Yes, I know this isn't search bar aproved but who cares...
Anyway, I just need an honest opinion on this here chapter from a novel I'm working on.
All thoughts are welcome, just no flaming, thanks...
Chapter 2
Most of the trip down was uneventful. If you could say plummeting through the atmosphere of a planet in a pod that?s practically on fire uneventful. The drops are surprisingly long. Just because the pods are launched out of a starship and incredible velocity take at most a few hours. Enough times for some men to go over their battle and mission plans, think and in a few cases read a book and sleep. Mal, one of many ODSTs, liked to listen to music. But, Mal had a different taste in music, an age old genre called ?Rap-core?. It died out nearly three-hundred years ago but there were still remnants of their fan bases all over the UNSC colonies. Mal took a liking to an ancient band called ?Hollywood Undead?. Their music was vulgar, hateful, and emotional at times. And in Mals? opinion the best damn band in human history.
His headphones, which were integrated into his helmet, blared their music. With Mal humming along melodically. Everything for the drop was going fine. While listening to the music, Mal pulled up the mission plan.
The mission, if it could be called that by ODST standards, was to take back a city under insurgent control. It wouldn?t be that hard. If it weren?t for the fact the city was damn nearly a third of the terrestrial surface. It was would not be a surprise to the pigs up at CENTCOM. Mal continued through the plans. While most of the plan seemed tame. Mals? Company. W Company. Or to the few Hispanic ODSTs in the company, it was known as Wevjos Company. Wevjos in Spanish meant the male reproductive system or any derogatory term for it. W Company would set up snipers while the rest of the division would sweep the city. These in turn split up every seven man squad and reform every platoon. An idiotic move so to speak. Leaving Mal with men he had never fought or worked with. Then something seemed odd.
Maljevik refocused his vision to see beyond the text that scrolled across his screen. His eyes widened in horror at what he saw. Flying at his pod, or at least tumbling at his pod was a chunk of space craft. It was enormous in size and was getting closer. Mal braced his armor clad boots against the hatch of his pod. He gauged how far away the chunk of space debris was. At least four-thousand meters and closing. A trick of sweat ran down his cheek. The debris slammed into another group of pods. Destroying them.
?Shit, shit, shit, shit.? Mal said to himself in a panicked tone. Mal noticed something, the debris seemed almost off. Maybe it would just miss him. He was wrong. The space debris closed in a matter of seconds. It hit the first pod of his group, then the second. The third, fourth and fifth. He was next. It closed in. Closer and closer until the very edge made contact. It hit with such force that Mals? visor slammed into the hatch. Cracking his visor. This was a feat considering it could take a several NATO rounds before failing. Mal, nearly blacking out from the force of impact, checked his vitals. He had a large laceration stretching from just behind his ear to above his right eye brow; he also had three cracked ribs a fractured skull. Mal began to feel an intense pain near his reproductive system. He looked at his last injury. A blown testical too.
?Great.? Mal said, trying not to scream in agony. He then noticed that his pod seemed upside down. No, wait. The pod wasn?t upside down. He was. He then looked out the pod window. Just in time to see another, yet smaller, chunk of starship, slam into him. Maljevik felt his pod tumble in the atmosphere of the planet. He was stuck in his jump seat due to the high G-forces. Something that had plagued man since the air campaigns over Nazi Germany almost six-hundred years ago. He couldn?t move. He had to enjoy the ride.
?I am so fucked.? Maljevik said. Helpless but to watch his pod tumble and the smear of colors. Blacks, blues, greens, yellows, oranges, flew across the view screen. Mal sat there surprisingly calm in his dire situation. Just thinking about his life how he had wound up in such a predicament. It was almost serene to Maljevik. The smear of colors, the slow rhythmic breathing from him. It would be almost peaceful if it weren?t for the extreme amount of pain in Mal?s groin. But he put that pain in the back of his head and concentrated on the moment at hand. He slowly crawled his way back to his original position up right in his jump seat. It took him several minutes. He then took control of his pod via his helmet interface system or HIS. He activated the maneuvering rockets to slow his pod?s spin. It slowed and stopped.
?Now that we got that outta the way.? Mal told himself. He began recalculating his position. He had been tumbling for nearly a half hour. This had knocked him off about six-hundred miles off course. He began to work in new calculations to fix his trajectory. Then, something slammed into the back off his pod, knocking Maljevik unconscious and sending his pod back into a spin. Below, on the surface of Sigma IX his LZ, or his grave, awaited him?
Anyway, I just need an honest opinion on this here chapter from a novel I'm working on.
All thoughts are welcome, just no flaming, thanks...
Chapter 2
Most of the trip down was uneventful. If you could say plummeting through the atmosphere of a planet in a pod that?s practically on fire uneventful. The drops are surprisingly long. Just because the pods are launched out of a starship and incredible velocity take at most a few hours. Enough times for some men to go over their battle and mission plans, think and in a few cases read a book and sleep. Mal, one of many ODSTs, liked to listen to music. But, Mal had a different taste in music, an age old genre called ?Rap-core?. It died out nearly three-hundred years ago but there were still remnants of their fan bases all over the UNSC colonies. Mal took a liking to an ancient band called ?Hollywood Undead?. Their music was vulgar, hateful, and emotional at times. And in Mals? opinion the best damn band in human history.
His headphones, which were integrated into his helmet, blared their music. With Mal humming along melodically. Everything for the drop was going fine. While listening to the music, Mal pulled up the mission plan.
The mission, if it could be called that by ODST standards, was to take back a city under insurgent control. It wouldn?t be that hard. If it weren?t for the fact the city was damn nearly a third of the terrestrial surface. It was would not be a surprise to the pigs up at CENTCOM. Mal continued through the plans. While most of the plan seemed tame. Mals? Company. W Company. Or to the few Hispanic ODSTs in the company, it was known as Wevjos Company. Wevjos in Spanish meant the male reproductive system or any derogatory term for it. W Company would set up snipers while the rest of the division would sweep the city. These in turn split up every seven man squad and reform every platoon. An idiotic move so to speak. Leaving Mal with men he had never fought or worked with. Then something seemed odd.
Maljevik refocused his vision to see beyond the text that scrolled across his screen. His eyes widened in horror at what he saw. Flying at his pod, or at least tumbling at his pod was a chunk of space craft. It was enormous in size and was getting closer. Mal braced his armor clad boots against the hatch of his pod. He gauged how far away the chunk of space debris was. At least four-thousand meters and closing. A trick of sweat ran down his cheek. The debris slammed into another group of pods. Destroying them.
?Shit, shit, shit, shit.? Mal said to himself in a panicked tone. Mal noticed something, the debris seemed almost off. Maybe it would just miss him. He was wrong. The space debris closed in a matter of seconds. It hit the first pod of his group, then the second. The third, fourth and fifth. He was next. It closed in. Closer and closer until the very edge made contact. It hit with such force that Mals? visor slammed into the hatch. Cracking his visor. This was a feat considering it could take a several NATO rounds before failing. Mal, nearly blacking out from the force of impact, checked his vitals. He had a large laceration stretching from just behind his ear to above his right eye brow; he also had three cracked ribs a fractured skull. Mal began to feel an intense pain near his reproductive system. He looked at his last injury. A blown testical too.
?Great.? Mal said, trying not to scream in agony. He then noticed that his pod seemed upside down. No, wait. The pod wasn?t upside down. He was. He then looked out the pod window. Just in time to see another, yet smaller, chunk of starship, slam into him. Maljevik felt his pod tumble in the atmosphere of the planet. He was stuck in his jump seat due to the high G-forces. Something that had plagued man since the air campaigns over Nazi Germany almost six-hundred years ago. He couldn?t move. He had to enjoy the ride.
?I am so fucked.? Maljevik said. Helpless but to watch his pod tumble and the smear of colors. Blacks, blues, greens, yellows, oranges, flew across the view screen. Mal sat there surprisingly calm in his dire situation. Just thinking about his life how he had wound up in such a predicament. It was almost serene to Maljevik. The smear of colors, the slow rhythmic breathing from him. It would be almost peaceful if it weren?t for the extreme amount of pain in Mal?s groin. But he put that pain in the back of his head and concentrated on the moment at hand. He slowly crawled his way back to his original position up right in his jump seat. It took him several minutes. He then took control of his pod via his helmet interface system or HIS. He activated the maneuvering rockets to slow his pod?s spin. It slowed and stopped.
?Now that we got that outta the way.? Mal told himself. He began recalculating his position. He had been tumbling for nearly a half hour. This had knocked him off about six-hundred miles off course. He began to work in new calculations to fix his trajectory. Then, something slammed into the back off his pod, knocking Maljevik unconscious and sending his pod back into a spin. Below, on the surface of Sigma IX his LZ, or his grave, awaited him?
