From the contest Write to Rank, a competition about action writing with challenges every week. This is my entry on the contest. Hope you enjoy it.
Released :
Part 1 -white belt : write a 100 words flash-fiction action about the realization of danger...
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‘Log: 27th of February, 1942
Thirteen ships sank after the Japanese Naval Forces bombarded us. We are currently retreating to the city of Surabaya in Eastern Java. Our destroyer is the least to take the damage. The rest of the fleet sank. Our destroyer survived six hours of attack, but we’re still moving, so that’s something. Although, smoke and fire are everywhere, Captain Bramberg is very optimistic about our odds. God bless us.
Jules Buchanan’
Waves whacked the ship’s metal skin, jangling me and my mates like we were sitting in a metal can. Water poured from the nearest hole, and John was still trying to clog it.
“Oh yes, just chill there on your fancy chair and write letters all day. It’s just another normal day in Dutch Indies, nothing to worry about.” John shot his eyes toward me in a disgusted manner.
“This is not a letter. It’s a log, and if we sank, someone will find this and write our story from the crew’s perspective in the history book. If we live long enough, maybe thirty years later, this log will be everywhere in New York Central Library, or maybe even the National Museum.” I stood and reach for the glass bottle at the end of the room. I put the sheet there and tossed it outside through the window.
John almost sent me another mockery, but the loud noise interrupted him and deafened our ears for five seconds. It was very loud until you couldn’t even tell what caused it.
I snatched my rifle and followed John to the deck. The situation was a mess. Crews and officers rushed here and there, carrying ammunitions and dead bodies, bucketing water out of the destroyer. A pillar right in front of our face had tumbled, causing the loud sound we heard before.
The night deepened, limiting our sight to the outside world, but I assured myself that what I saw was real. It was the beachfront. We survived!
“Shore!” Someone from above me shouted the word, happiness and hope flavored his voice like a sauce to a meal. Everyone cheered up, including me and John, who later hugged each other despite our constant fights throughout the sail.
It must be a small dock for cargos because the lights just turned on when we approached it. The Dutch flag appeared five seconds after, confirming us that it was friend’s dock not foe’s.
−
Red.
Red was the color I least expected. Red reminded us that death were still onto us.
Red is the color of blood. Red is one of the colors of our flag. But at that moment, red was the color of the blaring alarm on our ship.
“Jeps!” John shouted the word, blowing the spirit of our hope to dust. Everyone started scrambling off, rushing toward their posts as three fighters arouse from the full moon. The fighters were onto us, locking us as their target before the caliber guns on the hulls aimed and blasted them.
