Thursday, October 9, 2014

Mercenary Road - Angola Dawn / New Work In Progress by Ken Hoss

Had an odd dream a few days ago, and while I normally forget my dreams within minutes after waking up, this one stuck with me. And so, I started on it and have a good bit so far. Told an author friend of mine, Patti Roberts, who also does book covers and the next day she sent me the cover below. No pressure, right?

The story is about a Vietnam vet who signs up to fight as a mercenary in the Angolan Civil War in 1975. Of course he thinks this will help him feel "right" again, help him to forget the way he was treated when he returned home, and it's a job that he knows and does well. He also hopes that it will help get rid of the demons still running around in his head.

Note: Patti is also the one who did the cover art for Eye of the Storm, the fourth Kelli Storm novel.

If you are an author and need a cover for your next project, I highly recommend Patti Roberts at Paradox Book Cover Designs.

Here is a short excerpt from Mercenary Road - Angola Dawn

WARNING: Explicit language 


JULY, 1975

Hector shouted at him over the roar of the C-130 engines. “Hey, Roberts. You think we’re going to get into the shit pretty soon?”

  “Well I sure didn’t sign up to sit on my ass, Sanchez,” he said and turned to the Colonel. “What do you think, sir?”

  “I think both of you need to shut the fuck up and get off this fucking plane.”

  Dave looked back at Hector and shrugged as he readjusted his duffle bag. The sun was just rising and the heat was stifling. It reminded him of the day he got off another C-130 at Tan Son Nhut Airbase. It felt the same, but the feel in the air was different, and he wasn’t a Sergeant in the U.S. Army, he was a mercenary fighting someone else's war. All he knew about his employers was that they called themselves the FNLA, the National Front for the Liberation of Angola. It didn’t really matter to him what they called themselves, as long as he got paid.

  It was six years and six thousand miles from the jungles of South Vietnam and yet there was a familiar feeling to it all. As they walked to the waiting trucks, he thought about what had brought him here, other than his buddy Hector talking him in to it. After three years in country, he had done his share of killing and had seen hundreds of bodies, a lot of them from his own platoon. And yet he was here, knowing that it would only be more of the same.


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