Sarah Black's Blog: Book Report - Posts Tagged "dreamspinner-press"
a tiny bit of the new story! The General and the Horse-Lord
Prologue, Kuwait, 1990
“General, there’s a boy here, says he’s got a letter for you. Won’t give it to anyone else. I frisked him. He’s clean, but he won’t tell me what he wants. Just says he has a letter for you, and it’s life and death.”
John looked up at his sergeant. “Can you check on it?” He bent back over the topo map, drew in the route for the new bridge. “We need to do it here or here,” he said, pointing to the penciled alternate. “Otherwise the roadwork to get there will take too long to build.”
His chief engineer followed the line of the river. “Where was the old bridge before they blew it?” John pointed to the trail, marked as a dashed line on the map.
“The foundations are gone. They tried to run a tank over it. The tank’s still there, but no way can we move it, not with the equipment we’ve got.”
Sergeant Miller was back. “Sir, you may want to see this kid. He speaks excellent English with a very proper Brit accent. His sandals are torn up from the road, but they were expensive once. He asked for John Mitchel. Didn’t know your rank.”
John looked up, puzzled. “Yeah, okay.” He threw a towel over the map. “Send him in here.”
The boy was small and thin, looked nine, maybe ten, with dusty black hair and deep circles of fatigue under big, dark eyes. He stepped up, held out his hand to John. “Sir, are you John Mitchel? I am Abdullah al-Salim. I believe you know my father.”
John shook his hand. The boy was trembling, shock or pain or fatigue, maybe all three. “Of course I know your father. He’s my good friend. I know you, too, though I haven’t seen you since you were three, I think, already kicking a soccer ball around the yard. I thought you were all back in Cambridge. Sit down and let’s get you some water and food.”
“No, not now. Not yet. I have to give you the letter.”
His lips were cracked from the heat, and he was swaying on his feet. John reached down, picked him up and set him down on his lap. He was as frail as a bird. “You eat and drink, and I’ll read, okay?” He looked at Miller, and the man nodded, left the tent to get some food. Miller had kids. He would know what to bring. “Where’s your father? Is he still at your house?”
“He’s hiding behind a wall in the basement. The soldiers came looking for him. He sent my mother and sisters to Lebanon, and he sent me to find you.” The boy was trembling, then he closed his eyes, lay his head down on John’s shoulder with a sigh.
John put his arms around the boy. “You’re safe now. Just rest, Abdullah.”
“Please, will help him? Sir, I don’t think he was planning to come out.”
John opened the letter. He recognized the handwriting immediately. John, my friend. I must beg your help for my son. The women, they will be safe, but the Iraqis are taking the sons of men like myself, leaving them in shallow graves in the desert. It’s a very old technique in war, is it not? It means something different to me today than when we studied the ancient texts together. Please, John, get him out of Kuwait and to safety. He is the very best of me. Do not worry about me. I am an old man, but my son is filled with beauty and light, John, and the world needs his light. Omar.
Miller came in with a bottle of water and a thermos cup of soup. John stood, set the boy back down on the desk chair. “Drink some water and eat the soup, then we’ll talk. But tell me this, is your father still in Al Jahra? I remember your house had orange trees in front. Is that the one?”
The boy nodded yes, his eyes on the bottle of water. He looked up at Sgt Miller. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Miller pulled up a chair. “I’ll just sit with you while you eat, son. Are you hurt?”
The boy shook his head. John ducked into the second room of the command tent, spoke to his radio operator. “Balish, can you get CW-3 Sanchez on the radio? I need to know where his squadron is.”
“The Horse-Lords? I think they’re two klicks down the road, General. Do you need him if he’s free?”
“Yes, I do.”
Gabriel walked into the command tent ten minutes later, his flight suit dusty. “I’ve got an Apache fueled up and ready, General.” He looked tired, but his eyes were deep and warm and smiling.
John let himself take a long look. “Sanchez, I need some transpo and backup, but feel free to say no. This is off the books, a little rescue mission into the city. I’ll probably get us killed. We’ve been ordered not to do anything stupid like this.”
“Roger that. Congratulations for putting on the star, General.”
John smiled at him. “Yeah, a week now. I should enjoy it, because I’m about to lose it.” He pulled Gabriel to the back of the tent. The boy was sleeping on his field cot. “This is Abdullah al-Salim. He’s the son of an old friend, Dr. Omar al-Salim. Omar was my dissertation advisor at Harvard. We’ve been friends for years. He taught me Greek, Gabriel.”
Gabriel nodded. “Okay, Greek, Got it. What do you need?”
Gabriel never wasted time on the nonessentials. “He’s been targeted as an intellectual. He asked me to get his son out of the country. Why don’t we go get him, send them both back home to America?”
“Roger that, General. You know where he is?”
“Al Jahra, just west of Kuwait City. In hiding.”
“Oh, shit. Heavy tank losses in Al Jahra.” Gabriel looked closer at the sleeping boy, reached out and touched his foot. “His feet have been bleeding. Did he walk here barefoot?”
“Sandals.”
“Okay, boss. Let me go check the weapons. I’ll have to blow the helo if they try to take it. We’ll be on foot in the city.”
“You got your side arm?” Gabriel nodded. “Let me see what else I can round up.”
Gabriel was already moving out of the tent. “I’ll find some smoke grenades. Smoke is always good to make a confusing situation a little more confusing.”
John had a side arm in the leg pocket of his flight suit, and he grabbed two M-16’s and briefed Miller. “No one comes after me if I fuck this up, Miller.”
“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go, sir? We really don’t want to lose a general officer.”
“Negative, Sergeant.”
“How long before I sound the general alarm?”
“You don’t. I don’t come back, you get that boy to my sister in Virginia. Any way you can, Miller, understand? His father’s got an American passport.”
“Roger that, General. No worries. So where are you going to be?”
“Al Jahra. I’m going to extract Dr. al-Salim and bring him here. I’m taking Sanchez.”
Miller nodded. “Okay, well, your odds of survival just went up about 99 per cent. We’ll give you twelve hours, and then we come after you.”
“Negative.”
“See you in twelve hours, sir.”
John climbed into the chopper, shaking his head. “We’ve got twelve hours. Miller is such a pain in the ass. I gave him a direct order to not come after me and I know he’s going to blow it off and bring a frigging tank if we don’t show up on time.”
“Actually, that makes me feel better. Did you see the new horse on the nose?”
“Yeah. I like that golden mane. Wild. You always have the best art on your birds.”
“It’s not art. It’s the soul of man and machine together. That boy walked here from Al Jahra? That’s over thirty miles.” Sanchez leaned over, took John by the shirt front and pulled him close. He was so close John could feel the heat of Gabriel’s breath on his mouth. He’d been chewing cinnamon gum. “Are we off to rescue an old boyfriend?”
John smiled up into his eyes for so long Sanchez leaned a tiny bit closer, kissed him hard. John reached for his cheek, ran his fingers over two days of rough stubble.
“You’re my only old boyfriend. Try not to get killed, okay?”
“I haven’t slept with you since you’ve been promoted. I’d hate to miss sleeping with a general.”
“You know that we can’t let them take a general officer, even just a road-builder like myself. It would be too embarrassing for everyone. If things go south, you’ll need to take care of it.”
“You’re saying, what, you want me to shoot you in the head if the bad guys are closing in?”
“Roger that.” John wondered if he should tell Gabriel he loved him. No, that would freak him out worse than ordering him to shoot him in the head. John shoved the two rifles down between his knees, and Sanchez lifted the chopper into the dark. His mouth was pressed into a thin line. “Let’s get the job done and get through this night, and I’ll treat you to a bottle of tequila. And anything else you’d like.”
Gabriel looked at him, an unwilling smile softening his mouth. “Anything?”
“General, there’s a boy here, says he’s got a letter for you. Won’t give it to anyone else. I frisked him. He’s clean, but he won’t tell me what he wants. Just says he has a letter for you, and it’s life and death.”
John looked up at his sergeant. “Can you check on it?” He bent back over the topo map, drew in the route for the new bridge. “We need to do it here or here,” he said, pointing to the penciled alternate. “Otherwise the roadwork to get there will take too long to build.”
His chief engineer followed the line of the river. “Where was the old bridge before they blew it?” John pointed to the trail, marked as a dashed line on the map.
“The foundations are gone. They tried to run a tank over it. The tank’s still there, but no way can we move it, not with the equipment we’ve got.”
Sergeant Miller was back. “Sir, you may want to see this kid. He speaks excellent English with a very proper Brit accent. His sandals are torn up from the road, but they were expensive once. He asked for John Mitchel. Didn’t know your rank.”
John looked up, puzzled. “Yeah, okay.” He threw a towel over the map. “Send him in here.”
The boy was small and thin, looked nine, maybe ten, with dusty black hair and deep circles of fatigue under big, dark eyes. He stepped up, held out his hand to John. “Sir, are you John Mitchel? I am Abdullah al-Salim. I believe you know my father.”
John shook his hand. The boy was trembling, shock or pain or fatigue, maybe all three. “Of course I know your father. He’s my good friend. I know you, too, though I haven’t seen you since you were three, I think, already kicking a soccer ball around the yard. I thought you were all back in Cambridge. Sit down and let’s get you some water and food.”
“No, not now. Not yet. I have to give you the letter.”
His lips were cracked from the heat, and he was swaying on his feet. John reached down, picked him up and set him down on his lap. He was as frail as a bird. “You eat and drink, and I’ll read, okay?” He looked at Miller, and the man nodded, left the tent to get some food. Miller had kids. He would know what to bring. “Where’s your father? Is he still at your house?”
“He’s hiding behind a wall in the basement. The soldiers came looking for him. He sent my mother and sisters to Lebanon, and he sent me to find you.” The boy was trembling, then he closed his eyes, lay his head down on John’s shoulder with a sigh.
John put his arms around the boy. “You’re safe now. Just rest, Abdullah.”
“Please, will help him? Sir, I don’t think he was planning to come out.”
John opened the letter. He recognized the handwriting immediately. John, my friend. I must beg your help for my son. The women, they will be safe, but the Iraqis are taking the sons of men like myself, leaving them in shallow graves in the desert. It’s a very old technique in war, is it not? It means something different to me today than when we studied the ancient texts together. Please, John, get him out of Kuwait and to safety. He is the very best of me. Do not worry about me. I am an old man, but my son is filled with beauty and light, John, and the world needs his light. Omar.
Miller came in with a bottle of water and a thermos cup of soup. John stood, set the boy back down on the desk chair. “Drink some water and eat the soup, then we’ll talk. But tell me this, is your father still in Al Jahra? I remember your house had orange trees in front. Is that the one?”
The boy nodded yes, his eyes on the bottle of water. He looked up at Sgt Miller. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Miller pulled up a chair. “I’ll just sit with you while you eat, son. Are you hurt?”
The boy shook his head. John ducked into the second room of the command tent, spoke to his radio operator. “Balish, can you get CW-3 Sanchez on the radio? I need to know where his squadron is.”
“The Horse-Lords? I think they’re two klicks down the road, General. Do you need him if he’s free?”
“Yes, I do.”
Gabriel walked into the command tent ten minutes later, his flight suit dusty. “I’ve got an Apache fueled up and ready, General.” He looked tired, but his eyes were deep and warm and smiling.
John let himself take a long look. “Sanchez, I need some transpo and backup, but feel free to say no. This is off the books, a little rescue mission into the city. I’ll probably get us killed. We’ve been ordered not to do anything stupid like this.”
“Roger that. Congratulations for putting on the star, General.”
John smiled at him. “Yeah, a week now. I should enjoy it, because I’m about to lose it.” He pulled Gabriel to the back of the tent. The boy was sleeping on his field cot. “This is Abdullah al-Salim. He’s the son of an old friend, Dr. Omar al-Salim. Omar was my dissertation advisor at Harvard. We’ve been friends for years. He taught me Greek, Gabriel.”
Gabriel nodded. “Okay, Greek, Got it. What do you need?”
Gabriel never wasted time on the nonessentials. “He’s been targeted as an intellectual. He asked me to get his son out of the country. Why don’t we go get him, send them both back home to America?”
“Roger that, General. You know where he is?”
“Al Jahra, just west of Kuwait City. In hiding.”
“Oh, shit. Heavy tank losses in Al Jahra.” Gabriel looked closer at the sleeping boy, reached out and touched his foot. “His feet have been bleeding. Did he walk here barefoot?”
“Sandals.”
“Okay, boss. Let me go check the weapons. I’ll have to blow the helo if they try to take it. We’ll be on foot in the city.”
“You got your side arm?” Gabriel nodded. “Let me see what else I can round up.”
Gabriel was already moving out of the tent. “I’ll find some smoke grenades. Smoke is always good to make a confusing situation a little more confusing.”
John had a side arm in the leg pocket of his flight suit, and he grabbed two M-16’s and briefed Miller. “No one comes after me if I fuck this up, Miller.”
“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go, sir? We really don’t want to lose a general officer.”
“Negative, Sergeant.”
“How long before I sound the general alarm?”
“You don’t. I don’t come back, you get that boy to my sister in Virginia. Any way you can, Miller, understand? His father’s got an American passport.”
“Roger that, General. No worries. So where are you going to be?”
“Al Jahra. I’m going to extract Dr. al-Salim and bring him here. I’m taking Sanchez.”
Miller nodded. “Okay, well, your odds of survival just went up about 99 per cent. We’ll give you twelve hours, and then we come after you.”
“Negative.”
“See you in twelve hours, sir.”
John climbed into the chopper, shaking his head. “We’ve got twelve hours. Miller is such a pain in the ass. I gave him a direct order to not come after me and I know he’s going to blow it off and bring a frigging tank if we don’t show up on time.”
“Actually, that makes me feel better. Did you see the new horse on the nose?”
“Yeah. I like that golden mane. Wild. You always have the best art on your birds.”
“It’s not art. It’s the soul of man and machine together. That boy walked here from Al Jahra? That’s over thirty miles.” Sanchez leaned over, took John by the shirt front and pulled him close. He was so close John could feel the heat of Gabriel’s breath on his mouth. He’d been chewing cinnamon gum. “Are we off to rescue an old boyfriend?”
John smiled up into his eyes for so long Sanchez leaned a tiny bit closer, kissed him hard. John reached for his cheek, ran his fingers over two days of rough stubble.
“You’re my only old boyfriend. Try not to get killed, okay?”
“I haven’t slept with you since you’ve been promoted. I’d hate to miss sleeping with a general.”
“You know that we can’t let them take a general officer, even just a road-builder like myself. It would be too embarrassing for everyone. If things go south, you’ll need to take care of it.”
“You’re saying, what, you want me to shoot you in the head if the bad guys are closing in?”
“Roger that.” John wondered if he should tell Gabriel he loved him. No, that would freak him out worse than ordering him to shoot him in the head. John shoved the two rifles down between his knees, and Sanchez lifted the chopper into the dark. His mouth was pressed into a thin line. “Let’s get the job done and get through this night, and I’ll treat you to a bottle of tequila. And anything else you’d like.”
Gabriel looked at him, an unwilling smile softening his mouth. “Anything?”
The New Book!
The General and the Horse-Lord
The new book is out April 5 from Dreamspinner!
General John Mitchel and his favorite pilot, Gabriel Sanchez, served together as comrades and brothers-in-arms for more than twenty-five years. They followed the warrior’s path: honor first, and service, and the safety of the tribe. Their own needs for love and companionship were secondary to the mission. Retirement from the army, however, proves challenging in ways neither expected.
When old warriors retire, their armor starts falling away, and the noise of the world crowds in. That changing world sets up longings in both men for the life they might have had. After years of loving on the down-low, the idea of living together in the light seems like pure sweet oxygen to men who have been underwater a little too long. But what will it cost them to turn their dreams into truth?
The new book is out April 5 from Dreamspinner!
General John Mitchel and his favorite pilot, Gabriel Sanchez, served together as comrades and brothers-in-arms for more than twenty-five years. They followed the warrior’s path: honor first, and service, and the safety of the tribe. Their own needs for love and companionship were secondary to the mission. Retirement from the army, however, proves challenging in ways neither expected.
When old warriors retire, their armor starts falling away, and the noise of the world crowds in. That changing world sets up longings in both men for the life they might have had. After years of loving on the down-low, the idea of living together in the light seems like pure sweet oxygen to men who have been underwater a little too long. But what will it cost them to turn their dreams into truth?
Whose Side Are You On, Anyway?
I nearly stopped writing The General and the Horse-Lord about halfway through. The problem? Martha. She was sitting in the car with the general, and she was telling him what she had done to try and ruin his life. And I was like, you go, girl! You want a baseball bat? I’ll tell you where Gabriel has his pickup truck parked.
I was totally on her side. I thought she was being a little too restrained in her revenge, because, I mean, these guys had cheated on her! They had been cheating since before she was married! She deserved some revenge.
But wait a minute, the guys, they’re the heroes, right? How can the ex-wife possible become a Valkyrie in the middle of the story? So I stopped to think about it all.
When you’re writing the rough draft, you do it intuitively, what I call ‘doing it like Kerouac.’ Just let the words flow like a river. Then when you start to revise, you think about things like motivation, behavior. Why does he do that? What am I really trying to say? Once you can be clear about what your point is, you can revise to hone the point.
So I’m trying to think, why was I so totally on Martha’s side? Well, I’m a woman, of course. There is no woman in the world who wouldn’t look at this situation and hand Martha a baseball bat. The fact that she is very self-contained and proud meant she did it a different way.
But John and Gabriel, they had been in love for years before Martha ever entered the picture. They would have made a life together, and it wasn’t Martha who kept them apart. In a different world, they would have made different choices. When basic human rights are kept from people, they’re not the only ones harmed. The harm flows down over all the people they love, the people they know, even just the people who stand as witnesses.
We’re all harmed when human rights are denied. In this story, John and Gabriel were not the only people hurt. They tried in their own ways to contain the pain, but it flows down, over Martha, over the kids, over Kim, who watched this growing up. I decided all I could do is write the story and not take anyone’s side. Martha, I totally feel it. I am going to find you a wonderful guy to fall in love with, I promise you, somebody who deserves a woman as smart and strong as you are. Just be patient.
I was totally on her side. I thought she was being a little too restrained in her revenge, because, I mean, these guys had cheated on her! They had been cheating since before she was married! She deserved some revenge.
But wait a minute, the guys, they’re the heroes, right? How can the ex-wife possible become a Valkyrie in the middle of the story? So I stopped to think about it all.
When you’re writing the rough draft, you do it intuitively, what I call ‘doing it like Kerouac.’ Just let the words flow like a river. Then when you start to revise, you think about things like motivation, behavior. Why does he do that? What am I really trying to say? Once you can be clear about what your point is, you can revise to hone the point.
So I’m trying to think, why was I so totally on Martha’s side? Well, I’m a woman, of course. There is no woman in the world who wouldn’t look at this situation and hand Martha a baseball bat. The fact that she is very self-contained and proud meant she did it a different way.
But John and Gabriel, they had been in love for years before Martha ever entered the picture. They would have made a life together, and it wasn’t Martha who kept them apart. In a different world, they would have made different choices. When basic human rights are kept from people, they’re not the only ones harmed. The harm flows down over all the people they love, the people they know, even just the people who stand as witnesses.
We’re all harmed when human rights are denied. In this story, John and Gabriel were not the only people hurt. They tried in their own ways to contain the pain, but it flows down, over Martha, over the kids, over Kim, who watched this growing up. I decided all I could do is write the story and not take anyone’s side. Martha, I totally feel it. I am going to find you a wonderful guy to fall in love with, I promise you, somebody who deserves a woman as smart and strong as you are. Just be patient.
New Story at The Armchair Reader
Cole Riann is hosting a new story today, Open Your Eyes to Water, to celebrate the publication of The General and the Horse-Lord. There is a giveaway, too, for a free ebook. Here's the link--
http://coleriann.com/
http://coleriann.com/
NEW COVERS I am in love with my publisher. I'm in love with Anne Cain
Swoon! This is what 50 looks like.
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