Sam Winchester

It's been a while since I posted something new from this, so here goes.



The van carrying the “package” sped through the winding streets of Alvorada en route to the largest building in the city, owned by the richest and most wanted drug trafficker in South America, Aleksander Voinovich. A former Russian Spetsnaz agent, Voinovich had also been one of the most prominent arms dealers before his departure from Russia.

For years Alvorada had been a haven for drug dealers, and though attempts had been made to pre-empt that, it was the same now as it had been in the early eighties. To deal with the surging rise of narcotics in the city, more policemen had been drafted in. They quickly learned that it was much easier to turn a blind eye to goings-on, then to risk death. After all, every man has his price, and the smart ones are usually the ones who know that life is more important than a job. Some had tried to play Voinovich for a fool; taking the money without looking the other way. Those had been dealt with in such a manner as to convince the others of their fate it they followed suit.

And so, Voinovich lived a relatively untroubled life. Not yet thirty, he had already accumulated a wealth of mammoth proportions, and the benefits which came from such a lifestyle were vast and numerous. The business of prostitution had never appealed to him. Nevertheless, he had his choice of women, both young and experienced, nightly. He had five alternative homes, each a safe-house if the day ever came when he had to leave. A mean shot from his days in the Spetsnaz, he had hunted every kind of animal native to this country, including men. He was never one to dabble in his own product, choosing alcohol instead to alter his senses, and not much these days. This had earned him the respect of his fellow peers, and in doing so had boosted his reputation. They all knew he was a serious man who demanded a similar mindset from his workers. But he was fair, and those workers were paid well and protected – from both themselves and the police. He exercised regularly – another leftover from his past – and dieted properly. The Cuban cigars he smoked were the only unhealthy part of his lifestyle, but they were as much to do with image as anything else. And besides, he was allowed some pleasures, wasn’t he?

But drug trafficking was no longer enough. It had earned him immeasurable wealth, but arms-dealing was his bailiwick, and the time had come to return to it. With his wealth, commissioning a team of engineers and weapons-specialists to design a high-tech weapon had been child’s play. The entire project had taken place in Russia, far enough away so that the imperialist spies would never learn of its existence. Voinovich had entrusted the overseeing to his close friend, Pavel Kirov. Kirov, an arms dealer himself, had enough knowledge to handle everything.

And so now, as the van approached the building, Voinovich was about to see his new creation for the first time.

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Tyrone Williams flew the Comanche attack helicopter as low and as fast as he dared. A competent pilot, Williams knew the dangers of such a manoeuvre – terrain has a nasty way of appearing out of nowhere, especially while wearing light amplification goggles. His target was dead ahead, doing approximately seventy miles per hour – no surprise there. The speed limits in Alvorada were merely a suggestion, not an obligatory requirement.

‘Fast-track, this is command, do you copy?’ The chopper was fitted with speakers, which came in handy when Williams wanted to listen to his favourite tapes. Now, the voice of James Fehan could be heard.

‘Roger that, command. Fast-track here. Target is acquired.’

‘Copy. You are green-lighted to intercept. Do not destroy the van.’

‘I got the mission briefing, sir. I am aware of that.’

There was nothing else needed to be said.

Williams pushed the cyclic control stick forward, giving the chopper a slightly greater nose-down angle. Thumbing the switch for his 20mm cannon, he watched the Heads up Display, bringing the pipper on the engine block. When he got within a hundred yards, he depressed the button.

A line of green tracers cut through the night sky.



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All comments appreciated.







Sam.

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Erdhexe

I noticed that you're going too much for the "fast-paced" than for the "in-depth." In chapter one, as others already stated, there was a lot about KGB and FSB and what ever else. In this one: ALVORADA, BRAZIL, 02:40 HRS E.S.T. I wasn't sure with whom I should identify with. Is it Voivonich? Or Williams? You tell us a lot about Voivonich, (and I was told I had done the same mistake in my writing, so I know from experience) it's with a lot of passive sentences, more like a narration. I believe you're writing in the "omniscient" style, which is very difficult for the reader, because he or she never knows in which head he or she is. You concentrate on so much action, the you forget about character development, careful plot development, which includes "the building up" to some exciting event. "Foreshadowing" someone else had called it. Your writing style is very good. Try to forget Clancy for a while. You don't need him (I hope you don't misunderstand this). You'll be fine then.

Claudia

Sam Winchester

I go for the fast-paced in all my first chapters, Claudia. That way I can get people interested enough to read on, and then I can bring in details later on.

What do you mean "identify with?" Voinovich is the drug dealer whom the package is being delivered to. Williams is the helicopter pilot tasked with the job of retrieving the package. You pick who you want to identify with.

Because Voinovich and Williams aren't central characters in the novel, their character development isn't necessary.

I don't mean to snipe, but passive sentences aren't always wrong. I know I'm a confessed Clancy aficionado, but he uses them all the time, and he's one of the most successful authors of his generation. I know what you're saying, but I don't read only Clancy. In this case, I think the passive voice is okay because I'm creating a time-line.

Thanks for the read, Claudia, and I appreciate your comments.

Sam.

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Erdhexe

I only meant well, Sam. Didn't mean to throw any punches.

Claudia

Sam Winchester

I see what you mean by passive sentences. I'm not showing enough there. Okay, I'll try to weed that out. Thanks for the advice, Claudia.

Sam.

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Sam Winchester

I'm not angry, Claudia. I didn't see the passive sentences until the second time around. I will be more vigilant for them next time. Your input has helped. I was just saying that Clancy uses them, but he's already made his name... anyway, thanks for reading.

Sam.

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