Chapters 6 & 7 in the “Hunger” Series

Chapter 8

“Well, I think the whole situation is verruckt, fucking crazy.”  Horst crossed his arms and sulked in the back of the American deuce-and-a-half truck as it bounced along the road back towards Ornel.

Burkhardt rolled his eyes.  “Of course you do.  You’ve always been a complainer.  Do you know that?”

“Jah,” Rudi nodded impatiently.  “You’ve never been satisfied with anything the entire time I’ve know you, Horst.  What is the problem anyway?  I thought the whole idea was to surrender to the Amis or the Tommies and sit out the last few weeks of the war.  Well, we have and we’re still alive.  Mission accomplished!” (more…)

“Some things are best forgotten.”

May 17, 1967

No one remembered the original name of the old mining town. A sign long ago placed by an enterprising entrepreneur that proudly proclaimed Hot Coffee in bold letters had won out by default. How Myers wound up in Hot Coffee, Colorado was a long story. However, if he found the final survivor of Custer’s Last Stand, it would make his book like money in the bank. (more…)

[Wellington is one of the Southern Hemisphere’s success stories. I traipse up the stairwell, showing my smartcard to the guards. Across the hall, Colonel Robert Maguire sits up in bed, ravaged by the rad dose that he received during enforcement of New Zealand’s controversial ‘triage’ policy]

I know that there are some people out there who hate me, mostly those who lost family within the Australian theatre of World War Z. Unlike other states that enforced a cordon sanitaire, such as South Africa and Israel/Palestine, we had a sea border to control and protect and a long coastline. (more…)

The radio in the small bunker crackled to life with the sound of soldiers under fire. Down in the valley an American combat patrol had been ambushed by a machinegun and was pinned down, unable to move. The tension quickly mounted in the bunker as five field artillery soldiers stood waiting to take an enemy location sent by the soldiers in contact and turn it into firing data for the howitzers to hammer the enemy with 105mm high explosive artillery shells. The artillerymen did not have to wait very long.

“FIRE MISSION!” shouted the sergeant in response to the buzzing alarm of the battlefield computer in front of him.

“FIRE MISSION!” parroted back four soldiers, their voices loud in the cramped confines of the sandbag and plywood bunker they used as the fire direction center. (more…)

All chapters in the “Hunger” series

Chapter Six

Horst was the first to open fire into the oncoming crowd of Ornel’s former inhabitants. The round from his K98 Mauser slammed into the throat of an limping, groaning man and whipped his head back like it had been hit with a board, spinning him partially around. But within seconds he had turned towards the makeshift barrier blocking the road and continued his advance. Burkhardt glared at him. “Dumpfkoff! Scharfuhrer Dietl told you to aim for the head! We’ve only got a few rounds between us!”  (more…)

Hue Citadel, Republic of Vietnam.

May, 1968.

I’m not going to deny it. I absolutely love this shit. Tim Page said it best when he told some REMF reporter asshole back in Saigon, “Some folks had happy childhoods. The rest of us had Vietnam.” Truer words were never spoken. This place is hotter than hell, malaria is everywhere, the bugs are everywhere, and you can’t trust a goddamned soul when it comes to the locals. Our own government is supporting the most corrupt pile of sonsabitches that ever drew breath, but to tell you the truth? Hell, I’d rather be here than covering some jive-ass assignment back in the World.   (more…)

Continued from Part 1

The Stryker careened around the corner and the men inside, packed so tightly that they could barely breathe, swayed back and forth into each other. It was an uncomfortable ride, but not a one of them would’ve preferred the alternative. The Gunny couldn’t really see much, locked as he was in the mass of men packed into the APC but he did spot some few details as it continued to roar away from the crowd of dead left behind. (more…)

How long had it been? He could not wrap his chemically-preserved synapses around the concept, overhearing seals being opened to this special storage pod before cold gasses dissipated around him. There was a hissing as the pod’s front lid raised upward and away, the sleeper’s eyes usually closed when stored here and seeing no reason for opening them yet until addressed by his commanding Lieutenant General Ross Haggard or one of the various Central Intelligence Agency handlers he had come to know while involved as an assassin in the shadowy world of national security.

I remember the last mission, killing that fanatic to save the king of a small Arab nation vital for our operations in the Middle East, just not every detail now. (more…)

This is the third story of a series that began with 1ST OHIO VOLUNTEERS.

1.

A wet, frigid wind tore at the long column of ragged men as they continued their march along a snow covered highway flanked on both sides by large white hills. The tops of those hills however were invisible in the grey haze of the miserably wet and cold weather. Their heads were bowed against the harsh bite of the wind and barely a word was spoken among them. Large flakes of wet snow whipped into them, liquefied, and ran down the seams of their combat fatigues. Icicles clung to the rims of their Kevlar helmets.

Their shoulders sported the screaming eagle of the 101st Airborne division and this detachment was composed of a platoon of light infantry. In total they numbered around 40 men and they trudged through the snow with the grim determination that only soldiers can muster. (more…)

All chapters in the “Hunger” series

Chapter Four

“It’s no use. The bastard thing will nae start!” Martin gave up trying to turn the jeep over. The engine was thoroughly flooded and his frantic attempts to start it again had only made the situation worse. “Sergeant, we’ve got to get out of here. If you can’t get the jeep started, we’re going to have to run.” Reuter again looked through the field glasses. The approaching throng of people wending their way out of the tiny village of Ornel was gradually growing closer, now less than 100 yards away.

“Are ye daft, ye fookin’ tosser?” Clive yelled from the back of the jeep. “I’m nae hoofin’ it! They’ll back off once I put a few warning shots from the .50 across them.” To demonstrate, Clive fired off a rapid burst from the .50 caliber. The slugs impacted into the ground directly in front of the mob to no discernible notice. They continued to press forward, the entire crowd moaning in an unearthly chorus. As they drew nearer, the grisly wounds of each person seemed to magnify before the two British and two German soldiers sitting in the jeep. (more…)

“We have to tell the crew…” Highfield observed, grimacing.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Farris replied, “I mean, how many of them will have families…y’know…in the area.”

“That’s why they need to be told. Come on Cal, they’re professionals. They’re trained, we owe it to them to…” (more…)