This is a short story I wrote for my english class a while back, and I'd like some critiquing on it. Story, grammar, structure, whatever. Have at it!
BTW, if anyone comes up with a good title for this thing, I'd welcome suggestions. I've never been good at coming up with titles.
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Her name was Grace. She was a fighter pilot, one of the best, and currently she was depressed and nursing a drink in the off-duty lounge, non-alcoholic as ordered. There were two envelopes lying on the table in front of her. One was plain, white, and unopened, with Grace’s name, rank, and serial number, the equivalent of her address, handwritten in block letters on the front. The opened envelope was an official one, emblazoned with the seal of the military. The letter was clean, crisp, and typewritten on official stationary, but the ink was now smeared with her tears. She slowly put it facedown on the table and stared at it, trying to read the message between the lines.
Why’d you have to request a posting right on the border? There were plenty of openings in safer places… There were plenty of openings on this ship, here with me…
But Grace already knew the answer. Diane was a thrill seeker. She wouldn’t be happy with a safe posting, even with her friend. She knew the risks and accepted them. Grace picked it up and carefully put it back in the envelope, folded it in half, and slipped it into her breast pocket. She took a deep breath, then steadied her hands and picked up the drink. She offered a silent toast to Diane, “I hope you’re happy…wherever you are…”
Grace reached for the second envelope, and started to open it, when all of a sudden, the klaxons started blaring and the lights turned emergency red. She calmly folded up the letter and put it with the first one, then stood up and waited for the announcement soon to come.
“All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill! The enemy has breached the perimeter!”
Grace’s pale green eyes were now focused and purposeful. She joined the stampede of pilots and crewmembers sprinting out of the lounge and to whatever their battle station happened to be. A tramcar stopped at a nearby station, the electronic sign on it read “Pilot Prep Area.” Grace wove through the crowd, jumped on the quickly filling tram, and found a seat next to one of her squad mates.
“What’s wrong ma’am?” he asked, seeing her watery eyes and wet cheeks.
“Not now, prep yourself.” she replied in a command voice. It was enough to stem the flow of any further questions from him and the people around them. The man nodded in reply—accepting her command—and started some breathing exercises.
The next five minutes were a blur of routine and habit. Grace, who was now “Squad Leader”, “Lieutenant Prycin”, or “Ma’am”, was responsible for her squad's objective, so she was presented with a hasty briefing and immediately sent on her way to the fighters. She was also responsible for the status of her squad, who were thankfully all present and preparing. Her immaculate flight suit was an example and reminder to all other pilots. Soon enough, Grace strapped into her fighter and started briefing her squad.
“Listen up squad!” she barked. “We’re the third wave launching and there’s already a lot of fighters out there, so watch your fire! Last thing you want is a court-martial! Stick together, and don’t be a hero and get yourself killed. Understood?”
Grace’s helmet speakers filled her ears with the roar of her squad’s unison reply, “Yes ma’am!”
Grace said again, “Good hunting squad!” Then, her entire demeanor changed, and she was no longer “Squad Leader”, “Lieutenant Prycin”, or “Ma’am”, but just Grace. She spoke softly into the microphone, “…and good luck out there…”
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“And so we commit the bodies of our fallen brothers to space.”
Grace stood at attention, her pale green eyes now dry and unnaturally red from stress and lack of sleep. The allied forces had finally fought off the attack, called in reinforcements, and collected all the remains. That was three days ago. Grace had managed to get a total of about four hours of sleep in that time. She could have chosen not to attend, they would have let her, but she felt that it was the only way she was ever going to be able to sleep again, to get a sense of closure.
The admiral continued the ceremony, “Honors… ten hut!”
Grace and the rest of the surviving pilots saluted in unison. Her eyes began to water.
“Duty, honor, and self-sacrifice. Death does not diminish these qualities in a soldier. We shall remember.”
The canisters containing the remains of the fallen pilots were launched into space, to drift together forever, among the stars. Tears now fell freely from her eyes.
“Crewmen, dismissed.”
Grace finished her salute and turned to leave. A person approached her and handed her an envelope, emblazoned with the seal of the military. Grace took it and hurried to her quarters.
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“If you wish to volunteer for this operation, check the yes box and drop it in any mailbox…”
Grace was torn, but whatever her decision might be, she knew she couldn’t make it at that moment. She put the letter back in its envelope, folded it, and put it in her breast pocket, next to the two that were already in there. She took out the unread one and slowly, carefully opened it. The letter was handwritten… from Diane. It was short yet it took forever to read.
“Grace, I thought you should know. I’ve volunteered for a black op. Me and the rest of these people could end this war by next week if we pull it off. Please don’t worry about me. I may not come back, but I feel this is worth it. Thanks for being a great friend.”
The words of the admiral echoed in Grace’s mind. Duty, honor, and self-sacrifice… She looked at Diane’s letter again, and then made her decision. Grace took out the other envelope, took out the letter and read it again. She checked a box, sealed the envelope, and dropped it in her mailbox. She reaffirmed her decision. She had a job to do. She was a fighter pilot, one of the best.
A Short Story!
Moderator: LadyTevar
