Team Writer Sentence Challenges!

The Su-15 shuddered all around him as its engines wailed beyond their limits. Pavel could feel that strain in his teeth as he clenched them harder the more he pulled the control yoke back into his lap, forcing the interceptor higher into the un-tameable blue sky. He’d seen his target in action, knew full well  the level of death it had in its belly. But that terrifying potential also kept the enemy bomber restrained to a speed his FLAGON could catch far and away from his home base.


On his radar scope, the blip beyond his horizon suddenly shifted and started to pull away from him, telling the Russian pilot that his Soviet enemy realized what was coming to meet it, and decided to try escaping. “Net, net, net, sukin ty syn!” (No, no, no, you son of a bitch!) he called out to a muted radio, letting the stick go so his interceptor would start to fall back toward the savanna below.


The window would only last a second,based on how fast the enemy bomber was executing the same dive. One second in which Pavel would have enough of the speed edge to get within maximum range of the two large missiles under his wings. 


His fingers tensed on the trigger before he fully realized the tone of a missile lock was ringing in his ear “Dzhek-pot!” (Jackpot!) he called out as the Su-15 rocked with sudden weightless, his fangs leaping forward at insane speed for the kill.


He knew this moment would come as soon as he’d given the order to return to the Starbase. So when his cabin door ‘ding’ed to admit his visitor, it Captain Wallace great effort not to clench his fists. It had honestly been a miracle no one had figured it out sooner. You don’t send a battleship on search and rescue… his gut had told him. Especially when other starships were closer to the attack.


Hard bootsteps echoed through the room, only to stop suddenly when a datapad hit Wallace’s table. “I honestly don’t know which one I’m more pissed about. The fact that you were sleeping with a superior officer, a married one at that! Or, that I didn’t see it happening after serving together for almost five years.”


Gavin turned to see the reddened face of his former Captain glaring holes through him, adding to the unease in his gut. “There was no way for you to know, sir. We made sure of that…it’s why we only met whenever the Barnet and her Poesiden were docked at the same time.”


Standing upright to tower over his former student, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, “And that’s supposed to help?”


“No, but you’ll never lose if you don’t play. But you’ll never win, either.” Gavin retorted, tossing one the first lessons Bruce had taught him back at his newly-retired mentor. “Bruce, I loved her. If we had to keep it secret, then it was a secret worth keeping.”




He didn’t go to the Midnight Dream Club because he wanted to. To him, it was a den of sad, lonely souls that enjoyed being teased with what they could never have. Tired, run-down hearts that looked to the crooning sounds of the bourbon-dipped harpies behind the velvet curtain for their sole source of joy. 


He’d come here tonight for the other half of the club’s occupants, those whose names he’d seen come in and out of his possession a thousand times each day. Those who steal, who assault, who kill for greed and power. For in this club, they felt impervious, and who could blame them. Corrupted authority and wanted lawbreakers all mixed together like chocolate and water.  Today, the one man he needed to see was sitting in the front row, drunkenly howling like a hyena at the temptress on stage.


No sooner did the song end did the criminal stand to head to the bathroom, so he was sure to make it there first. Miming the action of relief, he watched the newly-paroled man stumble to the urinal next to him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he listened for any other company or traffic in the restroom before he moved, letting the knife concealed in his sleeve slip down to his palm. Not letting himself second-guess his purpose, he swung the blade in his off-hand, catching Joey ‘Razors’ Slazinci in-between the ribs and burying the strike up to its hilt in the man’s lung.




He hated the New Republic formal dress uniform, every single fiber in the constraining, non-flattering ensemble. If everything went to hell right now, most everyone’s arms wouldn’t be allowed to bend enough to aim a blaster, so everyone would be mauled by the hypothetical attack Wes Janson daydreamed while some diplomat from some planet somewhere spoke about something. Thankfully, after years of being in the legendary Rogue Squadron, Wes had mastered the art of false attention. A craft which helped him not jump a little when Hobbie tapped on his shoulder, “Up and at them! Time to go make merry with the big-wigs.”


Janson kept his grumble of apprehension deep in his throat as the regal and pompous alike came to shake hands with the Rogues. Yet over the shoulder of the fifth minister, he’d caught a glimpse of an oasis in a sea of boredom. A fellow pilot, equally uncomfortable in her dress uniform, but sporting the infectious smile he wishes he was wearing now. More importantly, in that split-second, she’d looked his way and auburn eyes sparked in equal parts invitation and mischief.


“Status update, Three.” Hobbie whispered to Wes in-between handshakes.


“Target’s on the nose, starting the Tannabian run.” Janson replied, giving the upcoming minister an apologetic hand-wave before almost skipping out of line to go meet the object of his attention. Hobbie just shook his head, remembering Wes’ life-long mantra hidden in his code-phrase. You’ll never lose if you don’t play. But you’ll never win either…


The second in a series of delightful writing challenges I’ve been able to participate in this year. My many thanks to my dear friend Mayumi for creating the challenge sentences these sprang from!

I hope you all enjoy.

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