Reporting For Duty
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The Orient Connection (Working Title)
I have started writing this and will (hopefully) post the first chapter tomorrow.
Thought that I would explain to everyone what this is about. Well, put simply, this is Bond 17 if Dalton were in it. Having read the treatment for 'Property of a Lady', I assume that they were all bonkers if they thought that to be acceptable for a Bond film.
This is set two years after the events of Licence To Kill (1991 for those who like their facts to be directly facing them), and starts with Bond wracked with guilt over Sanchez's death.
Major props to JWESTBROOK for his Skyfall novelisation btw - given that this is what prompted me to start writing this.
I know this seems cheeky, in that I am telling and not showing, but if all would like to bear with me for the time being
:D
In terms of the plot, this involves the CIA and their drug smuggling.
Thought that I would explain to everyone what this is about. Well, put simply, this is Bond 17 if Dalton were in it. Having read the treatment for 'Property of a Lady', I assume that they were all bonkers if they thought that to be acceptable for a Bond film.
This is set two years after the events of Licence To Kill (1991 for those who like their facts to be directly facing them), and starts with Bond wracked with guilt over Sanchez's death.
Major props to JWESTBROOK for his Skyfall novelisation btw - given that this is what prompted me to start writing this.
I know this seems cheeky, in that I am telling and not showing, but if all would like to bear with me for the time being
:D
In terms of the plot, this involves the CIA and their drug smuggling.
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Comments
And the proper term for Bond 17 is no't bonkers, it's Whoopi Goldberg Stupid.
I'm glad I could be some form of inspiration to you, and I'm really excited to see where you take us.
Post it! The only way to improve is to expose! It can't be that bad.. I'm sure all of us have managed to sit through Die Another Day.
Bond is Bond, good or not as good. There can be no bad.
Don't I know it
@SlayerDarth; @saunders Post what you've done so far, I'm sure many of us would be happy to have a read through and give some feedback. It's not an easy process. I think I'm confident enough to write up a story in an intelligent manner once it's there, but I'm finding it really difficult to create a story that makes sense.
Despite what one has heard about Mexico and its bandits, the South American nation is still abundant with lush trees, exotic flowers and, contrary to popular belief, even palm trees. One cannot dispute that regions of Mexico are filled with natural wonders. The country is mountainous on all sides, with highlands in much of the centre and lowlands on the coast.
Anthony Dawes took a brief glance at the expansive terrain of Mexico, safe from within the confines of the cockpit. He took a drag from the lit cigarette which had moments ago been secreted from his jacket, relishing the freedom of commandeering a plane.
Night came quickly for him.
The sun hovered briefly on the horizon, and then took one false swoop. At that, the clouds started gathering together, boasting an array of slowly fading colours. It was as if they were being sucked into a large cauldron, the ones heard of in fantasies.
Clutched around the grip of the control stick was Anthony’s steadied hand. He knew that the storm was coming.
The weathered single-engine Cessna 172 Skyhawk soared above the small farms and industrial plants of the Mexican regions, a strange concoction of old and new.
It was the sort of plane that would have been able to roam their skies with complete discretion – and it was for this precise reason that it had been commissioned.
If any aspiring busybodies had thought to run a verification check of the registration number printed under the wing, then they should have thought twice: all one could find out at a moment's notice was that this plane was owned by a banana export firm based in Jamaica.
But this was not true. There was no such firm, and the bananas of Mexico were already in season.
Anthony tugged at the loose collar of his dirtied white shirt, praying that the storm would clear before long.
He took a sweeping glance at the multifunction display in the control panel; Anthony made sure that the features were studied in detail with his hawk-like eyes.
The illuminated computer screen was warning him of the incoming storm.
But he did not fret – low clouds and rain, despite all odds, were for the best. The authorities were less interested in catching felons when the odds were not in their favour – and when there was a storm on the bound, vigilance became lax.
Regardless, he was still nervous. His senses told him something was up, even though this storm was the only visible threat.
At this point, only the internal rumble of the engine could soothe him. Perhaps he would have to make a few emergency stops here and there, for the dual purposes of refuelling and calming his nerves down.
His employer wanted him to fly from here to Texas. But that was all he knew. The man who paid his wages made sure that he knew the bare minimum, strictly on a need-to-know basis. Perhaps that was for the best - although, in his case, it was technically for the worst.
He tried his best where flying was concerned, leaning comfortably against the rough leather of the pilot seat. Piloting such aircraft as the staggering Cessna airplanes hardly perturbed him, but something about this particular flight seemed to get on his nerves.
(Will add more later)
(hooked)