Craig is an international bestselling author with over nearly thirty titles to his credit, including the Free Trader Series (scifi), the Cygnus Space Opera series, the End Times Alaska series, and the Rick Banik Thrillers.
Craig is also co-writing the Terry Henry Walton Chronicles with Michael Anderle.
|Posted on June 27, 2017 at 8:20 AM||comments (0)|
Nomad's Force - SNIPPET 2
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 9
Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
It had taken a week before Akio proclaimed Ramses fit to travel. After that, they loaded everyone into the pod and headed home, stopping in San Francisco on their way.
“Boris. Are you ever going back to North Chicago?” Terry asked as they enthusiastically shook hands.
“I’m thinking no, Colonel. It really is hard to beat this place, and there are ten times the number of people from which to find new recruits. That’s looking good, too,” the lieutenant replied, turning to look at his adopted city.
Terry followed his gaze. It was hard to believe how much the city was thriving. A container ship was negotiating the bay outside the wharf. A tug was waiting for it to get closer.
“I could run a new platoon through training every month, if we want. Is there anything in the training schedule we can cut back?” Boris asked.
Terry pursed his lips and looked at the blue sky. “I don’t want to short-change training. Two months is an absolute minimum followed by continuous on-the-job training for the next six months. If we hurry them through, then we water down our capabilities. They need both types of training to get the most out of their new profession.”
TH needed the numbers for his deployment plan, but he refused to sacrifice quality to get them. “Keep the standards up, Lieutenant and if you have to, run bigger recruit training classes until we can run multiple sessions simultaneously.”
“That’s what I’m worried about, Colonel. Our people with combat experience are limited, especially as we rotate the platoons in and out. I’m losing a lot of continuity. We need a permanent garrison, like you mentioned last year,” Boris said pointedly.
“I know, but I saw too much partying and not enough FDGing,” Terry replied, looking around to make sure no one was within earshot. “I’ll tell you that it pissed me off. People need to be ready to take on the Forsaken and their minions, whether that happens next week or five years from now. We can’t ever drop our guard, or people will die!”
“I understand completely, but it’s hard to make the others understand,” Boris said softly.
Terry put a fatherly hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder. “It’s your job to make them understand,” Terry added. “What do you say we let the newest tactical team members run your people through their paces, and then we’ll leave it to you to find the warriors to establish a permanent garrison? We’ll stay here for a couple days. Decide by then and we’ll take the rest back to North Chicago with us.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Boris replied, before hurrying away to find his two platoon sergeants and to rally the troops.
It took longer than Terry wanted. Kim, Kae, Marcie, and Ramses had joined him as he waited, impatiently tapping his foot.
When the three platoons finally formed, two from the garrison and the one recruit platoon, Terry was fit to be tied. He demanded the utmost of military discipline. He’d striven for standards that rivaled the Marine Corps in which he was raised.
“Settle down, please,” Char whispered into his ear. He tried not to smile. “You’re vibrating in place.”
He stopped tapping his foot and turned to look into his wife’s beautiful, purple eyes. Without looking away, he said, “Kim, Kae, Ramses, and Marcie. Why don’t you guys show them some stuff you learned from Akio, as well as tell a story or two about combat? Take care of it, please,” Terry ordered.
“That’s more like it. Don’t want my big husky colonel to wear a sourpuss,” Char purred.
“Moi? A sourpuss? Never, woman,” Terry said. She cocked one eyebrow.
“You are the king of the sourpusses,” she retorted softly, smiling at him.
“And you are as beautiful as the day we first met,” he told her as the newly enhanced warriors brought the platoons into a huddle.
“Of course, I am,” Char answered, taking Terry’s hand.
Tragedy of tragedies! Outside Fox, Alaska, the fox aren't doing their job. One ran up the driveway a couple days ago, but the rabbits are relentless! They have pared four of our six cabbage plants down to the ground and eaten half of the cheddar cauliflower plant. We are down to one anemic tomato plant, a zucchini plant struggling to live, and a dwarf pepper plant with some baby peppers. Our herbs are growing famously, though!
I expect that I won't put up fencing to keep the rabbits out. I see all the neighbor's gardens on my walk with Phyllis the Arctic Dog in the morning, and I see one of the others put up chicken wire around his very nice set up. I'm already planning for next year. I think I'll leave my greenhouse up over the winter in order to start earlier. I'll have to keep the snow brushed off it, but that's easy stuff. I'll also plant in pots only, keeping them permanently in the greenhouse. I'll have to water, but that's okay. I have a truck now, so getting water is easy, as is getting a rain barrel to collect the water. Collecting rainwater in a barrel is not illegal in Alaska like it is in states disconnected from reality.
The weather is beautiful. I finished the Arbonne cleanse on Saturday morning. Sugar tastes too sweet which is a very good thing. We've continued to eat healthy. I weighed in at 187.4 pounds, down from a hair under 200 when I started. Can I make it to 180 by the end of the summer? I think that is probable. I will continue to update you on my progress. Next stop is 185. My wardrobe has grown immensely at my new weight. It shrunk significantly with the added inches.
I usually don't do puns, but that was a good one:).
Let me ask a favor - if you are in KU and you haven't read my short stories in an anthology I published a few weeks ago, I invite you to give them a read. The first one relates well to those who grew up playing pen & pencil roleplaying games while the second one, Mission: Recovery is a good one that is very Free Trader-like. While you're reading, James M. Ward's story reads like a love story to his wife. It is a touching piece of literature. And I personally think that Valerie Emerson's story is the best in the book. She wrote a great piece tying spirituality within the ship's environment when people no longer know why they are where they are.
|Posted on June 25, 2017 at 9:10 AM||comments (0)|
Fear Peace by Craig Martelle
Even in the future, the human mind wrestles with the terrors of combat.
And often loses.
War-weary veterans are in therapy to help them fight their inner demons, but this group has a different way of dealing with their pain. In the darkness of space, no one can see them return to combat, time and again, to fight the alien invaders.
They find peace in war and they find the aliens to be different from what they remembered.
This is a short story standalone from an author with more than twenty years in the Marine Corps. PTSD afflicts too many, but there is a way out of the hole when you take a journey with others.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07379WQ79/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B07379WQ79&linkCode=as2&tag=crahompag-20&linkId=a370826dcdda3a6577b6011be52324e9" target="_blank">Available exclusively from Amazon
I wrote this for The Expanding Universe, an anthology that I published available for only six months before returning all authors' stories to them. I have short stories in a number of anthologies and will continue to publish them as short stories when they come available. When I have enough, I'll put them into a single short story collection.
Thank you for continuing to read my books. That means a lot to me. If you have a minute or two, I'd appreciate it if you could drop a review for this if you enjoyed it. Here's the direct link to leave a review for Fear Peace.
|Posted on June 24, 2017 at 8:55 AM||comments (0)|
Nomad's Force - SNIPPET 1
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 9
Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
Kimber and Kaeden made short work of the obstacle course set up outside the command center. Akio hadn’t allowed them to be idle during their recovery and acclimation time. He made them rebuild the course, tripling the height and length of the obstacles. Ramses was still re-learning how to walk before trying to run.
Akio refused to let anyone sit out, so Cory had trained every day, just like Kim and Kae. Her nanocytes were not fully up to the challenge like those of her siblings, but she was able to perform far better than even the most capable pure human.
They saw the pod descending at the same time.
Kim, Kae, and Cory’s initial concern that it was an attack evaporated once they saw Akio strolling to the landing area to meet it. The three ran after him, acting very much like children as they pulled each other back in order to be first as they expected to see their parents.
When the ramp descended, they’d put on their emotionless faces to stand in a line as if they had been there all along. Akio looked at them for a few moments, while they tried not to smirk.
Inside the pod, Terry and Char carried their grandchildren, the two-year-old William and the five-year-old Mary Ellen.
Auburn spotted his wife and ran. They’d been apart for more than a year, as had Kaeden and Marcie. She bolted from the pod as if racing Auburn. Terry and Char waited for Felicity to find her way into the sunshine, joining her outside as the children reconnected. Cory and Akio approached, bowing together.
Then Cory rushed forward to wrap an arm around each of her parents, giving nose kisses to her niece and nephew.
“Akio-sama,” Terry started, unable to bow because of Cory and the toddler in his arms. “I want to thank you in person for taking such good care of my family.”
“It is what I would do for anyone, Terry-san, although I am especially pleased with the results. Kaeden is eight inches taller and Kimber is six. It took them some time to get used to their new bodies,” Akio replied, feeling guilty over the amount of time the process had taken, no matter how many times Terry told him that it was okay.
A normal conversion with a fully functioning pod doc would usually take days, but Akio’s system wasn’t running optimally and the changes in the people were extreme. With both of those factors, days became months.
Ramses finally joined the group. He walked stiffly, stopping and stretching often during the short trip. He’d only been out of the pod two weeks, and his new muscles needed more time stretching and flexing.
Cory put William down who immediately ran to his father. To the children, their father had always been tall, so they didn’t see the difference. Marcie used to look Kae in the eye, now, she had to tip her head backward.
Kae grinned ear to ear, then picked his wife up and swung her around in a circle which knocked both the kids down. They started to cry, but their parents were quick to the rescue.
Akio motioned for the group to make their way to the house, where he would welcome them in a more traditional Japanese manner. Terry let the others continue toward a waiting Yuko. Terry watched the happy reunion. They’d been apart for far too long, but they’d make up that time and then some
When the others had gone, Terry faced Akio, both men wearing serious expressions. “He was right there, Akio-sama. We saw Mister Smith, but couldn’t get close enough to do anything about it. Have you heard or seen anything since?”
“Nothing, Terry-san. He has disappeared and we’ve seen and heard nothing. You have won the battle,” Akio assured the colonel.
“But we haven’t won the war. I think we have a long ways to go. I’d like to spread the FDG around the globe, put them in strategic well-populated locations to keep an eye on things. Watch for people who go missing. Watch for the influence of the Forsaken. They just can’t help themselves when they’re around humans. They want to take over, build their legions of minions. I need your help in transporting our people around. Is there any way we can add a couple pods to our stable?” Terry asked, bowing humbly as he made his request.
My wife and I finished a four-week long Arbonne (arbonne.com) cleanse, using their products and following the meal plan that our Arbonne consultant provided for us. There is a wide variety of food to pick and choose to make, so it isn't too tough to follow. For me, late night snacking is a problem. I followed the cleanse religiously, not cheating on the food.
I lost nearly 13 pounds and many inches off my waist. My shirt was getting tight around my belly, and I just couldn't have that. I'm blessed with a fast metabolism, but I have a tendency to feed it the wrong calories. When eating properly, the weight comes off fairly easily. I did not work out more than normal, which is ab crunches every other day and one to two miles walking with my dog.
I feel so much better not having fried food or sugar for a month. It's important in life not to poison yourself. Take care and eat right. Processed foods generally have stuff that's bad for you. You can't go wrong with fresh stuff.
Break's over. Back to Nomad's Force. I don't have a release date yet because I have no idea how long it's going to be. I need to cover a lot of ground on this one. You'll see what I mean when it is finally in your hands.
We are currently enjoying twenty-four hours of daylight, so there are no stars we can see. So here's a little slice of night to make hold us over until the night sky returns. Until then, Earth and the Milky Way...
|Posted on June 20, 2017 at 7:30 PM||comments (0)|
Defense of the Deep Space Denali
By Craig Martelle
- Captain Fleece Newman
- Executive Officer Hamden Cray
- Navigator Vesuvius Entwhistle
- Pilot Major Hardy
- Engineer Torrent Forrest
It felt like the ship had slammed into an invisible wall. The crew was thrown about the bridge. Screams and dull thuds resounded. An angry yell came through the sealed hatch behind them. Vesuvius Entwhistle, the navigator, jumped from his seat and froze, trying to balance as the ship continued to shake from the violence of the unknown impact.
Entwhistle pulled himself hand over hand until he reached the door. He yanked down on a hand lever to the side. The clamps released and the captain pushed the round hatch open.
Captain Fleece Newman stepped through, nodding tersely to his navigator. He limped badly because of a damaged left leg, injured in a war long before he took to hauling cargo. A scar, deep enough to set his face in a permanent snarl, bisected his cheekbone. He was wary and quiet; no one knew how much he hated beer.
It was his secret, and that’s why he didn’t allow it on board. Single malt Scotch, on the other hand…
The navigator checked the hatch’s actuation system before returning the lever to the automatic position. The hatch closed and sealed. The captain was the last of the crew to arrive.
The crew’s part of the ship was small as the rest of the space was taken with systems and cargo, neither of which required an atmosphere or the artificial gravity of the spinning, doughnut-shaped command module at the top of the vast, boxy cargo hauler.
“What the hell happened?” Captain Newman bellowed, looking from one face to the next. The executive officer was still sitting in the captain’s module, rapidly shifting views from one screen to the next. Each seat in the command module was within a gimbaled cage, providing a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view with a simple body-activated rotation. If they lost gravity, they would still be able to operate the ship. She shook her head, unable to determine a cause.
The captain pulled himself to the pilot’s position. “Come on, Major, what did you fly us into?” Fleece’s disfigured sneer was more pronounced when expressing his dismay. He thrust his face into the caged space that Major Hardy occupied. “Well?”
“I didn’t fly us into anything! What the hell? We’re in interstellar space. There’s nothing out here. Scans don’t show anything. Something must have happened to the engine. Torrent!” the pilot yelled. “Whenever you’re ready, suit up and let’s take a look.”
The engineer, Torrent Forrest, was so embroiled in his data from the ship’s drive systems that he didn’t hear the pilot call his name. He was focused on the reports coming from the onboard computer, inundating him with data. It would have been easier if the computer system was an artificial intelligence. The owners of the cargo haulers said they didn’t need that for the milk runs of the Deep Space series of ships. AIs were reserved for deep space exploration and military ships, while the cargo routes were simple and the ship was mostly automated.
That’s why a five-hundred-thousand-ton vessel could be served by a crew of five...
Want to read more? Check out the story in The Expanding Univers, Volume 2
|Posted on June 20, 2017 at 5:45 PM||comments (0)|
WWDE + 31
Teaching Gene to Fight
In China, Gene almost died after a fight with a Weretiger. Terry was determined to see that never happened again.
Since then, Terry spent a great deal of time turning the wrestler into a fighter, helping him understand how best to use his strengths while limiting his weaknesses.
“As big as that melon is, you’d think there’d be God-damned brain in there!” Terry yelled, spit flying from his face. Gene growled and snarled, but didn’t approach.
In Werebear form, he circled his opponent, the much smaller human, then he charged.
Terry dodged and swung a small club with metal spikes to replicate the claws of a Weretiger. Terry drove the spikes into Gene’s shoulder and raked the flesh unmercifully. Gene turned and swept a massive paw through the space where Terry Henry had been.
Terry danced out of the Werebear’s reach. Gene attacked again, pulling up short, and beginning a dance of his own. Standing on his two back feet, he weaved and bounced.
Gene worked his way back and forth until Terry was cornered. Then the Werebear attacked. Terry counted on his strength to jump over Gene and free himself, but the Werebear was too quick.
A claw swung and embedded itself in Terry’s leg, stopping him mid-leap. Gene dragged Terry to his chest, turning the human away from him to expose his neck.
“STOP!” Char bellowed. Gene opened his jaws wide. Char leapt into the air and with the full force of her Werewolf strength, she punched Gene in the side of his furry Werebear head. He instantly dropped Terry and staggered to the side, changing into human form as he fell over.
Terry stumbled, wincing at the damage to his leg. Char gave him a drink of water and together they watched Gene struggle to his feet.
“What happen? I thought I won!” he exclaimed.
“You did win, my large friend. You are getting better with each new day.” Terry didn’t give false compliments. He meant what he said.
“Next up, a bout with a real Weretiger.” Terry turned to Aaron who looked exasperated. “Yes, you.”
“Come on, Terry, he’s getting it!” Aaron whined.
“Change. NOW!” Terry demanded. Aaron didn’t bother taking his clothes off. He changed into Weretiger form and easily slipped out of his clothes.
The great cat screamed, showing its fangs. The Weretiger focused like a laser on the Werebear, then slowly laid down and started licking its paw.
Terry slapped his forehead. The two Weres had fought together, and Aaron and Gene were friends. Terry never knew what Aaron would do when he changed into Were form. In this case, the cat didn’t seem inclined to fight.
Terry stormed into the sand pit and grabbed Gene by his ears. The big man was naked and there was nothing else that Terry was willing to put his hands on. Gene’s face turned red, and Terry let go.
“Show him that a Weretiger cannot better you. Become the Werebear, my large friend,” Terry said softly, encouragingly.
Gene changed into the monstrous Werebear. He stood on his back legs and roared, then dropped to the ground, making sand fly and the earth shake. Aaron jumped to his feet, snarling afresh. Gene charged.
Aaron dashed out of the way, turned and attacked the Werebear’s flank, but Gene was ready. He dug in with his front paws and lashed out with a back leg, kicking aside the Weretiger’s attack. Bear claws and tiger claws raked each other’s leg, before they separated. Aaron circled away, slightly limping from his wound.
Gene turned and shambled slowly forward, but deliberately back and forth, trying to force Aaron into a corner. Char ran to the side once she found that she was between the tiger and the corner that Gene was trying to force him into.
Aaron bunched his legs beneath him, preparing for a mighty leap. Gene surged forward then jumped sideways into the path of the leaping Weretiger. Gene swung a giant paw, connecting with Aaron and sending him flying into a wall. Gene tore the ground up as he headed for the rebounding Weretiger.
Aaron heard him coming and leapt straight up the wall. He kicked against it and sailed well over Gene’s head. The Weretiger hit the ground and took off running.
Gene stood as he turned, ready for the Weretiger’s attack, but the only thing he saw was Aaron’s tail as teh Weretiger disappeared into the nearest stand of trees.
“I’d say that tells you how well you were doing, Gene,” Terry declared, as Char nodded.
Gene changed back into human form. He looked around before stating the obvious. “Hungry like bear.
|Posted on June 20, 2017 at 6:30 AM||comments (0)|
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles - Book 8
by Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
is now available - exclusively on Amazon
always FREE on Kindle Unlimited
|Posted on June 18, 2017 at 10:10 AM||comments (2)|
Nomad Mortis - Snippet 05 (the last one, looking to publish tomorrow)
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles, Book 8
by Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
“Pull that into place, lame ass!” Shonna growled as she struggled with the oversized valve. Merrit was trying to loosen a bracket to align the pipe to the flange.
“Fuck off! The pipe is warped and the shit isn’t cooperating,” Merrit shot back.
“There’s only one stupid fucker here who isn’t cooperating.” Shonna glared at her mate.
Ted strolled in, looked for a moment, then walked twenty yards down the line where he cranked three times on a jack supporting the pipe’s elbow. The end in Merrit’s hand dropped and slid into the flange.
Merrit grunted an apology as he clamped the two ends together to prepare them for welding.
Terry waited out of the way until the cursing and glaring was finished.
“Pack up. We need to go,” Terry told them.
Shonna slowly turned and fixed him with an angry stare. “No. Can. Do,” she said, emphasizing each word. Terry raised his eyebrows. She raised hers in response.
“Sorry, hon. Duty calls,” Merrit apologized as he set his tools on the floor and hurried away without looking at Shonna. He motioned with his head that Terry should follow.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the sounds of the power plant.
“Run!” Merrit yelled as he bolted for the door. Terry didn’t question it. At least he was able to get one of the two. If there were only three Werewolves where they were going, they would have plenty of horsepower. He had forgotten to send for Gene, but figured Char found him. She was the alpha and this was her mission.
Terry stopped when he reached the jeep, but Merrit had already raced past and was running down the road. Terry started the jeep. When he looked at the power plant, Shonna was there, watching. He waved and smiled.
She reared back and hiked a wrench in his direction. He floored it just in time. The wrench clanged off the roll bar behind his head.
Terry spun the tires as he aimed the jeep’s nose toward the road. He gunned it until he caught up with Merrit. “What in the fuck did you do, and how in the holy hell did I get roped into your mess?” Terry called as he was even with the Werewolf.
Merrit motioned, and Terry slowed. Merrit hopped in when his pace matched.
“Whew! That was a close one.” He laughed and slapped Terry on the shoulder.
“If she’s still mad at me after we get back, I’ll beat the snot out of you,” Terry grumbled.
“She’ll be fine. I want to get a dog, and it went downhill from there,” Merrit explained.
“It better be fine, because if she throws another wrench at me, I’m beating both of your asses!” Terry kept his eyes forward to watch the road.
It was two miles from the power plant to the new barracks and landing zone. Terry made the return drive in less than three minutes.
When he pulled up to the LZ, Char, Sue, and Timmons were waiting. He left the jeep on the old road between the barracks and the athletic fields. “Did we lose somebody?” Terry asked.
“They went to get Gene,” Char replied. “Didn’t you go for more?”
“Merrit has issues. I thought it best not to bring both of them. Together. In the same vehicle. Anywhere near me,” Terry explained ambiguously.
Char gave Merrit the stink-eye.
“They’re in cahoots,” Terry said out the side of his mouth. Terry covered his ears.
With one last glare, Char headed for the pod. The others followed.
Together the four opened the pod which was sitting next to the materiel that would be used to build the hangar.
“Don’t you have something to do with that?” Terry asked, looking at Timmons.
“Sure, but I’ll wait until Shonna is in a better mood,” he answered, looking purposely at Merrit.
“You knew, and you let me go up there? I almost got a wrench in the head, thank you very much.”
Char looked at all of them. “Shut your mutton holes and listen up!” she ordered, glowering. “We’re going after the three Weres we sensed in Kentucky. The pack has gotten too small and we have to grow. The war on the Forsaken is going to take all we have and then some.”
Terry wanted to ratchet up the operations tempo. Removing the Forsaken as a threat to humanity would take more of a physical presence than the FDG currently had. Besides adding warriors, he knew it was even more important to add Weres.
What better to fight in the Unknown World than those who made it their home?
The FDG’s human warriors were important in dealing with the Forsaken’s minions, the slaves, and the supporting cast. The warriors could be equipped and trained to fight the Were folk, the Forsaken, and the enhanced. As long as the FDG had numbers and firepower, along with a certain amount of silver, they would always be a force to be reckoned with.
Terry thought of the FDG as a force of nature. Their determination gave them an edge. Their leadership was far superior to anything the Forsaken could manage. Leading through fear wouldn’t bring out the best. Terry only put others in charge of his people who lived up to the same standards as he did.
Honor. Courage. Commitment.
Military words from a long time past, but they still applied. Justice never went out of vogue, not for Terry Henry Walton.
Integrity in all things. Integrity first.
Terry looked away as he didn’t want anyone to see him questioning himself, wondering about his motivations. Kirkus made him angry, but was he unleashing his anger in a healthy direction? His moral compass guided them all.
Char was with him as she didn’t want to relive that day. She was angry, too, murderously so. They were all on edge.
Shonna had thrown a wrench at him. That wasn’t about a dog. It was about Terry Henry Walton and his moral compass, always demanding something from the pack.
But it was their purpose to follow the alpha. He probably should have stopped the jeep and dragged her out of the plant. Members of the pack couldn’t be allowed to be so belligerent.
And he was angry all over again. “I’ll deal with Shonna personally when we get back,” Terry snarled. Timmons raised his hands in surrender. He wasn’t going to get in the way of an attitude adjustment.
Diane Velasquez and Dorene Johnson are the wizards behind the curtain! They’ve helped make sure that I am completely aligned with Bethany Anne’s universe. The notes make sure that I don’t run afoul of the main storyline and that it blends nicely into the future. The stolen pod, the Sacred Clan, Mr. Smith, the New Schwabenland, all come from Di & Do. Thank you so much for all the help and support.
Camilla Peterson! I missed your birthday so you got a namesake in this book. I also wanted to give Camille Kersey a spot in one of these books for all her support over the years. The character Camilla is in honor of both of you. Camilla is in the group of new warriors that get trained as part of the war with the Forsaken. She stands proud and does the Force a good turn.
This book was a total horse race. My initial target with these books is 60,000 words, that’s roughly 235 paperback pages. Some of this series run short of that, some right on, but then Nomad Unleashed (Book 3) was 87,000 words and Nomad Mortis (Book came in at 82,000 words. The length isn’t as important as telling a complete story. I couldn’t get Nomad Mortis done in less than that while I could have easily gone 20,000 more words.
I’ll have to pick up the slack with some Wednesday short stories through the summer. If you have a character(s) you want to see get some air time, drop me a line at [email protected] and I’ll see what I can do. I have the back story of most of the characters in my head, but only so many words can exit my fingers. I just need to prioritize.
If you make me choose, then I’m sure I’ll pick incorrectly, just like when my wife asks where I want to go for dinner. My first choice isn’t always our last choice.
Nomad’s Force is next and this story will be about establishing a worldwide Force de Guerre. It’ll cover a fair bit of time because the action will be intermittent as the Forsaken go to ground. Finding them and rooting them out will take an extended campaign.
And then Nomad’s Galaxy to wrap up the last of the 150 years between when Bethany went to space and the return of Michael to Earth. The Terry Henry Walton Chronicles was all about a side story of what one group of people were doing during that gap in time. It became a robust storyline in and of itself, which will take us to space.
Our future plans are coming to fruition. The Force de Guerre is going to space, which will be the spin-off follow-on series, co-written with Michael Anderle within the Age of Expansion timeline of The Kurtherian Gambit universe.
Series: The Force de Guerre
Tagline: Exporting Justice to the Galaxy
Once I finish Nomad’s Galaxy (THW Book 10), I need to get back to my Free Trader and knock out the final three stories of that series. I intend to write them very quickly, one right after the other to stay in the writing flow. They will be shorter so I don’t drone on about non-action things. Southern Discontent, The Great ‘Cat Rebellion, and Return to the Traveler will wrap up the series. My goal is to write all three of those and publish them one right after the other, about a week apart in September this year (2017).
Then I’ll dive in whole-heartedly to the FDG series.
On the home front, the jungle that is our yard during the Fairbanks summer has grown in rather robustly. I need to get out there with my weed destroying Craftsman and go to town. That kind of stuff is exhausting for me as I’ll run out of air two or three times, then get sick to my stomach, then get back to it at a snail’s pace. It sucks having compromised lungs, but thanks to you, all the great readers of this series, I’m in a position to hire someone to take care of the yard stuff. I just need to make that happen.
A duck has nested in the woods behind our house. She’s about one hundred yards from the body of water and about five feet from our walking trail. I thought we might have a problem with Phyllis the Arctic Dog and ducklings, but the eggs have hatched and the nest was empty within a day. Mother duck and her babies have headed downhill toward the lake beside our forest. All is well in ducktown.
My wife and I have been doing an Arbonne cleanse, which is a set diet that removes a bunch of food triggers to flush our systems of the garbage we’ve been putting in. It’s not vegetarian as protein is important, but the types of meats are – chicken, grass-fed beef, fish (salmon and halibut are what we are eating, but we live in Alaska so that is most readily available). In the first 21 days of the 28-day program, I lost over ten pounds and feel a lot better. My mind is clear, which is good for creative work.
I will be happy as can be if I can hit my target weight of 185 by June 24. I only have 3.8 pounds to lose in the last week. I’ve been averaging a half pound of fat loss a day, so I am right on track. I think my optimal weight is around 180. But I love food. I just need to not eat the wrong food and life will be good.
Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there:).
|Posted on June 16, 2017 at 10:10 AM||comments (2)|
Nomad Mortis - SNIPPET 04
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 8
by Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
The Forsaken looked at the dirt covering his brethren’s clothes. The other had traveled hard, running through the night, finding cover for the daytime, then doing it all over again.
He brought news of life and death.
“The hellspawn known as Terry Henry Walton descended on Los Angeles using Kurtherian technology. Only I escaped because I was in the city, enjoying a late-night snack. I was returning when I saw it all go down. They hunted our people like animals! How could they? Are we not superior?” the Forsaken asked.
“We have heard of this one. He isn’t completely human. He’s surrounded by Weres and the true hellspawn, the Queen’s Bitch. Alone, we can’t fight them and this is why they are successful,” the Forsaken replied, stroking his chin in thought. He sat on a heavily padded recliner, leaning back, looking relaxed.
The newly arrived was agitated. He’d just lost his friends and traveled hundreds of miles to deliver the information to one who only seemed intent on his own power.
He should not have been surprised.
“Mr. Smith! I came to you because you are the most powerful of our kind that I know of. What can you do about Walton?” the Forsaken pleaded.
“I am doing what needs to be done, collecting information and building a plan. When the plan is complete and the time is right, we’ll take care of this pseudo-human and his pets. You really should put your fear in a dark closet somewhere and lock it away. It is not a good look on you,” Mr. Smith replied.
“But what do we do?” the Forsaken cried, his voice an octave higher than it should have been. He’d left the remnants of his world behind, only to find that his new situation was no better.
Something would have to change before he could get back to an acceptable status quo. He had been someone back in LA, but here, he was back to being nobody.
He sighed heavily as he tried to tolerate his new role, hoping to be given the opportunity to work his way up.
“What can I do to help?” the Forsaken asked of Mr. Smith, putting proper deference in his tone.
Mr. Smith smiled at the groveling, fawning refugee. The Forsaken would find something for his newest addition to do.
Holy cow! It seems like we were just here, doing this same thing, reading some stories, writing, and enjoying the beauty of the world around us.
I’m still a grandfather – the novelty hasn’t worn off. We bought our tickets to go see her, my son, and his wife in Adelaide, Australia over Christmas. I’m sure that we’ll melt, coming from where we live close to the Arctic Circle and heading into the deep fryer of Australia at the height of summer.
But we’re stopping in Honolulu on the way and dropping by New Zealand on the return trip. We will be taking a Lord of the Rings tour out of Christchurch.
We’ll be on the road for two weeks over Christmas and New Years. We’ll also be spending Thanksgiving in Hawaii. That is our reward for doing a lot of hard work over the past couple years.I need the time off and recharge.
Phyllis racked out on her loveseat at the end of a good day:).
Peace fellow humans.
|Posted on June 14, 2017 at 2:05 PM||comments (0)|
Twenty-five years ago, Joseph had excused himself and gone to sleep. He woke four years later, refreshed and famished. When he showed up in North Chicago, he discovered the growth and general happiness of the people. They had not welcomed him freely, but they hadn’t shunned him either.
He found Terry and Char and the youngster called Cordelia. She had a wolf’s ears but also a sparkling personality.
Terry had greeted Joseph like an old friend. “You asked us to have a cow ready for you. We can do that. Load up, Joseph!” They took the dune buggy and with Joseph standing inside the vehicle, hanging onto the roll cage, they headed out, leaving the town and traveling the rough roads of what used to be residential streets.
They continued west for a few miles before Joseph smelled the burgeoning stockyards. When they drove up, Joseph saw the sign--'Weathers and Sons Prime Beef.'
He smiled to himself. Labels. Even in the world after the fall, they still had labels.
“I suspect that this is the best beef around?” Joseph asked. Terry laughed fully.
“You would suspect right,” Terry answered, slowing as the dune buggy bounced over the cattle guard.
An old man working on the side of the road motioned for Terry to stop.
“Hey, Lester! How’s it hanging?” Terry called out.
“See, Betty? See? I didn’t do nothing and this young whipper-snapper is making trouble!” the old man claimed. He turned back to Terry Henry and gave him the finger. “You can suck my ass, young man!”
Char’s purple eyes grew huge and started to glow as she looked at her young daughter. Char climbed from the dune buggy and stalked toward the old man. He raised a shovel as if he was going to hit the tall and beautiful Werewolf.
She ripped the shovel from his hands and threw it away. She grabbed his ear as if he were a small child and dragged him to the dune buggy.
Joseph watched in good humor, not saying anything because he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a Char tirade. He’d already been there, and it hadn’t turned out well for him.
“Apologize this instant, Lester, you curmudgeonly old bastard!” She forced his face close to the dune buggy.
“I’m sorry young miss. I didn’t see you there,” he stammered.
Cory leaned out of the dune buggy, took his face in both her hands, and kissed him on the forehead. His features melted into a smile.
“I’ll make sure nothing like that ever happens again, princess,” he said in an old, but tender voice.
He bowed, nodded to Char, and walked away to retrieve his shovel. Betty was happy that she didn’t have to give Lester the big hairy what-for. She hurried to the dune buggy before it drove off and gave Char and Cory hugs.
“Don’t mind him,” she said, shaking her head and smiling warmly. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us. It’s nice living among people again and not being afraid.”
She waved as Terry drove toward the large barn. Joseph was hungry, and he could smell the warm blood.
|Posted on June 13, 2017 at 8:00 PM||comments (0)|
Nomad Mortis - SNIPPET 03
Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Book 8
by Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
Cory jumped back in. “So it’s settled. Joseph and I will talk with the next Forsaken before you whip out your blade,” she said accusingly. Terry was instantly angry. Cory hadn’t seen what he’d gone through at Kirkus’s hands, what the Forsaken had done to the survivors of Cheyenne Mountain.
Terry’s daughter was a pure heart, a pure soul. He couldn’t stay angry with her for long.
Joseph played with the blade at his side. Akio had originally intended to give the Mameluke, a Marine officer’s sword to Terry Henry, but decided to give it to Joseph after the Forsaken’s actions within Mammoth Cave. Terry was okay with that as he preferred the shorter cavalry blade. It didn’t catch on as much of his other gear as a longer blade would, even though there was a certain attraction to carrying a Marine’s sword.
Joseph caught Terry looking at it. He slid the sword free of its stainless steel scabbard and handed it, pommel-first to the colonel.
Terry took it, turning it over in his hands. He looked down its edge, appreciating the coloring that only Damascus blades had. He checked the edge with a thumb. Joseph was keeping it well-honed. Terry smiled appreciatively. It was engraved. “United States Marine Corps” with filigree etched lightly in the surface.
“Take care of that. It’s one of the best that the world has to offer,” Terry stated.
“Trade you? I’m not a big sword guy,” Joseph offered.
“But mine fits better with my gear,” Terry replied.
“Wear it across your back and be done with it. You know you want it.” Joseph started undoing the scabbard. He replaced the sword and held it out to Terry while pointing at the cavalry sword.
“Are you ever going to fight someone using your sword?” Terry asked.
“You know me. What do you think?” Joseph quipped. No, Joseph was never going to start a sword fight.
“Since you’re not going to use it,” Terry replied, quickly undoing his belt and removing the shorter sword. He handed it over and took the Mameluke almost reverently.
Akio had been right when he thought that Terry would fall in love with the sword. Terry carried it in his left hand, grip forward for a quick and easy pull. He shook Joseph’s hand.
Cory put her fists on her hips and glared. When Terry finally noticed her, he knew he was in trouble.
“What?” It wasn’t really a question. Thirty years with Cory’s mother, and he knew the stance well. “I’m sorry, Cory. I didn’t mean it, and I won’t do it again. Honestly!”
“Didn’t mean what?” she asked through pursed lips. His preemptive generic apology had fallen flat. He shook his head and held up one hand in surrender.
“You hijacked my conversation with your drinking buddy!” She declared, stomping one foot and crossing her arms.
“I thought we were done. You and Joseph tell the Forsaken that they should trust me before I kill them.”
“Is that all you heard? You are impossible!” Cory stormed away.
“That’s what I heard,” Joseph whispered.
“I heard that!” Cory yelled over her shoulder.
My whole focus right now is on finishing Nomad Mortis - it is officially the second longest of all the Terry Henry Walton Chronicles, second to the 87,000 word tome, Nomad Unleashed. It should weigh in around 75,000 words which is about 50% longer than Nomad Avenged.
Other than that, I have no idea what else is going on - I'm inside on the computer. It rained a lot over the past couple days which made being inside that much more attractive.