Dan Roland has always gone it alone. And no prissy miss from back East is going to convince him to do otherwise.
Even if she does have the most alluring brown eyes he’s ever seen. But when his boss suddenly orders that he help the brunette beauty find a buried treasure, the rugged ranch foreman doesn’t have any choice but to offer his protection.
It’s not just the weather leaving Penny Anderson feeling a bit chilly upon her return to Texas.
First she gets the news that her ailing father has hidden the family fortune. Then she learns Dan Roland is the only one he trusts to help her find it.
And yet one teasing, tempting kiss at a time, he starts to thaw her out until all she yearns for is A COWBOY FOR CHRISTMAS.
Excerpt
John couldn’t believe his luck as he tracked Dan and Penny. Things were turning out far better than he’d ever hoped. First, he’d turn their horses loose and then he’d get the money from them and take off. His plan was perfect. This blue norther would take care of everything else for him.
Dan and Penny were so far away from the line shack they wouldn’t last in the freezing cold, and even if they did survive, he’d be long gone by the time anyone rescued them.
Feeling more confident than ever, John moved down to where they’d left their horses. He checked the saddlebags and found the metal box filled with money that they’d found on their first dig. After running the horses off, he went to find them.
John reached the drop-off on the side of the road and was surprised to see Dan and Penny on their way up carrying another box of money. He stepped back to stay out of sight until Dan reached the trail.
Dan got to the top and helped Penny up to find John waiting there for them. He immediately feared the worst – that he’d come after them because Jack had died.
“John, what happened?”
“Nothing’s happened … yet,” John said, his tone serious.
“Then why are you here?” Dan demanded.
John’s expression turned deadly. “I want the money.” He drew his gun and aimed it at them. “Just toss the box over here, real easy.”
“Don’t do this. You’ll never get away with it.”
“Thieves only get in trouble if they get caught,” John sneered, “I’ll be so far gone before anyone finds out what I did, they won’t have a chance. Now, throw that box over here or I’ll shoot the girl.”
After working as a department manager for Famous-Barr, and briefly as a clerk at a bookstore, Bobbi Smith gave up on career security and began writing. She sold her first book to Zebra in 1982.
Since then, Bobbi has written over 40 books and 6 novellas. To date, there are more than five million of her novels in print. She has been awarded the prestigious Romantic Times Storyteller of the Year Award and two Career Achievement Awards. Her books have appeared on numerous bestseller lists.
When she’s not working on her novels, she is frequently a guest speaker for writer’s groups. Bobbi is mother of two sons and resides in St. Charles, Missouri with her husband and three dogs.
Romantic Times Storyteller of the Year
NY Times Bestseller
USA Today Bestseller
Inducted into the Sigma Tau Delta Literary Fraternity
What if everything we think we know about Vincent van Gogh is all lies?
Vincent’s Women:
The Untold Story of the Loves of Vincent Van Gogh
by Donna Russo
Genre: Historical Biographical Women’s Fiction
Donna Russo’s ‘Vincent’s Women’ is the untold story of Vincent’s loves: how they shaped his life, his art, and his death.
It writes against the ‘myths, ‘ exploring the possibility that none of them are true.
It is the only novel to bring into question his sexuality, how he lost his ear, who he lost it for, and how he might have died, all through the eyes of a woman. We learn of Her; we learn all of it through Her.
The story is guided by Johanna van Gogh Bonger, Vincent’s sister-in-law, as she decides to reveal the truth about Vincent to her son.
We are then taken on a journey through Vincent’s life, each section bringing a pivotal moment of Vincent’s life alive while showing us the part she played in bringing it about.
Between each woman, our guide, Johanna, gives us the transitional periods, right up to his death, which is now in question.
Hundreds of the nearly thousand letters between Vincent van Gogh and his brother Theo, now considered one of the greatest documents of the human experience, were used to help construct this novel, its narrative, and dialogue, especially the dialogue of Vincent himself.
Vincent van Gogh is one of the most well-known artists of all time. The world knows of his madness, traumas, and suicide.
But what if all that we know isn’t true? What if this knowledge is based on rumors and nothing more? What if his true story is vastly different when based on factual material and forensic information?
What if the truth of Vincent’s life-his madness and his genius-is defined by his never-ending search for love?
Advance Praise:
“Arresting…masterful… a provocative and compelling look at one of history’s most enigmatic artists.” -Publishers Weekly
“A symphonic novel that sheds new light on an elusive genius.” -Kirkus Reviews
“Vincent’s Women represents historical fiction at its best…astute, thought-provoking, and revealing.” -Midwest Book Review
“One of the most wonderful books about an artist I have ever read.” -Stephanie Cowell, Author of Claude and Camille: a novel of Monet, and Marrying Mozart. Recipient American Book Award.
“A powerful and satisfying read.” -Lynn Cullen, Bestselling Author of The Woman with the Cure and Mrs. Poe
“The writing and dialogue are all so well done, and the use of a fictional narrative makes it all feel authentic. Very highly recommended.” -Readers’ Favorite 5-star Review
“This novel is not just a book; it is a masterful painting in itself, portraying the vibrant, volatile, and often tragic life of one of history’s most renowned artists.” -5-Star Amazon Review
“This is historical fiction at its best…a tour de force!” -5-Star Goodreads Review
“This is easily the best book I’ve read this year!” -5-star NetGalley Review
“You think you know him. You don’t. You think you know what happened to him. You do not.”
“Mother!”
My son sputters. Tea spills as he drops his cup and saucer on the curly-legged table beside him.
It’s not well done of me. To dive into it. But I saw his eyes glance up to the portrait, the self-portrait of his uncle, Vincent van Gogh.
My son and I were speaking of his work and mine. In mine, it is there. All I have found. All I have discovered. The string, the true thread of such surprising colors. The colors of women, of love, and of lust.
He starts to rise to his feet.
“Please don’t,” I beg. I am not ashamed to. I will beg for more. And soon.
But he is kneeling before me as I quiver in my chair. His father’s greenish-blue eyes bore into me. I sigh from the comfort of them. My hands wring at the fear I’ve put in them.
I cup his face in my veiny hand. His face, long like his father’s as well. But capped by the startling red hair of his uncle.
“I am not long for this world. I feel it, my son,” I say. I know. Of that, there is no fear. Only of what I leave behind. “And when I am gone you will learn the truth. I’d rather you heard it from me.”
“Now, Mother…,” that long head shakes. I can’t stop my grin from forming as his shaggy hair flutters. He’s in need of a barber. I look at this young man as a child, I know. But he is that. My child. My only child.
“It is all right,” I assure him. Trying desperately to for it is my truth. “I am almost ready. I will be with him, with them, again.”
I am the widow of Theo van Gogh. I am one of the women who shaped Vincent van Gogh’s life. Just one of them. I am the woman who allowed the world to discover the genius of Vincent’s art.
Many come to me looking for answers. I have yet to give the true ones. Not even to him. I’ve guarded them. Their pain is too great. But the time has come. I can guard them no more.
I rise. Old bones creak. I groan.
My son, Willem, as he likes to be called, rises, and takes my arm. I lead him into my study.
Vincent’s art covers my walls, piles in corners. The Van Gogh family letters—some I’ve translated for I speak many languages; some I’ve read but not yet translated—stalagmites of varying sizes at various places. The odd pairing of my husband’s old, carved desk with the straightly cut modern chair behind it can barely be seen.
“This will all be—”
“You know I have little interest in all this,” Willem says, sounding like a child.
“Yes, yes,” I tut. “I know your mind bursts only when it sees numbers…your engineering.”
Now I hear Willem chuckle softly. He knows the true depth of my pride.
He helps me sit on one side of the beige brocade settee. I pat the other with an expectant look.
The time is drawing closer. I find it harder to swallow. I have no time for preamble. There is no time. I tire so easily these days.
“You will read my diary.” Once more I startle him. Unintentionally so. If there is a proper way to do this, to confess others’ sins as well as my own, I do not know it.
“Your diary?” He turns to face me. “I never knew you kept one.”
He is curious now. I’ve presented him with a puzzle. Perhaps it will help.
“I’ve kept one almost the whole of my life.” My gaze drops into my lap. “Save for the time I was married to your father.” A marriage that lasted not even two years.
Would he ask why I didn’t write during those years? I hope not. The answer is a tangle of love and despair.
No, it is better I tell him. Tell him the all of it. No matter how it will test me. How it may hurt. I will tell him the truth. I will pray he loves me still.
“There is the story of your uncle, of Vincent van Gogh, the story that the world has taken as truth.”
Willem has always worshipped the uncle—the man he was named for—that he knows only from my memories. The ones I’ve shown him.
“They say he went mad because of a certain kind of disease.” I try not to blush. I lose the battle. “It is not what caused his madness. They say he cut off his ear for a prostitute. He did not cut it off for her. It may be that he did not cut it off himself.
“And they say he killed himself.” I bang my moist hand on the fabric between us. “He…did…not.”
Willem gasps, flinches. I feel the cushion below me flutter with his jerky movements.
“But how can…why have you not—” He tries to interject.
I pay attention to none of it. I can’t. For once begun, this spewing of truth cannot be stopped. I can only hope he will be my son—that I will live in the same place in his heart—when the telling is done. I am, at last, ready.
“I will tell you, oh, yes, I will. I will tell you the truth of him…the truth of Vincent. Me…and Her.”
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Donna Russo is the bestselling author of historical fiction, women’s fiction, and fantasy including the international bestselling Novels of Newport: Gilded Summers and Gilded Dreams as well as her latest release, Vincent’s Women.
Her critically acclaimed work has been praised with multiple awards and has received a starred review in Publishers Weekly.
Additionally, Donna worked as a model and actor since the age of seventeen, working on such projects as Martin Scorsese’s The Departed and Showtime’s Brotherhood.
Donna is also an award-winning screenwriter, ghostwriter, and painter. She holds two degrees from the University of Rhode Island. Her two sons—Devon, an opera singer; and Dylan, a chef—will always be her greatest works.
Can the love that binds this family deliver Christmas miracles?
Or will the unforgiving wilderness crush their holiday spirit?
A Pioneer Christmas Beyond the Oregon Trail
A Ghosts Among the Oregon Trail Holiday Novella
by David Fitz-Gerald
Genre: Historical Holiday Western Adventure
Dorcas and her family endured a harrowing trip along the Oregon Trail in 1850. Now, they face their first brutal winter in the rugged wilderness. Can they survive the harsh realities of frontier life?
Devastating setbacks threaten their lives, crush their hopes, and test their faith in timeless traditions. Their cabin is unfinished. Wild animals shred their tents, ruin their food supply, and wreck their camp.
As winter closes in, a powerful storm strikes their remote homestead. How much more can they endure?
Dorcas suggests skipping Christmas to focus on survival, but her children balk. They don’t want to give up on the cherished holiday. Is Christmas a luxury they can’t afford?
When her husband, Agapito, fails to return from a critical supply run, Dorcas ventures into the wilderness with a rifle in search of food for her children.
She must brave the elements as a mountain lion stalks her through a violent winter storm.
Can the love that binds this family deliver Christmas miracles? Or will the unforgiving wilderness crush their holiday spirit?
Start reading A Pioneer Christmas Beyond the Oregon Trail today. Get wrapped up in this gripping western adventure of love, survival, and the enduring power of hope. Perfect for fans of frontier fiction and heartwarming holiday tales, this novella will keep you on the edge of your seat.
Blogger’s Introduction: Today, we step into the dreams of Andrew, a thoughtful and determined young man from A Pioneer Christmas Beyond the Oregon Trail. Andrew’s mind is always working.
While journeying across the wilderness, he published his own daily newspaper. Someday, he hopes to attend college and become a true newspaperman.
Let’s hear his story and get a glimpse of the hopes and determination that fuel him.
Blogger: Hi Andrew! It’s wonderful to meet you. I’ve heard you published your own newspaper on the trail. What inspired you to do that?
Andrew: [Nods, eyes focused] Yeah, I did. It was called The Rolling Home Times. The trail was full of things happening—storms, stampedes, wagon troubles.
I thought folks needed a way to know what was going on and share news between wagons.
I’d talk to people, listen to their stories, and write it all down. It made me feel like I was part of something bigger, like I was helping keep us all together.
Blogger: That’s incredible. You must have quite the knack for storytelling. Do you still want to be a newspaperman when you grow up?
Andrew: I do. I’d love to be a real newspaperman, maybe even have my own paper someday. And I’d like to go to college, too, though I ain’t too sure what that would be like.
I just know it’s a place where you learn more and get better at things like writing and printing. But until then, I figure I’ll just keep learning out here on the frontier. And it doesn’t hurt to remember to say your prayers now and then. [He nods solemnly]
Blogger: Wise words, Andrew. I heard you helped build the family’s cabin. What was that experience like?
Andrew: [Smiles with a touch of pride] It was a lot of work, but it felt good. Agapito, Dunk, and I worked from sunrise to sunset most days. And you know, Mama cut down most of the trees herself, like she was a lumberjack.
She’s stronger than most men. Dunk and I would haul logs and notch them while Agapito made sure everything fit just right. By the end of the day, my arms ached, but it was worth it, seeing the walls go up and knowing we’d have a place to keep warm.
Blogger: Your Ma sounds amazing. And I hear you have a special way of sensing things before they happen. Is that true?
Andrew: [Looks down thoughtfully, then back up] Sometimes I get this feeling, like I know something before it happens.
It’s hard to explain, but it’s helped a time or two, like when trouble’s on the way or when there’s something important we need to do.
I don’t know if it’s luck or something else, but I trust it when it comes. Out here, you gotta take all the help you can get.
Blogger: That’s remarkable. I heard you wrote a song for Christmas, too. Can you tell me about it?
Andrew: [Smiles softly, eyes lighting up] Yeah, I wrote a song called Hope on the Horizon. It came to me while I was out working one cold morning.
I wanted to write something that made us all feel like there was a point to all our hard work. Like we were more than just settlers out here fighting the land. The chorus goes:
In this land of promise, where dreams come alive We build a home, where hope can thrive Through the darkest night, we find our way Bringing light, keeping shadows at bay.
When I sang it at Christmas, Mama and the others joined in, and for a moment, it felt like we were back home, safe and warm.
Blogger: That’s beautiful, Andrew. What’s your biggest hope for the future?
Andrew: I want to write for a real newspaper one day, and I’d like to learn enough to make a good life for my family. Sure hope I can find my way to college one day.
But I know one thing for sure: telling folks about the world around them is important work. That’s what I tried to do with The Rolling Home Times. And if I can, I want to make Mama proud.
Blogger: I’m sure you already do. One last question: if you could give other kids a piece of advice about life out here, what would it be?
Andrew: I’d tell them to be ready for anything, because the frontier doesn’t play by the rules. Work hard, help your family, and don’t be afraid to dream.
And remember, even when times are tough, there’s always something to hold on to—whether it’s a song, a prayer, or the people around you.
Blogger: That’s wonderful advice, Andrew. Thank you for sharing your dreams and your story with us. Merry Christmas!
Andrew: Merry Christmas to you, too. And if you ever need news or a song, just come by. [He gives a small, proud smile as the dream fades]
Giveaway:
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David Fitz-Gerald writes westerns and historical fiction. He is the author of twelve books, including the brand-new series, Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail set in 1850.
Dave is a multiple Laramie Award, first place, best in category winner; a Blue Ribbon Chanticleerian; a member of Western Writers of America; and a member of the Historical Novel Society.
Alpine landscapes and flashy horses always catch Dave’s eye and turn his head.
He is also an Adirondack 46-er, which means that he has hiked to the summit of the range’s highest peaks. As a mountaineer, he’s happiest at an elevation of over four thousand feet above sea level.
Dave is a lifelong fan of western fiction, landscapes, movies, and music.
It should be no surprise that Dave delights in placing memorable characters on treacherous trails, mountain tops, and on the backs of wild horses.
A mountainous thundering bull breaks up battling tribesmen, summoning three struggling youths, as an insidious unseen enemy turns tribes against tribes—pitting rich against poor, sons against fathers, and men against gods. Its insatiable hunger for division threatens to plunge mankind into a dystopian realm ruled by man-eating wolves.
A miraculous seven-headed horse, a symbol of unity, assembles the struggling youths of extraordinary origin into a journey of self-discovery.
There Sunu the Saxon Poet, Rufus the Roman Stoic, and Keresaspa the Sarmatian Priestess must overcome pride, aversion, and unforgiveness; there they must learn from historical heroes, philosophers, and amazingly similar gods to battle the unseen monster and its rising wolfmen.
Fated to part ways to face the demons at home, Sunu, Rufus, and Keresaspa must reunite as they bring divided peoples together to fight the source tearing everyone apart.
They must heed the divine wisdom of the seven-headed horse and justly wield the seven magic weapons they’ve mysteriously been given to overcome the unseen enemy and understand the higher purpose of the mountainous thundering bull.
Excerpt
Sunu the Saxon and Rufus the Roman compare their gods (CH 6 of The Fate of Our Union).
“Jupiter is right reason, chief regulator,” Rufus praised he who permeates the air as moisture, knowing he sounded more interesting the way he appeared in poems. “Through the clouds, the Thunderer rides his horse-drawn chariot, followed by power, strength, and victory. With his bolts, he famously slew godless giants and the water serpent Typhoeus.”
“He’s like Thunor!” Sunu lit up with intrigue. “Except Thunor slew giants and a giant water serpent, Jörmungand, with a hammer, and his chariot is drawn by goats.”
“The goat is also sacred to Jupiter, along with the oak, rock, and bull.” Rufus glanced from oak to rock for Amalthaea but only saw Tanngnjóstr. “Still, many think Thunor is more like Hercules, as they are both chariot-riding, cudgel-swinging warriors with a lengthy list of deeds.”
Sunu’s ears perked. “And they are?”
“Hercules slew the Hydra, an enormous water serpent, like Jörmungand, and took oxen from a giant, Cacus in the cave, like Hymir in the mountain; both Hercules and Thunor fought and slew them with club and hammer.”
Sunu imagined the deeds side by side. “Are you telling me the truth?”
“In truth, the parallels are quite striking.” Rufus chuckled as he pretended to swing a cudgel. “For they also have a heavenly father and an earthly mother, who produced a quick-tempered, far-traveling son who can out-eat and out-drink anyone in the cosmos!”
Sunu hoisted a golden brow. “Interesting.”
“Unfortunately,” Rufus’s tone was no laughing matter, “they were also fated to die by the serpents’ poison.”
Hildebrand Hengest Hermannson’s deep-rooted fire for Indo-European culture and Western Philosophy ignites his first novel, The Fate of Our Union, the inaugural piece in a planned series.
His work draws inspiration from the national epics The Saga of the Volsungs (Norse), Mahabharata (Indian), Aenid (Roman), Odyssey (Greek), Táin Bó Cúailnge (Celtic), and Shahnameh (Iranian), weaving these rich cultures into original stories featuring fantasy world-building, dynamic characters, and intricate plots and themes.
His Wild Hunt of thought breathes life into his spiritual, ethical, and cultural interests, inspiring us all to strive for imperishable virtue.
What could happen if climate change forced humanity to find a new home? To make the journey we must leave behind our most cherished beliefs and hatreds and have faith that God will find us again in the stars.
Act of God
Book 1: In the Beginning
By Jan Byron Strogh
Genre: Science Fiction, Space Opera
Earth is facing a coming ice age. Humanity has marshalled its technology and resources in an attempt to delay the great cold; a diversion necessary to maintain hope for the people.
But some few know the truth. There is little hope left on Earth. But there may still be hope in the stars.
Michael, ward of the church since childhood is summoned for humanity’s most ambitious and secret undertaking. Shepard the human race to a new home.
Finished construction, 240 million kilometres from the sun is the Ark. The ship designed to carry one half million souls in suspended animation to a new world.
But the mission of the Ark is more than simply saving the human species. Its creator, the New Unified Church must save the human spirit and accomplish what humanity never attempted; bring together the religions of the world and expunge the ancient hatreds that dominate doctrine.
But the cost to the church will be its very existence. In order to unify, all agree that the Ark must not carry the symbols, books or even the knowledge of any of the old religions.
To survive, humanity must lose God and have faith that God will find them in the stars.
It felt like no time at all had passed when Michael woke again. This time the lights in the medical bay were bright.
His arms no longer felt like paper weights and the twitching was gone. As predicted, he was a bit hungry. “Hello,” he called again, sitting up on his elbows.
He looked around. The med bay looked stark and barren, and he could no longer see the panel on the wall. His was the only suspension berth in the room.
Deborah appeared from behind the berth. She smiled but looked tired and a bit haggard. “Is something wrong?” were the first words out of his mouth.
“Nothing is wrong,” she replied. “I knew you would start asking questions. That’s why I am still here, long after my shift was over. I must look like crap.”
She pulled a chair up along side his berth and handed him a closed flask. “Here, drink this while I give you a status report.”
He flipped open the lid of the flask and brought it to his nose. He thought he could smell vegetable soup.
“What’s this?” he queried. “It smells like vegetable soup.”
“Very good. It is vegetable soup. Now eat,” she replied firmly.
He began to sip the liquid as she spoke. “Michael, I was not completely happy with your blood results. Your hormones are slightly elevated. I have moved you to a private room. I want to keep you here for another day of rest. There’s nothing to worry about, I am just being cautious.”
“I feel fine, can I at least get out of this tube?”
“No not yet. I don’t want any physical stress on you at the moment. I want you to finish your soup now and rest. Now, Michael, promise me you’re not going to be a difficult patient,” she pleaded.
“OK,” he conceded. “If I can’t move, how about sending one of the officers here for me to ask a few questions.”
“Out of the question! I have asked you to rest and you can’t rest if you’re being a commander. You know the dangers of reanimation sickness. I am not going to allow anything that might possibly upset you.”
“But you said everything was going great. What can it hurt to speak to an officer?”
“Everything is going great. But what if the officer I send tells you that some, electro do dad, has shorted out? Even if it’s totally routine and easy to fix you might start giving orders and taking charge. I want you to rest,” she commanded.
“Alright, alright,” he gave in, “can I at least ask what star system we’re in?”
“Oh, so now I’m an asrto-navigator, is that it,” she complained jokingly.
“You’re going to get at least one more day of rest and another blood test before I allow you anything. Is that clear! Now everything is just fine.”
But everything was not fine, and she knew it. She needed to keep up her act. She needed him as strong and rested as possible before telling him the truth; that everything was far, far, from fine.
The unit was sent to Durham to fight what is essentially a zombie infestation
Dark Sun
C Troop, 1-5 Kommando Book 1
by Eric Johnson
Genre: Military Science Fiction
After the events in 2-4 Cavalry Story 15: In the Pit of Vipers and under a new Troop commander, Captain Karl Bradi, the unit is redesignated C Troop 1-5 Kommando.
After their deployment to Earth the unit is resting and refitting, and also cleaning up holdouts on Friesland.
Despite this, they are sent to Durham, a planet in the Independent Planets that suffers what is loosely described as a zombie infestation.
The unit fights monsters, both real and human, in order to survive on the planet.
Sergeant Desi Hernandez looked through his scope and scanned the ridgeline. It had been weeks since they went on a mercenary mission, and now they were back to ridding the planet of Friesland of the holdouts.
To him, it was a good thing when they killed the enemy, as there wouldn’t be more trying to pierce the blockade that was run when it was known as Mashara.
Sighing he saw nothing, but given the reports that there was an enemy, none was showing their face, so he stopped scanning and looked at his spotter for a second, then went back to scanning. Movement.
He saw the head bob up and quickly down, unsure if he had a helmet on or not.
“Come on you fucker, put your head up.” He said as he adjusted the aimpoint of the scope, bringing it onto where the head bobbed up.
“You’d figure they would get the hint.” Sergeant Shandek said as she too covered the area where Hernandez was looking.
he had put down her spotting imager and was just as determined to shoot the enemy as he was.
She saw some movement in her scope, and she took aim and fired, sending a projectile toward the bobbing head.
It missed, but it drove the target’s head up, and then another crack and it exploded as the round impacted and penetrated it.
There was no helmet to soften the blow, so the person died instantly, the body sliding back down into the foxhole it was hiding in.
“Well, it worked, though unplanned.” Sergeant Hernandez said while he continued to scan for more targets. Nothing more presented iself, and he figured that was the only inhabitant anyway. Reports said so.
“Glad to be of assistance.” Sergeant Shandek said with some sarcasm as she too continued to scan. “You think there are more?”
“Of course, they never left.” Sergeant Hernandez said in a near-whisper as he focused on scanning for more targets.
It had been some time since they left Earth, and while that deployment didn’t entail much shooting on his part, he figured that it was worth some of his time, but he did want to leave the unit.
He was enamored with mercenary life and secretly liked the mercenary-style missions that the unit did perform.
To him that seemed to offer more freedom for him and Shandek was learning the ropes quite well, so she could take over his job anytime. However, he didn’t re-enlist so he had some time before his current contract ran out.
And he had been saving his money for the time when he left. It was a sad thing, given his situation, but he wanted to explore the known universe and conduct missions on his terms.
“Yeah, suggest we keep the team in their positions?”
“Yeah, they don’t need to move around too much, there’s not much out here anyway, and we have a better shot at killing them.” Sergeant Hernandez said as he scanned the area.
It had been a good day today; the weather was beautiful and not too annoying. But it was hot, and he didn’t like that fact as he continued to look around the area of the dead hostile.
He figured that it wouldn’t last, being on Friesland a good day was rare, and the forecast did include a dust storm tomorrow, but not around him. And it was up to the CO to determine if his squad would stay out overnight, as they had another sweep of this area.
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Eric Johnson is a military veteran, and a self-published author who served in the US Army and US Army National Guard for twelve years and three years respectively.
He currently lives in Baltimore and spends his time writing stories based on his past experiences as well as using current events to focus on counter-insurgency as well as other related topics.
Modern society has reached a critical juncture in its existence. Like past civilizations ours has reached a point where its future is far from certain, with its decline, or even collapse, being distinct possibilities.
The Incas, the Mayans, the Romans, the Rapanui, and many others, had seemingly successful societies, yet collapsed when faced with challenges that threatened their continued existence.
Are we to suffer the same fate? What could possibly cause our downfall?
Climate change and environmental issues? Perhaps. It is now almost a certainty that these events are destined to inflict catastrophic damage to our global society.
Our coastal cities and island nations, as well as our global economy and agricultural output, will be irreparably damaged. Many of Earth’s species, as well as the lives of many millions of people, will be displaced or lost forever.
Such a fate may still be averted, but that opportunity has largely passed.
Even if we are able to correct the climatic and environmental issues threatening our society, we must still recognize and address the ultimate source of our problems. For if we fail, a far worse fate potentially awaits us.
Our Global Crisis is an eye opening look at the common weakness shared by societies and civilizations both past and present.
But analysis of the problem alone will not solve the global crisis we now face. Thus, the final chapter is dedicated to the simple, yet critical solutions, necessary for our very survival.
Excerpt:
Humans stand at the pinnacle of evolutionary success. Highly intelligent and curious, with the capacity to reason, it is within our nature to be caring and compassionate.
Capable of modifying our environment, we have created an interconnected global society of such magnitude and complexity that it stands apart from all others that have come before it.
Yet our society has reached a critical stage in its development. Like past civilizations, ours has reached the point where it is most susceptible to failure.
We face this critical point in our continued existence due to shortcomings in our nature. For although we are the product of countless millennia of evolutionary improvements, we are nevertheless an imperfect species.
Our imperfections have contributed to our setbacks on many occasions. Civilizations and complex societies, including, the Incas, the Mayans, the Romans, the inhabitants of Rapa Nui (Easter Island), and others, all suffered significant setbacks, or collapse, seemingly at the height of their existence.
Our global community too, now faces its own challenges.
The question we must ask ourselves is: Do we have the desire and the willingness to change, not only our society, but the very nature of who we are?
Changes that will allow us to thrive and adapt to realities we face as we enter the Anthropocene era. The answer?
Brian McLean, ART, is a former Medical Laboratory Technologist and Information Systems Specialist.
Drawn by his passion for the outdoors, he shifted from a successful career to spend nearly two decades working for a family run orchard business.
A passionate conservationist and environmentalist, Brian is also a keen observer of human nature and humanity’s interaction with the biosphere.
Based on those observations, he has been meticulously compiling and crafting Our Global Crisis over the last 22 years.
Currently, he is working to restore riparian and temperate forest ecosystems affected by clearcut forestry practices, and when he needs to decompress, he spends time under the stars delving into his other passion, astrophotography.
