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THE FRONT: SCREAMING EAGLES is out!

I’m very pleased to announce that THE FRONT: SCREAMING EAGLES is now available on Amazon. Not only that but it’s on sale for .99 today and tomorrow. 

I hope you enjoy this sample from the book. Look for the second book, THE FRONT: RED DEVILS in the coming months.

TheFront_updatedsub_altGrillo shivered, and thought about moving around. He’d been sitting here for over an hour, and the chill had sunk in. His clothes felt damp thanks to the cold, and he was pretty sure his jacket was frozen to the tree.

He held his M1 Garand to his chest like it was his best friend. It was loaded with a full-eight round clip and he had a few extra in his pouch. Not enough if they came under heavy fire, but the rest of the squad’s ammo was spread thin. Him being the new guy, they’d stripped most of his rounds when he’d arrived and passed them out among the other men.

Along with some ribbing, the guys had generally let him settle in. There were the usual shenanigans as they regulars broke him in, like asking him to walk the perimeter until he found his gig line. After the joking died down, him laughing it up with three others including Sergeant Pierce, they’d left him alone, because a mortar had exploded nearby.

“Didn’t think I’d be spending Christmas in Europe,” Grillo said.

“I didn’t think I’d be spending another Christmas in Europe,” Fahey replied.

“What was it like last year?”

“Like this. Krauts shooting at us. Us shooting at Krauts.”

“I haven’t even fired a shot yet. Think I’ll fit in after I kill my first German?”

“Brother, I hope you don’t have to shoot one, but you do, and you make sure the son of a bitch stays down,” Fahey said with a grimace.

Something cracked in the distance and Fahey suddenly bled confidence. He rolled over, tossed the blanket to the side, and put his M1 to his shoulder. Grillo tore himself away from the tree, ice ripping at his clothes as he peeled himself off his perch. He dropped next to Fahey and raised his gun and tried to spot movement.

“Where’d the noise come from?” he whispered.

“From shut up, that’s where,” Fahey whispered back.

Fahey scanned the tree line.

Grillo followed the man’s lead. Bootcamp was one thing–practicing shooting at targets, how to look downrange, how to aim, how to exhale and squeeze the trigger. It didn’t teach you how to deal with fear, but that was all he could think about now.

The morning was misty and that made visibility low. Plus, movement could come from any direction in a two hundred degree plus arc. The rest of the squad had the other sides covered, but even they could fall victim to a surprise attack.

Another twig snapped in the distance.

Grillo tensed and squinted his eyes. He should have been wearing glasses, but they kept fogging up in the chill air. He should have a pair of binoculars, but one of the other guys had the Baker’s only remaining pair. He should have been home in bed, warm and waiting for college to start, but instead he’d enlisted, and now here he was, in freezing temperature, laying in a cold hole in the ground, waiting for a man from another country to come try to kill him.

“Christ. It’s cold as a witch’s tit.” Fahey stated the obvious.

“What do we do now? I don’t see any movement. Should we go out there?”

“If Sarge don’t say scout, we don’t scout. If you see a guy in a metal helmet don’t look like ours, you lay into him,” Fahey said.

Grillo shivered. His gut was done up in a knot so tight he thought he was going to pass out. He inhaled and exhaled, but for some reason his head got foggy and stars danced before his eyes.

“I don’t feel good, can’t see,” Grillo muttered.

“Big dummy. Don’t suck in so much air. That’s just fear getting to you. You’re in the damn 101st airborne. You’re here to chew lead and kill Krauts. Now get it together. Just curl up and take some deep breaths. Think about a pretty girl taking off her dress, that always done it for me,” Fahey said.

Another twig snapped, and Grillo was sure he heard something brushing through the snow.

“Oh Christ, they’re coming for us,” Grillo said.

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