain Thomas shook his head. "No, they don't need to do anything to kill us. Now that our supplies are cut off, we'll either dehydrate or freeze, and either way, we're dying on this godforsaken mountain. The Americans have only made it worse. Sure, they brought supplies, but with the entire squad eating and drinking, that disappeared right quick. And now we've got about twenty more mouths to feed, including a green leftenant who couldn't command a classroom."
Chesterfield chuckled. "Good one, sir."
"No!" exclaimed Capt. Thomas. "Not good. We're stuck here, surrounded on all sides by either more mountains, more valleys, or more enemies, cut off from any help. If we try to leave, we die, and if we stay, we die."
"Damned if we do and damned if we don't," summed up the American lieutenant.
"Exactly," agreed Capt. Thomas. "You Americans may be vulgar, but at least you get to the point."
"And you Brits may wear ridiculous hats, but at least you're amazing soldiers," replied the lieutenant, with the faintest hint of a smile. The captain didn't crack a smile. Chesterfield followed his example.
"Yanno sir," continued the American, "this is a little crazy, so run with me..."
Capt. Thomas rolled his eyes. "Forget what I said about Yankees getting to the point."
"Maybe we won't have to die," finished the American.
"What?" demanded Capt. Thomas. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that there's what, fifty of us? And there's what, two dozen of the enemy, tops?"
"So?" Chesterfield demanded.
"So, couldn't we take them out?" suggested the American.
"Leftenant, maybe you don't understand something," Captain Thomas rebutted. "There's two dozen of them, and they can take our fifty easily. Last time we fought, they got eleven of us and we got one of them. Twelve of us, if you count Sgt. Daniels, who's in no mental condition to fight."
"Oh," the lieutenant said, frowning. "But didn't they have the advantage last time?"
"Yes, and that's our problem," Chesterfield replied. "They know this miserable snow covered wasteland like the back of their hand, and they don't mind the conditions. We, on the other hand, we have no idea how to navigate, and we become about as useful as a knife against a sniper rifle when it starts to snow."
"Snow?" the lieutenant started to laugh, then caught himself. "It can't be that bad."
"It can," affirmed Pvt. Chesterfield grimly.
"So...why are these enemies so tough?" queried the American. "I mean...why is one of them worth ten of our men? Who are they?"
"That's the thing, leftenant," Captain Thomas answered grimly. "We haven't the slightest notion why they're so powerful, or who they are. All we know is that one of them is worth ten of us and that they at least appear human."
"And why are we at war with them?" asked the lieutenant. "I mean...they never did anything to us, did they?"
"Why we're fighting them? We don't know that either," answered the captain with a shrug. "I suppose it's a need-to-know type of thing."
"Well, we do need to know," offered Pvt. Chesterfield. "I mean, aren't we the ones fighting them? Not upper management?"
"That's true, Private. I guess we just don't know anything. And I'm fine that way. I don't want to know anything about this war or those things we're fighting. They may look human, but they can't be like us. They tore apart Corporal White with their bare hands," Captain Thomas said, shivering. Chesterfield didn't think it was from the cold, although that certainly helped. He turned to the lieutenant.
"You know mate," Chesterfield stated, "I never did catch your name."
"Carter," answered the American. "Lieutenant Michael Carter."
"Nice to meet you,," Chesterfield laughed.
"Ditto," replied Lt. Carter. "I wonder what the deal is with this secret war. I mean, once we kill the enemy, won't we already have the information that command is keeping from us?"
"I suppose you're right," sighed Pvt. Chesterfield.
"Chesterfield, get Sgt. Hamingson and meet me in the command tent. Immediately," ordered Cpt. Thomas. Seeing the look in the officer's eye, Chesterfield stood up and briskly ran off to find the platoon sergeant.

"I don't like that American leftenant," Cpt. Thomas began immediately.
"What? I liked him," Chesterfield dissented.
"Well of course you liked him, you've got the brain of a slug. But he was asking too many questions." Thomas replied with a roll of his eyes.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Sgt. Hamingson.
"The leftenant's too nosy. He's going to find out more than what's good for his health if he keeps digging around," Cpt. Thomas proclaimed. "Command gave us strict orders to keep this whole debacle quiet, and it's going to stay that way. If those pesky Americans hadn't gotten into our affairs, this would all be over by now, and we'd all be that much the better for it."
"And what if one of our men says too much?" asked Sgt. Hamingson.
"Then we kill him, and whoever he told," Cpt. Thomas answered simply. "This isn't just about us, you know. This is about the fate of the world. We have more than enough supplies to sustain us for as long as we like. The Americans don't. We'll let them die of exposure and dehydration, and then we make our move against the enemy. It is imperative that no one but our own Strike Force 181 of the SAS know about this."
"And what if the...enemy should attack while the Americans are still alive?" queried Chesterfield.
"That's what the bomb is for," Cpt. Thomas replied grimly, with a glance at the patch of loose dirt under which a heavy explosive was concealed. "It'll kill us all, and the enemy. But remember, we want this to look like an accident. The Americans all died, then we heroically went after the enemy, destroyed them, and somehow made it back home safe."
"How will we destroy the enemy, though?" asked Pvt. Chesterfield.
"You don't need to know, Private. Just know that it's been dealt with. If we all stick to the plan, we should be fine."
"Very well, sir," Sgt. Hamingson nodded, and left the tent.
Pvt Chesterfield withheld a frown. "For the Queen," Chesterfield said, saluting Cpt. Thomas. Then he exited the tent as well.

Why, thank you! Out of curiosity, who is the "most"? I mean, like, who writes around here? We poets have to stick together, you know.

You have one fine candidate about poetry writting on the first page: Parsat. He's without a doubt an authority here in matters pertaining to poetry and such...
But I'd say that most people who dawdle regularly in the MaW do so essentially because they're actually able to write something so you'll see plenty of at least acceptable poets around. Just think about Alt, Wolf, Zoark or Gantic...I remember Jess from some far Ag memories but I couldn't guess if it's because she's a good poet ^^. (sorry Jess, I tend to go inactive for long periods of time)

As for your poem, I'll take some time to read it later, along with that story. From a quick glance though I'd say it looks pretty promising!

You have one fine candidate about poetry writting on the first page: Parsat. He's without a doubt an authority here in matters pertaining to poetry and such...
But I'd say that most people who dawdle regularly in the MaW do so essentially because they're actually able to write something so you'll see plenty of at least acceptable poets around. Just think about Alt, Wolf, Zoark or Gantic...I remember Jess from some far Ag memories but I couldn't guess if it's because she's a good poet ^^. (sorry Jess, I tend to go inactive for long periods of time)

As for your poem, I'll take some time to read it later, along with that story. From a quick glance though I'd say it looks pretty promising!

Apologies for the double post, but here is the second chapter of the Secret War. You know, I think I chose a fitting name. It really is like a secret, no one's reading it, lol xP.

The Secret War
Chapter 2

Lieutenant Michael Carter rubbed his eyes, which were already collecting snow and grit being blown into his face by the storm. He cursed his bad luck, having been selected for watch three times in a row. Lt. Carter pinched himself to stay awake, wishing that he could be curled up in his sleeping bag, and scanned the nearby mountains and valleys, or at least what he could see of them past the swirling snow. Mountains? Still capped with snow, still blackish-blue(unfortunately like one of his toes), and no sign of enemy movement. Valley? Still steep and treacherous, still blanketed with a comfortable-looking cover of snow dotted by forest green and turquoise pine trees, and more importantly, no sign of enemy movement. Dehydration was scratching at the back of his throat, and he coughed, then immediately regretted it. The same snow being blasted into his eyes made it into his throat. At first, it was a relief, as the snow melted and water trickled down his parched throat. But he reminded himself that drinking snow was actually detrimental, as it was so cold. The obvious solution would be to just melt it, but no matter how hard they tried, neither the British soldiers nor the Americans could get a fire started, not in this weather. Hugging his arms to keep from freezing, Lt. Carter paced the perimeter of the camp, chilled. The close-cropped dark brown fuzz on his head wasn't helping at all. The navy-blue sky offered nothing by way of light except a few pinpricks of light emanated by distant stars, as tonight was a new moon. With no flashlight, Carter found himself stumbling on rocks and pinecones buried in snow, but still presenting enough of an obstacle for him to trip over, not even counting the ice. Carter had less marched around the camp, and more slipped and stumbled around it. By the time he had made a full rotation, Lt. Carter was sore from head to toe. But at least the snowstorm seemed to be slowing down a bit, or maybe he was just getting used to it. Rubbing his ears in an attempt to restore some feeling to them, Carter muttered curses, this time anything that came to mind. The stupid cold? Check. The stupid "secret war"? Check. The stupid Brits for getting him into this mess? Check. The stupid-suddenly, Lt. Carter froze in place, clamping his mouth shut. He had heard something. The rustle of a pine tree...someone was in the valley. Or, judging from the noise, more than someone. Multiple someones. Immediately after identifying the sound, Carter slung the rifle on his back to the front, grasping it with numb hands and immediately sighting in on the valley with the scope. But it was helpless. The cover of the pine trees, plus the storm, made it difficult for him to even see the trees, let alone spot the source of the sound. The snowfall had increased, but the gales had decreased, at least. Without the wind whistling through his ears, he felt a little better. Perhaps Lt. Carter couldn't see, but he could hear. He would have to do this by sound alone. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Carter tried to block out the feelings of cold, and concentrated on listening. His efforts were rewarded with the crunch of boots on snow, in the valley and slightly to the right. Turning his weapon the direction of the sound, Carter continued to listen. Next, he heard the muffled sound of talking, slightly above where his rifle was pointed. Again, he adjusted his aim to the source of the sound. Finally, there was the sound of a branch snapping underfoot, right about where he was aiming. Quickly, Carter's eyes opened and he looked through the scope. Sure enough, he saw that he was aiming for some person. Looking nearby, he also noticed that two other people followed that person. Carter frowned. He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't even know if they were friendly or hostile. Should he take the shot, or alert the camp. Carter decided to investigate further. Trying to remain stealthy, he half-walked, half-slid the short distance down to the valley. However, in this the snow was beneficial, muffling the slight thump when he came to the bottom of the valley. Shivering, Lt. Carter tailed a fair distance behind the three unidentified walkers of the darkness. But even with so little visibility, he could easily keep up with them. After all, they were apparently impeded by the darkness as much as he was. And now that he had become slightly accustomed to being as good as blind, his hearing was compensating. All traces of the exhaustion brought on by a long day with no sleep had been wiped from Michael Carter. He was intrigued, and could not had slept now if his life depended on it, despite his wishes of just a half hour before. Just as the three mystery men exited the valley, they froze. Lt. Carter froze with them, wishing that his heaving breaths weren't sending up mini smoke signals of heat up to indicate his location. Lt. Carter held his breath and hoped that the mystery men didn't know he was there. Then, he saw the mystery men lay down, prone on the snow. Carter saw one of them look through binoculars and realized that they weren't surveying him...they were surveying something else. And Lt. Carter knew he had to see what they were seeing...or at least identify him. He scaled the nearest evergreen, wincing at the slightest sound he made, as snow fell or his boots scuffled against bark when he slipped. Luckily though, Lt. Carter was adept at stealth, and soon he had made it to the top of the evergreen without pricking up any ears. But when he saw what was below him, he gasped unintentionally before he could stifle it. The three mystery men were the Brits' top brass and the golden boy; Cpt. Thomas, Sgt. Hamingson, and Pvt. Chesterfield. Technically, no one but the sentry was supposed to be out past 2300, but Lt. Carter had seen a couple of people slip out of their tent for a midnight stroll or a quick cigarette(because cigarettes were also taboo, since they presented a very clear target for a sniper and gave away your position to the enemy). And that wasn't so strange. But three Brits doing some secret midnight recon? That was very strange. What was even stranger was exactly what they were looking at; absolutely nothing. Three Britons had stolen away at 150 to do some under the radar midnight recon on thin air? That was insane. Why wouldn't they tell the Americans? Why were they keeping this a secret? Lt. Carter furrowed his eyebrows, deep in thought. This was problematic. Suddenly, he heard something again. The familiar crunch of boots falling on snow. Glancing up, Lt. Carter saw that the Brits were on the move, further out of the valley. They were still well within his view from the tree. They hadn't been doing surveillance...they had been scanning the area! Lt. Carter saw them take several wooden crates from some secret hatch in the ground. Carter's eyes opened wide as the crate was opened. A cornucopia of the very things he and his fellows had been lacking filled the crate! Food, water, even gasoline to start a fire. But the lieutenant's spurt of joy was short-lived as he ran through the implications. Why would the Brits go to such lengths to keep it a secret that they were being supplied? The only plausible answer was that they were not truly on the Americans' side, and had an agenda of their own. But Lt. Carter dismissed this theory. Surely, the Brits would reveal the supplies in the morning. If not...well, Lt. Carter would cross that bridge when he got to it. Carter slowly clambered down the tree and crept back to camp, pondering the events of the night and what he had seen. He took pains to make sure his presence was not noted. For some reason, the thought of the Brits finding him sent chills down his spine. Why, he did not know. After all, they were supposed to be his allies, right? His friends?
Maybe. Maybe not.
The only thing that Michael Carter knew now, was that he knew nothing.

Lt. Carter awoke the next morning exhausted and still immersed in thought. Groggily rising from his bedroll like a zombie, he rubbed his bleary eyes and left the tent.
"All right mate?" Pvt. Chesterfield greeted him.
"Yeah, sure," replied Lt. Carter drowsily. Pvt. Chesterfield raised an eyebrow in confusion, then shrugged.
"Hey, have any supplies arrived?" asked Lt. Carter, hoping against hope that Chesterfield would say yes.
"Are you feeling ok, mate?" laughed Chesterfield. "You're acting barmy."
"What?" queried Carter, confused.
"You must be mad, I said," Chesterfield explained, rolling his eyes. "You know as well as I do that all our supply lines are cut. Anyone who tried to help us would be uhmm...what would you say? Screwed."
Lt. Carter felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach.
"Yeah..." he muttered, nodding, uncertain.
"Well, take care," Chesterfield walked away. Lt Carter frowned. Should he tell the other Americans? Ask Chesterfield outright? After perhaps a minute(comprised mostly of the lieutenant shaking his head and nodding at intervals) Carter finally decided that he would tail the private.


A full day, and nothing even slightly interesting. Lt. Carter sighed. Maybe he had this all wrong after all. Maybe the Brits really were on the up and up. But then, Pvt. Chesterfield ducked into the forest-green command tent, closely followed by the Brit platoon sergeant and Captain Thomas. Finally, something a little interesting! Lt. Carter grinned and ducked behind a nearby bush, close enough so that he could eavesdrop on their conversation.
"Private, there had better be a very good reason for this," growled Cpt. Thomas.
"There is, sir," Pvt. Chesterfield assured him.
"Do tell," the sergeant replied sarcastically.
"I think we've been compromised," Pvt. Chesterfield stated.
"WHAT? That's rubbish," exclaimed Cpt. Thomas.
"I don't think so, sir. That American leftenant has been following me around, and I thought I heard something last night. Plus, he asked if any supplies came this morning." contradicted Pvt. Chesterfield. Lt. Carter barely caught a gasp, covering his mouth with his hand. He'd been so certain that Chesterfield hadn't spotted him.
"You think that he knows about our supplies?" demanded the sergeant, flabbergasted.
"I think so," answered Pvt. Chesterfield.
"And?" prompted Cpt. Thomas.
"And Bob's your uncle," responded Pvt. Chesterfield, with a shrug.
"We've been compromised. And what do we do about it?!" elaborated Cpt. Thomas.
"You're asking me?" asked Pvt. Chesterfield.
"You're the one who detected the cracks," explained Cpt. Thomas.
"Well, I think-" began Pvt. Chesterfield.
"There's only one thing to do," interrupted the sergeant. "We have to eliminate the leftenant."
"I agree," Cpt. Thomas nodded. "Pvt. Chesterfield?"
"Well...I...I..." the private stammered.
"Well, get on with it," ordered the sergeant.
"I disagree," Chesterfield finally squeaked out. He stared at his boots.
"So then, what d'you suggest we do, mate? Shut our eyes and hope it goes away? Perhaps the leftenant will get amnesia, or maybe a giant eagle will come down and kidnap him." the sergeant laughed.
"That's it!" exclaimed Pvt. Chesterfield, nodding.
"What d'you mean?" asked the sergeant, "what did I say?"
"You're a genius, Sergeant!" Pvt. Chesterfield continued, oblivious. "We could have him taken away by a black ops heli when he's on sentry duty. They can take him back home, and it won't be our problem, but it will have been dealt with."
"So...we requisition a heli, and hope no one spots it?"the captain snorted. "Not blooming likely.We can't ship this problem off to command. We'll have to deal with it ourselves."
"So you're saying the only option is to kill him in cold blood?" Pvt. Grangerfield asked, frowning.
"Afraid so," Cpt. Thomas replied. "Private, you knew something like this was going to happen the minute you signed on for this mission."
"I-I know," Grangerfield stuttered with a nod.
"In fact, we're doing the poor bloke a favor," the sergeant added. "After all, getting shot is better than freezing to death, innit?"
"I suppose you're right," muttered Pvt. Grangerfield.
"Look mate, I know you're not happy with this plan. None of us are. But this whole mission is just one thing to make us miserable after another, and we have to overcome that in order to complete it. The Americans are all going to die anyway, we're just speeding it up a bit. Y'know. So instead of happening in forty years, it's happening now," Cpt. Thomas said sympathetically.
"Well, that's a nice way to look at it," Pvt. Grangerfield muttered. "But I guess I've no choice in the matter."
"So, you agree that we should eliminate the leftenant?" the sergeant pressed.
"I'm not even sure if I saw anyone, but yes..." Pvt. Grangerfield murmered quietly, caving in. Lt. Carter, shocked, quickly ran, not caring or realizing that he was leaving a very visible trail of footprints in his wake. He reached a small granite ledge, and rested. He needed time to think.Rubbing his temples, he did just that. It was like his head was electrified. So, the Brits were going to kill him? Why? Because he saw their secret supplies? And what were they saying about the other Americans dying? As Carter slowly pieced what he had of the puzzle together, he came to a conclusion. This mission, it was a lot more than just some vaguely-described battle. No, what Carter was seeing now was a war. A secret war, one that the Brits had hoped to contain. Were there even any enemies here in the valley, or were the Britons only here to kill the Americans? Rest comfortably on their supplies while the Americans slowly died off from thirst, cold, or hunger. It was a frightening prospect, but Carter quickly shot it down. There had to be something in these mountains; after all, the Brits couldn't have possibly known that the Americans would stumble upon them. It'd been a strange stroke of luck as it was, but to predict it? That was impossible. The only answer he could come up with that was plausible was that the Brits would risk everything to make sure this secret war stayed that way. Why, or what this whole thing was really about, he just didn't know. Suddenly, he felt cold steel. The barrel of a gun was pressed on the nape of his neck. He could not tell who it was for sure, but he obviously had some pretty well-founded suspicions.
"Alright, leftenant," his attacker said quietly. "You'll come with me. Now."
Lt. Carter raised his hands in the air, and the assailant used the butt of his pistol to whack him in the back of the head, knocking him out cold.

Feedback would be appreciated.

Blimey, Hyper, that's one hell of a wall o'text. I'll read it later tonight, when I'm on the PC, not my phone. I liked the first one! The only problem I had with it is that I couldn't really tell which characters were saying what 'cause there was so much dialogue.

I just noticed that I failed in the second chapter. I kept calling Pvt. Chesterfield "Grangerfield". I confused him with another character called Granger(from a different story), I guess. So, whenever it says "Grangerfield", I meant "Chesterfield". Sorry about that. I could fix it quickly, but I don't want to post the whole story again.

Blimey, Hyper, that's one hell of a wall o'text

I'll read it later tonight, when I'm on the PC, not my phone.

I liked the first one! The only problem I had with it is that I couldn't really tell which characters were saying what 'cause there was so much dialogue.

wow i can see you love to write. i do to but im a bad speller.lol.i will read these two peices or fine work.if you ask me you should become a writer if not allready

The Secret War
Chapter 3

Sgt. Roland Hamingson smiled slightly as the unfortunate American's head stopping lolling backwards and the neck straightened. The prisoner was awake.
'Welcome back, leftenant," Hamingson greeted him.
"What...where am I?" the prisoner asked groggily. He was sightless thanks to the blindfold.
"I'm afraid we can't tell you that," Sgt. Hamingson replied, shaking his head. Capt. Thomas entered, and Sgt. Hamingson stood at salute. Thomas waved it off.
"Leftenant Carter," Cpt. Thomas began, "I think you know why you're here."
"What? No," the lieutenant denied.
"Why are we even talking to him?" asked Pvt. Chesterfield. "Why can't we just get it over with?"
"Because we need to know if he told anyone," Hamingson explained. "Remember, this must be contained."
"Right," Pvt. Chesterfield nodded. "So, then, mate, did you tell anyone about the supplies we're getting?"
"No," muttered the prisoner. "Why does it even matter to you guys? If your plan is to let us all die, why do you care what we know before we buy it?"
"Because you might spread the information, like a plague," Capt. Thomas explained. "And this plague must be contained."
"Great," sighed the lieutenant. "More secret war crap."
"Yeah...somewhat," Sgt. Hamingson confirmed.
"Look, guys," the prisoner coughed, "I know this doesn't end well for me. But I want to know something."
"What's that?" asked Cpt. Thomas.
"I want to know what killed me, and why all this is happening," requested the prisoner. "I won't be telling anyone, will I? I just need to know what this business is all about."
"I'm sorry," Sgt. Hamingson apologized. "But we can't tell you that."
"Why not?" Pvt. Chesterfield put forth. "Like he said, he's not telling anyone. We'd do best to honor his last wish, right?"
"I suppose we might," Cpt. Thomas concurred. "All right, Hamingson. You can tell him."
"Me? Why me?" demanded Sgt. Hamingson.
"Because as things stand, you're the one who understands our situation the best," Cpt. Thomas reminded him.
"Very well," Sgt. Hamingson sighed.
"Chesterfield, come with me. We don't need to hear this," Cpt. Thomas ordered the private. Hamingson shivered at the prospect of relating the horrors that he had already buried deep inside, hoping to never encounter them again. Apparently, his wish was not to be granted. As the captain and the private left the room, Hamingson gritted his teeth. This is a last request, he reminded himself.
"The Secret War is an accurate term for what's happening, I suppose," Sgt. Hamingson began. "But this is no ordinary war, and it's no ordinary secret. It's the difference between survival and annihilation..."
Sgt. Hamingson's eyes glazed over as he flashed back to a few months ago, when this whole thing had started. He continued to talk, telling the American what he knew. This went far beyond anything he could comprehend.

"I had just been called to see my superiors, and I felt nervous. Had I done something wrong? As I walked down the long hallway to the offices, I remember whispers following me from my fellows. They were curious, but I was in the dark as much as they were, as far as why my presence had been requested at a restricted meeting. I got to the office after what seemed like miles. I was passed through security and entered. The first thing I saw was everyone staring at me. Either I wasn't supposed to be here, or I was late. Either way, it didn't matter. I sat down quickly, at the end of a long oak table. There were only a few people seated at the huge table, so it looked kind of foolish. Immediately, one of my superiors spoke.
'Major,' he said, 'we have a serious problem. It involves-'"
"Hold up," the prisoner interrupted. "Major? I thought you were a sergeant."
"I am," replied Sgt. Hamingson unhappily. "But at the time, my rank was major. I have been demoted since then, which I would explain if you would let me continue."
"Sorry," apologized the American. "Continue."
"'-something of the utmost importance and secrecy. Based on your track record, Major, this tribunal has deemed you fit to carry out this mission. However, it is volunteer-only,' Colonel Nichols informed me.
'But sir,' I replied, 'I will need more information about this assignment to make an informed decision pertaining to whether or not I will accept your, well, invitation.'
'I'm afraid that only once you volunteer can I give you more information. As I said, this is a very sensitive subject and we cannot tell you running the risk that you will decline,' the colonel explained. I sighed.
'Strike Force 181 is ready for anything, sir!' I accepted. I wasn't certain that I could handle this assignment, but I decided to take it anyway.
'Good,' another one of my superiors replied with a smile. 'Report back in at 2400.'
'2400?' I repeated, almost incredulous. That was ridiculous! We were already forced to wake up at 4 in the morning, now I had to stay up until midnight just to information on my new mission. I almost said as much, but held my tongue in respect.
'Yes, Major. Do you have a problem with that?' the colonel asked.
'No, sir,' I answered respectfully.
'Good,' the colonel said, smiling. 'Don't be late, Major.'

Of course I was on time. I had no choice but to be on time. If I wasn't on time, I ran the risk of being ousted from the meeting, and frankly, if I'm going to risk my life for something, I like to know what it is.
'Ah, Major, you made it,' said a rear general sitting in the corner. I got the impression that the crazy time was just another test of my will. Well then, fine. If that's how they wanted it to be, then that's how it would be. I saluted him stiffly.
'Of course I did, sir,' I replied coldly.
'Of course, Major,' he said, equally cold. I got the feeling that this was yet another test to see if I was "worthy" to know what the deal was with this top-secret mission.
'Let's get this meeting started,' stated the rear general crisply. 'Major...there is an ancient ruin we need you to explore.'
'What?' I asked. "Explore an ancient ruin? How is this a job for the military?'
'You will know when you get there,' the rear general assured me cryptically.
'Very well, sir,' I replied. I was curious, but I stifled my questions. 'Can't you give me any more information?'
'I'm afraid not, Major. We've arranged for an Airbus A400m to give you and several of your fellow SAS Strike Force 181 members a ride into the area.'
'A whole platoon of only SAS soldiers?' I repeated. This was only getting stranger and stranger.
'That's right. Remember, soldier, it is crucial that no one, I repeat, no one, know about this except the other soldiers you're being sent in with," the rear general repeated.
"But I don't even know anything," I laughed.
"By the time this whole thing is over...you'll know too much," sighed the general. "You're dismissed, Major. We've arranged for an Airbus A400 to pick you up in a few hours. Be there."

The sound of the jet's engines were almost deafening, and we had to shout to be heard. We were strapped in like it was a rollercoaster, but so far things had been uneventful. The pilot sat alone in the front, separated from the rest of us by a sheet of glass with a slot in it. It reminded me of a taxi.
'Major, sir!' bellowed Captain Ian Thomas, the pilot and also a member of the SAS. 'We're approaching drop area now. I land, you get out, and I get going.'
'Got it, Captain,' I said, 'thanks for the support.'
'It's no problem at all,' Cpt. Thomas replied, his voice distorted by the oxygen mask and helmet he was wearing. Suddenly, there was a BOOM! We had been spotted, and the enemy, whoever they were, was firing an antiaircraft weapon at us.
'We've been spotted!' yelled a corporal.
'Taking fire!' I added.
'Oh, well thank you very much for stating the blatant!' bellowed the pilot.
'They're coming from the west, in the mountains!' exclaimed a private first class, 'where are dropoff is!'
'Oh, would you lot just belt up and let me do my job ?!' Cpt. Thomas roared over the loud sound of the airplane. We all held tight to some handhold on the plane as Cpt. Thomas made a dizzying vertical roll. I saw a young corporal turn green. We were all strapped securely into the plane but it was still very frightening.
'Hahaha!' laughed Cpt. Thomas. 'Having fun back there, mates?'
'You're barmy!' a lieutenant yelled back at him with a visible effort.
'And risking your life on a regular basis and taking part in a clearly dangerous, very hushed up mission to supposedly examine some ancient ruins is completely sane!' Cpt. Thomas yelled back sarcastically. I had to agree with him.
'WATCH OUT!' I bellowed. The enemy had a honing missile after us.
'Hang on to your lunch, blokes!' Cpt. Thomas called back to us, and after that I lost track of what was happening. Oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling and we all gladly took hold of them. I took deep, deep breaths as Thomas did, actually, I don't know what. I lost sight of what was up and what was down, and basically all I knew was that we were moving a lot. The G-force caused our eyes to bug out a little, and seeing my green-faced, bug-eyed comrades I would've laughed if I hadn't known I looked the same.
'We're going down!' Cpt. Thomas added. 'Those missiles are going to get us no matter what I do. I can buy us some time but you lads need to get your parachutes on and prepare for an emergency jump.'
'Who the hell are they?' I demanded.
'If I knew, I would tell you,' Cpt. Thomas replied. 'Just concentrate on getting out of this plane in one piece.'
'I've a question, Captain,' the green-faced corporal asked, barely opening his mouth. 'Does this morning's tea and biscuits count as a piece?'
'Not at all, corporal,' Captain Thomas answered. The corporal opened his mouth and the morning's tea and biscuits ended up all over the floor, including on my boots. I would've raised by boots up to get them out of the pavement pizza, but Cpt. Thomas chose that moment to flip over, so that we were completely upside down, and suddenly I couldn't really think of anything. I'd always prided myself on my cast-iron stomach, but even I felt ready to vomit. Only Cpt. Thomas seemed not to care about the dizzying effects of evasive air maneuvers, though that was probably because not only was he off the trolley, he had rolled right off the trolley onto the Crazy Train.
'Oi,' Captain Thomas called back, 'we're going to crash in a few seconds. Just thought you lot might like to know."
"What?" I demanded. I knew he was right, but even so, that didn't mean I liked it. I started strapping on a parachute and my fellows did the same.
"Yup, their honing missile's on its way. Not really anything I can do about it, though I suppose you could look at the bright side; at least I won't be moving the plane again,' Captain Thomas offers. Then, just as he had predicted, there's a deafening BOOM! from the back of the plane, and a heat wave rolls over us.
'That would be our cue,' I proclaim.
"Bombs away,' Cpt. Thomas responded, and a door in the jet slides open. Suddenly, we're buffeted by a blast of powerful air. The plane is beginning to dive to the ground at a rapid pace, quickly spinning out of control. The distance from the plane to the ground suddenly seemed a lot bigger than it had before I realized I was going to be jumping out. Even so, I steeled my nerves and shut my eyes, then ran out into open air. It was almost like the cartoons, where the character runs out past a cliff and doesn't realize it. Except the moment the steel of the airplane was no longer under my feet, I knew it. I started dropping like a stone, and remembered to wait a while before activating my parachute. After an agonizing count to three, I yanked on my ripcord and the parachute furled out with a WHOOSH! Suddenly, my descent was a lot slower. The air was freezing cold, not like I was used to down at ground level. The higher the altitude, the colder it gets. I shivered, and glanced up. All of my comrades plus the pilot had jumped out of the plane and activated their parachute safely. I sighed with relief. We were safe for the time being. Now that the threat of being smashed against the earth was gone, the descent earthward was actually enjoyable, like the skyride at an amusement park. The chill of the wind rushing on my face was actually calming, and I was almost enjoying myself. Almost. Were it not for the bullets whizzing past my ears with the wind. The enemy didn't seem to care that we were out of the plane, they'd just switched weapons to sniper rifles. I saw a parachute being shredded by so many bullets and peppered with so many bullet holes that it was rendered useless, and the poor chap who was attached to it started plummeting to the earth with a scream, cut off abruptly several seconds later with a sickening CRUNCH! I didn't want to know who it was that had fallen. Knowing that we were being easy targets, I shouldered my rifle and started to aim. It was difficult, with the wind, the altitude, and the fact that I was falling to the ground in a downward spiral, but this was the kind of thing I had trained years for. Shutting my left eye, I peered through the scope of my weapon with my right. Each enemy was only a tiny speck, which grew exponentially the closer we came to the ground. Finally, I got a clear shot of the enemy, and I took it. The deafening CRACK! of a gunshot next to my head sounded, ringing through my ears for several seconds afterward. But what nearly sent me into a paralyzed shot wasn't the damage to my ears, and it wasn't the fact that I missed...it was that I didn't miss, and the enemy wasn't shot. I knew, knew, that my shot had been perfect, I had been certain of it, and yet it did not hit the enemy. It was almost as if they'd dodged my bullet. Quickly, I dismissed that harebrained theory. That was impossible. Surely, I'd only watched The Matrix one too many times. I reassured myself with the fact that it was a very difficult shot to pull off, disregarding my years upon years of long range marksmanship traning. In retrospect, I now know that to be my first mistake. As the first of my allies began to drop onto the snow, however, the enemy scattered. I decided to let them leave. I wanted to make sure that all of my men were safe.I tried to look away from what was left of the poor sucker whose parachute had been ruined in midair. After I had reaffirmed that all of my people were safe, I did two things; one, I ordered Cpt. Thomas to oversee making a camp, and two, I used my binoculars to take a look at the enemy. They looked human. They looked normal. But the sight of them, the mere thought of them, made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. These enemies, I realized, were not normal. But I was a fool, and I decided not to contact command. Not yet. I would send out a search party for the ancient ruins later. I had my men rest in the newly-constructed camp. I would act tomorrow.
'Sir, the ten men you sent out to find the ruins and report back, they're missing, sir,' gulped a lanky Private First Class.
'How long overdue are they?' I asked.
'F-five hours, sir,' stammered the PFC nervously.
'Five hours? Why on Earth wasn't I told before?' I demanded.
'Standard operating procedure, sir?' the PFC answered timidly.
'Alright. I'll coordinate a search party to go find them,' I decided out loud. 'I'll take Captain Thomas, Pvt. Chesterfield, myself, Lt. Addison, Sgt. Daniels, Corporal White, and PFC. Holloway. Inform them immediately.'
'Yes, sir,' the PFC complied, saluting. Then he left.

On the mountain, snow and hail was pouring down by the bucket. I heard curses muffled by the wind from my fellows behind me, and I was tempted to do the same. After all, now that fresh snow was on the ground, the tracks that we had been following would have been obliterated. I shivered, and pulled my thin white-camouflage jacket closer. The wind bit straight through the jacket like it was nothing, going for the heart. Already, my fingers, toes, and ears were numb, and my nose was tingling. We couldn't even blink for fear that our eyelashes would freeze together. My breath came out in mini little smoke signals. Shivering to the point where it could be called quaking, Lt. Addison pointed with a gloved finger towards a blurred figure in the not-so distant distance. OUr visibility was very limited, but even from here, and even with snow half-blinding us, we could see that it was much larger than any real human. Without a word, Corporal White and Lt. Addison split to one side, while PFC. Holloway and I flanked to the other side. Pvt. Chesterfield and Cpt. Thomas continued straight down the middle. I signalled for them to fire at will, and immediately, the rapid cacophony of gunfire blasted the frigid mountain air. I shot until my gun was so hot it felt ready to melt, and then I reloaded and kept firing. We all aimed for the same enemy, and soon, peppered with bullets, those being half of what we actually fired at it, it went down. But the other dozen of them came thundering after the flanks, leaving the center group unharmed. As fast as I could blink, Pfc. Holloway had been rended limb from limb, blood spurting from him like a scarlet fount. I fired at the beast, walking backwards as I did so. It kept following me, and for some reason, even at point-blank range, it took very few shots, and even those seemed to affect it about as much as mosquito bites. I heard an ominous click from my weapon, and I knew that I had no more bullets. My courage finally abandoned me, and I ran, I ran away from that bloodbath as fast as I could. By the time I stopped to look behind me, I was already safe at camp again. I saw that very few of the ill-fated rescue party had survived; Pvt. Chesterfield, Cpt. Thomas, and Sgt. Daniels, only. And I knew that those who had survived had done so only through cowardice."
"Excuse me," Sgt. Hamingson said, "but I think I need a break." The stress of reliving this horror was really getting to him. The second that Hamingson had left the room, Carter tore off the blindfold and grabbed the radio he had on his ankle. He activated his emergency transponder beacon and set the recorder button on, and automatic transmission as well. The rest of the world would know whatever was said after this, the world would know whatever it was that the Brits were up to, and his death would not be in vain. Stuffing the radio into his sock, Lt. Carter quickly replaced the blindfold on his head just as Sgt. Hamingson returned.

The first thing I did was pick up my radio.
'What in the HELL were you thinking?!' I bellowed, the second I heard a voice on the other end of the radio.
'What do you mean?' asked the voice on the other end, sounding confused. I recognized it as the voice of the colonel who had assigned me this mission.
'Don't be smart with me. I know you know about those people, or things, or whatever the hell they are down here, and I know for a fact that YOU DIDN'T BOTHER TO TELL ME ABOUT THEM!' I screamed.
'Calm down, Major, or you will be reprimanded,' the colonel replied, but I could hear a tremble in his voice. So...he wasn't so sure about this whole thing, either.
'CALM DOWN?!' I roared. 'TELL ME TO CALM DOWN AGAIN WHEN YOU LOSE HALF A ****** PLATOON, COLONEL! NOW I WANT SOME ANSWERS!'
'Major, I demote you to sergeant' the colonel replied finally.
'Just like that?' I asked, my shock stubbing out my anger.
'Just like that,' the colonel agreed.
'I...I don't care. Just tell me.'
'Very well. But this is strictly confidential.'
'Sir, just spit it out.'
'Those...enemies...were part of an experimental attempt by the British government in coalition with the United Nations to create a super-soldier.'
'Like meth,' I recalled. 'Meth was created as an attempt to make a supersoldier.'
'Instead, we created a parasite on accident. The chemicals formed some sort of biological bond, we don't know how, and formed a super-parasite that would cause its host to become extremely powerful; fast, strong, and fearless. But it would also cause the host to lose all semblance of sanity. The most frightening part, however, of this parasite, is its transmission.'
'And how is it transmitted?'
'Thought, Sergeant. This parasite is transmitted directly, by knowledge of the parasite. That's why no one can know about it.'
'You mean, you actually gave us a parasite without telling us?'
'Not really. This parasite can lie dormant forever, harmless, as long as it is not activated.'
'What?'
'This parasite is activated by extreme emotion; grief, hatred, love. You get the drift. For some reason the parasite has become fine-tuned to the neurological tendencies of humans. It knows exactly when we're weak emotionally, and that's when it'll take us over. Now, please listen to me. You are our only hope, you have to stop them before this parasite destroys life as we know it."
'But wait. If this parasite was invented recently, how has it evolved so quickly?'
'Extreme intelligence was one of the traits we tried to instill in our super-soldiers, so was extreme adaptivity. Instead, we ended up giving it to the parasite. I need to go now, Sergeant. Remember; don't tell anyone.'" Sgt Hamingson finished. Lt. Carter was speechless. Slowly, Hamingson pulled his sidearm from its case and put it to Carter's head.
"Any last words, leftenant?" he asked.
"What have I done?" whispered Carter. Then, a gunshot echoed throughout the mountains.

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