Thanks to Dee for the great pic that I ruined by putting words all over I should have ran…every fiber within my exhausted being cried out in one unified cord of terror to run as if my eternal soul depended on it, as if somehow distance or the mere act of attempting to achieve distance, would spare me from what ever unknown evil that lie in wait. It made little sense, as so much during that time did. Time itself was cast into doubt as what seemed like hours painfully crept by my ridged frame. Minutes, surely only minutes, had fled from the amount of time I had yet to remain on the earth, hours could not have passed into the unobtainable oblivion of eternity, the destined resting place of our bodies wouldn’t be that far, couldn’t be that far. I realized my watch held the answer that my mind was lazily wrestling with yet by my side my arm remained anchored, the unseen tether of dread refusing to allow even the smallest movement. But why? My body had tasted battle on two prior occasions; my squad mates had proven their worth to their nation, to each other, to me. Our cause was just, our destinies paved by the hand of fate, none could be changed, none averted. These thoughts had provided treasured comfort while nestled tightly within the blood soaked mud of battlefields past but here- no longer. Once pleasantly reassuring, fate now had turned on us, mocking us as her helpless pawns, mere toys of her own creation and fancy. How could fate be so cruel? The mammoth bird containing our tiny lives shuttered on the invisible waves of airborne currents, a jolt unnoticed by those accustomed to its frequency. With out form, the event mingled with what could only be described as thoughts inhabiting my surreal mind. Nothing seemed to fit, nothing formed around logic or emotion, all was a single great, undulating mass of source less fear. My stomach lurched upwards as our steel eagle plummeted towards the earth below, we could see the next patch of unremarkable earth selected to make an attempt on our lives. It would succeed; the singular thought arose from the milky soup of my brain with startling clarity. This small town nestled so frighteningly deep within a sea of jagged rocks, would consume the lives of all who entered it. We would die here and we knew it. The flickering flames danced lightly within her deep green eyes as she studied my unshaven face. I knew she was there, her presence filled the room, penetrating me to my very soul. Her warmth, her joy, her youthful exuberance, everything about her sang out life, love and the miracle that was our relationship. I wouldn’t let her know that I knew, at least not by outward appearances. She knew that I knew, and I knew that she knew that I knew, but that changed nothing. I simply sat, eyes fixed on the tattered book held so lightly within my resting hands. I had long since stopped reading the age-old tale told within its cover, yet I continued the ruse, refused to acknowledge her presence. She smiled, I could see her out of the corners of my tired eyes, she knew the game too. Slowly she made her way around the plush chair that held me, towards its rear. To see her move was to see the perfection only God could produce. Every line, every curve, every bend flowed seamlessly into one momentous work of art fit to be had by no man for none could possible deserve to have her. Yet there I sat, lazily playing a lovers game in our little home. What had I done? What words, deeds, sacrifices had I undertaken in order to warrant such a woman? My thoughts of amazement and unworthiness faded from hand as her bare arms found their way around my neck. Almost at once my nostrils filled with the perfumed scent of her mocha colored skin, her unrealistically soft skin. I could feel it rubbing by my neck as her long, graceful arms continued on their trek for the intrusive book. I couldn’t fight it any more and a smile found its way onto my previously impassive face. She couldn’t see it of course but she knew it was there, she knew me, she knew us. I lowered the book, dropped my head ever so slightly as to take in as much of her outstretched, victorious hands as possible. “Maria…” “Sergeant?” I blinked away the world of warmth and bliss that I had traded for the soup of mired death in which I now stood. I glanced about to take in the surroundings I had apparently been moving within for some time, albeit in a state of mechanical rote operation. Before me stood a rather perplexed young Private, no more than seventeen, of my squad. Long strands from his worn and tattered gray uniform blew about in the frigid north wind that constantly raked across our newest home. He was covered, as were we all I soon realized, in the thick, black mud that sheltered the many jagged rocks that made up the countryside. Perhaps it had rained, I couldn’t tell, nor did feel particularly interested in finding out. At my feet the dull metallic sheen of military equipment glittered from within its newly applied covering of mud and grime. It occurred to me how lonely and pathetic the small mountain of detpacks looked nestled so firmly within the sticky goo. How strange was it that each tiny green box with its smattering of letters, its collection of scratches and dents, held within it the destructive power only man seemed to be willing to harness. Our massive transport had departed along with a dozen or so replicas of itself, each of which having left a small legacy of men and machines. For a moment I smiled and laughed at the thought of machines giving birth to machines; procreation via lifeless creations of death. The cynical spark must have found an external outlet for the puzzled stare upon the Private’s face began to slide into an uneasy box of fear. A soldier’s only hope in any conflict is competent leadership. To be found under the command of a person who portrays less than sane qualities was undesirable to say the least. Shaking my head I attempted to dislodge the tattered web of half thoughts and full fears. The boy was in my squad, I was his Sergeant, he was my responsibility. “Ever have a hangover, Mayfield?” I didn’t really want to know, I didn’t even really know what it had to do with anything that was or would be happening. It was merely a simple attempt to remove some of the fears I had apparently fostered during my random words and spontaneous laughter. It worked, he laughed, the temporary assurance of a bloody end removed from his already weighted shoulders. What a blessing it must have been, to be so naive, so stupid, so ignorant of the situation that our little band had found its self in. Our deployment had not been anticipated, we where the leftovers, the reserves, the last puddles in the bottom of an already small barrel. A bloody end was not a possibility, it was an assurance. From the depths of my tangled brain emerged, in a series of steps, the required information to complete the task at hand. One by one the small blocks of death journeyed, by way of our squad’s gloved hands, into their final rested places among the holes and rocks previously prepared. Four similar squads found themselves in matching positions all along the geographic bottleneck chosen to hold our mired defense. Hours faded in and bled out of reality as brick after brick of high explosives where laid, their collective mass forming a structure of death whose sole purpose was the ending of life. At once the surreal blend of grays parted to reveal an equally surreal series of symbols on my HUD. The appearance of such characters in and of its self was nothing remarkable; the small device had become an extension of my eye, as it had to every other soldier serving beneath our disillusioned flag. What managed to break even through my drowning consciousness was the content. Without hesitation I dropped the last of the det packs and rallied my tired squad. We had all discarded our cumbersome helmets, the design of which tires ones sanity, and sported only the detachable, HUD contained, goggles. Each man, as well as the one woman in our crew, wore instead a covering of local soil and homegrown blood. Hours of toil within a sea of jagged clefts had torn and punctured, gouged and sliced through much of what had been tough skin and uniforms. Blood bathed wounds, however, failed to remain open for long as the sticky, almost oily, composition of the local soil was quick to find its way in, the geological contents triggering every manner of pain and discomfort. Yet none cried out, none complained or requested break. They where soldiers, servants of a lost cause dedicated to a dead nation. I really couldn’t understand it, being disillusioned as I was, how it was that they carried on. Did they not know the forces that we would soon face? The sheer might and power of the Imperial legions? We, they, I had all faced them before and with success but for how long? Hoards immense enough to boggle the mind remained; victory was not even a hope let alone a possibility. Yet, they carried on, heads high, teeth clinched against the pain. ...
... (Had to split it, letter limit) The trip to the re-supply bunker was a swift one, as much as could be expected considering the surroundings. Within moments our equipment was returned in exchange for a chorus of engineering bags. Accustomed to frequent changes in purpose we gathered our new gear and made our way towards the newly erected mountain of steel that housed our vehicles. The mammoth of a structure rang out with the metallic cries of the tortured demons of man’s ingenuity. Steel grinded against steel in an unholy dance of perverse creation, men conjuring vile instruments of war. As the dark shadow of this most insidious place enveloped our bodies our destination came into view. The large off road vehicle boasted countless dents and scratches despite its recent birth date. Northern Faction methods for mechanical engineering at no time produced polished, glossy products but rather the tooth and nail goods of speed and efficiency. It was of little matter in any case; the truck would find plenty to soil its image in short order. Large tuffs of putrid goo found wings at the aid of our rapidly spinning tires as our squad sped down the rocky slope towards the pot marked field below. Our sister squads had cleared a path suitable for such an excursion only an hour prior and would likewise remove it after our singular task had been accomplished. As the ridged Jeep carved new troughs through the uneven ground the distant surroundings began to come into focus. Directly below us lay an open field populated by a horrific forest of jagged minerals, a hellish realm that was to hold our trap and, the commander hoped, our prey. Hugging the rim of the “open” canyon dwelt an iron curtain of glassy black mountains, their reflective exterior somehow devoid of earth. Therein rippled a seemingly endless lake of fire, reflections from the sky above mirroring the very depths of hell itself. I couldn’t really say why it was the heavens boiled with the vibrant reds and oranges that now ignited the inferno of color enveloping my mind. Perhaps it was God, His magnificent plea for a cessation of hostilities before His ground was bathed in blood and death. Perhaps it really was hell, the gates of fiery damnation burst wide in order to receive the torrent of souls that where soon to enter. As the steaming thermal vent grew larger, necessity forced theology aside and we slowed to an abrupt halt. Almost on cue a metallic disc materialized by hand of the unseen commander hundreds of yards to our rear. I moved with rote procession, my numb hands retrieving the bulky nano dispenser from its crowded dwelling place to my rear. Scarcely a moment passed before hoards of ingenious devices, each evading sight by virtue of tiny size, erupted from the dispenser and attacked the construction disc before them. Rearranging their surroundings at the atomic level the army of nano machines brought form to the design concocted at a different time and place for a purpose no doubt less sinister than it was now being employed. My eyes began to trace the developing lines of creation forming before me. Slowly one line met another; clean edges intersected the faint blue glow of edges yet to be seen. Sparks began to pepper the show of lights as individual groups of microscopic machines shorted out and vaporized into the thinning air around them. I smiled. There before my eyes an army lived and died, moved and constructed at my bidding. None of them knew why they did what they did, understood the circumstances of their bondage and fate. Each, like their more massive creators, simply moved from point to point, obeying the unseen forces that drove them. Shauna shifted her lightweight to my right, her emitter spewing forth its own legions of machines. I hadn’t delegated who would assist with the refinery and who would erect the perimeter defenses. My eyes drifted away from the sparkling struggle before me and located the other half of my team who had, as I discovered, began their own orchestra of light further ahead. Within minutes our artificial minions had nearly completed their subatomic construction and fulfilled their master’s bidding. Disengaging the warm nano emitter I slid it once again into the crowded pack residing on my back. The refinery hummed and groaned as it extracted and processed the un-harnessed energy of the earth below. Shauna sighed as the fiery globe above drifted below the curtains of rock in the distance. “Did we really need…” Her words drifted slowly away with the stiff wind that had begun to blow across the rocky plain. I simply stared, looked on in slight bewilderment as she stood, eyes locked to my rear. I cant say why I didn’t turn, perhaps I knew what sight would greet me, perhaps countless hours in the mind numbing ooze of base preparation had dulled my wits, perhaps I didn’t want to acknowledge the fate I knew had arrived. The blood was warm, I remember, the spray that had burst forth from Henderson painting the back of my neck. I hadn’t heard the shot from the distant scout, who could with the groan of the refinery so near. They say in certain situations thoughts, unable to cope with the barbaric events at hand, fade and are replaced by pure instinct. I suppose its true as I remember little of climbing into our vehicle and speeding away from our butchered comrade. As we neared the primary line eerie stillness enveloped our senses. Such a polar experience, hell fire and serene stillness, seemed to squeeze buried emotions from my gutted heart and pry thoughts once more into the forefront of existence. Kirkpatrick tossed his blood soaked bags to the trampled ground and retrieved the long menacing form of an assault rifle. I proceeded likewise as the ground shuttered and buckled under the sudden preemptory artillery fire arching out from unseen Imperial guns. Bushels of light and fire began to fill the rocky crags below, each blast inching closer towards the position of their commander’s desire. The sharp clap of metal striking metal echoed from my rifle as the chamber welcomed a new round. My heart began its epic quest to spread the adrenalin to each muscle soon to face the fury and hate of man. My teeth clenched as my bloody figures loosened the safety on my rifle. Silently I let sleep depravity lower the lids of my eyes for but a moment as I pleaded for favors from God. “Here they come…”
-- 2 -- -- 5 days prior High Commander Patterson leaned over his large wooden table, the weight of a world gone mad and a hopeless cause forcing a sigh from his lungs. Maps, deployment reports, satellite photos, news papers, pens, and every other sort of implement of command and strategy lay cluttered atop the heavy table who had bore the weight of war on more than one occasion. Residing in the former Strategic Wing of the Jekotian Office of War the darkened pot marked document platform bore witness to the planning and execution of countless offensives and defensive actions through out decades of Jekotian rule. Along the left side you could still see the crimson stains left by the last Jekotian High Commander who refused to bow to his Imperial conquerors. “Commander, could you please say again?” An unimposing metal box nestled on the edge of the unorganized table burped forth a myriad of static bathed words. “Corridor 173 in the 23rd bisection is now reporting full readiness. 93% of our forces have successfully migrated to the fall back position.” Patterson shook his head, “Thank you Commander, alert me when contact is made” The little box clicked off without notice as the High Commander turned his gaze again to the colorful map that had conquered the majority of the table’s real-estate. Upon succession the over all offensive plan had spun a series of steps designed to keep the Empire off balance and, with time, envelope it within wave after wave of Northern citizens. Phase 3 had called for tentative defensive perimeters to be held miles ahead of more concrete fall back positions to the rear. These positions were expected to fall in series before holding firm at the rear defensive parameter which would be a basis for future assaults as well as a stop gap for the resurging Jekotian's while new forces were raised. Imperial forces had, however, concentrated their forces in the south and with brutal efficacy had blown through the southern lines and slammed into the half finished secondary defensive lines. The Southern Province along with the provinces of Taisho, Burisho and Hokkaido had cried out in unison for reserve forces stationed in the Northern province, the spiritual home of the Jekotian military and the area from which the Northern Faction had sprung forth. Only the ancient capital province of Jekotian itself had managed to tentatively hold its forward, disposable defensive position amidst fierce Imperial onslaughts. Within days the bulk of Northern Faction armor and what could mustered of her limited offensive airpower had been deployed in an effort to prevent the catastrophic failure of these “impenetrable” lines. Nearly three months of hellish fighting took place before the major Brenodi offensive stalled and Northern Faction forces were able to stabilize and reclaim small portions of lost territory. Surprise airborne assaults had even managed to gain footholds in the formally Jekotian provinces of Karolin and Brok, both across stormy Imperial straits. The islands within immediately pledged their allegiance to the Northern cause. For another month an eerie calm had settled across the war torn planet as each side considered their next move. The beach heads in the south had expanded to the extent that their supply lines would allow, the ancient fortifications and mountainous terrain of the Northern provinces remained as formidable as ever while raw steel and flesh protected the more fragile underbelly that surrounded Koln pass and lead up to Paradise City. Throughout the new Northern Faction Empire High Commanders debated about what move to next make. Hardliners in the North Insisted on poring veteran forces into the beach heads to the south while commander from the traditional Jekotian elites lobbied for a thrust through Koln pass and onto the capitol of the Ancient global Empire whose discovery had been the precursor of Jekotian downfall. Patterson, who managed to acquire a position on High Commander Pewter’s staff, advocated a third, less popular view; restraint. For decades Imperial forces had systematically dismantled Jekotian infrastructure and industry in an effort to further subjugate and eventually annihilate their formal rivals. To such an extent was this “de-civilization” effort, engineers had to be imported from the neutral Southern Continent in order to erect simple bridge crossings and road ways. Had the defeated Jekotian forces not had the foresight to cache vast arsenals of weapons and equipment under Northern Provincial soil any notion of insurrection would have been fanatical folly. These forces, while substantial and suitable for the time being, would soon have to be reinforced. An industrial support network was required and time needed to be allocated for its completion. It was this time that Patterson knew the Northern Faction had little of. The Imperial Legions who had thrown themselves at Factional defenses so brutally had been merely rapid response forces sent in advance whilst full Legions were mobilized and deployed. A renewed Imperial assault was expected within days but, due to limited foreign intelligence, the location of such a strike was unknown. “Where the hell are you Brandy?” Patterson said using the ancient slang for the Brenodi. Commander Watkins smiled, “You know Brandy, she’ll pop in when you least expect her.” High Commander Patterson shook his head. The two men had grown up together in the outskirts of Ronan, the future Northern Faction capitol then but a crowded decomposing heap of a city likened more to a concentration camp used to hoard and control Jekotian irritations. It was there the men learned war first hand during the bloody Pension revolts and took part in the fourth, fifth and sixth protests. Youth, school, war and, after his sister recent marriage, even family bound the men. It was only by political happenstance that Patterson was elevated to High Commander over his comrade whom he quickly appointed to his own staff. “That’s just it, we expect her” “Where?” Patterson motioned his scarred hand towards the two beachheads in the south and then to the are near Koln pass where the majority of the fighting had taken place. Watkins sat for a moment puffing on his short cigarette as he often did in deep thought. He had always been a greater strategist than his superior but nowhere near the statesmen. “What about here?” He finally uttered amidst puffs, his own hand hanging over the Northern front. “Why not here?” The High Commander’s face twisted into a look of aggravation from the obviously rhetorical question. Laced by sharp volcanic mountains from eruptions millennia passed, bathed in sticky, perpetually muddy oil like soil and permeated by defenses that had been erected for hundreds of years the northern frontier had long impaled invading armies on her glassy spires. During the Great War that had witnessed and end to Jekotian glory the area had been the last to fall and still sported the countless graves from the final conflict. The Northern front was virtually impenetrable. “That’s not funny, she would never even be able-” The High Commander paused as the arrogance of his words set in. She always pops in when…pops in where you least expect her… Patterson slammed his empty hand onto the call button linking him with a lieutenant two doors down in the communications office. “Get me the High Commander, we need to talk…”
-- 3 -- “I would sooner marry a hoarse.” “With such an attitude you may have to” “She looks like a hoarse, have you seen her nose? We could live beneath it and not get wet when it rained.” “Her family is well connected, her father is regent of Westphalia.” Borodin sighed; his mother had acquired no less than a dozen potential wives for him since his sixteenth birthday, half of those since his appointment to the officer corps. Each boasted some sort of political, social or economic advantage, daughters of senators, wealthy businessmen, High commanders, all paraded before him like meat. Their bland, two dimensional personalities, spoiled natures and political ambitions disgusted the rising officer who had resolutely denied each and in turn earning the wrath of his well meaning mother. Her latest attempt to boost the family’s prestige had yielded quite a catch. At 21 the daughter of the Regent of Westphalia, the girl was among the most sought after in Bren, the Brenodian capitol, but aside from her power and prestige was the same as the others. Borodin had grown tired of the game. “Father is a senator, Maria is on the Imperial Board of Health as a head physician and I am about to graduate first in my class as an Imperial Guardsmen. Are we not enough prestige on our own?” Borodin’s mother flashed the same charming smile seen by politicians and businessmen alike across countless parties and social events. “Our prominence is exactly the reason for these arrangements. It’s expected. What would the common people say about their role models if we didn’t constantly work to better ourselves? Not to mention the other senators…” “Look at this” Borodin almost dashed to his younger brother, grateful to be given any reason to withdraw from his delusional mother. Borodin’s younger brother had long ago fallen in love with technology and had easily won an appointment to the Brenodian Institute for Higher Learning’s technological institute, one of the top two schools in the Empire. He would doubtlessly find his way to the theoretical physics department to develop his interstellar drive system, a pointless dream held over from their youths. Why would anyone wish to go to the stars? “ Our forces have broken through to the north,” He explained, pointing to the glowing story on the information tablet, “the guerrillas are falling back.” Borodin looked over the state approved article and the interactive map of the battlefield relaying harrowing stories of Imperial victories all across the line. He read the free southern press and knew the situation was not nearly as cut and dry but it was a step in the right direction. “It will be hard moving through these passes” he replied pointing out the long, jagged mountains of the ancestral Northern Faction homeland, “We’re hoping to knock them off balance, open up a weakness further down the line” Samuel frowned, he was not nearly as military inclined as his older brother and failed to understand his pessimism. “Your just angry that you wont be able to get in on the action before the insurrection is put down.” Borodin grabbed a piece of fruit from the table and returned again to aid his mother with the guest list for his commencement ceremonies. “I wouldn’t be so sure” he replied between bites, “I hear the Jekotians have found their lost navy in Brok. They may be more of a thorn than the Ministry of information is willing to admit.” Samuel scoffed as he got up, his own hunger for fruit aroused by his brother’s muffled words. “Those ships are over four decades old at the youngest” he said picking through the fruit bowl, “We’ll have make new fish homes out of them within the month.” Borodin let the conversation die with that. He knew the countless islands in the Imperial straits would be ideal for the Northern Faction’s hit and run tactics. Even naval novices would have little trouble in making use of the long retired massive weapons on those rusting hulks in such close quarters environments. By the time the Imperial Navy mobilized and steamed around the world to the straits the Faction positions would be well prepared and waiting. His brother however, with his supreme faith in the strength of the Empire and reliance on state controlled media for information, would fail to understand. Borodin’s mother saw her chance, “Now about this girl…”
-- 4 -- I fail to see how anyone unfortunate enough to be on the unfriendly side of that hellish sound could do anything to rid their mind of its maddening scream. Its as if a thousand wailing banshees had been captured and collectively lashed within a rolling thundercloud of steel. To hear it was to shutter and be forced to chase from your mind any number of demons demanding that you flee, forsaking your honor, your nation, your comrades, anything and everything to be free of that other worldly groan of a moving mountain of steel. It’s far too coincidental that a machine designed to dispense death would foster such a terrifying sound as it approached. It had to be part of the overall design, an extension of some sick engineer’s mind as an attempt to discourage an attack by unarmored infantry. I smiled. The explosion tore through the approaching tank like tinfoil in the wind, the anti tank mine beneath is formally frightening treads lifting the Imperial medium tank a full four feet into the air. I pressed myself a bit harder against the sharp glassy rock I had come to love as shrapnel whistled by. Not wanting to loose the shock of an unexpected blast I swung around, the heat of the near by flaming tank searing my blood soaked eyebrows. With a kiss of flame my rifle sent a pair of stunned riflemen to explain their lives to God. Around me my squad mates, both new and old, replicated my actions with similar speed, efficacy, and coolness. Within 30 seconds it was over. The Empire was short one more platoon and a medley of light armor. “Make it quick,” I ordered the scavengers already searching their victims for trinkets and, more importantly, food and ammunition. “Brandy will have more on the way.” The Imperial hammer had slammed into the Northern Faction’s most brutal, harsh and unforgiving frontier and shattered the hastily erected defenses. Our makeshift lines held for but a fortnight before giving way to what seemed like an endless stream of steel and flesh. Never before nor since had I ever witnessed a greater waste of life and resources, never before had death on such a scale soiled the land. Our positions had been hastily erected but, as countless Jekotians had known through out history, where sound in their locations. By the third day the mountains of Imperial armor shredded on the field of battle had risen so large, aircraft were forced to blast clear a path so that the offensive could continue. Men took cover behind fortifications made of their own fallen comrades and slipped in the rivers of blood leading from their stinking mounds. The order to withdraw stood out in my mind. Our new commander, the old one having played catch with a stray artillery shell, spoke over our com just as my bayonet sliced through the neck of my twelfth opponent in as many minutes. I remember smiling and thinking how odd it was to have an easy dozen. I suppose who I had been had long ago died, the remaining creature of war delighting in the kind of peculiar oddities that only combat can produce. “Sergeant” I turned to catch the identification papers Shauna had tossed me, examining them with mild interest. “An engineer?” I asked unimpressed, “What is this?” Shauna had proven nearly suicidal in her willingness to stand and fight in the face of Imperial hatred, her uniform and body boasting the wounds as evidence. I’m sure she would have been considered attractive had the winds of war not swept her aside. At 5’6 she was slender, well built, young but her eyes sported an almost perverse darkness, something older than their recent exile in the underbelly of hell. I found out later why that was. “They’re all engineers” she explained, her back already turned to get a better grip on the box of Imperial ammunition, “you cut the only two gunmen in the bunch.” I looked around our newest conquest, examining each of the mutilated corpses. As she said, many of them bore the utilitarian Imperial engineers uniform, often with a small SMG or nano-dispencer shattered beside them. Our ambush had claimed at least 15 engineers in a group only 17 strong and with light armored escort. I was again met with a familiar unnerving feeling of impending doom, the recipient of some sort of wrath from God. There was a dozen more pregnable assault points to the south and yet brandy forced her way through here? I shouldered my long rifle and climbed down the jagged slope to our jeep, or what was left of it after nearly a week of fighting, and to its battered transmitter. “Encode priority two message to Command…” I knew brandy had more in mind for our jagged prison than a mere breakout point; engineers don’t travel in herds. As I look back I suppose I should have known what lay ahead, knew the path I would be forced to walk, known the horrors that lie in wait at the hands of devilish Imperial minions. Had blessed had been the sweet bliss of naïveness.
it just looked like you rushed through spell check too fast (the only thing i can think of at the moment is pot-marked, instead of pock-marked) of course it may just be that im american and you use non-american english (i dont know where your from, so i cant say)
Spelling has never been my strong point, as long as thats all and perhaps some minro grammer Im ok. I thought you meant a missmatch in names or places.
