another scene for "writing out there...."
May. 17th, 2018 11:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drhoovesIt's been a hectic few weeks, but I've got this scene done, another half written, and a few more rattling around in the old noggin. Taking a little time out now to gather some notes, but not worried about plot, arc, motivations, etc., at the moment. So far I'm surprised how it's developing. Some other writers I've followed have made comments about how their characters and storylines "surprised" them, which makes much more sense now when writing in "pants", or rather "seat of the pants" mode.
Scene # 4, draft #1
*******************
Their scarves, previously crusted with white frost, now hung limp, damp around their necks.
Snowsuit guy, whose name was David, followed behind Benson and Brian as they headed down a muddy path through the snow to a long, low building just under the trees. Entering, Benson was greeted by a welcome punch of warm air, heavy with the smell of cooking oil and wet socks.
“Sit down over there, Mr. Benson,” said Brian. “We'll get Charlie to hustle up some vittles for us.” He pointed to a table near the center of the room. David sat down across from him, saying nothing, his eyes fixed on a large stone fireplace at the end of the room. A small fire burned dimly.
Within a couple of minutes, Brian returned from the next room, the sound of clattering pots and curses drifting faintly across the room. He poured out three cups of hot tea. Benson gratefully grasped his cup in his hands for warmth, and began sipping it loudly.
“Hope you like chow mein. Charlie is from Taiwan originally, so he likes to cook a mixture of vegetables, noodles, and whatever fresh killed critters we might have. His rabbit egg foo young ain't bad.”
Benson nodded, his throat still constricted with the fear of what he thought might be a life ending experience. He shivered again though he felt his body, especially his feet, now warming up.
“David, did you check the charge on the radio's battery pack for tonight's broadcast?”
David nodded. “Yeah, it was windy enough yesterday we got it to just over 90%, so it should be good for the rest of the week.”
Brian looked at Benson. “We received your transmission and confirmation code last night from the cabin. You're not too fast on the keypad, but we got it. Oh, and by the way, the deer population is booming!” He and David laughed. Benson grinned meekly.
The chow mein wasn't bad, but considering how hungry Benson was he thought beef gravy served over old shoe leather would've been great. The long tiring walk had taken its toll, and he involuntarily began to nod off.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Benson awoke with a start, the piercing eyes of the man in the black checkered shirt looking at him. He was smiling.
“Are you Theisen?”
“Well, that's one of my names. Most of the gang just call me Boss. My real name is unimportant. And of course at this point, you don't have a need to know.”
Benson considered that for a moment, couldn't argue and replied,“So what's next?”
“First, while we start our meeting in 20 minutes, we'll have Charlie send up some of his world-class coffee to give you a jolt and keep you awake.” Benson nodded.
“We have an operation planned for next week, and again – you have no need to know at this point.”
“At 20:37, we'll be tuned into 41 kilocycles, to listen for a message from central. They're located in the Midwest near an old quarry, with a railroad spur and grain silo. It's a good location for their antenna. Hopefully atmospherics will be favorable.”
Benson nodded again. “What directions or orders will they be transmitting?”
“Not much tonight. Just some estimates of supplies in our area. That's where you come in. We need your help validating those numbers. We're planning to track them for a while, maybe six months or so, and having them be accurate will help us plan the offensive in the fall.”
“Why in the fall?”
“We have our reasons, and assuming you check out over the next few months, you'll probably be pulled in to help plan that.”
Benson didn't have to ask what would happen if he didn't 'check it out'. “So that guy Peters, last summer in Boise – I imagine he didn't check out?”
Theison looked down. “He approached us through a different but similar channel as you. He had a daughter in one of the retraining camps that he thought we didn't know about. So we knew from the first but there was a big potential for him to be compromised.”
Benson let that sink in. “How did you tell he was trying to infiltrate?”
Theisen grinned, a grim, barren grin. “He was caught taking notes on our facility at Sandpoint. After some persuasion, he confessed and gave up a small radio and codes he had.”
“Didn't seem like a whole lot of effort was made to have his death look like an accident,” said Benson casually.
“True. We came up with a rather elaborate scheme for that, but our local guy in Boise got impatient and just bulldozed him right after he arrived. Actually, since Evans was such a loose cannon and a liability, it worked out okay.”
Theisen smiled again. “Evans thought he was a much bigger wheel than he really was, which is why we were cutting him out of the picture anyway. Your security forces just needed to pointed in the right direction.”
Benson's eyes grew wide.“You're telling me an awful lot, considering the stage I'm at.”
“Once again, correct,” replied Theisen. “But we need your help now. Consider yourself fast tracked, accelerated, whatever. The Feds are growing weaker every day, and it's only a matter of time before Chavez moves up from old Mexico. If we don't come to power before then, we'll all be speaking Spanish, or dead, two years from now.”
Benson sighed, a bitter remorse passing through his thoughts. Committed now, he thought. “When do you need those numbers confirmed by?”
“That's what I want to hear. You'll be back in Portland in three days. So about five days from now I'll expect Hilliard to be given the green light to arrange a pickup of the data.”
“That's a quick turnaround, but if that's what you need, I'll get it done.” Benson tried to speak with conviction, but he had his doubts.
The remainder of the evening was spent listening for what turned out to be a two and one half minute message, repeated once with the coded supply numbers for the Northwest district. Benson was amazed at the speed with which a small man, Williams, handled the transmitted code. About ten seconds of fade out occurred during the first transmission, so Williams use the repetition to confirm all the characters and fill in the blanks. Benson figured he would've missed more than half the transmission.
“Here ya go,” said Theisen, handing Benson a copy of the decoded message. “Our estimates of oil, gas, diesel, ammunition, and a few other items in your district.” Benson took it in hand, glanced over the numbers and then carefully folded it up. The ball, as the old saying went, was now in his court.
Scene # 4, draft #1
*******************
Their scarves, previously crusted with white frost, now hung limp, damp around their necks.
Snowsuit guy, whose name was David, followed behind Benson and Brian as they headed down a muddy path through the snow to a long, low building just under the trees. Entering, Benson was greeted by a welcome punch of warm air, heavy with the smell of cooking oil and wet socks.
“Sit down over there, Mr. Benson,” said Brian. “We'll get Charlie to hustle up some vittles for us.” He pointed to a table near the center of the room. David sat down across from him, saying nothing, his eyes fixed on a large stone fireplace at the end of the room. A small fire burned dimly.
Within a couple of minutes, Brian returned from the next room, the sound of clattering pots and curses drifting faintly across the room. He poured out three cups of hot tea. Benson gratefully grasped his cup in his hands for warmth, and began sipping it loudly.
“Hope you like chow mein. Charlie is from Taiwan originally, so he likes to cook a mixture of vegetables, noodles, and whatever fresh killed critters we might have. His rabbit egg foo young ain't bad.”
Benson nodded, his throat still constricted with the fear of what he thought might be a life ending experience. He shivered again though he felt his body, especially his feet, now warming up.
“David, did you check the charge on the radio's battery pack for tonight's broadcast?”
David nodded. “Yeah, it was windy enough yesterday we got it to just over 90%, so it should be good for the rest of the week.”
Brian looked at Benson. “We received your transmission and confirmation code last night from the cabin. You're not too fast on the keypad, but we got it. Oh, and by the way, the deer population is booming!” He and David laughed. Benson grinned meekly.
The chow mein wasn't bad, but considering how hungry Benson was he thought beef gravy served over old shoe leather would've been great. The long tiring walk had taken its toll, and he involuntarily began to nod off.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Benson awoke with a start, the piercing eyes of the man in the black checkered shirt looking at him. He was smiling.
“Are you Theisen?”
“Well, that's one of my names. Most of the gang just call me Boss. My real name is unimportant. And of course at this point, you don't have a need to know.”
Benson considered that for a moment, couldn't argue and replied,“So what's next?”
“First, while we start our meeting in 20 minutes, we'll have Charlie send up some of his world-class coffee to give you a jolt and keep you awake.” Benson nodded.
“We have an operation planned for next week, and again – you have no need to know at this point.”
“At 20:37, we'll be tuned into 41 kilocycles, to listen for a message from central. They're located in the Midwest near an old quarry, with a railroad spur and grain silo. It's a good location for their antenna. Hopefully atmospherics will be favorable.”
Benson nodded again. “What directions or orders will they be transmitting?”
“Not much tonight. Just some estimates of supplies in our area. That's where you come in. We need your help validating those numbers. We're planning to track them for a while, maybe six months or so, and having them be accurate will help us plan the offensive in the fall.”
“Why in the fall?”
“We have our reasons, and assuming you check out over the next few months, you'll probably be pulled in to help plan that.”
Benson didn't have to ask what would happen if he didn't 'check it out'. “So that guy Peters, last summer in Boise – I imagine he didn't check out?”
Theison looked down. “He approached us through a different but similar channel as you. He had a daughter in one of the retraining camps that he thought we didn't know about. So we knew from the first but there was a big potential for him to be compromised.”
Benson let that sink in. “How did you tell he was trying to infiltrate?”
Theisen grinned, a grim, barren grin. “He was caught taking notes on our facility at Sandpoint. After some persuasion, he confessed and gave up a small radio and codes he had.”
“Didn't seem like a whole lot of effort was made to have his death look like an accident,” said Benson casually.
“True. We came up with a rather elaborate scheme for that, but our local guy in Boise got impatient and just bulldozed him right after he arrived. Actually, since Evans was such a loose cannon and a liability, it worked out okay.”
Theisen smiled again. “Evans thought he was a much bigger wheel than he really was, which is why we were cutting him out of the picture anyway. Your security forces just needed to pointed in the right direction.”
Benson's eyes grew wide.“You're telling me an awful lot, considering the stage I'm at.”
“Once again, correct,” replied Theisen. “But we need your help now. Consider yourself fast tracked, accelerated, whatever. The Feds are growing weaker every day, and it's only a matter of time before Chavez moves up from old Mexico. If we don't come to power before then, we'll all be speaking Spanish, or dead, two years from now.”
Benson sighed, a bitter remorse passing through his thoughts. Committed now, he thought. “When do you need those numbers confirmed by?”
“That's what I want to hear. You'll be back in Portland in three days. So about five days from now I'll expect Hilliard to be given the green light to arrange a pickup of the data.”
“That's a quick turnaround, but if that's what you need, I'll get it done.” Benson tried to speak with conviction, but he had his doubts.
The remainder of the evening was spent listening for what turned out to be a two and one half minute message, repeated once with the coded supply numbers for the Northwest district. Benson was amazed at the speed with which a small man, Williams, handled the transmitted code. About ten seconds of fade out occurred during the first transmission, so Williams use the repetition to confirm all the characters and fill in the blanks. Benson figured he would've missed more than half the transmission.
“Here ya go,” said Theisen, handing Benson a copy of the decoded message. “Our estimates of oil, gas, diesel, ammunition, and a few other items in your district.” Benson took it in hand, glanced over the numbers and then carefully folded it up. The ball, as the old saying went, was now in his court.
