Stan R. Mitchell's Blog, page 49

‘Afghan Storm’ makes must read list for 2015 at The REAL Book Spy

I was pumped to see “Afghan Storm” made the list of must-read books for 2015 at The REAL Book Spy! (Link here.)

It’s really stunning to see my name alongside a list that includes names such as Tom Clancy, Vince Flynn, Nelson DeMille, Brad Meltzer, Daniel Silva, Brad Taylor, Ben Coes, and several other big-time names! (In fact, I am one of the few on the list who isn’t a New York Times Best-Selling author.)

Thanks, as always, for all of your all’s support. Especially the core group of you all who I jokingly refer to as Mitchell’s Militia. Your encouragement and help has been tremendous!

Hope everyone has a great Christmas! (And if you’re chasing your own dream, try to carve a couple minutes out during your time off in the coming days!)

Keep the faith,

Stan R. Mitchell

About me: Stan R. Mitchell writes some of the most action-packed, fast-moving gunfighter novels around. Tired of slow-paced, investigative novels that take 50 pages to excite you? Look no further! Stan is the best-selling author of 5 novels in 3 different time periods. He’s also a prior infantry Marine with Combat Action Ribbon, and a former journalist who spent ten years in the newspaper business, learning how to hook the reader, cut out the filler, and just tell the story. In short, Stan is knowledgeable, he’s fast, and his books will blow you away. Don’t forget to subscribe for email alerts to keep up with his latest works.

Some motivation: don’t wait to do well…

I was really impressed with this speech from Theodore Roosevelt, and wanted to share it. I think you’ll find it motivating and inspiring, whatever your present situation.

From an Address at San Bernardino, California, May 7, 1903

“You do not win in a big fight by any patent device. There is not any way by which you can turn your hand and conquer in a time of great trial. You have got to conquer as your fathers and grandfathers conquered before you. You have got to conquer as strong men have conquered in every struggle of history, and draw on whatever fund of courage, of resolution, of hardihood, of iron will that you have at your command, and you can conquer only if you draw on just those qualities.

“Another thing which you will remember very well, from ’61 to ’65, what my comrades here, the men who went into the great war and the men who went into the Spanish War or went to the Philippines will remember also, that there was a certain proportion of men who joined your ranks who for one reason or another fell by the wayside. There were different reasons—some for whom one simply felt an entirely respectful pity, who lacked the stamina to be able to stand the hard work, and it was mighty hard work. In the lesser war there was trouble that there was not in the big war, for there was not enough to go around. Among others the man would come around who wanted to be a hero right off, but did not want to do the other work of the moment. I recollect perfectly in my regiment, a young fellow joined, and on the second day he came to me and said: “Colonel, I came down here to fight for my country, and they are treating me like a serf, and making me dig kitchen sinks.” His Captain, who was a large man from New Mexico, explained to him that he would go right on and dig kitchen sinks; that that was what his business was at the moment, and that if he dug them well we would see to the hero business later. The man who did well in the army in those days was, as a rule, the man who did not wait to do well until something big occurred, but who did his duty just as his duty came, during the long marches, during the weary months of waiting in camp, did his duty just exactly as in the battle. He was the man on whom you relied, whom you trusted, whom you wanted to have with you in your troop, as your bunky, whatever it was, he was the man you wanted around.

“It is just exactly the same with citizenship. It was just exactly the same in the pioneer days. The pioneers, men and women, faced much such difficulty as the men of the Grand Army, and for you, the men of that generation, and your wives, there was the same hardship, the same endurance of grinding toil, the same years of effort that too often seemed fruitless, the same iron will, and the same ultimate triumph, and if we are to succeed we must show the same qualities that the men of the Grand Army showed, that the pioneers showed, that all men and all women have showed who were fit to be fathers and mothers in a vigorous State.

“I would plead with my countrymen to show not any special brilliancy, or special genius, but the ordinary humdrum commonplace qualities which in the aggregate spell success for the nation, and spell success for the individual. Remember that the chance to do the great heroic work may or may not come. If it does not come, then all that there can be to our credit is the faithful performance of every-day duty. That is all that most of us throughout our lives have the chance to do, and it is enough, because it is the beginning, because it means most for the Nation when done, and if the time for the showing of heroism does come you may guarantee that those who show it are most likely to be the people who have done their duty in average times as the occasion for doing the duty arose.”

So, what do you think? Anything strike a cord with you? (Hat tip, Art of Manliness.)

Keep the faith,

Stan R. Mitchell

About me: Stan R. Mitchell writes some of the most action-packed, fast-moving gunfighter novels around. Tired of slow-paced, investigative novels that take 50 pages to excite you? Look no further! Stan is the best-selling author of 5 novels in 3 different time periods. He’s also a prior infantry Marine with Combat Action Ribbon, and a former journalist who spent ten years in the newspaper business, learning how to hook the reader, cut out the filler, and just tell the story. In short, Stan is knowledgeable, he’s fast, and his books will blow you away. Don’t forget to subscribe for email alerts to keep up with his latest works.

My fall story and how a few leaves inspired me to no end as a young boy

Hey guys!

Hope everyone is doing well!

I wanted to share a quick, personal story about my life, which I think might help inspire you, and which helped change the course of my life.

When I was a boy, I used to love to be in the woods. I loved to explore them and play in them with friends. But on one fall day about this time of year — probably about two weeks earlier — I was in the woods alone on a beautiful day and lost track of time.

And I was sitting there on a comfortable ledge, pretty high up on the side of a hill, just watching the woods. Back then, I could watch squirrels or chipmunks (or a deer if I was lucky) for hours without being bored, and that’s what I was searching for on that day.  

But there was nothing moving, even once I sat down and got quiet. It’s really rare that no animals are out moving, and as a matter of fact, it’s the only time I can recall it happening to me — and I’ve spent quite a bit of time in the woods.

But back to the story, on that day there was nothing moving. No squirrels. No chipmunks. No birds or crows that I can remember, though surely there were some.

Zero. Zilch. Nada.

On this day, I was alone in these wide-open woods. A young boy, sitting on a ledge, watching leaves fall to the ground. And as I sat there, I lost track of time. I was mesmerized by the woods before me, as leaf-after-leaf drifted down.

The entire time, I anxiously waited to see something spring or prance by, but nothing did, and in about a three-hour time period, I can’t tell you how many leaves I watched drift and descend to the ground. Literally thousands, if I had to guess.

Most of them were brown and scarcely discernible from those around them, and they fell fairly quickly and predictably. But every now and then, in my trance-like state, I noticed one that wasn’t brown. Sometimes a yellow one. Or perhaps a red one. Even a couple of purple ones.

These leaves that stood out instantly caught my (bored) eye, and I’d watch them descend while ignoring their brown peers that dropped around them.

And sometimes, a vivid red or yellow one would be shaped in just a way that allowed it to catch small wisps of wind and float sideways as they arced to the ground. Even rarer, sometimes one would be so perfectly aerodynamic that it’d glide far and almost lift up with small winds that bounced along the ground.

For hours I sat captivated by these leaves of all colors, and their varying flight paths and trajectories. But by the end, I could only recall a few that had fallen. Perhaps a couple dozen out of literally hundreds and hundreds that I had watched.

And as I came out of my almost meditative state, prompted by hunger and a stark reality I had stayed out too long, a shocking realization hit me: we are all leaves.

We all fall, our lives brief.

Mostly, we’re barely noticed. Certainly not remembered. 

But I had noticed some of those unique leaves that day. I had remembered their form and color, and the path they had taken. And it instantly hit me that I didn’t want to be a brown leave that fell straight down, same as every other leaf.

I wanted to be yellow or purple! I wanted to glide and float and lift with the wind! I wanted to land a hundred yards from the tree from which I fell, not right below it!

I wanted some young boy to see me and take note! To smile and remember me, and make his own mind up to be a little different and memorable.

And from that day — I was thirteen — I swore to myself I’d do all I could to maximize whatever potential I had. Up to that point, I did things to please my parents and others. But after that magical day in the woods, I did things for me. I felt called to move toward greatness, and the Marine Corps fit my picture of what a great, young man would aspire to at that time.

Later, I’d feel that same call to become a journalist. And still later, an entrepreneur who launched a newspaper. Finally, I’d grow courageous enough to attempt the impossible mountain of becoming a full-time author.

I share these words, this story of mine, because I feel confident that  there is at least one of you out there who harbors some dream, as well, and I hope my small story will help inspire you to pursue it as vigorously (and responsibly) as you can. (Additional motivation for those with just such a dream: Find true happiness: announce your dreams to the world today.)

But this post isn’t just meant for the dreamers who have some burning fire inside their soul.

It’s my very strong belief that all of us can be memorable, despite trying work and life demands. All of us can be red or purple, soaring through the sky like the wind.

A great example of this is one of the most remarkable men I ever crossed paths with. I first met him when I was working part-time at a completely depressing manufacturing plant while I was in college. I don’t remember his name now, much to my chagrin, but he was a jolly man from the inner city.

So many people quit at that plant within hours or days of being hired that you didn’t bother getting to know the new ones, especially those assigned to parts inspection where I worked. But this smiling man was assigned to our station and my buddy and I watched him with great interest on his first day. We wanted to see how fast he’d break — same as so many others before him.

But this man just smiled and sang to himself, and whistled away that first day. He did all this real low and to himself. Not a pest at all, like some of the singers and whistlers out there!

The job required you to lift with your fingers these really heavy airbag cylinders, all of which were soaked in some kind of toxic who knows what. And if you were good, you’d do two per hand and work your way up to three or four or even five.

All the work was timed and each hour crawled by like a mini-lifetime. I kid you not, there was never a day (or even two-hour sprint until we could get a 15-min break) that I didn’t nearly quit.

Your fingers ached, the oil did weird stuff to your skin, and your clothes were ruined nearly every day. But Mr. Jolly New Man survived the first day, and left with a smile and almost a skip in his step — really remarkable given he was mid-fifties or early sixties, and the work was pretty grueling.

But day-after-day, it was the same. Mr. Jolly New Man came in as if he had the greatest job in the world, quickly volunteering for the worst parts of the job.

“Oh, it’s not too bad,” he’d say with a smile as he grabbed another crate to take the load off a weaker worker.

We soon learned he was poor, had no family, and rode the bus to work because he didn’t have a car. (And for my northern readers, let me assure you that in the South, you almost have to have a car. Public transportation practically doesn’t exist.)

Mr. Jolly New Man wouldn’t say much about where he lived, but it was my strong impression he lived in the projects. As we grew to be friends with him, we learned he’d never take any form of assistance. No ride home, even if the bus wouldn’t arrive for another hour. No ride down to the gas station for a snack after work, which was a mile away.

No, he’d rather walk it, even in a downpour.

My buddy and I were finishing up college, happily married, bright futures ahead of us, and at least thirty years younger, but I give you my word that this man was a 100x happier than us. (We were also, by the way, both spiritual and optimistic, happy people in our own right, but we sure didn’t measure up to him.)

Mr. Jolly New Man couldn’t work circles around us — we were both studs — but he held his own and surpassed us by miles with his attitude. We complained about having to be there and what better jobs were out there. He didn’t mind working late, even off the clock if it helped the boss. Or sweeping up afterward. Or tackling a couple more crates.

His attitude was unlike any attitude I’ve ever encountered, and I’ve met some go getters in my day.

Additionally, his countenance was not of this world, and his smile and laughter was infectious. Never has such an imperfect smile been so perfect. Or perhaps he’d forgotten his smile wasn’t perfect?

My buddy and I would try to talk news with him, but he’d ease his way out of the conversation. He didn’t want to talk politics, the economy, or a hundred other things that might kill that incredible attitude and smile of his.

Asked his thoughts on any of this, he’d usually smile real big and say, “Oh, I don’t know,” and pat you on the shoulder if his hands weren’t covered in grease.

Love just poured from the man, and surprisingly, though we learned he was Christian, he never talked about his views or pushed his religion.

He lived his religion, and it was one of the most beautiful sights to behold. A near modern-day Jesus who had no cares for money or security or any of the other things we all worry about so much.

To this day, I can say that few people have influenced me as much as this man. He wasn’t some decorated Marine. Not some kind of big-time author or famous person you hear so much about.

He was just a man who stood out, every single day of his life, like the yellow and purple leaves that floated down to the ground back when I was a boy.

I have told dozens of people about this man in the past twenty years, and I’ll bet every person that’s worked with him has done the same.

My point in this much too-long blogpost is that all of us can be like this man, striving to stand out more, to be more beautiful and memorable and inspiring.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you just never know who’s watching, or how much you will shape their lives for years to come.

In closing, I hope this small story of my life has in some small way sparked yours. Feel free to share it, of course, if it has.

Keep the faith, and be more beautiful!

Stan R. Mitchell

About me: Stan R. Mitchell writes some of the most action-packed, fast-moving gunfighter novels around. Tired of slow-paced, investigative novels that take 50 pages to excite you? Look no further! Stan is the best-selling author of 5 novels in 3 different time periods. He’s also a prior infantry Marine with Combat Action Ribbon, and a former journalist who spent ten years in the newspaper business, learning how to hook the reader, cut out the filler, and just tell the story. In short, Stan is knowledgeable, he’s fast, and his books will blow you away. Don’t forget to subscribe for email alerts to keep up with his latest works.

My fall story and how a few leaves inspired me as a boy to no end

Hey guys!

Hope everyone is doing well!

I wanted to share a quick, personal story about my life, which I think might help inspire you, but first I need to take care of a quick piece of admin business.

I hate more than anything to ask for favors, but if you have read one of my books and NOT dropped a review on them on Amazon, I’d sure appreciate it if you take a moment and do so. Reviews on there are critical, and they can be as short as a couple of lines. (Here are the links in the off-chance I’ve convinced you: Sold Out, Mexican Heat, Afghan Storm,  Soldier On, and Little Man, and the Dixon County War. And here are the Audible links, in case you listened to them: Sold Out and Mexican Heat.)

Now, with that out of the way, let me share an event with you that helped change the course of my life.

When I was a boy, I used to love to be in the woods. I loved exploring them and playing in them with friends. But on one fall day about this time of year — probably about two weeks earlier — I was in the woods alone and lost track of time.

And I was sitting there on a comfortable ledge, pretty high up, just watching the woods. Back then, I could watch squirrels or chipmunks or maybe a deer for hours without being bored and that’s what I was looking for on that day.  

But there was nothing moving, even once I sat down and got quiet. This is a rare occurrence and it’s the only time it’s ever happened to me — and I’ve spent quite a bit of time in the woods.

No squirrels. No chipmunks. And I don’t remember any birds or crows, though surely there were some. Usually I notice them, but that day there was nothing.

In these wide-open woods, there was just me, sitting on a ledge watching leaves fall to the ground. And as I sat there, I lost track of time. Just mesmerized as leaf-after-leaf drifted down, all the while waiting to see something spring or prance by.

But nothing did, and in about a three-hour time period, I can’t tell you how many leaves I watched drift and descend to the ground. Literally thousands, if I had to guess.

Most of them were brown and hardly noticeable, and they fell fairly quickly and predictably. But every now and then, in my trance-like state, I noticed one that wasn’t brown. Sometimes a yellow one. Or perhaps a red one. Even a couple of purple ones.

And these leaves that stood out instantly caught my (bored) eye, and I’d watch them descend while ignoring the other brown ones that dropped around them.

Every now and then, a vivid red or yellow one would be shaped just right allowing it to catch small wisps of wind and float sideways as they arced to the ground. Incredibly, sometimes a few would be so perfectly aerodynamic that they’d glide and almost lift with small up winds.

For hours I sat captivated by these leaves of all colors, but by the end I could only recall a few that had fallen. Perhaps a couple dozen. Out of literally hundreds and hundreds.

And as I came out of my almost meditative state, prompted by hunger and a stark reality I had stayed out too long, a shocking realization hit me: we are all leaves.

We all fall and our lives are brief. Barely noticed. Certainly not remembered. 

But I had noticed some of those unique leaves. I had remembered their form and color, and the path they had taken. And it instantly hit me that I didn’t want to be a brown leave that fell straight down, like every other leaf. I wanted to be yellow or purple! I wanted to glide and float and lift with the wind! I wanted to land a hundred yards from the tree from which I fell, not right below it!

I wanted some young boy to see me and take note! To smile and remember me, and make his own mind up to be a little different and memorable.

And from that day — I was thirteen — I swore to myself I’d do all I could to maximize whatever potential I had. Up to that point, I did things to please my parents and others. But after that magical day in the woods, I did things for me. I felt called to move toward greatness, and the Marine Corps fit my picture of what a great, young man would aspire to at that time.

Later, I’d feel that same call to become a journalist. And still alter, an entrepreneur who launched a newspaper. Finally, I’d grow courageous enough to attempt the impossible mountain of becoming a full-time author.

There may still be other paths, as I’ve learned that the more I figure out about life, the less I know.

But one thing I do know is I know there is at least one of you out there who harbors some dream, as well, and I hope my small story will help inspire you to pursue it as vigorously (and responsibly) as you can. (Additional motivation: Find true happiness: announce your dreams to the world today.)

Other authors before me have inspired me with their success and their calls to action, so perhaps this one is yours.

But this post isn’t just meant for the dreamers who have some burning inside their soul.

All of us can be memorable, despite work and life demands. All of us can be red or purple and soar like the wind.

A great example is one of the most remarkable men I ever crossed paths with. I was working part-time at one of the most depressing manufacturing plants while in college when I first met him. I don’t remember his name now, much to my chagrin, but he was a jolly man from the inner city.

So many people were hired and quit at that plant that you didn’t bother getting to know the new ones, especially those assigned to parts inspection where I worked. But he was assigned to our station and my buddy and I watched him on his first day to see how fast he’d break — same as so many others before him.

But this man just smiled and sang to himself and whistled away that first day.

The job required you to lift with your fingers these really heavy airbag cylinders, all of which were soaked in some kind of toxic who knows what. And if you were good, you’d do two per hand and work your way up to three or four or even five.

All the work was timed and each hour crawled by like a mini-lifetime. I kid you not, there was never a day or even one-hour shift that I didn’t nearly quit.

Your fingers ached, the oil did weird stuff to your skin, and your clothes were ruined nearly every day. But the jolly, new man survived the first day, and left with a smile.

And day-after-day, it was the same. He came in as if he had the greatest job in the world and volunteered for the worst parts of the job. “Oh, it’s not too bad,” he’d say with a smile as he grabbed another crate.

We soon learned he was poor, rode the bus to work, and had no family. He wouldn’t say much about where he lived, but it was my impression he lived in the projects. As we grew to be friends with him, we learned he’d never take any form of assistance. No ride home, even if the bus wouldn’t arrive for another hour. No ride down to the gas station, which was a mile away.

My buddy and I were finishing up college, happily married, bright futures ahead of us, and at least thirty years younger, but this man was a 100x happier than us. And while he couldn’t work circles around us — we were both studs — he held his own and surpassed us with his attitude. We complained about having to be there and what better jobs were out there. He didn’t mind working late, even off the clock. Or sweeping up afterward.

His attitude was unlike any attitude I’ve ever encountered. His countenance was not of this world, and his smile and laughter was infectious. Never has such an imperfect smile been so perfect.

We’d try to talk news with him, but he’d work his way out of the conversation. He didn’t want to talk politics, the economy, or a hundred other things that might kill his smile. And surprisingly, though we learned he was Christian, he never even talked about his views or pushed his religion.

He lived his religion, and it was one of the most beautiful sights to behold. (I’m still not convinced he was human.)

To this day, I can say that few people have influenced me as much as this man. He wasn’t some decorated Marine. Not some kind of big-time author or anyone famous. Just a man who stood out, every single day of his life, like the yellow and purple leaves that floated down to the ground in those woods that day back when I was a boy.

I have told dozens of people about this man in the past twenty years, and I’ll bet every person that’s gotten to know him has done the same.

My point in this much too-long blogpost is that all of us can strive to stand out more, to be more beautiful and memorable and inspiring.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you just never know who’s watching, or how much you will shape their lives for years to come.

In closing, I hope this small story of my life has in some small way sparked yours. Feel free to share it, of course, if it has. Oh, and don’t forget about my review request up top if you’ve enjoyed my books and are up for it.

Keep the faith!

Stan R. Mitchell

About me: Stan R. Mitchell writes some of the most action-packed, fast-moving gunfighter novels around. Tired of slow-paced, investigative novels that take 50 pages to excite you? Look no further! Stan is the best-selling author of 5 novels in 3 different time periods. He’s also a prior infantry Marine with Combat Action Ribbon, and a former journalist who spent ten years in the newspaper business, learning how to hook the reader, cut out the filler, and just tell the story. In short, Stan is knowledgeable, he’s fast, and his books will blow you away. Don’t forget to subscribe for email alerts to keep up with his latest works.

Sold Out and Mexican Heat now available as audio books!

Hey guys!

Hope everyone is doing well. I wanted to pass along that my audio books are now available on Audible.com.

For those who don’t need the sales pitch, here are the links:

Sold Out
Mexican Heat

They are narrated by Jay Snyder, who has narrated numerous James Patterson books besides having quite a career in, well, everywhere. He’s an actor/director who’s appeared on Broadway, Off-Broadway, in regional theatre, and on television, and has been doing voice-over for over ten years.

He has voiced for feature films and has been heard on Nickelodeon, WB, Cartoon Network, Fox TV, the SciFi Channel, EWam, and the new CW4Kids. His bio says he’s best known for his work on Saturday morning cartoons like Yu-Gi-Oh! (lead), Viva Pinata (lead), Sonic X, and Pokemon, but he has also worked on many other animations and can currently be heard in Gogoriki, Pat and Stan, and Chaotic. His other voice-over work includes several audiobooks, documentaries, promos, and commercials.

I’ve listened to his voice on a couple of the James Patterson books and it’s pretty incredible. I’m super pumped he was selected to narrate Sold Out and Mexican Heat, and again more than honored that Audible saw fit to publish the Nick Woods series.

Nick Woods just went to a whole new level, and I’d tell him, but he’s off hunting bad guys and wouldn’t care anyway.

Keep the faith,

Stan R. Mitchell

About me: Stan R. Mitchell writes some of the most action-packed, fast-moving gunfighter novels around. Tired of slow-paced, investigative novels that take 300 pages to excite you? Look no further! Stan is the best-selling author of 5 novels in 3 different time periods. He’s also a prior infantry Marine with Combat Action Ribbon, and a former journalist who spent ten years in the newspaper business, learning how to hook the reader, cut out the filler, and just tell the story. In short, Stan is knowledgeable, he’s fast, and his books will blow you away. Don’t forget to subscribe for email alerts to keep up with his latest works.

Afghan Storm now available in print

Hey guys,

A few of you were waiting on the paperback edition of “Afghan Storm,” and it’s finally available. We apologize for the delay, but we suffered several unexpected issues.

At any rate, it’s now available for purchase here. (UPDATE: Some have emailed me with problems with the link at left. For those having problems, here’s a different link that seems to be working. And I’ve emailed Amazon about the issue.)

Thanks! And feel free to spread the word! : )

Keep the faith,

Stan R. Mitchell

About me: Stan R. Mitchell writes some of the most action-packed, fast-moving gunfighter novels around. Tired of slow-paced, investigative novels that take 300 pages to excite you? Look no further! Stan is the best-selling author of 5 novels in 3 different time periods. He’s also a prior infantry Marine with Combat Action Ribbon, and a former journalist who spent ten years in the newspaper business, learning how to hook the reader, cut out the filler, and just tell the story. In short, Stan is knowledgeable, he’s fast, and his books will blow you away. Don’t forget to subscribe for email alerts to keep up with his latest works.

Let’s remember and honor Master Sergeant Joshua L. Wheeler

I wanted to take a moment to do my small part to honor a warrior and true American hero.

Master Sergeant Joshua L. Wheeler was the first American to die in combat in Iraq in four years, and he was a highly decorated Delta Force member who was killed taking part in a joint raid to rescue 70 hostages held by ISIS.

The hostages were expected to be executed within hours, after morning prayers. In fact, their graves had already been dug.

Thus, a joint, night-time raid was launched with Kurdish commandos.

The fighting was fierce and scary, as evidenced by this helmet camera footage dug up by the Washington Post. You can just feel the fear and confusion in the video, as a fire burns, people scramble, and bullets snap past.

And going beyond the call of duty in this battle was Master Sergeant Wheeler.

The Kurds were trying to blast a hole in the outer wall to breach the compound, but were unable to do so, according to The New York Times.

Wheeler, just one of many Delta Force operators advising the Kurds, rushed to the front of the line to fix the charges. And when the hole in the wall was blown, Wheeler led the way through it.

“When you blow a hole in a compound wall, all the fire gets directed toward that hole, and that’s where he was,” said a former Delta Force officer, who once led Wheeler and was briefed afterward about the mission.

The New York Times wrote an impressive tribute to Wheeler, who leaves behind a wife and infant boy, plus three sons from an earlier marriage.

Incredibly, Master Sergeant Joshua L. Wheeler had been on 14 deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan since joining the Army, and he had already earned 11 Bronze Stars.

I’m not sure it’s possible to explain those kinds of numbers to someone who’s never served.

In my four years of service, I merely did two measly, six-month deployments, and only spent two days in harm’s way, and it COMPLETELY changed my life. This man may have spent as much as 10 years (or more) in harm’s way. (The math on that is that at one point Army deployments were as long as 13 months, assuming your unit wasn’t extended. Truthfully, we’ll probably never know the real figure, since the Army doesn’t even admit to Delta Force’s existence).

Nonetheless, you can’t really put 14 deployments into words. For instance, both of my deployments had major training work ups (one lasting six months), and these are exhausting and dangerous in their own right. These super-intensive training exercises are far more dangerous than more typical, peace-time training — we actually lost a great Marine during this kind of training, when Lance Corporal Foster died on April 10, 1999, while my company — Alpha Co., 1st Battalion, 8th Marine Regiment — conducted highly dangerous jungle training in Okinawa. Foster drowned while crossing a roaring stream in full combat gear. (Photo by Cpl. Conwell.)

Additionally, there are also air alerts periods for units, where you can’t go far from the base and have to be ready to deploy within hours. (These air alerts involve drills, which are launched by surprise — usually at night or on the weekend! — and you have no idea if they’re real or not until the exercise is ended.)

I say all this because there’s probably no way to accurately measure how much time Master Sergeant Wheeler spent either on air alert, or impossible-to-describe training, or on dangerous deployments into harm’s way.

This man spent the better part of nearly 20 years in the complete, full service of our country. He was away from his family. He was away from comforts, such as a bed, a shower, a TV, or any of the other things we all take for granted.

And even when he didn’t have to be up front, when he could have taken his foot off the gas — he was planning to retire soon — he moved to the front and freely accepted the most dangerous position.

My former platoon leader Captain Eaton said it best.

“This guy had 11 Bronze stars. Even if the ‘plan’ is for foreign fighters to take the lead on a mission, U.S. Commandos will not be mere observers once bullets start flying. They are neither physically nor morally capable of just standing by.”

I wish we had more Americans like Master Sergeant Wheeler, who are neither physically nor morally capable of just standing by.

This man was a warrior. He was a hero. And his record of service and sacrifice should inspire us all.

And while not all of us can serve as Master Sergeant Wheeler did, we can remember that we still have a war going on. We still have troops in danger every single day. And we can do far more to support them.

Furthermore, we can remind our kids that real heroes don’t play on the football field or on the basketball court. They sleep in mud. They deploy thousands of miles away. And they rush through holes that they don’t have to.

Keep the faith,

Stan R. Mitchell

About me: Stan R. Mitchell writes some of the most action-packed, fast-moving gunfighter novels around. Tired of slow-paced, investigative novels that take 300 pages to excite you? Look no further! Stan is the best-selling author of 5 novels in 3 different time periods. He’s also a prior infantry Marine with Combat Action Ribbon, and a former journalist who spent ten years in the newspaper business, learning how to hook the reader, cut out the filler, and just tell the story. In short, Stan is knowledgeable, he’s fast, and his books will blow you away. Don’t forget to subscribe for email alerts to keep up with his latest works.

Three times I wish I hadn’t been right…

When I write, I like to push the limits. Doing so allows you to increase the tension and make a book more engaging and fun to read, obviously.

But at the same time, we all know the moment an author crosses the line into the unbelievable, you’re immediately tempted to stop reading. And not just that book, but possibly even future things the author writes. Thus I tread carefully, before I even get close to that line.

Nonetheless, here are my Top 3 push-the-envelope moments, which have unfortunately all been born out by reality after I published the book. Each in REALLY big ways. (And don’t worry, I’ll keep all three vague enough that they’re not spoiler alerts if you haven’t read the books.)

1 ) Prison breakout, Mexican Heat. In Mexican Heat, I needed to have a cartel leader break out of the country’s most secure prison. I knew there were real life instances of break outs in more moderate prisons, but it would be seriously unrealistic for my character to be placed in a medium-secure facility. So in Mexican Heat, I had to take my chances and write that he was able to break out of the country’s most-secure prison. I thought I could take some heat for this, but thankfully readers agreed that in a country with a drug war that’s killed more than 60,000 people, a prison break out wasn’t that unbelievable. And then just a year after writing the book, ‘El Chapo’ Guzman escaped — even after our country warned Mexico he might.

2 ) Friendly fire incident, Afghanistan. In Afghan Storm, in order to facilitate some future turns of events, I needed to have a pretty serious friendly fire incident occur. Friendly fire incidents had occurred several times in the past decade-plus, but we’ve gotten better at preventing them. Unfortunately, I needed this to be a pretty serious incident, which I knew would be pretty unlikely. But it had to happen to make the book plot work, thus I wrote what I thought was a push-the-envelope attack, instigated by the Taliban, and hoped I wouldn’t be lambasted for it being outlandish. But just days after finishing the book, a Doctors Without Borders hospital suffered a far more horrendous and difficult-to-explain attack.

3 ) City seized, Afghanistan. Finally, in Afghan Storm, I wanted to have the Taliban seize a major city. But I knew I was pushing my luck BIG TIME on this one. ISIS has been pushing into Afghanistan, threatening the Taliban. And the country has seemed to stabilize and suffer fewer major Taliban attacks in recent years. But I believed I could make this attack believable, so I strategized with a prior Army Captain (and good friend) and did plenty of research on how it might occur. I SOOO did not want to be ridiculed for this scene, or hurt the possibilities for this book, which I felt was easily my best. In the end, I went with my gut, but worried greatly about the entire scenario. How would readers react? How bad would the reviews be? Could I even lose readers over it? But as you all know, while the book was literally publishing, the Taliban captured Kunduz, the capital of one of Afghanistan’s 34 provinces. And they not only captured it, they controlled it for 15 days and freed hundreds of fellow militants from the local jail — neither of which I would have dared predict.

So on the positive side, my author career is likely safe for at least a little longer. But on the negative side, each of these things were horrendous events that have caused unbelievable harm and loss of life.

I can honestly say I wish none of them had come to pass, and that I was forced to vigorously try to defend such “outlandish” events in my books. That, certainly, would have beat the alternative.

Keep the faith,

Stan R. Mitchell

About me: I write military action books similar to Vince Flynn, Stephen Hunter, and Tom Clancy. I’m also a prior USMC Sgt with Combat Action Ribbon, and a guy who spent 10+ years writing every day in the newspaper business — 9 of them with a newspaper that I started.  Please consider subscribing for email alerts — I mostly post about things that either motivate or inspire you.

‘Afghan Storm’ has arrived!

Hey guys!

I’m super proud to say that “Afghan Storm” is finally finished and available for purchase! (Well, at least in its ebook version. The paper version will come along in about a week or so.)

I can’t possibly explain how proud I am of this book. It is, without question, the best book we’ve ever pulled off. (And I say “we” because Danah was WAY more involved in this book than she’s ever been — and she’s always been somewhat involved. But on this book, she helped a ton with the characters, with the ending, and even worked on some rewrites of some of the chapters, making them MUCH better.)

Also, Emily Akin​ straight up killed it with the editing, and improved the book significantly.

So, with all that said, please, guys, do what you do best! : )

Buy the book, tell your friends, share on facebook, etc. And if this book rocks your world even half as much as I think it will, please drop a review for it on Amazon.

Thank you guys for allowing me to have the greatest (FULL-TIME!!!) job in the world, and through your support, for letting me take this journey the past year with Nick and his gang into one of the most desolate places in the world.

Danah, Emily, and I lived this book already, and each of us went through the entire gamut of emotions. (Believe me. I’m not lying.) And I’m betting you’ll do the same once you start it, as well.

I’ll place Chapter 1 at the bottom of this post. Just take a look at what Nick and his crew are up to. (Hint: It involves a forty-mile mission behind enemy lines into Pakistan. With just four men. And no support. And I mean none.)

Keep the faith,

Stan R. Mitchell

About me: I write military action books similar to Vince Flynn, Stephen Hunter, and Tom Clancy. I’m also a prior USMC Sgt with Combat Action Ribbon, and a guy who spent 10+ years writing every day in the newspaper business — 9 of them with a newspaper that I started.  Please consider subscribing for email alerts — I mostly post about things that either motivate or inspire you.

Afghan Storm

Chapter 1

Present Day — Just inside Pakistan near the border of Afghanistan

Nick Woods took a knee and wiped the ample sweat from his forehead, adjusting his pack in the cool night air. He made a mental note to thank the gods of war that this was the middle of summer, and not the freezing, bone-chilling winter that drove even the tough locals into their compounds and caves.

The three men accompanying him used the short break to adjust gear and sip water, while Nick’s brain worked in overdrive as he scanned his sector. He was definitely putting his men out on a limb this time — more so than when he had led the assault on the Mexican slum of Neza-Chalco-Itza just six months ago.

The unit’s overall mission this time was as simple as it had been in Mexico: take down Rasool Deraz, a venerable elder who inspired hundreds of Taliban and al Qaeda fighters across the country and into Pakistan.

Over the years, Rasool Deraz had grown so powerful that most analysts and several computer simulations reported that under his leadership the Taliban would soon topple the Afghan government. And America felt that it had invested too much in the past fourteen years to allow the Taliban to once again assume control of Afghanistan.

Thus Nick’s company — Shield, Safeguard, and Shelter, or S3 — had been contracted by the Afghan government to ostensibly provide training for their police force and consult with the government at the highest levels to assist them in reducing the threat from the Taliban. Or at least that’s what it looked like on paper. S3, however, wasn’t just some private security firm. In reality, S3 was an arm of the CIA. A private company that filed annual paperwork and paid its taxes, which helped create enough distance to allow the U.S. government complete deniability.

S3’s job in Afghanistan had nothing to do with training the police. Although Nick and his band of headhunters had severely limited resources, the plan was simple: find Deraz, shoot Deraz, and hopefully set the Taliban back as much as they could.

However, actually executing the plan would prove to be no small challenge.

So far, they had made it past their first obstacle. The four men of S3 had snuck across the border of Afghanistan and into Pakistan nearly an hour ago with no problems. That, of course, was the easy part. But now, on this side of the border, they were completely on their own. Just four men with no chance of backup, air support, or extraction. In fact, the only guarantee they were given was that America would deny any ties to S3 if they were captured or killed.

You sure know how to dig a deep hole, Nick thought to himself.

But at least he had brought three of his best men with him. He had Marcus, the tall, commanding Marine drill instructor, who served as his right-hand man. He had Truck, the merciless, insubordinate Special Forces trooper, who had seen as much combat as any man alive. And he had Red, the cocky, quick-tempered Marine, who carried a trainload of fight on his 5’5” frame. Red was also one of the best point men Nick had ever encountered.

Their objective on this raid was to infiltrate forty-plus miles into Pakistan (moving only in darkness). They would travel along a moderate mountain range, trekking at higher altitudes to avoid detection. Thankfully, this wasn’t the Hindu Kush mountain range, which spanned as high as 20,000 feet. Instead, this range had much lower elevations, being as Nick and his team were crossing into Pakistan roughly 100 miles south of Khost. That mean much lower elevations, which were much easier to traverse.

At the end of this forty-mile journey into one of the most dangerous countries in the world, they planned to raid a single compound and locate a man named Ahmud al-Habshi.

Ahmud al-Habshi was the primary communications man for the Taliban. Therefore, his private compound promised computers, probably several servers, and loads of files. Essentially, it was a smorgasbord, a tide-turning honey hole, of invaluable intelligence.

Then there was Ahmud al-Habshi himself, who knew the habits, movements, and possibly every hiding spot used by Rasool Deraz. Nick Woods and his three S3 shooters planned to wake him up late one night and take him on a one-way field trip to Afghanistan. If they failed, a drone strike would quickly silence al-Habshi, but it would in turn also destroy tons of evidence and any chance of taking down Rasool Deraz.

Thus, it was critical that Nick and S3 properly execute this raid. Failing to capture the intel from al-Habshi and eventually take down Deraz would certainly doom Afghanistan.

Deraz was seen as a respected leader and legend by the people in Afghanistan, most of whom supported him. Blessed with high esteem and a nation’s loyalty, his power and reach were difficult to fathom.

With just a few words delivered by messenger, Deraz could call upon local fighters among the people, who would spring up and strike an Afghan compound before disappearing into the countryside.

And the strength of Deraz knew no bounds. He had supporters in the countryside. He had supporters in the farmlands. He had supporters in the cities.

Without question, Rasool Deraz was the spiritual leader for many of the Afghan people, and Nick and S3 had to find a way to take him down or Afghanistan was doomed.

Link to “Afghan Storm.”

Mixed memories, and supporting your local, small businesses

I had to go find another USB/mouse to use while I’m editing and even two years after closing the newspaper, it’s still a little hard to dig among the detritus.

Even among the spider webs and nastiness of our outdoor storage area, the old copies of the paper, the file folders crammed with what was once crucial information to preserve, and the small trinkets people gave or awarded me through the years…. All of this still speaks to me.

And so I run when I find what I need, and pledge to clean it all up at a later date. Maybe next month. But probably next year, same as I always say.

I only share this because I want it to serve as a reminder that if you know someone who is running a small business, please support them. It’s their dream. It’s their baby. And sometimes, it’s their nightmare.

For nine years, that’s what The Oak Ridge Observer was for me. It was my dream. It was my baby. It was my nightmare.

Now go spend some money with a small business, or at least check on your friend who owns one. Help them in some small way. I guarantee you that they need it.

Keep the faith,

Stan R. Mitchell

About me: I write military action books similar to Vince Flynn, Stephen Hunter, and Tom Clancy. I’m also a prior USMC Sgt with Combat Action Ribbon, and a guy who spent 10+ years writing every day in the newspaper business — 9 of them with a newspaper that I started.  Please consider subscribing for email alerts — I mostly post about things that either motivate or inspire you.