SF Drabble #437 "The Hinge Of Fate"

We won the Battle of the Kuiper Belt with mass drivers and x-ray lasers and by the skin of our teeth. I counted the UNAF ships left undamaged at the end of the battle on my fingers, but the Woolies' invasion task force was an expanding cloud of gas and debris in a highly eccentric cometary orbit around Sol.

We spent a year building for the counterattack. I hear things were bad on Earth during that time, with planetwide rationing and fuel shortages, everything going towards the war effort.

But it was Midway: we never lost a battle after that.

SF Drabble #436 "Great White Hunter"

It nosed around in the black alien grass, dug in the dirt with its long curved tusks, and then lifted its head as if scanning for threats, its large, pink, sail-like ears deploying over its head with a snap and a wobble.

"It's seen us," Graves whispered over the suit-radio.

"It's heard us."

"In air this thin?"

"Graves, look at those ears: It evolved for air this thin." He raised his rifle.

"Leave it. Wait for a full-grown one."

"You want to risk being charged by a full-grown one? All five thousand kilos?"

"It's just a baby."

"Grow up."

Ghosts Of The Losheim Gap

"If we follow the tracks, we're sure to reach a town eventually, yes?" The prisoner asked, with a tone of tired exasperation.

Francis shook his head; it seemed like they'd been walking for days, weeks, always in the eerily silent, snowy half-light. "I don't think it works that way anymore."

The prisoner stopped short, exclaimed, "I don't hear the guns!"

Francis stopped also. He listened, looked up, let the snow fall on his face and begin to melt. "Me either. For a while now I think."

The prisoner sighed, and rubbed his hands together for warmth before shoving them back under his armpits. "I would rather not freeze to death in Belgium."

Francis shrugged. "If I'm right, we don't have to worry about that anymore."

The prisoner furrowed his brow, then shook his head in confusion. "Still, we must walk. Come, Corporal, march!" He started down the tracks. "Nicht schleppen!"

High Dynamic Resolution

"There, right there."

"And look up?"

"Not straight up, just sort of… up at the sky."

He set his feet, arms at his sides, tilted his head skyward. I found him with the viewfinder, adjusted some settings, and squeezed off a couple shots. I walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. "Want to see?"

He was incredulous. "You're done already?"

"Sure." I showed him the LCD display, scrolled through the pictures until I found the best one. "This is my favorite."

"Beautiful." He stared for a moment, then said with some disappointment, "No need to paint it now, really."