Tell a Story.
Have You Got a Story to Tell?
Can you tell us about the times you walked with family, dog walked, flew a kite, built a bonfire, had a fun-run,camped out, did a short-cut to & from work across the valley?
Tell us about the times you were in the Pont Valley, give us dates and if you can map co-ordinates/ or footpaths used.This will give us a picture of past activities and present ones as well. Our bet is that the Valley is still a major part of family life for recreation on the doorstep but we need to know to collate the information.
Does it need to be about the Pontburn Valley? Do people with stories to tell need a computer? To show how this might work around our "Comment" facility, here's one story that I have lifted directly from this month's Clarion, written by an avowed hater of computers as the first comment. Tell us what you think by replying to the comment, exactly as you might on forum?
So What has this Story to Do with the Pontburn Valley?
At 30,000'AGL, the F3 banked onto its new heading. Back to base, via a tanker towline, mission completed as briefed. NSTR.
30 nms to the West, one of a dozen or so assorted NATO aircrew at assorted consoles in the back of an AWACS E3 noted the heading change. IFF transponding, blip, blip, blip...then merge into background clutter. NSTR.
On the ground, now alone and unmoving almost totally concealed and, for time at least, un-noticed save for his laboured breathing condensing in the cold, early morning air, the soldier noted its passing only by a silver glint as a wing caught the rising sun. Unremarkable, another day, this his third on station. NSTR.
3,000 miles away, give or take a hudred or so, the man who started this story got up from one of his own consoles to walk the few, short yards to another screen to type-in a short message. Codeword, encrypted, flashed immediately to one pair of watching eyes in particular while others watched and waited for more. Mission in train. NSTR. Request voice transcipt on RTB. Message ends.
All, some unknowingly, part of a team, cogs in a wheel, turning, relentlessly now. Each with a part to play, a story to tell for those that could put together the pieces. With hindsight, intuition or debriefing. For some, the accolades and acknowledgement of a "job-well-done". "Good Job". For others, a shallow grave or none at all.
A work of fiction, improbable, uncensorable..
The Soldier's Story
Harry wasn't your stero-typical SF-type. But he did share the same abilities to spot another anywhere else, either in a bar or "in the field". The DPM-attired solider, one of a road patrol, he had watched the previous day from his hide, stood-out from the rest of his team. Something about him, perhaps a dim recollection from a night out, more likely the way he moved and kept himself a little apart.
Harry had wanted to alert the patrol to the pressence of another OP, within a few hundred metres of his own. Friendly? Not to him, his mission was to remain unseen and though he thought it likely that his new, next-door neighbour was on the same side, he didn't know for sure. And there was no way of communicating without compromising his mission. So he watched and waited while the patrol passed by.
Created on 03/07/2007 10:14 PM by dshields
Updated on 24/06/2008 02:28 AM by dshields