|Uprising, by Bangar|
|Bangar, 1st FanFic Festival entry posted July 1, 2006 at 9:04 PM|
|It started in the South.
Fueled by of all things science fiction. The great writers of the pulps dismayed that their bright future wasn’t coming, that in 80 years that there was no World Government. Wars, famine, and mankind’s constant inhumanity to man continued unabated. Mankind was only just returning to the moon after a 40 year absence. So their writings turned dark, their golden age had happened. All their works were still there but their hearts had broken. A dark age of science fiction began. Asimov crafted tales of world controlling computers manipulating people, events and information towards unknown ends. Heinlein distanced himself from his later works and told his stories of dominating governments and cybercorps grinding society down. The writers followed down the path, and conspiracy theory flashed across the comm nets,each followed by one more wild. The distrust of government, corporations and banks followed, soon any large agency was suspect. Fear and suspicion ruled everyone, and when reports of troops firing upon mobs started appearing as secret comms everyone believed, though no other information could be found about the massacres. The governments lost control as rumor became fact.
|The Twentieth – WORLD WAR 2.1.01, by Savo|
|Kevin Savage, 1st FanFic Festival entry posted July 1, 2006 at 1:11 AM|
15 January 2021 01:10 GMT.
The first warning came when the medical telemetry began screaming. The Mission Control doctor monitoring the panels reached up without really looking and pressed the reset/test button. Five seconds later, the time taken for the computers to self test, bounce the signal to the moon ordering a reset/self test on the astronaut’s neck implant and return, the monitor began screaming again. Then another one started, and another, and another, quickly follow by more. The doctor’s mouth hung open. She blinked, but otherwise was frozen by what was happening. Finally, fumbling for her mike, she called the Mission Controller.
|2nd FanFic Festival entry posted November 30, 2006 at 1:40 PM|
Operation Titty Twister
Colonel Dave Orin, USAF, pushed his F-86 D “Sabre Dog”, Sex Machine, into a shallow dive, alerted by the ‘deedle deedle’ of the threat warning indicator in his ears. As his primitive radar detection gained a bead on the source of the threat, he released a salvo of four 70 millimetre anti-radiation guided rockets at the target. Once he noticed the Jihadi SAM radar site disappear in a puff of smoke, his thoughts turned to how he came to be leading his Wild Weasel flight up the Nile Valley.
|2nd FanFic Festival entry posted November 30, 2006 at 3:20 PM|
The sins of the future.
The world really had gone insane.
The sound of gunfire could be heard getting closer. There was no getting out of it this time. Trapped in a slum with those left wing fanatics circling …”fucking Mormons”!
|YD, 2nd FanFic Festival entry posted November 30, 2006 at 2:30 PM|
|(Based on characters and situations created by John Birmingham, Mel Brooks, and Buck Henry)PART ONE
August 1954-Washington, DC
Vicente ‘Chief’ Rogas prepared for another day at the office. He hated not being able to do field work any more, but advancing age and a leg wound suffered in Occupied Japan back in ’49 slowed him down to the point where he figured he’d be more dangerous to himself than to any potential enemy. So President Stevenson and the Admiral set him up in charge of the COuNTeRintelligence Oversight CounciL, (CONTROL, for short), a group which dealt with matters that even Donovan’s folks at OSS wouldn’t or couldn’t touch. Since the Soviets collapsed in ’52, a lot a rather nasty splinter groups and terror organizations had started to sprout up around the world, and CONTROL’s mandate was to neutralize these groups however possible. The matter that the Admiral had briefed him on this morning sounded like it was going to be interesting.
|Desert Sunrise by Steve Kerr|
|2nd FanFic Festival entry posted December 1, 2006 at 7:14 PM|
Trepidation, fear trepidation and not a little anxiety.
Not the same fear inLos Alamos, no,.. not that,..thats was more of the Orwellian cum Machiavellian deal the Yanks had to prevent the secret leaking out….
To quote that Astronaut from the OTL “One small step for a man,..-”
One Lurch toward nuclear extinction,..
A case of there being a fait-accompli…
The drive was the same as he had remembered as a child, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the non-stop music from his parent’s satellite radio drifting through their ’06 Chevrolet HHR.
By Roger Ross
Based on Characters Appearing in After America by John Birmingham. Also Based on Characters Appearing in Secondary Mission WW Fanfic Cmdr Havoc by Andrew “Havock” Porter.
WARNING – Some NSFW language and situations. You have been warned.
Financial District, Manhattan, New York City Federal Controlled Area
“Tell me, again, please, why it is you dragged your half-recuperated carcass out of bed to go on this fool’s errand?”
The very large man wedged behind the wheel of the dented and dusty Range Rover battled with the shift in a futile attempt to slow down in time to weave around the mid-street pile-up of taxis that would never take another fare, a losing battle from the sound of grinding rising from the gear box, just scowled and mumbled around his cigar, “Well, Miss Jules, word was they was lookin’ for some rated seamen to help out on some search and rescue ops and I was sick of lying around and I figured you were probably bored too and it might be nice to spend a day at sea to blow the stink off us as it were”.
Chapter 10 Continued:
President Kipper thought about what Colonel Kinnimore and General Murphy had just finished briefing him on, he was also pondering the coming telephone calls he was going to need to make.
. AFTER AMERICA FAN FIC by HAVOCK.
Situation Room United States of America.
The chief of staff was eyeing off the President very closely, Jed, thought he could see President Kipper visibly pale, when General Murphy had levelled the issue at Blackstone’s feet. President kipper leaned forward slowly in the plushley upholstered directors chair in the Battle lab reaching forward he grabbed the glass and a water pitcher off the central lazy Susan centred on the conference table gently pouring himself a glass of water.
Secondary Mission. STRIKE FORCE 1 Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.
Lt Colonel Havoc, cut a rather mean figure in the cockpit of the B52, affectionately known as the BUFF, which was to be expected given the sheer scale of death and carnage his wing of B52 bombers had just released on New York, the commander embodied this with his sheer physical presence, at least that’s What the Lieutenant Colonel would tell anybody who happened to ask..
After The Wave III
John R. Johnson
It was over a year since the Wave, as it was called, hit the United States, Canada and Mexico. Every person living in the boundaries of the tear shaped wave had disappeared. The wave had covered all of the United States, except for a portion of the Pacific Northwest, Alaska, Hawaii and Puerto Rico. All of Canada south of an arc which extended from Oregon, brushing Edmonton, and the southern half of Hudson’s Bay was gone. The northern two thirds of Mexico from Belize to Acapulco was lifeless. The survivors in southern Mexico had fled south. Afraid the Wave would expand and take them.
The recent unrest had left some parts of the hotel curiously unscarred. The ground floor had been fairly well ransacked as had the first floor rooms. But the upper floors (except for some graffiti and odd bits of mindless vandalism) had been left pretty much intact.
Julianne jumped from the cabin of the helicopter and felt the rotorwash trying to sweep her off the roof. She stayed bent over as she ran forward, clutching the straps of her backpack lest it be ripped away by the furious downblast. She turned and crouched beside an air conditioning unit, and was almost bowled over by the Rhino who was right on her heels. The dark green chopper snarled even more ferociously as the pilot fed power into the engines and lifted off again. Her dirty, unwashed fringe whipped stinging strands of hair into her eyes but she watched and waved them off anyway. The Polish soldier, Milosz, stood in the doorway, grinning hugely. With one hand holding a grab bar he laid the tips of two fingers under his eyes and then pointed directly at her.
They weren’t regular Army and they weren’t part of the Texas National Guard. Miguel had a hard time keeping track of the differences but he did know one thing about the men and women of the Texas Defense Force. They were Governor Blackstone’s personal troops, for territorial use only, and in no way answerable to Seattle. They were also very well looked after. More than a few disaffected soldiers, sick of going months without any pay at all in the US Army, had come to his banner.
It happened when Jimmy was in Calgary, rummaging through an alley behind a strip mall on 1st Street: he found a crate labeled “Novelty Nose and Glasses.” Jimmy opened the crate and found it full of rubber noses attached to black plastic horned-rimmed glasses frames. His hands shook as he placed a pair on his face. He ran into an empty store and found a mirror and, as he looked at his reflection, Jimmy suddenly knew what he was supposed to do.
The Caliphate spy, a Javanese carpenter known simply as Adil, resettled himself against a comfortable groove in the sandal- wood tree. The small, shaded clearing in the hills overlooking Dili had been his home for three days. He shared it with an aged feral cat, which remained hidden throughout the day, and an irritable monkey, which occasionally tried to shit on his head. He had considered shooting the ﬁlthy animal, but his orders were explicit. He was to remain unnoticed as long as the crusaders were anchored off East Timor, observing their ﬂeet and sending reports via microburst laser link, but only in the event of a “signiﬁcant development.”
USCGC Matinicus (WPB-1315)
On Patrol in the Caribbean
Chief Warrant Officer William “Wild Bill” Elliott, Commanding Officer of the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Matinicus, carefully eyed its deck as he followed his morning inspection ritual. He was the only warrant officer in the post wave Coast Guard commanding a 110 ft. cutter and his ship filled him with pride. Still, after thirty days underway there were specks of rust starting to show through the paint on the bulkheads and sides of the cutter. The Matinicus could cruise for 60 days with ample provisions but with the all new crew members that he had recruited that would be shortened. He ignored the men and women sleeping on the deck, but froze for a moment when he saw the covered five gallon bucket secured near the fantail and smelled the pungent odor emanating from it.
Jane was stepping down the stairs wearing only her “Madame Butterfly” robe, her heaving bosom bouncing with each step.
The surfer sat astride his board, legs dangling in the cool pacific water.
The observation room was separated from the thickly padded room by two inches of sound-proofed and mirrored glass.
Shaun drew on the joint, breathing the rough smoke deep into his lungs.
David Lawrence had lost a few things in the two years since the Great Stellar Shitfight.
The hub-bub outside the conference room went up a notch and as Major Gen Gillespie raised his head Howard strode into the room.
It seemed that half the nutbags and fruitbars who had survived the Wave considered First Lady Barb Kipper a back channel to the President.
As the shadows lengthened and the foothills of the sierra shone purple in the gloaming the four of them were sitting out the back of Karsten’s house on an assortment of plastic garden furniture arranged on the patio.
The lights flickers as the big generator cut in, it’s low rumble vibrating the air throughout the compound.
Stephen Francis Murphy ran past the bodies of the Cheeseburger irregulars, spun around and yelled “Rhino, Havoc To Me!”, mustering the last of fanbase.
At the time of the Wave Damien had been married for 5 years and was experiencing some marriage troubles.
Gary Kovak lifted the whisky glass unsteadily off the bar, spilling a little of the goldern fluid and earning a silent frown from the bartender.
Julie turned and asked, “pass us another tray of seedlings, Granny”
Randy Green was getting off work at his job at Microsoft.
When Stavros was in Seattle, he stopped for lunch at Roxy’s Diner on 36th Street.
Craig Cram was one of the millions of Americans who had suddenly found themselves exiled when the wave wiped out much of North America.
Thommo and Derek, college freshmen fortunate enough to be vacationing in Alaska when the wave hit.
Agent Frellman had just finished his weekly meeting with Raoul Castro. Secondment to the DGI in Havana was agreeing with Frellman, as it was helping him hone his sausage-making skills in his spare time. When he wasn’t chasing down Cayman Island money launderers and rogue credit derivative traders, of course.