I, Effing Feline, resent all the negative words that begin with CAT, like CATastrophe. How dare you humans conflate puddy tats with disaster!
I propose a long overdue change. Henceforth, CATastrophe, shall be DOGtastrophe. I expect all of you to implement this change immediately, using search-and-replace to correct this word in all your manuscripts.
In previous snippets from Mr V’s Secrets of Love and War, we’ve seen the devastation of war from the POV of Cynthia O’Connor, a human resident of an alien world. Now we switch to the other side of war — the POV of a heroic pilot of a one-man bomber attacking the ancient city.
The planet loomed below Flight Colonel Norse Malstrom like the maw of a greedy alien god, eager to chew his meat and spit out his bones. He welcomed a shiver of fear — only crazies felt no fear before battle — because fear proved he was still alive.
He hoped against hope that fear wouldn’t addle any of his squad’s overeager recruits. Unlike them, he intended to survive this suicide mission. Unlike them, he might. Then all charges would be dropped, he’d be a free man again, and he could return to sniffing the flowers.
Down below, sixteen pinpricks of light marked Alpha Squad’s entry into the planet’s atmosphere. “Beta Squad, get ready,” Norse said into the microphone in his face mask. “Ten seconds. Nine … eight … seven –”
Unfortunately, one of his ill-trained sacrificial lambs jumped the gun.
Effing Feline here again. Made those changes yet?