Young Writers Society

Relevant story: Winter is a 3,000 year old genius strategist who has been displaced from her medieval time stream and placed in the modern world. She has ripped everything she needs to know from the minds of other people, though not without violating her code of honor. During her millennia of history as a general in war she has never lost, and as such the modern military has recruited her and are testing her ability by giving her the title of analyst and seeing what happens. 

Winter’s new uniform was light and refreshing, made of a material of the finest quality and emblazoned with the symbols of the Alerian army, along with her rank, a diamond with a star in the center, symbolizing her honorary status as a general of the highest rating.

The war room was cluttered. Computers beeped, a large screen displayed the entire map of Aleria, and open channels to allied nations were displayed in corners of the room. Diplomats rushed back and forth among generals and attendants. The president himself sat in a chair next to the secretary of defense—both of whom Winter had met not half a day ago after being spirited out of the PIB compound and into the world of the military. Just before leaving she had ripped everything Leon had known about modern military history and tactics out of his head, sending him to the hospital where he would probably remain for a week with splitting headaches. They had medicine to treat that, of course, but it most likely would be of no effect. Leon had convinced Winter of the action’s necessity, as Winter was hesitant to break her code of honor for the third time, and in such a horrifying manner. But now she knew, and she knew why she had to know. Modern combat was nothing like the combat of her time. There were tanks, drones, politics, surveillance, the internet, satellites, helicopters, jets, nukes, mechanized infantry, anti-air defense networks and radar and sonar and anti-radar and anti-sonar. It was a whirlwind of facts that Winter was glad she didn’t have to learn on her own. She knew her history now, knew of the world wars, knew how destructive the technology of the day was. She had been horrified to learn of the fact that entire cities could be wiped off the map in moments, and had been in the past several times. But everything was starting to come together. Winter could see the patterns.

War, it seemed, had changed a lot, and at the same time it hadn’t changed at all. Winter knew how she was going to approach the situation. She had been given full command of every military branch—but only when the enemy arrived. For now she was just labeled as an “Analyst” and told to watch and listen. And so that is what she did. There was an emergency in Sie, and as Winter sat down she was briefed, along with a group of other important individuals, on the situation.

A number of terrorists had locked down a hospital containing over a thousand civilians, six hundred of whom required medical attention. The power had been shut off. Every minute meant another death. They were demanding the withdrawal of Alerian forces from the region, and the forcing of a treaty recognizing their independence as a nation. That was something Aleria could not do thanks to their fundamentalist ideology and the fact that there were huge copper reserves in the area that were vital to the global economy. The military was at an impasse. They had the hospital surrounded with tanks, and several helicopters, and the infantry were ready to storm the building, but if that happened and the terrorists killed the civilians it would be a political nightmare.

As the briefing went on, Winter came upon a solution. The army could dress a detachment of special ops solders as resistance fighters, and then have them fight their way through the real military, pretending to kill soldiers along the way and taking fire themselves. It would all be done at night and with rubber bullets, of course. When the team of operatives had fought their way through the military, they would be accepted and then infiltrate from the inside-out, and then take the terrorists down from there.

Winter waited for a moment to present her idea, and when she did the entire room went silent. It was dead. Not a single person spoke.

“We could do that,” said the general in charge. He looked at one of his aides. “Could we do that?”

The aide nodded. “I could have the Dragons ready to go within the hour.”

The people in the room all looked at each other. One general looked like he was thinking. Then he spoke. “What if they don’t believe the Dragons?”

Winter thought for a moment. “Force them to memorize the Relian holy book and tell them to make quotes as they fight.”

The general shook his head. “Can we do that in an hour? I don’t know.”

Winter thought some more. “They could bring in a wounded man.”

The generals looked at each other.

“Wounded during the fighting to reach the hospital,” said Winter.

Most of the generals nodded. Then the same general, a paunchy man of about fifty, spoke again. “We need another plan if that one goes wrong.”

Winter thought long and hard. She came up against something that had always given her trouble. The casualties of war. She prized winning with the best outcome over anything else, where best outcome meant most people helped and least people harmed. But she remembered an old tale. If one man’s death will save a hundred, do you kill that one man? She closed her eyes. “You could always have a member of the Dragons kill a hostage to prove their loyalty.”

The generals around the room gasped, audibly, and began to murmur amongst themselves. With her ears, Winter heard what she probably was not meant to hear.

“Who is she?”

“Why is she here?”

“How can she say that?”

“She’s just an analyst.”

“No, she’s not just an analyst. She’s our savior. This might actually work.” The generals seemed to come to a consensus, and looked at her with awe. “The operation is universally approved. We’re going to carry it out exactly as you say.”

Winter smiled, though something deep in herself was troubled, which she knew and was familiar with. This reminded her of the wars she had fought in her home time, the dozens of conflicts both large and small that she had commanded and won. She had never lost a war in her life. That was why the government of this age valued her so much. They knew the records. They knew of her feats. This was her privilege, or rather, her burden to bear.

The operation was carried out. Winter watched from the command room as the Dragons, a detachment of twenty-four, fought through the friendly line at night with rubber bullets and fake blood. They “lost” several men, and two men were wounded. The spec ops team dragged their wounded up to the hospital entrance and were accepted into the hospital after quoting profusely from the Relian holy book.

They didn’t have to kill a hostage to prove their motive. After an hour of silence they made their move and in ten minutes all the targets had been neutralized and the hostages were free.

Winter had won. Again. And yet, like always, she did not feel happy. She stood up from the table when it was all over and, avoiding the crowd of congratulating generals and aides, she walked on her own out of the war room and into the hallway. The guards saluted her and she returned the salute, giving them the at ease command. This was now her war. She now had a part in this. They knew of her prowess, and the test had been passed.

She knew, deep down inside, that she would have some tough choices ahead of her. She did not want to face them. But she knew that she had to. She would have to. She would have to do this, not only for her land, but for the land of those who depended on her.

She walked out onto a grassy lawn and surveyed the buildings of the political capital. Several people watched her idly. A jet plane passed overhead. Winter watched the clouds, and spoke to them, moving just her lips.

“Thank you.”

It was not thanks for saving her, but that life, the hostage who would have been killed had the terrorists not believed the story of the Dragons. She had been lucky this time.

If things had been different, she would have had one more weight on her chest. A heavy one. One that she would never be able to remove.

And though she was used to carrying weight on her chest, Winter was glad.

She smiled, and then, making a crisp about-face, she returned to the war room. 

Questions: 

Is the solution to the problem plausible? Do you believe it? Keep in mind that this is a book and some amount of implausibility in strategy is excusable due to the rule of cool. 

Do Winter's personal musings make her feel more human? 

Does the room feel chaotic enough? 

Are the generals plausible in their reaction?

Does the situation excite you in any way?

Is the intro paragraph descriptive enough?