You have real talent for this style of writing. Very much goes with the style of the Jihad books. I found the series you did for your old merc unitit very enjoyable, particularly the flavour enemy units.
Hey, thanks a lot man! That means heaps to me! Hope you enjoy.
“Okay, okay!”
The buzzer only seemed to intensify as Gabriel West rolled out of bed, the cheap frame groaned in protest at the shift in his tremendous body.
Fumbling on the night stand he found his phone and flicked off the gradually intensifying alarm.
Shaking his head, the big man stretched - at 6’8 or 182cm, his head almost hit the roof and his beefy outstretched arms filled the cheap apartment’s bedroom.
As West began hunting for clean clothes he glanced at the blanket covered lump on the other side of the bed.
“I take it you’re not getting up then,” he said, giving the blankets a playful tug.
When his only response was a muffled moan, West grabbed a handful of the bedding and pulled harder.
This time there was a scream of protest as Sasha wrapped up the covers and pulled back, her head of dark curls polling out from under the sheets.
“No fair - you’re the one who kept me up all night,” she replied, smiling as she pulled the blankets over herself.
“I can’t deny that,” he said, leaning into to kiss her.
“But, it certainly was fun.”
Blankets slid back, she melted into him as he wrapped her in his arms - only for a loud buzzing to echo through the apartment.
“She’s early,” Sasha said, pulling back and then suddenly pushing him towards the door.
Muttering, West dressed quickly in a pair of old jeans worn through at both knees and a relatively fresh work shirt proudly stamped with the symbol of the Berenson’s Planetary Union of Dock Workers on the left breast and “STRONGER TOGETHER” in giant red letters across the back.
Charging downstairs as the buzzing continued, West was slightly disconcerted to see the apartment's steel stairwell wobble under his bulk.
Cheap housing didn’t typically cater to the Freebirth sons of Elementals, especially ones who maintained a pretty serious weights and cardio regime.
Really need to talk to the super about those stairs he thought as he almost bounded to the front door.
Outside the bell gave another buzzing cry - almost conveying the frustration of the person pushing the button on the other side.
West glanced in the mirror by the door quickly - his short black hair was cut too short to be sleep tousled and his beard was still well groomed.
Next to the mirror sat a small glass faced display cabinet - on the top shelf sat a hardcopy of his Republic citizenship alongside a holopicture of West accepting the certificate in full Standing Guard dress.
The second shelf was a mess of objects tossed together: a hardcopy photo of a teenaged West and his father - a hulking giant of a man - and mother, dwarfed between the pair, posing in front of their first house, a scattering of old ribbons, medals and memorabilia weighed down by an enamel cat’s head surrounded by a galaxy of colours and even two scorched and chipped metal fingers from a Battle Armour suit.
He threw open the door to find a petite, dark haired woman and a small child with matching hair worked into braids.
“We’ve been out here forever, what took so long?” his ex-wife began as the child threw herself at West to wrap her arms around his waist.
Half dragging, half carrying his daughter into the house, West beckoned the woman in.
“You’re early.”
Oblivious to the icy setting the little girl continued to prattle, while clambering up her bear like father, eventually resting in the crook of his meaty arm.
“The studio has called me in, there’s something breaking and we’re down two other general news reporters,” Monica Santiago (West had found out via her byline she’d dropped his name) said.
“Look, we need to-” West began speaking, only to be interrupted by the distinct chirp from his phone indicating a military band.
Reserve duty.
Balancing his daughter he pulled out the phone and read the message.
“Monica, I… I’ve gotta go, I’ve been called up,”
If looks could kill, even the advanced armour of his two tonne Kopis would not have saved him from the arctic glare the dark eyed woman speared him with.
“It’s an emergency reservist call up - not a drill. I have to go.”
“I came here to drop your daughter off and all you can think of is going off to play soldier?” Monica almost screamed, throwing her arms up in the air.
His reservist duty had been a continued point of friction during their 10 years of marriage. It wasn’t the reason they’d split, but it added ammo to the fire she could throw at him.
It was at that moment that Sasha came down the stairs, a sheepish look on her face. Not helped by the fact she was wearing one of West’s PUD sweatshirts, with “Stronger Together!” emblazoned across the front.
“Hi,” she said, raising one hand.
Six-year-old Honour West took that opportunity to launch herself out of her father’s arms to wrap her arms around Sasah.
“Sasha-Cat!”
Monica turned on her ex husband, her eyes somehow now more enraged.
“Oh, so our daughter has met your… woman. But I’ve not. And I presume you’re about to suggest our daughter stay with her while you play soldier?”
Glancing from woman to woman, open mouthed like one of the prized 10 pound Purka fish caught offshore, West struggled to speak.
The phone chirped again.
“You guys sort this out, I gotta go.”
