conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a story about American, Vietnam, Survivors with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this story could be 'No Survivors'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first three paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: No Survivors
  She was wearing a bathrobe, and beneath that a swimsuit. The yacht was moored less than two hundred yards from the shore. Alix was a strong swimmer—she felt sure she could cover the distance without any trouble, even allowing for the bag she'd have tied around her waist. She was taking the absolute minimum she would need: her wallet, passport, and phone; a sweatshirt; a pair of jeans; and her lightest pair of flat, slip-on shoes. Aside from the jeans and sweatshirt, each item was individually wrapped in a food bag, and then everything went inside the garbage bag, which she'd sealed with packing tape. She planned to leave around one in the morning, when there'd be only one man keeping watch from the bridge. If she could make it to shore, she'd be long gone by the time the sun came up.
  She walked to the door and opened it. But he held no message in his hand. Instead, he was pointing a gun at her, and there was not a trace of his former servility in his voice as he said, "Put some clothes on. You're going on a trip."
  She stepped back into the room, opening the door wider to let him in. As far as the steward was concerned, she was just the little blond wifey He was taken completely by surprise when she slammed the door back in his face, flung it open again and kicked him hard in the crotch. As he bent double in agony, Alix stepped forward and drove her knee into his face. She had no idea why the crew had suddenly turned on her, but there was no time to worry about that now. She ran back to her bed, grabbed the garbage bag, and hurried out into the passageway.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about standing.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: No Survivors
  She was wearing a bathrobe, and beneath that a swimsuit. The yacht was moored less than two hundred yards from the shore. Alix was a strong swimmer—she felt sure she could cover the distance without any trouble, even allowing for the bag she'd have tied around her waist. She was taking the absolute minimum she would need: her wallet, passport, and phone; a sweatshirt; a pair of jeans; and her lightest pair of flat, slip-on shoes. Aside from the jeans and sweatshirt, each item was individually wrapped in a food bag, and then everything went inside the garbage bag, which she'd sealed with packing tape. She planned to leave around one in the morning, when there'd be only one man keeping watch from the bridge. If she could make it to shore, she'd be long gone by the time the sun came up. 
  She walked to the door and opened it. The steward was standing there. But he held no message in his hand. Instead, he was pointing a gun at her, and there was not a trace of his former servility in his voice as he said, "Put some clothes on. You're going on a trip. "
  She stepped back into the room, opening the door wider to let him in. As far as the steward was concerned, she was just the little blond wifey He was taken completely by surprise when she slammed the door back in his face, flung it open again and kicked him hard in the crotch. As he bent double in agony, Alix stepped forward and drove her knee into his face. She had no idea why the crew had suddenly turned on her, but there was no time to worry about that now. She ran back to her bed, grabbed the garbage bag, and hurried out into the passageway.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Could a Serb who couldn't speak English tell the difference between a real American accent and a bad English fake? Carver would have to hope not.
  He repeated his little mantra: "Plane American, me American," then added, "Me go into plane. You... off the plane."
  The mechanic looked at him, puffed his cheeks, exhaled heavily, then shrugged. He didn't need to say a word to convey his message: He thought Carver was a jerk, but he couldn't be bothered even to attempt to argue with him. He climbed down off the ladder.
  He went up the ladder into the bay. Laying his bag on the fuselage floor, he finished topping off the hydraulic accumulator. Then he got out his tools: a wrench to loosen the connections of the hot-air pipes, and a wire cutter to strip as much plastic insulation as possible off the wiring bundles in the same. He wasn't going to hand McCabe another lifeline. This plane was going down hard. And just to underline the point, he left the jerry can, still half filled with inflammable fluid, its top unscrewed, in the equipment bay when he closed up and left.
  He made his way back to the truck, sorely tempted just to put that Serb uniform back on and drive out the way he had come, get out before anyone even knew he'd been there. The urge to stay, though, was stronger. He wanted to see McCabe get on the plane, watch it as it roared down the runway, follow its path into the sky. This time he had absolute confidence in the work he'd done. The aircraft was a death trap. The moment the pilot switched on the jets, its fate was assured. He just needed to know that his prey was aboard.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Could a Serb who couldn't speak English tell the difference between a real American accent and a bad English fake? Carver would have to hope not.
  He repeated his little mantra: "Plane American, me American," then added, "Me go into plane. You... off the plane."
  The mechanic looked at him, puffed his cheeks, exhaled heavily, then shrugged. He didn't need to say a word to convey his message: He thought Carver was a jerk, but he couldn't be bothered even to attempt to argue with him. He climbed down off the ladder.
  He went up the ladder into the bay. Laying his bag on the fuselage floor, he finished topping off the hydraulic accumulator. Then he got out his tools: a wrench to loosen the connections of the hot-air pipes, and a wire cutter to strip as much plastic insulation as possible off the wiring bundles in the same. He wasn't going to hand McCabe another lifeline. This plane was going down hard. And just to underline the point, he left the jerry can, still half filled with inflammable fluid, its top unscrewed, in the equipment bay when he closed up and left.
  He made his way back to the truck, sorely tempted just to put that Serb uniform back on and drive out the way he had come, get out before anyone even knew he'd been there. The urge to stay, though, was stronger. He wanted to see McCabe get on the plane, watch it as it roared down the runway, follow its path into the sky. This time he had absolute confidence in the work he'd done. The aircraft was a death trap. The moment the pilot switched on the jets, its fate was assured.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.. Start with the sentence 'In June, July, and August 1998, CIA agents in Tiranë, the capital of Albania, carried out the forcible captures and extraditions of five senior members of Egyptian Islamic Jihad, an organization with extremely close, long-standing ties to al-Qaeda'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: In June, July, and August 1998, CIA agents in Tiranë, the capital of Albania, carried out the forcible captures and extraditions of five senior members of Egyptian Islamic Jihad, an organization with extremely close, long-standing ties to al-Qaeda. The men were flown to Egypt, where they were tortured, tried, and found guilty of terrorist offenses. Two were executed, one sentenced to life imprisonment, and the others given lengthy jail terms.
  Despite the presence of these known terrorists in Albania, ethnic homeland of the Kosovo Liberation Army, and despite the certain presence of jihadist fighters in Bosnia, U.S. and U.K. policy remained—and still remains—predicated on the conviction that there were, and are, no links between the Kosovo Albanians and Islamic terrorism. This view is hotly disputed by the Serbs and their traditional allies in Russia and Bulgaria. There is, however, considerable evidence that the KLA received both weapons and training from U.S. sources—civilian, corporate, and official—and had similar links to the German BND intelligence service. It would be embarrassing, to say the least, if Western governments had, yet again, been assisting the very forces that were most bent on their destruction.
  In July 1998, the U.S. Commission on National Security issued the first of three wide-ranging reports analyzing expected global developments up to 2025, the threats they posed to U.S. national security, and the measures that should be taken to make the United States and its allies better able to deal with the threats facing it. None of these reports, whose later editions appeared in 1999 and 2001, included any specific suggestion that Islamic terrorism might be a danger to the United States or its allies, let alone strike directly at their territories and citizens.
  On August 7, 1998, terrorists acting on behalf of the World Islamic Front for Jihad Against the Jews and Crusaders—a coalition of groups spearheaded by al-Qaeda and Osama bin Laden—drove trucks laden with explosives into the U.S. embassies in Nairobi, Kenya, and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. More than two hundred people were killed and over four thousand wounded, the vast majority of them local civilians.
  Samuel Carver's continuing survival is only possible thanks to the people who so carefully tend to him in London, New York, and L.A. They include (but are by no means limited to)... Aislinn Casey, Andrew Duncan, Ben Petrone, Bill Scott-Kerr, Clare Ferraro, Gavin Hilzbrich, Giles Milburn, Josh Kendall, Julian Alexander, Lucinda Bettridge, Mark Lucas, Martin Higgins, Michelle DeCoux, Nick Harris, Patsy Irwin, Peta Nightingale, Sally Gaminara, and Selina Walker.