Golden Anvil

Okay, this is sprining up from the discussion I had going (mostly with myself, but prompeted with A. I tend to over-analyze myself. Heehee.) I'd like people to take a look and help me put a finger on what A was talking about when he suggested my blog rantings are more... I dunno... vivid? yeah, more vivid than my more polished pieces. So here's how i'm gonna do this. I'm going to slap a few slices from several different things on this. Compare and contrast them for me, cause I think i'm too close to the situation to isolate it on my own.

Slice one, taken from an as yet untitled Sci-Fi work. While there are some stylistic elements borrowed from David Weber, it's still "mine.":

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The explosion was less an event so much as an act of god.
Sergeant Tom Holland, Confederated Army, winced at the comparison as he dove for the concrete of the taxi way. In the minds of the Pheoban resistance, an act of god was exactly what the horrific blast was. The rebels who launched the deadly devices believed beyond a doubt that God desired the cleansing of Pheobos of all heretics.

Unfortunately, the category of heretic included one Sergeant Tom Holland and his team of techs. And the sharp explosion that had just cratered 5 meters of flight line had come unpleasantly close to accomplishing the task.

After a few moments listening to assure himself the improvised rocket had been the sole device launched, he picked himself up from under the shuttle and began checking the status of the rest of his team.

Technical Specialist Third Class Shirley Timon blinked from behind a landing strut. Seeing Holland standing, she crawled out from her hiding place and began to dust off her coveralls.

Further back toward the shuttle's tail Jimmy Hernandez, Technical Specialist Second Class lifted his ponderous mass from the ground. The enormous Deneban native quickly patted himself down, then nodded to Holland as if to reassure his boss that he was unharmed.

"Aim's improving."

Holland turned to look at the source of the comment. William Howard, Technical Specialist First Class, was gazing up at the distant hillside the Phoebans had probably launched from.

"That, or God really is on their side," Holland quipped.

Howard grinned. Phoeban rockets were notoriously inaccurate and unreliable. Of course, blind luck could still kill a man just as dead as modern guidance systems. The Phoebans certainly seemed determined to prove the point. Holland was just glad they seldom could get their hands on modern weapons!

With the Confederated Navy keeping a tight watch over all merchant traffic coming through Phoebus Alpha, few modern weapons could be snuck in. Add in the efforts of Army patrols very determined to sniff out anything likely to be fired in their direction, and very few modern weapons ever seemed to be used by Phoeban insurgents. However, with an entire planet's resources at their disposal, the Phoebans had no problem manufacturing more primitive rockets and bombs, the likes of which might have been recognized by their counterparts from the days before mankind left Terra.

This actually suited the Phoebans quite nicely. The first colonists had been the spiritual inherrators of a Quaker father and Earth First! mother, so to speak. As such, their first acts upon landing were to reject corrupting, poluting technologies and return to the state God had intended Man to live in. Of course, they hadn't abandoned it so completely they couldn't continue to reach out and convert their neighbors using convincing tactics far more recognizable as Earth First! than Quaker. Thus leading to the whole reason the Confederated Systems had invaded and occupied. Now issolated on their own world, the Phoebans took a perverse pride at using God blessed primitive technology to attack the heretical technologist Confeds.

Confeds like Sergeant Tom Holland and his team of techs.

"All right," he nodded. "Show's over. Why don't you get back to that launcher while I call in."

"Uh, Sarge?" Timon seemed reluctant to contradict her superior. This was her first assignment out of tech school, and had been painfully careful to avoid leaving a bad impression. Still, she made herself continue. "Shouldn't we, uh, hit a bunker, or something?"

"Nah." Holland flashed his most encouraging smile. He'd known non-commissioned officers who insisted on squelching every bit of independence in his subordinates. It was thought by some to be a sign of insubordination or excuses to shirk. He, on the contrary, tried to encourage his team to ask questions and make suggestions. God knew, he didn't have a monopoly on good ideas. Quite the opposite in fact. "If the Phoebles were going to launch a follow up attack, they'd have done so already. They know better than to hang around long enough after an attack for the quick reaction force to arrive. They're long gone. Meanwhile, that launcher ain't gonna fix itself. I'd like to try to get 338 back up by noon."

Timon continued to look unconvinced, but she began collecting up the spanner set she'd dropped earlier. Holland flashed her another reassuring smile before turning to his radio. Off to the left turbines beginning to whine as the QRF prepared to go hunting for the source of the rocket. Timon shook his head as he keyed the mike. Doubtless by now the insurgents were long gone.

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Okay, next slice, this one from Justification. This work was placed in A's world, so it has restraints the Sci-fi lacks. Point out if there's a different voice to it.

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Inside himself, Danek snapped. Abuse after abuse had worn on him until he'd reached his limit. As the blow struck the woman, he'd stood and begun moving forward, setting his mug down on the table beside him, a sheen of red hazing his view. Even he was surprised at how calm his voice was as he spoke up.

"Stop!"

Jaled's head shot up in surprise. He had pretty much put the entire town under his thumb. While hitting the woman would doubtless anger much of the community, he was sure no one would cross him. After the way he'd settled Laclan, no one would risk death just to keep some woman from being slapped around a little. Evidently someone hadn't gotten the message, though. The voice, low and even, was unfamiliar to him. Must have been some traveler rooming for the night.

The voice, surprisingly calm, continued. "I suggest you leave. You'll not touch that woman again. Not while I'm here."

Jaled's eyes found the source of the voice. They widened slightly at the sight before them. The dwarf couldn't be more than mid chest high on him. His clothes, dusty and worn, nevertheless spoke of being a merchant, and he looked to be alone. Lone merchants were, in his experience, particularly easy to intimidate. He turned away from the stricken woman to face the dwarf full on.

"This ain't none of your business, runt. And if you're smart, you'll shut that mouth of yours before it gets you in trouble." Behind him, his two companions snickered. They knew that tone of voice. Jaled might let the little troublemaker go for now, but he'd be paying a follow up visit later, when the dwarf was alone and could be plucked without any inconvenient witnesses who could blab to a roving patrol of Free Kingdoms' soldiers.

Danek sized up the situation. People had backed away the moment Jaled stood up. The tables, chairs, and benches had been abandoned with alacrity, including the ones behind Danek. The benches and chairs crowded the small open area, tightly spaced by the cramming in of as many tables as possible. Danek chalked the thin aisles up as an advantage he could use. The tables he stood between were serviced by a particularly narrow set of benches. The men could try stepping up onto them, but the footing would be highly unstable. They'd have little choice but to funnel between them one at a time. So long as he kept back from the open area before the stage he couldn't be outflanked.

"I've never been accused of being particularly bright. But I'm bright enough to know better than to beat on defenseless women because men scare me."

Jaled's face screwed up in anger. "Right then," he snarled. "I guess I just need a different target."

Jaled stepped forward to get at Danek. As Danek had hoped, Jaled was channeled between the two benches, forcing him to stagger step a little. Impatient to get at Danek, he attempted to use his superior reach to smash Danek quickly.

Danek gauged the hulking man's aproach. While dwarves tended to be broader for their height than humans, Jaled stood three heads taller than he did. The narrow gap limiting Jaled was an almost comfortable fit for Danek. Less hampered by the restricted leg room and aided by Jaled's reflexes being used to fighting considerably taller men, Danek easily ducked under the swung fist, stepped forward, and hammered his knuckles straight into a groin placed a convenient height above the ground.

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Alright, next slice. This time a fantasy I'm really excited by, but with a number of my own twists. And unlike the Sci-Fi, which might be tainted by David Weber, this one can't be tied to anyone else's influence.

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The dragon's head thrust upward, high above the crest of the wave it was riding. It's eyes gazed out toward the horizon, glittering with the moon-light reflected from the surface of the sea. A snarl seemed fixed upon it's face, as if defying the sea to try and do it's worst. Whisps of smoke rolled back from it's nostrils to trail behind it as it began to swoop down the back side of the wave it had just crested.
Incongruously enough, the smoke smelt of burnt beans and salted pork.

Commander Gradik par Kheldven sighed quietly to himself. His position as Captain of the Sea Hammer allowed him his own personal steward. But his steward was new to the position, and still learning from the ship's cook. And his ship's cook obviously went to sea because no inn, tavern, or public house would have him.

At least he could comfort himself with the thought that smoke being blown in his face was from the galley's smoke stack, cleverly hidden within the ship's figure head. Had the wind been coming from behind him instead of ahead, the thick black smoke of the boiler would make life nearly impossible for a time. He could put up with the smell of burnt stew far more easily.

Lieutenant of Engines Bardolg turned as Captain Gradik stepped up behind him. The lieutenant would normaly be below, tending to the ancient bellowing monster that powered the ship. However, it was his turn to man the pre-dawn watch, and so he stood on the ship's small foc'sle gazing out into the fading darkness. He rose his hand to touch the leather brim of his cap when he realized the stocky figure that had come up behind him was the captain.

"Sir."

"Good morning, Lieutenant. Quiet watch?"

Lieutenant Bardolg nodded quietly. "Yes sir. We spotted ship's lights half way through the watch, but they were far off in the distance, headed away. Nothing else to report."

Captain Gradik grunted acknowledgement, but made no further comment. Bardolg had been his Engineer for three cruises now. While he wasn't particularly gifted at tactics, he made a perfectly decent ship handler, even for an engine man. If he said the watch had been quiet, Gradik could trust him on that.

The two men settled in quietly as the sky slowly faded from black to grey, headed toward a washed out blue. Above them, the mast tops lit up as the sun, still beneath the horizon behind them, rose high enough to touch their peaks. The hissing of water against the hull was almost lost underneath the sound of the hissing and rumbling of the steam engine that sat deep in the bowels of the hull, belching out a cloud of black that trailed behind the ship to besmirch the pink of the dawn. The slapping of the paddle wheels to either side of the mid'ships could be heard as a rapid staccato, emphasising the speed of the ship. Occasionally a cough could be heard coming forward from the stern, where the helmsman and a few deckhands stood, waiting for their watch to end.

Eventually Captain Gradik cleared his throat. "Good work on repairing that valve yesterday. Without it, we'd have had trouble making decent headway against this wind. I doubt we'd have made 3 knots."

Bardolg shifted uncomfortably. "Thank you sir. I'll pass that on to the men." He paused a moment, evidently debating with himself before coming to a decision. "May I remind you, sir, that this is further evidence of the ship's urgent need for repair and refit?"

A quiet frost crept into Captain Gradik's voice. "I'll take that under advisement."

Bardolg stiffened slightly at the quiet reproof. Gradik had to fight to stifle a sigh. The condition of the ship had been the topic of quiet discussions between the two since before the Sea Hammer had left port. Privately, he agreed with his engineer's assessment of her health, but publicly he had no choice but to nip off any discussion of the subject. The simple fact was, regardless of her health, the Sea Hammer was not going to be undergoing the refitting she needed.

He recalled a conversation he'd had just a few days before departure. His oldest brother was a junior member of the clan council. Owing to his own experience as captain of a fishing vessel, he had been appointed to help oversee the small fleet of vessels belonging to the Kheldven navy. Having gotten no where with his own superiors, Gradik had turned to Vertag for aid.

He had been rebuffed.

"Do you realize," Vertag had said as they walked along the chilly streets of Golden Harbor, "just what you're asking for? You're talking a little more than just a few extra coats of paint."

"Of course I do. The Hammer still needs new timbers and copper sheathing in the bow to repair the damage done when she ran aground during that storm six years ago. Half the ropes in the rigging are rotted. Every time we get even a minor blow I end up having to re rig the ship. I need a whole new set of rigging and canvas. My armament needs to be completely replaced. My guns are all undersized smoothbores useful only in close in combat, and barely even useful then. Even the ship's store of powder is suspect. The ship's pumps are worn out from years of use, a fact made worse by how often we need them these days. And of course they're opperated by a boiler barely able to turn the paddles any longer. That boiler is 30 years old, and was old fashioned when new! A single stroke beam boiler without even a seperate condensation chamber!" Gradik sighed. "The Hammer's just plain worn out and outdated. She needs a total refit, Vertag. As it is, it's only a matter of time till she doesn't come back. Even if she doesn't founder, she'd never stand up to a good stiff fight."

Vertag frowned. "I sympathise, Gradik. Really I do. I'm a former ship handler myself, for the sake of The Maker! I know just how bad off that ship is." Vertag shook his head, his features hardening. "You need to face facts, Gray. That ship is almost fourty years old. The sort of refit you're asking us to authorize would cost almost half the construction of an all new vessel! If we could, we would. You know that. But ever since the blasted pointy eared bastards across The Deeps closed half their ports to our shipping, we've barely had the revenue to pay for the fleet as it is. Where do you expect us to get the money for this refit of yours?" He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you. The orders stand. Hammer goes back out in three days as she is."

Vertig sighed. "Gray, I probably shouldn't tell you this, but the treasury is so tight there's been some discussion of reducing the fleet. If you keep talking about your ship like it's a death trap, it'll probably be the first to go. And if that happens, what other ships will there be out there for you to command? We have too many captains on the rolls as it is."

Gradik brought himself back to the present. Noticing the stiff posture of his engineer, he turned to Bardolg. "I'm going down to my cabin. Pass on to your relief I wish to be notified the moment we approach the shipping lane."

"Yes sir."

Returning Bardolg's salute, Gradik turned and headed back the way he came, his mind troubled by the condition of his ship, a condition he was not even allowed to admit to his engineer.

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And finally, since it was what A cited as an example of the voice he specifically seemed to enjoy but i find unpolished, unrefind, and un-publishable, a little dollop of my Blog.

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Okay, so I just spent three weeks in the middle of no where (also known as Arizona, and I was actually more southerly than middle. A place a little north of Tuscan, which must be Spanish for "Thank god the damn whites stole this place from Mexico.)

Anyhoo, for those of you in the military, I was there for Phase II BNCOC. (For those not in the military, it was a "Promote Me!" school). And as most schools in the military are, it was repititious, boring, and over-long. Fortunately the instructor was actually rather cool. And my fellow students...

I am used to being the class clown. You know, the quiet guy who waits until the perfect moment to toss out that rather off comment that totally wrecks composures for the next ten minutes? That's me. This class, there were six students. And six clowns. Good thing SSG Johnson had a sense of humor...

I am also used to being the smartest fellow in the class. In this one, I had the worst score of all. A paultry 96%.

It was kind of cool being surrounded by true peers. People my own wave length. People who understood there was more to life than drinking all night then cowtowing all day in class. People who knew how to have fun and STILL learn well enough to kick my arse on the tests.

Anyway, got to see a few of the sites during spare time (we tended to finish lessons early in spite of our highjinks.) Figured I might mention a few of the highlights in case you ever get exil... er, take a vacation to Hel... er, Arizona.

Picacho Peak. Site of the fight between the North and South during the War Between the States that took place the furthest west. The massive armies (about 50 people, total) waged the battle that would delay the Galadsden Pass campeign for a couple months. There's not really much to see there but a small monument, but the Peak itself was quite a hike. I made it half way before having to return (Note: Do not climb a peak 1500 feet tall in 109 degree heat, no shade, in tennis shoes and a tee shirt. And for gods sake, bring water!)

Saguaro National Park. Lots of huge cactus you always picture as being the halmark of the west, even though they mostly live in Mexico. Hiked 10 miles, going from 1500 feet to 4000 feet and back. Marvelous views. This time I was better equiped, and stomped my three companions into the ground.

The Desert Museum. neat place. Well set up. Lots of marvelous exhibits both indoors and out. Got to see a Gila Monster. Smaller than I expected.

Tombstone. Yeah, the place where Wyatt Earp and the Clantons tangled. Touristy. More theme park than historical site. Fun for kids, though.

Kritschner Cave. Expensive! 25 bucks by the time we paid the entry fee and got into the cave tour. Still, very cool. They've put in a huge effort at trying to preserve the cave overall by building carefully restraining paths and trails, and controling entry. To be honest, the tour seemed a bit too flashy and fancy, with light shows and music, but the cave itself made up for the distraction of their showmanship.

The Fench Quarter. Cajun Restaraunt. Good food. The blackened catfish was marvelous (though a bit spicy even for me, and I used to eat jalapenios as a snack). Occasionally they bring in live music.

International Wildlife Museum. Get this. A private museum built to educate about the worlds wildlife, filled with thousands of exhibits featuring creatures from all seven continents, biology exhibits, and exhibits on conservation and wild life preservation... funded and put together by a colition of big game hunters. Place was awesome. The exhibits were incredable. And they didn't just pay lip service to conservation. This place demonstrates that hunters can be preservationists too (a common thing in Idaho, but one most folk I talk to from more populace states seem to be unable to believe. it's simple, really. If we don't promote conservation, there won't be anything left for us to hunt. We get it.) Well worth the entry fee.

Anyway, I still don't like Arizona much. But at least I had some good times, and met with a decent bunch of folk.