Jack of Harts

I’m tired of talking about which governors are idiots arresting people for parking in church parking lots, shutting down gun stores, or demanding that the common folk respect their authority and not protest when they decry what the little people will be allowed to do.

So…on to better subjects. I just gone done with principle writing on another short story, which takes up unresolved plot points introduced in Forge of War and Angel Flight and ties them up in a pretty little bow. Well, pretty may be an over exaggeration. And tied up can have multiple meanings.

Let’s just say that a certain little green friend Stephen Huda ginned up for me for another story that is awaiting publication will make another showing here. And there will be great fanfare at the little friend’s arrival. If by fanfare you understand that I’m talking about gunfire, explosions, and destruction.

And that’s before the girls get involved. Or after. Or during. Time is a relative thing you understand, but Captain Jack of Hart Squadron would not know what to do if certain girls did not show up from time to time. Or more often. More often is certainly good. You may say that he is devoted on the subject. Maybe even preoccupied.

Anyways, here is a very short preview showing Jack’s frame of mind upon waking up on this fine day…

Jack awoke to a sense of doom ringing between his temples and a ravening hunger filling his belly. Crash landings sucked. Getting shot sucked. Hi-gee maneuvers with cracked bones, healing muscles, and aching ligaments sucked. Being saved by two girls who had no business risking themselves in his life sucked. His life over the last few days had become the one unending succession of suck his drill instructor had promised him his life would be after he volunteered to help kick the Shang’s alien asses to the other side of the galaxy.