Charles Sheehan-Miles's Blog, page 31

60,000 words….

Milestone of sorts. Insurgent is now 60,000 words.  Long way to go still, but the bulk of the story is written.  Definitely on track to finish before I die of old age.

Apple iBooks

Good news here, Republic is now available from the Apple iBookstore. Check it out here: http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/republic-a-novel-americas/id424103386?mt=11&ls=1

#SampleSunday: Republic Chapter 17

Amazon: Paperback | Kindle Edition

Barnes & Noble: Paperback | Nook

Smashwords (Any ebook format)

 

Chapter Seventeen

September 12

 

The rain rattled against the canvas roof of Karen Greenfield's HUMMWV like popcorn, loud enough that she couldn't hear the radio. The air had turned cold from the rain, and the inside of the humvee smelled like sweat and mildew. Her soaked Kevlar vest didn't help, as moisture seeped through it and her olive-drab raincoat.

The tanks were in position, four of them stationed at the intersections around the Capitol Building. A few blocks away, her executive officer was positioning the remainder of the company in the Little Cairo neighborhood.

Since she'd been with the company, they'd been activated three times. The first two didn't require weapons, they were to deal with floods. Then, last year, they briefly deployed to Morgantown after a riot. In that case they stood around and did guard duty, much as she expected to do here. In no case was the use of main battle tanks required.

The men inside the tanks would be miserable; unable to cover the tank with a tarp, they'd be sitting inside what amounted to great, leaking tin cans, getting soaked. She'd never understood how they could make a tank that could survive the direct hit of a 125mm sabot round, but couldn't design one that didn't leak.

"Let's head over to Little Cairo," she said to her driver.

Corporal Stanson, who sat behind the wheel blowing on his hands to warm them, bobbed his head. "Yes, ma'am." He put the vehicle in gear and drove, faster than she liked; it was still light, but with the rain, visibility was down to less than fifty meters.

In Little Cairo, the twenty-four men were positioned at eight intersections. As she approached the position closest to the federal building, she saw two of the men setting up shelter halves against the wall of a building as the third stood guard duty in the driving rain. The one on guard duty was Private Campbell, from up the road just outside Highview. At seventeen, a senior at Highview High School, the Guard required him to get permission from his parents before he enlisted.

Damn. She couldn't stay inside, not when the guys were outside in the rain.

"Stop here."

She stepped out of the somewhat warm HUMMWV into the icy downpour. It didn't soak through her plastic wet-weather jacket immediately, but it would soon enough. She walked through the rain to Campbell.

"Ma'am." He was shivering and his teeth chattered.

"As soon as they've got that shelter up, you get under it, okay, Campbell."

He nodded vigorously, and little droplets of rain flew off his chin. "Yes, ma'am."

She started to turn away, but he spoke again. "Ma'am, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Campbell," she replied.

Lightning struck nearby, and the light flashed in their eyes, followed by a loud crack.

"Ma'am, in your briefing you said we was here to protect the Arab folks here against being attacked and stuff, right?"

She braced herself, half expecting to hear an argument against the mission of protecting the neighborhood. "Yes, that's right."

"Well see, that's the thing, ma'am. When you go around that corner, you'll see what I'm talking about. Bunch of guys in sunglasses and whatnot are rounding up a lot of folks. Banging down doors and stuff, ma'am."

He looked away, and then steeled his resolve. "I know we're here to support the DHS, but it just don't look—it don't look American to me, ma'am, if you take my meaning. Looks like more of the same as the Saturn plant, ma'am."

Her eyes narrowed. "Thanks. I'll have a look, Campbell."

Bracing herself, she walked on through the rain. As she reached the corner, Stanson followed her in the humvee.

Sitting in the open rain, soaked and miserable, hands cuffed behind their backs, a group of fifteen men and boys who appeared to be Arabs sat with their backs against a shop window. A man with an automatic rifle stood guard over them. He wore a black raincoat with the letters DHS emblazoned on the back.

Two other men kicked in a door about fifty feet away. They were covered by a third, this one armed with a rifle. A woman screamed in a foreign language, and then she heard indistinct male voices shouting. One of the agents shoved a woman out of his way, roughly. A moment later the two armed men came out, dragging a fourteen-year-old boy between them. He struggled, terror on his face. They threw him to the ground and one knelt on the boy's back while the other cuffed him with plastic ties. They unceremoniously dumped him with the other prisoners.

Her face tightened. It was him. The son of a bitch who killed David Firkus, Agent Ben Matley. He was one of those under investigation by the Harpers Ferry DA, and they had the stupidity to bring him here and allow him to treat American citizens like cattle. Shoving women and kids around like they didn't matter.

Not on her goddamn watch.

She marched back to Corporal Stanson, who still sat in the humvee. He unzipped his plastic window and leaned out to hear her.

"Call the platoon leaders; have them move the men to the edge of the intersection where they can see. I may need some backup; I'm putting a stop to this. And call Major Elkins right away. Tell him what's happening, then catch up with me."

"Ma'am, I don't think that's a good idea." His eyes were wide.

"When the Army wants your ideas, Corporal, they'll promote you to Captain. Until then, you follow orders."

"Yes, ma'am."

He scrambled for the radio.

She turned around. Half a block down, parked in the center of the street, sat two bland-looking sedans; lights flashing behind their grilles. Two men stood at the cars, one talking on the phone. She recognized one of them: Agent Lawrence Harris. He'd been at the Saturn Plant as well.

She walked toward the cars as lightning struck again, bathing the entire scene in garish white light.

"Who is in charge here?" she demanded.

The man on the phone lowered his handset. Short, in his late forties, he dressed in the same black raincoat as the others, his head covered by a black baseball cap, and a small earpiece in his ear. He looked up at her and eyed the railroad track insignia on her helmet.

"I am, Captain. Special Agent Hagarty. I was told to expect a National Guard company to assist our efforts. I've already seen the men on the perimeter. Good job."

"I'm Captain Greenfield. Those are my men on the perimeter. What's going on here?"

"We're gathering material witnesses in our investigation of the bombing this morning. They'll be taken into custody and questioned."

"Material witnesses? Looks to me like you're grabbing every male over fourteen!"

"That's right. Anyone who meets our profile. They'll be released once we've established they're clear."

"Mr. Hagarty, this has to stop right now. What you're doing isn't right, and it's not legal. You can't just round up people and cuff them and carry them away."

Hagarty frowned at the challenge and his chin jutted out. "I most certainly can, Captain. I strongly urge you to mind your own business and leave me to mine."

Karen clenched her teeth and fists.

"Hagarty, I don't care what your business is. Mine is to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, and you are treading all over that. I want you to do three things right now: release those men and boys over there, gather up your men, and get the hell out of here. Someone else can deal with investigation, someone who understands this is still America."

He approached until they stood a foot apart.

She glanced back. Six of her men and two of her lieutenants approached, along with Corporal Stanson. All nine of the men were armed. They gathered in a loose group between her and the humvee. Just twenty feet away, they were difficult to see in the driving rain.

She heard another door crash in, screams from inside. Agents came out with two men between them, a teenager and his father. Both were handcuffed. Karen signaled to Lieutenant Carson to approach. He ran up to her, and she pointed directly at the agents who had just exited the building.

"Lieutenant, I want you to take three of the men, go over there and free those two men, then the others lined up on the sidewalk. If necessary, you are authorized to take these so-called federal agents into custody."

Carson looked stunned by the orders.

Hagarty spoke. "Lieutenant, this operation was authorized by the President of the United States, who I believe you swore an oath to obey. If you follow that order you will suffer the consequences. I'll see you both court-martialled."

"Hagarty, you have no legal standing to round up people in the streets and arrest them, nor to threaten an officer under my orders. You are committing a grave crime here, sir. I won't stand for it and neither will my men."

Lieutenant Carson nodded, swallowing. For just a second he appeared to waver, then his jaw set.

"I got it, ma'am." He turned back to the men. "Billings. Cole. Wilson. Over here, on the double."

The Lieutenant and the three soldiers approached the stunned agents, weapons ready. The agents looked back and forth between the approaching soldiers and Agent Hagarty, jaws slack.

"Lay your weapons on the ground right now."

One of the agents started to raise his hands in the air.

Hagarty screwed his face up, red with rage. "Goddamn it, don't listen to them." He reached out and shoved Karen.

She fell back a step, then straightened. By the time she regained her balance, Hagarty was staring down the barrel of Corporal Stanson's M-16A2 rifle.

"You better keep your hands to yourself, Mister." Stanson's voice was steady.

She took a breath, adrenaline pumping into her system. They were at a stalemate, as her men and the federal agents stood with weapons leveled at each other. She had to calm the situation down before it got out of control.

"All right, let's keep it cool. Everybody lower your weapons." She raised her hands in a gesture to stop.

Unfortunately, that was when lightning struck with a crack and a flash of light. It only took that moment for the whole thing to go to hell.

She didn't know who fired the first shot, but heard it clearly, the crack of a rifle, immediately after the lightning strike. The second bullet hit Karen square in the middle of her Kevlar vest. She spun to the ground, her vision going black. Above her, she heard a burst of shots.

"Oh, no." She struggled to her feet. Her hands were scraped bloody from her landing. She pushed herself up and her vision cleared. Rainwater poured off her helmet.

Hagarty lay on the ground, blood pumping out of a hole in his neck, mixing with the half-inch deep water on the pavement. One of her men writhed on the ground, screaming, his knee shattered by a bullet.

"Cease fire, goddammit," she tried to shout, but she couldn't get her breath. She tried again. "Cease fire! Cease fire!"

She tried to make sense of the situation. Two or three DHS agents were crouched in the doorway of an apartment building, rifles out. They huddled down, trying to stay out of the line of fire. She saw a muzzle flash. The air stank of the acrid smell of gunpowder.

The men and boys apprehended by the DHS were still on the sidewalk. Bound by plastic cuffs, they tried to get out of the line of fire as small arms continued to go off around them. One boy, who couldn't have been older than fourteen, squirmed underneath a car, and the plate glass window behind the men shattered from a bullet. The man guarding them ducked behind the car, little more than his rifle showing.

Behind her, her own men fired from behind the HUMMWV, and several more ran forward from their positions on the perimeter. Corporal Stanson lay on the ground, and a pool of blood stained the rainwater around him. Blood pumped from the center of his chest—he wasn't wearing his vest.

His face was white and his arms flapped around.

"Mama!" he screamed.

"Cease fire!" She waved her arms. "Cease fire! Cease fire now!"

Her head jerked to the left as a bullet glanced off her helmet. It knocked her to the ground again. Then, miraculously, the firing stopped, and she could hear nothing but the rain slap into the pavement.

She took a breath, then another. The DHS men stared out from their positions, shock on their faces. She glanced behind her. Her own soldiers were just as bewhildered.

Oh, God, her head hurt. She stood, one hand on her neck, where sharp pain radiated from a pulled muscle.

"You." She pointed at Larry Harris, one of the only agents she recognized. "Take your men and move over to the other side of the intersection. I don't want any goddamn arguments. And call for ambulances, right now."

She turned around. "Lieutenant Carson, call the medics. Lieutenant Gavin, pull our men on a line behind the position of the humvee. And have someone cut those men loose." She pointed at the prisoners.

She dropped to her knees and crawled over to Hagarty and ripped open her first aid pack, removed a bandage and placed it on his neck. The bandage instantly stained red, the blood seeping through the cloth and between her fingers and out onto the pavement. Her hands shook as she tried to stop the blood. God, she could smell the blood, there was so much.

"I need help here."

Two of her men ran up, as well as Agent Harris. She glared at him, then looked away.

"Help Stanson," she told her men. Corporal Stanson had stopped moving.

"You," she said to Harris. "Lift him up enough so I can get this bandage around him."

He nodded, his face pale. Quickly, she wrapped the tails underneath the opposite armpit from his wound and tied if off as tight as she could. It might as well not have been there; blood still poured steadily from the wound.

"Best I can do. He won't make it if we don't get an ambulance right away."

Harris looked up and spoke.

"I know you, don't I?"

She glared at him.

"Yeah, you do. You killed my friends and neighbors in Highview."

Confusion clouded his eyes, and then he recognized her. His eyes widened. She stood up and walked away. As she approached her humvee, she shook.

Stanson lay there, the medics trying to save him. They covered the sucking chest wound with a plastic bag and wrapped him with bandages. Blood had splattered six feet away from him as he struggled.

What had she done? Oh, God, look at him. She could hear an echo in her mind: When the Army wants your ideas, Corporal, they'll promote you to Captain.

Those were just about the last words he'd heard.

The rain continued to fall.

 

Republic now available on the Nook from Barnes & Noble

Just a quick update.

For the Nook readers out there, Republic is now available on the Nook!

New formats available

Just a quick update. I probably won't be posting any new chapters of Insurgent for a little while. Not because I'm not writing (I am), but because I'm making progress so quickly that it's a disorganized mess. I'm in the stage of first drafting that its flying along, and getting chapters posted here is simply too much of a distraction, given the need to have it organized and at least somewhat edited before I get it online.

I did want to share the news that Republic and Prayer at Rumayla are available in some new formats, thanks to Smashwords.com. You can now get both books in epub, LRF, mobi, and a variety of other formats. Smashwords distributes to Sony, Kobo and the Apple iBookstore, so both books should soon also be available there.

You can check them out here: Smashwords.com

The Kindle edition on Amazon is currently discounted to $2.99. That's because, due to Amazon's migration from Mobipocket to their Kindle Direct Publishing platform, Republic lost all its sales links to other books as well as categorization, which meant sales PLUMMETED. Depressing, but hopefully soon fixed. If you have a Kindle (or an iPhone or Android phone) you can pick it up cheap right now: Republic Kindle Edition.

I'll post more news soon. Big news, about the possibility of Republic ending up on the big screen. Can't talk details yet, but lets just say I'm insanely excited.

Insurgent Chapter 5.3

Valerie Murphy frowned at herself in the mirror. The makeup couldn't disguise her pallor, nor could new clothes disguise her nearly gaunt figure. She leaned close, squinting her eyes, and noticed something which had escaped her up to this point.  A long, fine, white hair.

She shook her head.  No surprise there.  And nothing to be done to improve her prison influenced appearance beyond what she'd already done.  She wanted to make a good, solid first impression, but there was a limit to what she could do.

Valerie walked to the door of the small suite, straightened her jacket, slung her purse over her shoulder, then opened the door.

Outside, a state patrolman stood casually in the hallway. He held out a cup of steaming coffee in a travel mug.

"Morning, Ma'am. I'm Trooper Dennis Henry.  Lieutenant Thrasher suggested you'd be needing some coffee; I hope you like cream and sugar in it.  Ready to go?"

She had to think for a moment, then it clicked: Lieutenant Thrasher was uncle Tommy's aide-de-camp.  She smiled, and accepted the cup.  "Nice to meet you, Trooper Henry, and oh God, yes, I'm ready for coffee.  Lead the way."

She followed him into the basement parking lot, where a government sedan waited. Exhaust from the car steamed out in a long trail of blue smoke, somehow giving the space a haunted, disturbing air. He opened the door for her, then got into the drivers seat. He passed a folder to her and said, "This is the agenda for today. Acting Secretary Hatfield asked Wade Davis—he's the acting chief of staff—to put together a schedule for you to give you an opportunity to familiarize yourself with the department."

She murmured, "How thoughtful of Mr. Hatfield." If Trooper Henry caught the mild sarcasm in her tone, he remained tactfully silent about it.

The car quickly whisked her across town to the new headquarters of the department of Military Affairs and Public Safety: a hundred year old pile of bricks and stone that looked like it had once been a bank. Two soldiers stood guard at a makeshift gate blocking the street; they waved the car through after swiping Trooper Henry and Valerie's drivers licenses.

Valerie followed Trooper Henry into the front lobby of the building.  A long stained marble counter stretched along one wall, resembling the check-in desk at a hotel.  Two security guards with an x-ray machine and metal detectors blocked access to the elevators.

The guards were deferential after Henry introduced Valerie, and in moments they were in a slow moving elevator.

Valerie took a moment to compose herself in the elevator. She could feel a tension headache coming on. Whatever else happened, she was determined to do a good job for Al Clark, her mentor and friend. But the truth was, she didn't want this, wasn't ready for it; she wanted to run away and hide somewhere. She couldn't stand to be alone, but every time she was around anyone at all, she wanted to burst into tears. And that didn't even cover how she felt every time she thought of her father.

On the seventh floor, Henry led her to a suite of offices.  Inside were three people, two professionally dressed women and an older man with short grey hair and a dark suit.

"Ms. Murphy," Henry said, "Please allow me to introduce Wade Davis, the chief of staff."

The man in the suit gave a broad smile and said, "Secretary Murphy, it's a pleasure to meet you. And please, allow me to offer my condolences regarding your father. He and I worked together for many years."

She felt a pang of regret, that she'd never really know much about her Dad's life outside what they'd shared. Whole aspects: his professional peers, his friends, the things he enjoyed, would always be lost to her.

Valerie said, "Thank you," and shook his hand.  "You were chief of staff when my father was alive?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, then." She forced herself to close the door on her regrets and fears about Ken Murphy.  "Let's get started."

"Right. To business, then," he replied.  "Trooper Henry, thank you for fetching the secretary."

Davis led the way to her new office, a large room in the corner of the suite, with windows overlooking the river and downtown area. Bookshelves lined one wall, a large walnut desk and credenza on one side of the room, and a conference table occupied the other side of the room.

Valerie set her purse on the desk. Davis offered her a cup of coffee, and they sat at the conference table.

She looked at Davis, trying to gauge if he was going to be an ally or a problem. After a moment she said, "Wade… may I call you Wade?"

"Of course."

"Tell me about this agenda." She looked down at it, then said, "I'm looking it over and honestly I can't make any sense of it.  Ribbon cutting ceremony in Fairmont? Review of the Junior ROTC cadets in Moorefield? Not to be difficult, but I'm looking at three or four days of … fluff.  I recognize that getting out and meeting people is important, but I also have a very brief window to get down to brass tacks before my confirmation hearing next Monday.  How did this schedule come about?"

Davis looked startled, then began to smile broadly.  Finally his smile bubbled into a chuckle.

"I'm sorry for the levity, ma'am, but just now you reminded me so much of your father I …."

Valerie was astonished as the man's eyes suddenly watered. He composed himself, then spoke again. "I apologize. Ken Murphy was a good man, and I think we'll all miss him, but I can only imagine how serious the loss is for you.  The fact is: until this morning, Asa Hatfield was my boss.  And he told me to put together a schedule that, um… kept you busy and out of the way. I believe that was the wording he used."

She nodded.  "I had the feeling it was something like that. I take it from your response that you  … see things differently than Hatfield?"

Davis smiled.  "You're the boss, ma'am, not Hatfield. While he makes a fine leader for the enforcement division, he … has failings in terms of seeing the big picture.  I have the feeling you'll do just fine in this job. I'll do my best to support you in making that happen. Fair enough?"

Valerie gave a sigh of relief. "I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that, Wade. I wasn't looking forward to firing someone on my first morning, and that's what would have happened had you given me a bullshit answer to that question."

Davis laughed.

"All right, then.  He're what I would like: clear this awful schedule.  Here's how I want to spend the next three days.  First, get me access to email and the network here.  I'll need my email on my portable too.  Second, within the hour I'd like a copy of whatever summary exists from each department on current activities, budget, challenges, you get the picture. I'll also want bios of each department head: not the official stuff we put up on websites, I want to know details. Then set up one on one meetings with each department head, including our friend Mr. Hatfield.  You'll sit in on those meetings with me: going into each one I'm going to ask your frank assessment of each individual.  Each of them should be prepared with details on what they've been doing, what's planned, and what problems they are facing. Can you make that happen?"

Davis grinned.  "Gladly, ma'am."

"One other thing, Wade… call me Valerie.  I'm not really suited to ma'am. Fair enough?"

Within minutes, a flurry of activity took over the office. Davis deputized the two administrative assistants, who began making calls to arrange the needed network access and schedule changes.

Valerie spent a few minutes arranging her desk, and by the time she finished, Davis approached, holding a thick folder.

"I thought you might find it useful to have a summary of activity within the department to begin with, Ma'am." At her raised eyebrows, he quickly amended the "Ma'am" to "um… Valerie. Anyway, up until Asa Hatfield took over, the old secretary used too hold twice weekly management meetings: fairly short, usually never longer than an hour, but a chance to work out the big picture of the department. Before the meeting, the staff produced an executive summary of activity within the department.  Even though the meetings haven't been happening, the summaries still are: I've got the last several months printed out her for you."

She smiled.  Wade Davis was already proving to be a valuable ally.  "Thank you, Wade. And the meetings? Let's go ahead and get those on the calendar for the foreseeable future."

She dove into the file. Details, both pedestrian and extraordinary, were laid out in the biweekly reports. Recent summaries noted that the department had less than twenty million dollars remaining in its coffers for the remainder of the year, that the temporary disaster relief staff in Mingo County had walked off the job a week earlier due to lack of power or clean water at their headquarters, and that a column of US Army tanks had inadvertently caused a bridge failure in Weston.  Cost to repair? Nine million dollars. Local residents would be taking the long way around for the foreseeable future.

Valerie flipped through the reports, choosing to initially scan them for broad trends, returning later to get the fine details. A vague feeling that something was missing began to trouble her as she read more details about the department, but she couldn't pin it down. The summaries seemed to be comprehensive, covering all the broad details of the department, from budgeting to maintenance, but something was wrong.

Her head jerked up suddenly, and she blurted out, "Why isn't there anything in here about the Boone County sheriff? Or other possible insurgent incidents?"

She spread the papers out across the desk, a fine vertical crease appearing on her forehead. Then she pressed the intercom button on her desk and without preamble said, "Wade… there's no crime statistics here. Or anything about the murder of Boone County's sheriff.  Why not?"

A heartbeat of silence, followed by a response.  "I'll be right there."

Valerie waited, and a moment later Davis knocked lightly on the door, then entered.  Quietly, he said, "The former acting secretary ordered that crime statistics and anything related to possible insurgent activity be omitted from the bi-weekly summaries, Valerie."

"Why? When? This related to our primary mission…. why in God's name would he not want it included?"

Davis shrugged.  "I'm not sure I'd care to speculate what his motives were. But he made the order almost as soon as he took over as acting Secretary, back in mid-January."

Valerie sat back in her seat, considering the possible implications. Several possibilities ran through her mind, and none of them were at all reassuring.

At that point one of the administrative assistants buzzed on the intercom.  "Ms. Murphy, Mr. Hatfield is here to see you."

She hadn't finished the words before Asa Hatfield burst into the office.  His face was red, apoplectic. Valerie stood up behind her desk in instinctive reaction.

Hatfield began speaking in an angry tone before she said a word.  "Ms. Murphy, I want to know what's going on here! The whole schedule we worked out for you cancelled? Who the hell do you think you are?"

Hatfield's words stunned Valerie. The arrogance! Coldly, she responded, "I think I'm the Secretary of this Department, and your boss.  I wasn't aware the enforcement division was concerned with whether or not the Secretary attended ribbon cutting ceremonies and spent days on end meeting with elementary school teachers."

Hatfield backtracked, saying, "Murphy, this schedule was worked out carefully to introduce you to the various activities of the department and …"

"And keep me busy and out of the way," Valerie interrupted.  "I'm quite sure this was carefully put together, Mr. Hatfield.  Nonetheless, I have other things to do in the next several days, one of which is assessing the suitability of our department heads."

Hatfield's face went even more red at the implied threat. She continued, her tone cold.

"For that reason I chose to reschedule.  Now, I've instructed the Chief of Staff to arrange a meeting with you within the next day so we can cover the activities of the enforcement division, which I do believe is your job.  I expect us to be able to work together to get the job done, Mr. Hatfield.  If we are going to accomplish that, I hope you'll seriously reconsider your attitude. Do we understand each other?"

Hatfield's eyes narrowed.  "You're sure as hell right we understand each other, Murphy. But don't think you'll get away with this. This is my department, and they might make you into some kind of pretty talking head, but I'm the one who runs things around here. You don't want to mess with me."

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Hatfield."

"You're god damned right!" he shouted. He turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Valerie stood behind her desk, absolutely astonished.  Slowly, she said to Davis, "I don't think I've ever seen such unprofessional behavior in my life."

Davis looked at her and said,"Be careful, Valerie.  Hatfield has a lot of friends in the legislature, a lot of allies. He's not someone to dismiss easily."

Valerie sighed.  She knew that, and found it hard to believe she was willing to go to the mat over a job she didn't even want. But she'd be damned if she'd let a man like that walk all over her. Now the real question was simple: where would the next attack come from. And would she be able to withstand it?

Serialized novels? Looking for feedback

The good news is, since the beginning of January I've gone from being 1/3 complete on Insurgent to 2/3rd complete… nearly 30,000 words written in the last 5 days.  It's exciting to be moving along this quickly, and now there is no question that I'll have the first draft completed in the next few months.

I've been giving a lot of thought to an idea which has floated in the back of my mind for some months. Insurgent breaks down into roughly three discrete parts.  Would it make sense to proceed now (or in the very near future) with publishing the first third as an ebook, releasing it in three separate parts on the Kindle or other formats?  Then, when its all complete, wrap it up in one volume for hardcover or paperback?

I'm looking for feedback from the many folks who have asked me about the book over the last couple years. Would you want to see the story in serialized format, knowing that it will likely be the end of 2011 before the final section is complete?

The pros for me are obvious. I can get feedback now on the story, as well as some small bit of income which would help pay the bills, always an important consideration.  The cons, of course, are also obvious… if I hit something important in the story while working on the final third, that should have been in the beginning, it will be too late without going back and changing the originally released episode.

Okay, there it is. Let me know what you think!

Insurgent Chapter 5.2

Jim Turville was bored. Three days since they'd arrived in Whitesville, and already he was as bored as he could be.  As the quick reaction force, Sergeant Nguyen's squad pretty much had nothing to do, except sit around.  Two guys maintained security on the vehicles, always manning the machine guns.  Otherwise, the rest of them sat around and did: nothing.

Right now, he sat in a lawn chair next to one of the humvees, cleaning and oiling his M16A4 rifle.  Unusually, the weapons they carried now had never seen service: brand new from the factory.

They cleaned their weapons. They played cards. They played video games.  They dealt with Corporal Meigs's increasingly bad moods.  And then more nothing.

Of course, the thought of Corporal Meigs made Turville smile for a change.  Yesterday, Turville's fire team had crushed Meigs's at Hearts.  Turville had never been so happy in his life.

But now he had to correct that: because walking toward him was the most beautiful thing he he'd ever seen.

Short Girl was approaching.  He almost slapped himself. Dude, her name is Rebecca. Whatever.  She wore a pair of faded blue jeans that hugged her hips, and calf-high boots that looked well-used.  A burgundy, turtleneck sweater hugged her upper body, accentuating her breasts and narrow waist.

Turville reminded himself that he really didn't want to piss off the Lieutenant, and by extension, the Mayor of this town.  He'd had a crappy year last year, and so far things were off to a better start now.

"Hi," she said. She rested her weight on one leg, with the other toe pointed at the ground at a sharp angle.  It was the stance of a dancer.

"Hi," he replied.

"I hope I didn't embarrass you the other day.  I just never got a chance to really say thank you."

"No problem," Turville answered.  "Give me just a second here." Very rapidly, he slapped the parts of his rifle back into position. It took longer than a second, but considerably less than thirty. The practice of reassembling the rifle in the dark, during basic training, had finally proven of use. He slung it over his shoulder and stood up.

"I'm Jim," he said, holding his right hand out.

She took it in hers, and shook. "Rebecca."

"So what can I do for you, Rebecca?"

She smiled, and he felt short of breath.

"Well, I sort of was looking for my Dad: I think he's with your Lieutenant.  But I also wanted to talk to you."

Oh, shit, Turville thought.  He didn't need to get in trouble for messing with some high school girl. But God, was she beautiful.

"Well," he heard himself say, "The LT and your Dad took a drive up to the top of the dam.  They'll be back in a bit.  Why don't we take a walk while we wait?"

Open mouth, insert entire combat boot, Jim. What the hell are you thinking?

"Okay," she said, shoving her hands in her pockets.

He looked up at PFC Leo, manning the machine gun in the humvee.

"Yo, Leo," he called.

"Yep," Leo answered, his expression just short of a leer.

"I'm taking a walk down the street. Yell if we get a call."

"Okay, man."

Turville turned back to Rebecca.  "I've got to stay close.  We're the quick reaction force this week, so if anything happens, I got to move in about three seconds."

She shrugged. "Okay."

A truck roared past, shaking the ground as they turned to the street, then they crossed in silence.

"So what's your story, Rebecca?" he asked. He felt awkward as hell.

She shrugged. "Not much of one.  I'm supposed to be graduating high school in two months, but school's been closed since January."

"Your Dad said you were going off to college next year?"

"Yeah," she replied. "At least I hope so. I got an early acceptance to Marshall, but I don't know what's going to happen with the schools. Who knows? Things have been crazy."

"Yeah," he said. "I know what you mean."

"What about you?" she said.

"I am what you see.  Joined the Army last year, expecting to be sent off to the Middle East, and instead they sent me to war practically around the corner."

She laughed. "Where are you from?"

"Falls Church, Virginia."

"Well, that's not too far."

"I guess not," he replied. "Feels like a million miles sometimes."

"Well, we are pretty much in the middle of nowhere.  If you wanted to find an exciting spot, Whitesville probably isn't it."

"Exciting enough for me," he said. "I don't like having people shoot at me. Which reminds me: I know you got your truck back, but are they doing anything about the damage?"

She smiled.  "Yes, my Dad said the Army was paying for everything. It's in the body shop now."

"Oh, good.  I was a little worried. I didn't want to return your kindness with a bunch of bullet holes in your truck."

She laughed. "That wouldn't be that unusual around here. Trucks with bullet holes, I mean."

"Huh?"

"Well, we've got our share of hunters.  My Dad goes shooting sometimes with Uncle Joe, and then we're stuck eating venison for days. Seriously. Ewww."

As they talked, they walked the length of Boone Street, Whitesville's main corridor.  The black marks from fire still darkened the street.

"How long do you think you're going to be here," she asked.

"Don't know," he replied. "They're telling us quite a while. Army's worried that folks are pissed off about the whole losing the war thing. They want us all over the place as kind of a local police force."

"That's probably a good thing," she said. "You heard the sheriff got murdered last week."

"Yeah, I heard about it. Not much left in the way of local cops, are there?"

She shook her head. "No.  My Dad says it's not a huge deal—there's not much crime around here.  Mostly drunks beating up on their wives. It's almost like a ghost town anyway—not too many people left living here, especially since they started scraping off the top of the mountains around here."

"We drove past one of those on the way down here," he said. "Looks like the surface of the moon."

"It does."

Turville stopped walking. They were two blocks from humvees now, and almost out of sight around the curve. "This is as far as I can go, I'm afraid," he said.

She turned toward him, tilted her head to the left. "Do you like being in the Army?"

He made a rough sound low in his throat. "I don't know. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I've had some bad moments in the last year. Then I got shot in January, and spent three months in the hospital. Just got out three weeks ago."

"Really?" she said, eyes wide.

"Yeah, really. I kinda of forgot to duck, you know?"

She giggled. "Not funny."

"Then why are you laughing?"

That made her laugh harder.

As they turned back toward the humvees, Turville's vision almost went white as he forced out the question. "Rebecca, I have to ask you something. I'd like to invite you to dinner or a movie sometime, but are you, like, old enough?  Am I going to have your Dad coming after me with a shotgun or something? Cause, you know, I don't need that kind of trouble."

She giggled even harder.  "Somehow I don't see my Dad coming after you with anything but flowers.  He can't seem to talk about anything but you lately. And yes, I'm old enough to go to dinner. If you asked nicely."

He stumbled, and his heart beat even harder.  "Okay.  Well, the rest of this week pretty much sucks, and you'd have to do the driving, but, can I take you out to dinner?"

"Yes, Jim, you can take me to dinner. Or even come out to our place. It'd thrill my Dad."

"I bet your Mom would love it too.  I'll have her chasing me with a pitchfork, huh?"

She frowned. "Maybe I was wrong about you after all. You be nice. My uncle told me to stay away from you guys, that everyone in the Army has only one thing on their minds."

He shrugged. "Well, that's true enough."

She laughed. He pointed up to the top of the dam. A military humvee was making it's way down the face, turning on one of the tight switchbacks.  "That'll be the LT and your father. We should head back."

They slowly turned back towards the tiny house where the quick reaction force was sleeping, keeping the conversation on inconsequential topics.  As they reached the humvee, he said, "I know you gave me your number before, but I passed it on to the LT when he turned your truck over, so can I get it again?"

They exchanged contact information, and he keyed hers into his mobile. Moments later, the humvee rolled up. Lieutenant Blake and Bob Mays got out of the vehicle.

"Rebecca," Mays said. "Corporal Turville."

Turville nodded at the Mayor.

Before Turville could say a word, Rebecca said, "Dad, I hope I wasn't too forward, but I've invited Corporal Turville to dinner with us. Is that okay?"

Mays raised his eyebrows, then looked at Lieutenant Blake.  "Lieutenant, I'd be delighted to host the corporal, if that's all right with the Army."

Blake looked as if someone had forced him to swallow an uncomfortably large pill, but he nodded. "Of course, Mayor.  Timing may be a bit awkward to work out, given Corporal Turville's duties, but we'll work something out."

On top of the other humvee, Santiago was manning the machine gun. He waited until Turville caught his eye, then winked.  Turville looked away.

The mayor and the lieutenant shook hands, then parted. Rebecca followed her father and they drove away, leaving Lieutenant Blake and Turville standing next to the humvees.

Blake looked at Turville with an unforgiving eye and said, "Corporal, I don't even want to know what you are getting yourself into here.  But be pretty god damn careful."

Turville swallowed and said, "Yes, sir."

Insurgent Chapter 5.1

When the phone rang, Rebecca sat up instantly, dropping the paperback she'd been reading to the floor. The phone rang? The house phone hadn't rung since January: lines had been down across the state, and if her father hadn't bought one of those expensive satellite phones they'd have been completely cut off from the world.

She jumped to her feet, then ran across her room and grabbed the telephone.

"Hello?"

"Zoe? It's Joe."

"Uh, it's not my Mom, this is Rebecca."

"Well, I'll be damned. Little Rebecca. You don't sound so little anymore."

Rebecca smiled. "Uncle Joe, you know I turned eighteen in January."

"Well, darling, knowing and believing is two different things.  How are you?  School going okay?"

Rebecca laughed. "Uncle Joe, where have you been hiding?  School's been closed for months! They're saying we might be going back in a couple more weeks, but I don't know. I'm afraid I'm never going to graduate, now."

"Don't worry, kid, you'll be fine.  Where's your Dad?"

"Dad? I don't know. He had to meet some guys from the Army a while ago."

Suddenly inspiration hit her.  If she took a message to her father while her was meeting with the Army, maybe that guy, Corporal Turville, would be there. Before the thought was really complete, she'd already spoken.

"If you want, I can walk a message to him.  They're staying right across the drug store, in that abandoned house."

"Right," Joe said. "Mrs. Wilson's old place: she was our high school English teacher. Evil bitch. Oops—don't tell your Dad I said that. Why is your dad meeting with the Army?"

She giggled. Uncle Joe was always a little funny, though the last year, since his wife died, he'd been pretty grim all the time. It was nice to hear him sounding like himself.

"I don't know, Uncle Joe. Mayor stuff, I guess.  Anyway, they brought in a whole bunch of guys, they got a roadblock, and guys downtown, and up at the dam.  I guess Dad's got to work out some stuff with them."

"That's weird," Joe said, his voice sounding odd.  "Why is the Army in Whitesville?"

"Didn't you know?  They're all over: in Madison, too, all over the county.  They're supposed to be helping us get things back up and running.  Couldn't be quick enough for me."

Joe was silent at the other end for a long time.  She could hear him breathing, and wondered what he was about.

"Rebecca, do me a favor?"

"Sure thing."

"Don't worry about running any message to your Dad, I can call him later.  Just… stay away from those Army guys, okay?"

Oh, for God's sake, she thought. She scrunched her forehead and said, "How come?"

"Look, I just got a bad feeling okay.  Lot a people have been hurt in the last year around here, and having the Army around may not be such a good thing, okay? Beside, you know I used to be in the Army. I can tell you from experience, kiddo, they only think about one thing: and it sure as hell ain't polishin' their boots."

She blushed and giggled again. "Uncle Joe… last time I saw you, you told me that's all any guy thinks about."

"Well, yeah, that's true.  But with the Army it's worse.  Anyway, that don't matter. You just stay away from them, you hear?"

She rolled her eyes. "Uncle Joe, you may know a lot, but you don't know everything. Besides, I have to at least be nice: one of those guys saved my life last week."

"What are you talking about?"

His tone was urgent, unusually so.

She answered in a half-whine, feeling defensive. "Some lunatics were shooting into downtown. Didn't you hear about the helicopters that got shot down? You have been living under a rock.  I got stuck in the middle of all that."

Uncle Joe didn't answer right away, but she could hear him breathing over the phone. Then, abruptly, he said, "All right. I'll talk to your dad about it. But you be careful, young lady."

Then he hung up, without even a goodbye.

Well, that was just weird.

Should she go down there anyway? If her dad was talking with the lieutenant, he might not thank her for interrupting.

But Corporal Turville might be there, and she really wanted to talk to him. Oh God, she didn't even know anything about him at all. He'd probably hate her. What was she thinking anyway? If Dana were here she'd tell Rebecca she was nuts.

She looked in the mirror, and her eyes focused in on the hideous mole below her left eye, and her flat as a board chest, and felt tears come to her eyes.  Who was she kidding anyway?  He didn't want to have anything to do with her. She was ugly and out of shape and with the schools closed, she wasn't even going to graduate high school.

She lay back down on her bed and tried not to cry. Oh, damn it.  She squeezed her hands into fists, remembering how much she had struggled with her ballet, how hard she had worked to learn the difficult—and sometimes dangerous—routines in cheerleading.

She wasn't ugly, and she wasn't stupid, and God damn if she was going to let her crazy Uncle tell her what to do.  She stood up, appraised herself in a new light, and headed for the front door.

Insurgent Chapter 4.4

As the line of humvees pulled into the town, Turville thought that Whitesville looked considerably better when they weren't being shot at.

That wasn't likely at this point. First squad had already split off from the column and begun setting up the TCP, or tactical check point—a fancy term for road-block—two hundred meters before reaching the town. Sergeant Nguyen, Turville, and their squad would be staying in the town for the first week, acting as the quick reaction force if any problems came up at the other positions. The third squad would be setting up at the head of the dam overlooking the town. Finally, a fourth squad had been assigned the job of effectively acting as the local police force—patrolling the town and its roads.

The tree covered mountains towered over the town, which was small by any standard. To the right side of the road: a short series of red-brick two-story buildings, including the drug store where they'd huddled after the ambush just a few days ago. Next to that, a small, cinderblock watering-hole sported a confederate flag. Ironic, considering West Virginia had split from Virginia in the first place in order to stay in the Union, back in 1861. Across the street, a few small houses, and the river.  Beyond the river: more mountains.

Also towering over the town was a huge earthen dam, more than 900 feet high. A small gravel road switch-backed up the sloped face of the dam, leading to a couple of small buildings which would house the security force there. The dam was the byproduct of mountaintop removal—as the coal companies sheared off the top of the mountains, the refuse was washed, the coal removed and the dirt and rock piled up. Behind the dam: some five billion gallons of polluted, bracken water and coal slurry.

Directly across the street from the drug store was an abandoned house that was to be their base of operations. The grey and weathered wooden steps to the door were splintering and ancient, and the clapboards, once white, didn't look as if they'd been painted since the twentieth century. Delightful.

The pavement was still blackened and buckled where the helicopters had crashed, and two cars which had been destroyed by that fire still sat, abandoned.

Sergeant Nguyen, their squad leader, got out of his humvee and directed the others where to park their vehicles.  Out of the nine men in the squad, two would always be on duty at the machine gun mounts in the hummers.

"Third squad, move out," called Sergeant Nguyen. Turville and the rest of his team jumped out of their vehicles, quickly moving to positions where they had their backs to the house, looking out at the street.

Lieutenant Blake stood in front of them. "All right, gentlemen. You know the deal. You'll be the quick reaction force for the next week, and then rotate to the TCP. Everyone stays within sight of this building: we get a call, I want you rolling with two minutes, tops."

Turville kept one ear tuned—they've been briefed on what was expected of them about ten times already, but his eye fixed on the family that was, at that moment, coming out of the drug store.

The father was about forty, balding, and had a bit of a paunch.  He wore khakis and a white shirt, and was talking with a pretty redheaded woman the same age.

Behind them was Short Girl. Now that it was warming up, she was dressed in a pair of jeans and a light sweater instead of the bulky peacoat she'd worn a week before. Her brown hair hung loose at her shoulders, and the breeze blew wisps of it loose. He hadn't noticed it the other night—probably because people were trying to kill him at the time—but she had a tiny mole on the left side of her face, just below her left eye.

When she stepped out the door, she let loose a sort of squeal, and grabbed her father's arm. She pointed at the squad, saying something intently to her father, who looked over at them.

Then she waved at Turville.  Oh, hell, he thought. That's the last thing I need.

The family crossed the street, and the father said, "Excuse me?"

Lieutenant Blake turned around and said, "Yes, sir?"

"I'm Bob Mays. Mayor here.  I made the arrangements with your Colonel for where your men would be situated."

"Oh, yes.  It's good to meet you sir, I'm Lieutenant Blake.  We're just getting the men situated now. I understood we were meeting at 4 o'clock, sir? I'm happy to move it up, if you want, but I'll need to get our positions straightened out first."

The man shook his head and smiled.  "No, that won't be necessary. I just came over because my daughter has pointed out that it is one of your men who is responsible for saving her life last week."

Turville sucked a breath in.

"Oh …" Lieutenant Blake looked confused for a moment, and then made the connection. "Corporal Turville!"

Turville stepped forward. "Yes, sir."

"Mayor, this is Corporal Jim Turville.  I believe he's the one who helped out your daughter and her friend."

The man's grin became even wider, and he reached out and grabbed Turville's right hand.  Short Girl—Rebecca— actually winked at him.

"Son, anything you ever need, you just give me a call.  The name is Turville, is it?"

"Uh…yes, sir.  Although, I didn't actually save anyone, I just kind of shoved her over. If there hadn't been, you know, people shooting at us at the time, you'd have probably been pretty pissed…"

Lieutenant Blake interrupted. "That's probably enough, Corporal."

Turville could feel heat in his face. Jim, you are such an ass, sometimes.

"He did, Dad.  If he hadn't pushed us to the ground, I'd have been killed by those metal fragments."

Mayor Mays wouldn't let go of Turville's hand. "I mean, it, son.  Rebecca's going off to college in the fall—well, if we can get the schools back open anyway.  I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost her. You can call on me for anything. Anything at all."

"Uh, thank you, sir. Um …. I'd better be going, sir, we were just getting the guys in place."

"Oh, that's right.  Well, I don't want to interfere with your duty.  I will say, I'm glad you men are here.  I'll see you at four o'clock, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir."

The Mayor walked away, with his wife and daughter in tow.  She had to be at least eighteen, Turville thought.  Life just wouldn't be any fucking fair, otherwise.

He got back in the formation.

Nowell elbowed him in the side. "You're my hero," he whispered, then made a smooching sound.

"Kiss my ass," Turville whispered back.

The Lieutenant wrapped up, then rejoined the humvees.  Sergeant Nguyen took his place at the head of the squad.

"All right.  Meigs—I want your fire team on security.  Turville, you relieve him at 1800 hours; you've got the night shift. And next time: don't talk in my formation. Got it?"

"Yes, sergeant," Turville replied, as Santiago, Nowell and Tilman groaned.  As the formation broke up, he glanced up at the dam. The Lieutenant and third squad were already driving up the face, turning back and forth in the narrow switchbacks. It looked ominous hanging over the town like that. Then he thought of Rebecca Mays, and how she had looked when she winked at him.