Two-one-five, what are your coordinates? A muffled voice came from his earpiece.
“Gorgeous.” Dan thought as he marveled the scenic lands of England. He was flying Nighthawk 40,000 feet above the ground, a beauty designed to fly stealthily and undetected in the radar.
Two-one-five, what are your coordinates?
Slowly, he descended to make out of the silvers, browns, and greens below. Trees towered over the shadowy mountains as rivers threaded the verdant lands, cluster of rocks looked like mere dots protruding from the earth. Dan couldn’t help but think of barbecues and beer during sunset. A lovely lady would be charming too, he added.
“Damn! Julio, stop shouting!” he yelled, taking the earpiece off and turning on the speaker.
Man, where in hell have you been?
“I heard you.” He answered blankly.
You heard me and? Where are you Danny? Talk.
“I was just… sightseeing. ETA to France, 13:00.”
Damn. Don’t you think this isn’t the time for sightseeing? Retrieve the microchip and return to the safe house. Those are the directions.
Danny sighed, looking down at the grassy terrain. “I’m getting old for this shit, Jules. I need barbecues and beer.”
And sunsets and women, my friend!
Word Count: 200
Written for Roger Shipp’s flash fiction challenge, Flash Fiction For the Purposeful Practitioner. A sentence is provided and we are to craft a story to under 200 words length.
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