Richard Boes Memorial Award-Winning Book 2014

Richard Boes Memorial 2012 Award winner

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Fred took one in the shower. Small-arms, Ms, Ms, quads, Bs, and oh how the ground shook. A sapper left a satchel charge in a hooch two doors down. We were the supreme, ultimate firepower of the skies. Absolute, all-powerful, like God I thought, like God lacks humility. But the enemy was underground, tunneled in beneath the earth, at the core of believing, beyond extinction.

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Sworn to Secrecy - For Life: A Young American Spy's Odyssey through War-torn Germany and Russia [Charles Joseph Fickey] on bahana-line.com *FREE*. bahana-line.com: Sworn to Secrecy - For Life: A Young American Spy's Odyssey through War-torn Germany and Russia eBook: Charles Joseph Fickey: Kindle.

Now I scanned about my room by the gray-blue shadows of moon, and filtering streetlight, beads like tears patterned upon embroidered curtain lace. In the wake of the battle, tired enough, but unable to sleep. The rug was sky blue and grape-juice stained, the walls needed more than paint. Jesus was missing limbs on the crucifix above, at the back of my brain, broken off by a touchdown pass that should have been caught. Dust collectors on bookshelves posing as trophies, old posters, banners, signed baseballs and other sports memorabilia. That picture, without any glass, a gentle boy laid back on a hillside, all blue-jeans, white button-down shirt, red-vested, black shiny curls, an arm up shielding his eyes from the sun.

Tell me, tell me again… please, tell me your dreams? Football is the precursor to war, the training fields, the same language.

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War is the ultimate sport, the culmination of sport. Kill, or be killed! Kill the Giants, Jets, Patriots, and Eagles. Kill the Japs, the Krauts, the Commies, and the Jews. And like Cain slew Abel, I am the plowman, the keeper of a bad uprooted seedling, maimed and forced to wander.

And Abraham, what of Isaac? We were hit five times during the night with over ninety rockets. Again, over and again. From side to side, closer, overhead, then passing. Back and forth like walking giants. Fe, fi, fo, fum! Away, and back again. Approaching, closer, fi, fo, fum! If one hits the roof, and again! Over and again like the buttoning and unbuttoning of shirts until all the buttons fall off.

The hooch in front of us was hit, and all twelve guys obliterated. The tent to the right, the one behind were all gone now. And still came the giants. My eyes pop open, toothpick wide! Fe, fi, fo, there are no giants anymore.

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We sat on empty ammo boxes under a sweltering sky in twelve rows of five. A Major, a priest who resembled Elijah, stood before us in bloody, torn jungle fatigues and addressed us as a group. The blood was blue. What the fuck did I know? Was this ammo box really empty? Everyone was going blue, bleeding, and crying blue tears. My arms, my hands, my fingers like tree branches sprouting blue streams. I put my hand to my face and my nose came off in my hand, blue lips impressed upon a blue palm.

In a swishhhhhh of orange blue vapor, the Major, Elijah-priest was all gone. I could feel my ears dribble, dripping off, my eyes leaking out of the sockets, waist deep in a whirl of blue bubble and torrent I was thrashed and spun about. From the heavens came a blue rain, rap, a-pat, tap, and blue stoned hail the likes of hot screaming metal chunks, fi, fo, fum! A murderous raging pain in my chest gashed forth, bone-pierced flesh like the great sea had been parted, and split me in fucking two. Low crawl, belly drag. Cold with sweat, naked, free, freezing.

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My side hurts, and the curtain is torn. Kerplunk, plunkety, plunk into buckets, drain pipes like blood gutters, bullet holes, buttonholes, and this empty hollow feeling at the pit. Whose sins are these? Are we all really dead? What the fuck did Elijah want? Afraid to sleep anymore, but I need so badly, so bad, to get warm. Waiting, waiting for the sun to begin, for the heat to come up before I come out from my blanket.

A train whistle off in the distance, up the block, two clicks. Church bells, and the wind chimes off the back deck. Newsprint hits the front steps, the workings of a bicycle chain. A squawking blackbird sounds reveille. Stop counting, stop waiting.

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Beyond the torn curtain lace there are only shadow limbs groping for the sky. Other blackbirds squawking now like a party of thieves. Fresh road kill, I heard the brakes an hour ago, screech and thu-thump! We built forts under the bridge, dammed up the creek, hit homers over the fence, over the rails. We smoked cigarettes, sipped wine, talked sex.

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We showed each other our dicks, Johnny had the biggest. There are other birds talking now, red, blue, and gray. Lastly, businesses and professionals are urged to create a marketing funnel using social media platforms and search engine marketing. Combined, it is powerful marketing. We regret to inform everyone of the passing of Irene Watson from this earth. As you may know, she was instrumental in launching the show. I would not ever have even started the show without her infectious enthusiasm for the project. We just uneventfully passed our 6th anniversary of recording the first show.

For now, we will record one final show this year on Dec. A reception will follow the service. The family has requested that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to Unity Church of the Hills. See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Home Be on our show! Enjoy the Shapshifter Sagas! Posted on September 1, by Victor Volkman. Shapeshifter Sagas Book 1 Lady Rayne has few options as a young widow. She now lives in Littleton, Colorado, with her husband, two children, and two dogs.

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We smoked cigarettes, sipped wine, talked sex. Outskirts Press September 15, Language: We were all in jungle fatigues, worn and faded green, muddy, some ripped, others bloodstained. Fickey manages to add an element of the fantastical to the very serious -- and deadly -- work of espionage behind enemy lines during World War II. That picture, without any glass, a gentle boy laid back on a hillside, all blue-jeans, white button-down shirt, red-vested, black shiny curls, an arm up shielding his eyes from the sun. Write a customer review.

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