Saturday, February 25, 2012

So, My Boy Joined the Army.

Here goes another series.

As an Army veteran, I understand what it is to serve, but I never really appreciated the way my mother felt until my oldest son joined the Marines and was deployed to Afghanistan. While researching EOD, a job he was considering, I developed a series called Blown Away.

Since then, I've written many more stories, inspired by men and women in uniform. In my 1NS story, Cinderella Wore Combat Boots, you will see a dedication to the boys of the 2-26.

As you know, Cinderella Wore Combat Boots was written for the men and women of our military, my real life heroes. Everyday, they put their lives on the line to protect freedoms we sometimes take for granted.
Unfortunately many of our young men and women suffer mentally and physically from war. This affects their lives and their family's lives on a grand scale. It's why I support organizations like The Wounded Warrior Project, who help these young men and women to reclaim normal, healthy lives.

So what's the latest WIP about. Why, a combat medic of course. Finding Mercy is about a young man who suffers Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, struggling to come to terms with what he'd done while deployed, and his fight to live a normal life again. 

Here's an excerpt:
“This one’s alive.” Someone hoisted the weight from a large chunk of wreckage off him, and pressed fingers against his throat, feeling for a pulse. Hands under his shoulders and knees. Up. Lifted and set on a stretcher. “No,” he screamed, begging for an end to it. He wasn’t alive. This couldn’t be real. Another screamed gurgled from his throat and he began to convulse, unable to hold his limbs still.
"Hold him down so I can sedate him.” Hands grasped his wounded limbs and he arched up. A stick with a needle. Burning.

He turned his head toward the medic who stuck him as the seizure eased.
“You’re going to be okay.”
Let me die. God. Please. Let me die. Pain rode his nerves like an electrical wire, sending jolts of agony to the tips of his fingers and toes. He opened his mouth to scream again, but nothing came from his throat. Thrum, thrum, thrum, his heartbeat slowed as the anesthetic began to take effect. Every step the medics took as they hauled him toward reprieve, hurt. Broken bones, burns, and knowing he’d killed them all and survived to see his handy work. Justin wasn’t sure what was worse.
Whump, whump, whump, the chopper’s blades beat against the air. The pressure seemed to pound down on him as they loaded him onboard. He turned his head, opened his eyes and stared out over the battlefield, now a large crater. Below, a graveyard covered the landscape. Soldiers picked through the debris, searching for survivors. It was amazing they’d found any. From the looks of it, the bombs had tried to punch a hole through the planet.
Have a great Saturday,



Jessica Subject said...

You have fabulous and brave inspiration. I look forward to reading more of this story. :)

Sheri Fredricks said...

What a strong excerpt. Such a way with words to connect me to the character. Excellent, glad I stopped by!

Brenda said...

Fantastic excerpt!