I'm writing a science fiction book, well trying to anyway, and need someone to read this little bit. I've had the scenario in my head for awhile but it's hard to describe on paper. Does it work or not? Too much/too little details? (background, the main character Bell is in Africa, she's injured but picked up by some miltitary guys)

Linda


Barely aware. Helicopter’s noise, roaring propellers, the smell of blood, chemical hint of new uniforms, sweat, fear. Four soldiers, three standing, one squatting nearly on top of her.

“Stay back, lay down”, a firm hand on her chest, pushing her down.

Metallic taste, single high pitch in her ears, struggling to get up. His fingernails were black. A bad breath from his mouth as his chin and stubble placed themselves an inch from her face. Probably a rotten tooth did jambalaya, creating all sorts of nice gooy partygoers .

In all her miserable condition all she wanted was to get away from that smell. Shia.

”Stay down.” **** no. She fought to get her voice to work. A rasping sound. Yes that’s hers. Lips moving.

As Bad Breath turned away for a moment, she spoke:

“Missiles on the ground, they’ll be shooting, missiles…”

“Right, no, we know. We’re on the watch. Don’t worry, stay down”.

Something else had his attention, his comrades pointing to the ground.

No, get up. She got up sitting with her back against cold metal. Felt the vibrating machine in her backbone. Legs straight out. Now every one of them peered out, squatting, putting eyelids together, making themselves into hawks. Like that time stood still for a moment, everyone waiting for the puppetmaster to jank a new line.

“There it is, a nest, there it is, ten o clock!” Soldier with a hard face and dead eyes. He didn’t care.

“Where?” “let’s get the hell out of here!” “there? No they don’t got us” “We should go up!”

Chin stubble guy leaned over her to protect her how sweet. Another one sat down, arms around his head.

“The… coming in!!”

Bad Breath looked petrified. She reached out, took his arm, firm hold, grabbed him. She couldn’t let him go, he looked like a boy, 25 maybe, but right now a boy. Couldn’t let him die.

Impact wasn’t noticed. Not by anyone. No sound, no action sequence explosion, no alarm. Silence. Metal wrenched into unrecognizable scrap, a giant taking the helicopter with his hand, squeezing it hard, twisting it to a bizarre ball of heat and fire, making a curved pitch, slunging it through air, a hard spin, the twisted ball devolving into a flower, blooming outwards, pieces of metal flying. Cockpit was nowhere to be seen - vanished in disguise of a topless playboy smiling from a holomag page whisping softly in storm’s eye. Top propeller going to the right, seemingly undamaged. Any human bodies inside wasn’t aware, as limbs and body parts joined the frenzy. She saw one soldier, referred to as Jack Freewalk by the others in one faint joke, hurled in one piece downwards. She and Mr Bad Breath might be alive. Really? There were a cascade of blood and meat and flesh, and two helmets sort of floating in midair, she assumed Soldier Dead eyes and another had been standing in a bad position, right in front of the missile hit zone. She, her savior and Jack Freewalk had been hunched towards the cockpit wall, a strong metal frame partly covering them. Now they were free. Hanging weightless. Until their minds actually recorded and noticed the impact. Someone hit rewind and fastforward and got their synapses to jerk around. Reality hit. She blinked. They were free but fast falling. Time was moving incredibly slow and lightning fast at the same time.

She was holding his chest. Feeling his heart pound through the armed west. It’s not possible but yet it did. Imagination, always stronger than truth. The wind should be roaring in her ears, but only silence streamed by. Beautiful.

Brace yourself. That’s what she told him, brace yourself. Get ready for the ground, wave our legs together, land on the side, not the legs. I hope he can read my lips. In his petrified fear, a nod. An ever so slight movement.