Short Story Challenge (2)
Debate Rounds (3)
- In round 1, PRO will give three topics from CON to choose from.
- In round 1, CON will give three topics from PRO to choose from.
- In round 2, PRO will announce his chosen topic as given by CON and GIVE A BRIEF PROLOGUE to the story to build dramatic effect.
- In round 2, CON will do the same as above.
- In round 3, PRO and CON will complete their respective short stories.
- Everything stays the same except:
- Best Argument = Best Story
- Sources = Rhetoric
- Conduct = Relevance to topic
Very well, here are the three topics CON may choose from:
When accepting this debate:
Post the three topics you would like me to choose from.
Thank you, and good luck!
To specify, by "prologue," my opponent means a "brief introductory statement" consisting of one to three paragraphs? This would include character, setting and plot introduction, but give nothing away?
As another note, shall we have limitations on profanity, sexual activity and gore (to keep the stories at a level appropriate for most ages)?
I will pick "Historical" upon the assumption that the pro contends that it be fiction, albeit historically accurate and somewhat factual.
Pro's three topics:
- "Steam punk" genre of Science Fiction
Cheers, and may the best effort win!
Prologue (which by the way, keep as short as possible):
Leonard woke up with a start. He attempted to jump up from his prone position in what seemed like the middle of an empty parking lot, but to no avail. His legs were trembling horribly. He looked around with astonishment, everything was ablaze. Buildings, trees, cars, even light poles. The sun was blocked out by looming dark clouds of smoke from the ongoing carnage. He noticed behind him a military grade helicopter which looked like had crashed but had not exploded. He slowly crawled his way over as his legs were still very, very weak. He investigated the main holding area and saw 2 dead military soldiers of some branch and a pilot just going through his very last moments. He approached the pilot and reached out to him.
The pilot looked over and said "No....get out of....here...now...radiation....deadly..." and with that, his soul left his eyes. But what caught Leonard's eye was the reflection off of a car window. He saw a bright orange-yellow blob slowly moving upwards. He crawled out of the helicopter and looked toward the large colorful blob...which was just taking the shape of what looked like a large mushroom cloud.
I look forward to your prologue! Good luck!
Sergeant Allan crouched in his sandy foxhole as artillery shells whistled overhead. He attempted not to bat an eye lid, aware that he wouldn't't hear the shell that would kill him. His sweaty hands deftly, almost automatically, checked his Sten gun as he readied himself. He addressed the man, a corporal, beside him, "Bloody 'ot, isn't it? I dunno if I'm ever gonna get used to this 'eat, the sand or the shelling."
"Aye, 'tisn't lovely," the corporal nervously straightened his Brodie helmet and yanked the searing bolt on his Lee Enfield, snapping it into place, "Jes' wish we could get movin'. This waiting is as bloomin' intolerable as the shelling." He winced as a shell burst less than twenty feet away, showering the two, along with three others who were sheltering with them, with sand.
The sound of rumbling permeated the air, and Allan poked his head slightly above the edge of the unit's slit trench. Through the billowing sand, Allan glimpsed the silhouettes of multiple machines approaching from behind the infantry‘s position, "Tanks," he mused, "Comin' from be'ind us - they'd better be our boys."
"Fellows, there are numerous tanks approaching; anybody 'ave a spyglass?"
"Afraid not, sir."
"Hmm, they're low-slung. Private Relding, dash off an' warn the anti-tank gunners, just in case!"
At that moment, an aide de camp dropped into the trench and greeted the unit with a clipped accent, "Hullo, chaps, no worries - Harding's sending some Rats through to say g'day to a few Jerries. Ready yourselves, fellas' - Horrocks is mobilizing. You're instructed to follow 'em on through on the Major's call."
BellumQuodPacis forfeited this round.
"Move!!!" The call pierced the noise of battle, and Allan deftly climbed the edge of his foxhole in two bounds. He brought his Sten gun to bear, but glimpsed no enemies through the dust. Crusader tanks rumbled past, kicking up immense clouds of the grit, which provided cover for the scrambling infantry. Allan's unit consolidated with the unit beside, forming their platoon and proceeding in the shadow of a Crusader.
BOOM! With a roar the turret of the Crusader imploded as an .88 shell blasted it. The "brewed up" tank lurched to a stuttering halt, and the soldiers riding the armour jumped off and joined Lieutenant McDonald's Platoon. The soldiers hastily surged past the protective position that the tank offered, not waiting to see if any of the crew were still among the living. Bullets whistled past the men as they advanced, and Sergeant Allan opened fire with his Sten gun. A bullet felled the corporal who had been walking beside him, and something pinged off of the edge of his helmet, but Allan persisted forward.
Suddenly, Private Relding pitched forward and fell headlong into a hole. Allan's fire team dropped into the foxhole, which had been defended by Germans - one of who was still alive, and feebly glared at the English soldiers. The man's blood was draining from him, and his rifle had been lost, and the man had quietly accepted the inevitable - though the intrusion disrupted his well deserved rest. He barked softly at Private Relding, whom had landed on top of him.
"Shut yer mouth, Kraut. My leg is on fire!"
"Probably twisted it. You'll have to stay here - keep your head low and guard our new prisoner of war. Give him water and try to bandage him up a bit." Allan ordered before popping out and triggering his automatic weapon, providing quick bursts of covering fire as a squad passed the hole. With a shattering explosion, an anti-personnel mine ignited, instantly killing the soldiers whom had stepped on it.
"Hmm, that could'a been us, chaps." Allan noted somberly, as he ducked, and shrapnel showered their shelter, "They cleared a path for us - ‘ead through the lane!"
Single file, the soldiers dashed through the narrow gap which was vacant of barbed wire or mines. The battle sounded fiercely around them, as tanks unleashed the full fury of their machine guns and cannon shells, as artillery shells and mortar bombs screamed overhead, as bullets and tracers whistled across the battlefield.
Allan felt detached from the battle, observing almost as if he were a bystander as he spewed bullets, emptied a cartridge, reloaded and repeated the process - not aiming, but firing from the hip. He was nearby and saw when Lieutenant McDonald took a hit in the shoulder and Platoon Sergeant Ernest assumed command of the platoon, directing all men to capture a machine gun position. Allan was swept into the charge as he hurled a grenade and blasted the MG into smithereens.
Suddenly, Allan's Sten gun jammed - a situation compounded by the fact that an enemy sharp shooter began firing at him. The beleaguered Sergeant kept his head down as he planted the stock of his weapon into the stand and bashed the firing pin with his metal canteen. He cursed as the canteen edge caved but nothing budged, "A blasted pebble in the bolt raceway! Bloomin' nuisance." Allan discarded his Sten after failing to dislodge the errant rock. He scoured the sandy ground and glimpsed a German corpse clutching a Schmeisser - two bars on his sleeve identified him as an officer.
Allan dove for the gun just as the sniper finally pinpointed his location. A bullet embedded itself into the sand where he had just crouched. Allan picked up the MP 40 and pressed the trigger once - a bullet spat into the sand. The submachine gun would do for the moment, but as soon as his ammunition ran low, he would have to find another weapon, since he couldn't fight a battle with his Webley revolver.
The platoon had not left him too far behind; in fact, they were skirmishing with bayonets in a square structure just ahead. A pocket of Germans were hiding in it and sniping as many officers as they were able, but now they were offering close range resistance with bayonets; by the time Allan weaved through the mines and arrived at the miniature fortification, the Germans had been routed - at heavy cost. The unit Allan had loosely commanded was almost entirely demolished, and word arrived by an aide de camp that Platoon Sergeant Earnest had been killed - Sergeant Allan was now commander of the platoon. Nevertheless, the company was performing well, the major hadn't withdrawn, and the Division as a whole was progressing.
"Well, then, chaps," Allan stated wryly, "I guess we'll just have to jolly well sally on. Follow me!"
Thanks for reading. : )
1 votes has been placed for this debate.
Vote Placed by Loserboi 5 years ago
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