Sundown Press releases
my first ever novel today: Harper’s
Donelson and the things going through the author’s head can only be
imagined. H. Donelson started out as the first section of a larger book which
I wrote during the summer of 2011. I had
retired the year before and after making the rounds of the various
pre-programmed “seniors” activities for six months, I decided that the time had
come to pursue a life-long dream of writing about historical subjects.
How hard could that be?
After all, I had been a government engineer for many years and written numerous
reports and personnel evaluations. Novel
writing would be the next easy step, right?
So, just to be sure I
knew enough about the writing and publishing world, I began taking a full
course load at the UC San Diego Extension in January 2011 in order to cram as
much learning as possible. That summer I
wrote the first draft of my wonderful novel: H. Shiloh.
In
San Diego, we are fortunate to have a large and very supportive writing community. During the scholastic year 2011-2012, I would
regale my fellow students with the wonderfulness of my plot-heavy,
male-oriented first draft. I soon learned
that there existed such things as character development arcs, GMCs, setting, pacing,
etc. So, while I went about incorporating
all of this new knowledge into H. Shiloh,
the book grew steadily until it became completely unpublishable by any sane organization.
In rapid order, H. Shiloh became two books: H. Donelson and H. Shiloh, then, because almost
every woman who read the second chapter of H.
Donelson demanded that Katie Molloy’s story be told, the Shiloh Trilogy
came to be: H. Donelson, H. Rescue,
and H. Shiloh. H. Fort
Henry emerged from H. Donelson during
a late edit and is now a freebie short story at my author’s website: http://harperswarstories.com.
I am particularly
blessed that Sundown Press publishes Harper’s
Donelson today. Meanwhile, I put the finishing touches on H. Rescue.
BLURB:
“The first book of this Civil War trilogy begins in
the winter of 1862, as the nation is being ripped apart, with both Federals and
Rebels seeing no end in sight and hoping for victory.
“Lieutenant James Harper, a junior officer in the
Union army, aspires to command a company – but faces his dismal future at the
hands of an officer who will vindictively do whatever he must to keep Harper at
the bottom of the heap.
“Katie Molloy, a young girl who has been sold by her
father to the wily owner of a whorehouse, has settled into her new life as a
saloon-girl – for the time being. She’s got big plans to get herself out of
this predicament, and vows one day she’ll be more than the soldier’s whore.
“Corporal Gustav Magnusson, a young Quaker in
Harper’s company, butts heads with Harper from the very beginning. But capture
by the enemy forces them to work together to protect their men from sadistic
rebel Captain Bell – who wants nothing more than to see his Yankee prisoners
dead.
“Will General Grant’s campaign against Fort Donelson
open the door for an ex-Federal marshal, a Quaker farmer, and a soiled dove
from Iowa to make their mark in the world – if they live through it?
“Three lives intertwine against the backdrop of the
battle which made Ulysses S. Grant’s reputation – a living hell where
everything familiar fades, and the only thing that matters is surviving –
however they can.”
EXCERPT:
“Now, do it.” Harper waited while Magnusson signaled the
three soldiers to close up and move into the trees: one on the left of the
trail, with him and Magnusson, and two on the right. When they were in place
with their rifles ready, Harper crept along the tree line beside the trail
moving so Magnusson could see him.
The
old sensations returned, the excitement of stalking a killer in the night,
staying hidden until the last minute. Except this time, he would have only the
sight of the enemy to have a victory. How close could he get without being
seen? He would take it real damn close.
About
half the distance from where he started and twenty yards from the road, Harper
watched the shadows solidify into mounted men moving south in a column three
riders across. Harper knelt down, drew his pistol from under his overcoat, and
pulled the hammer back. When he did so, he noticed his silhouette from the
moonlight, dark on the smooth snow.
Crouching
low, he shifted so his shadow blended with a nearby tree. From there, he ran in a crouch
from tree-to-tree, pausing at each stop before jumping to the next. Still,
Harper saw no sign of a flank guard. Finally, he found a holly bush not more
than ten feet from the road, still in leaf and sheltered in the shadow of an
old oak. From there, he could see the details of the riders.
He had come this close and not encountered any flank guard
for the column. The Rebels must be powerful tired to have forgotten to post a
guard between themselves and the Federals on the ridge above.
****
From
far away, Katie heard men yelling as her lungs filled with cool air. Warmth
surrounded her naked body. Somewhere, a struggle went on, knocking against
furniture and walls; it ended with a thud on the floor. Two sets of gentle
hands rolled her over to raise her into a sitting position.
“Breathe,
Katie. Breathe deep!” Loreena told her from somewhere to her right. Katie did
so, opening her eyes.
“Hold
your chin up high.” Eleanor sat on her left with her arm across Katie’s back.
She cupped Katie’s chin, trying to clear her airway.
Eleanor
stroked Katie’s hair. “There we are, chéri. It is all o-vaire.”
Eleanor’s hand came away from Katie’s head with blood on it. She showed the
blood to Loreena, who held Eleanor’s wrist high so Franklin Bosley could see.
“Take
him down to the river,” Bosley told the others.
“Y’all
can be just as sick as you want now, deah. It’s all ovah.”
Eleanor pulled the
quilt more tightly around Katie’s body and held her in both arms. Eyes filling
with tears, Eleanor said, “I’m so sorry, Katie dear. We should have come
sooner.”
Harper
set his hat on the snow next to him and crouched lower, closer to the holly
bush, until the points of its leaves pricked at his face. He watched the road through its branches
while he breathed into his overcoat so condensation would not expose his
position. While he watched, he slowed his breathing though his heart still beat
furiously.
The horses in the column carried a wide variety of saddles
and tack, ranging from full bridles to simple ropes tied around the horse’s
muzzle or head. The riders allowed the horses to walk in the cold night but
they covered ground swiftly. Some horses dripped water from their shaggy winter
coats. Some carried two riders. A number of the ghostly riders rode mules.
Harper could smell the wet, rangy animals.
He could not identify the riders’ uniforms with certainty.
Like the tack on their horses, they wore a mix of military and civilian coats,
cloaks, or slickers, some of it from the Federal army. The riders carried a
variety of carbines, shotguns, rifles, muskets, and pistols in holsters attached
to their saddles. A few carried swords or sabers. Taken all together, these
signs told Harper this was a sizable force of Rebel cavalry.
The riders moved along in near-total silence. They would have
appeared to be a column of specters in the moonlight, except for the occasional
jangle from a bridle or a squish from a horse’s hoof in the mud. One rider wore
the gold-braided “swallows nest” on his sleeve, the mark of a Confederate
officer. Harper had his confirmation. These were Confederate cavalry moving
south–out of the fortress, into the rear of the Federal lines. Harper allowed
himself a brief moment of satisfaction at being right. Now, he needed to bring
the information back to the battalion.
Pistol still in his right hand and his hat in the left, Harper
inched back from the holly bush, watching to remain in the shadow of the oak
tree beside it. Staying low to the ground, he edged around until the tree
blocked the view from the road. He searched for the next bit of cover, saw a
nearby tree which suited him, and crawled to it, using understory bushes for
cover. Soft snow and mud oozed through the knees of his trousers.
He enjoyed this hide-and-seek. Like an Indian brave using a coup-stick,
he touched the enemy by observing them and now would escape unscathed.
After
ten yards or so, he came to a crouch while trying to determine if he was visible from the road. Too
close. He crawled farther along the understory, deeper into the wood. If they
saw him from the road, perhaps they would think they saw an animal. When he
could not see the road anymore, Harper felt safe to stand in the shadow of the
next tree. He looked around for any sign of a Rebel flank guard but saw
nothing, so he walked to the next tree, using the slow caution he learned as a
marshal.
Now, the night air carried the odor of unwashed humans. He
turned to look deeper in the woods, his pistol ready. He sensed, more than saw,
multiple dark shapes moving at him before stars exploded in his eyes. The blow
to the back of his head drove him to the ground. Two bodies fell on top of him,
pinning him in the snow. He jerked the trigger of his pistol, trying to send a
warning shot. It fired into the ground, sending up a mound of muddy snow which
covered the muzzle flash and smothered the discharge to a muffled thump.
Another man yanked the weapon from his hand, leaving him helpless as the
wetness of the snow began to seep into his overcoat.
“Lookee
heah, boys. We got us a Yankee off-i-sah.”
___________________________________________
To help celebrate the
arrival of Harper’s Donelson, we are
offering a free digital copy to someone who leaves a comment today. You should leave your contact information
when you post so we can deliver the e-book to you.
Sean Gabhann
BUY LINKS Barnes & Noble Nook Smashwords Kobo
