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A meeting.

  [b]Těnov, Kosari District 2003[/b] The dying and bucking car engine sputtered as the battered sedan slowed down and stopped on the crumbling sidewalk that ran parallel to the street. With a final whine the engine died, as Zvonimir turned the key and withdrew it from the ignition. He let both his arms fall by his side. “Alright, we’re here.” He looked to the passenger seat what Lev was sitting, then behind him where Alan and Radovan were sitting. “Let’s make this clear,” Zvonimir said firmly, “We’re going to talk, get the deal done, and then we’re outta here. 10, 15 minutes top - understand?” The other three passengers nodded in agreement. “I don’t want to fuck around with this anymore than anyone else, so no funny business.” His eyes settled on Radovan, the youngest member of his crew. He appeared to take offense to that. “The fuck you looking at me for?” He asked defensively. Zvonimir jabbed a finger towards him. “Because the last thing I need is your punk ass fucking with this ...
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WIP

  Radovan knew he had to move. A sense of urgency gnawed at his insides, coupled with a fluctuating sense of unease that reared its head every few seconds, or every time his vehicle bounced and bumped along the road. He kept his eyes closed for just a few more precious moments, shutting away the rest of the world and leaving him in a quiet, dark space where he could collect his thoughts. His knuckles whitened and his fingers curled around his rifle, tying him back to the physical world. The Notos hit another bump, and Radovan lifted slightly in his seat, helmet clinking against the roof of the armored personnel carrier.  Radovan cracked open his eyes, knowing he couldn’t hide from the world anymore.  Hell stared back. From the thin bulletproof slits that allowed the driver and commander to see the world in front of the vehicle, Radovan could take in the decrepit view. Ugly pillars of smoke rose dotted the horizon and landscape, burning fuel and oil from wrecked cars and t...
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Unfinished short story

  “Platoon, dismount!” 40 pairs of boots dropped more or less in unison as the soldiers piled out of their armored vehicles, many of them moving to take up positions around their transports. In the pre-dawn light they moved like shadows against the dim backdrop, treading the line between night and day. Thanks to the still receding winter and lack of sunlight the air was cold; exhales produced small puffs and gloved hands tightly clasped weapons grips and handles. They were all cold, but most of them were used to it by now. Senior Lieutenant Ārvaldis Krievs was no exception. He had grown up even farther north in the state of Denebola, where the winters were long and harsh, even for a northern country like Jedoria. There the wide open tundras and taigas spanned for hundreds of kilometers in each direction. As he gazed out across the flatlands on either side of the two-lane road they were on, he was reminded of home. Patches of snow were still visible on the ground, and with no sunlig...
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Zemplen War

 This is part of a ongoing worldbuilding/RP story I am working on with some friends. The character posts are here: https://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=480695&sid=8f2e2efb1c239f00602455e2b5c2c412  The background story is here: https://iiwiki.us/wiki/Zemplen_War April 19th, 2009 Just south of Sagerejo, Ruvelka There wasn’t any snow left anymore. Winters in Ruvelka were long and bitter, and snowfall was common but by the end of March it had all melted away. Part of that was of course due to the rising temperatures, but it couldn’t have been helped by the burning fires that dotted the landscape. They were everywhere, each one of them churning pillars of ugly black smoke into the sky. The rubber was the worst, once it burned you could smell it for days and no matter how hard you washed yourself it wouldn’t come out. Not that the Syarans manning the front line had many opportunities to shower. In the past few weeks they had few chances to do anything...
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