by Jessica Scott
Release date: May 16, 2016
Blurb:
Whatever it takes, just come home to me. Promise me, Sam.
In eight months, Staff Sergeant Sam Brown will become a father. But first, he has to survive his fourth tour in Iraq. On his last night home, he tries to pretend that everything is fine, that the war is fine, that his life is fine.
But as he returns to the war zone, things are anything but fine and the promise he made to his fiancé takes on a desperate edge. As things spiral down, Sam starts to wonder about that promise.
How high is the price he will pay when the long night comes to an end?
Excerpt:
He
didn’t touch Hale’s letter. The white envelope stood out against the dusty
surface, pristine in the dirt except for one corner that had a smudged
fingerprint.
Sam sat on the edge of his bed, one leg bouncing as he tried
to figure out why this mission was bothering him as much as it was. Something
wasn’t sitting right. Not at all. He was usually better at figuring these
problems out but whenever he was stuck in the past, he’d bounce his thoughts
off First Sarn’t Gnash.
And Gnash was gone because he hadn’t kissed the right ring.
So Sam sat and ran the mission through his head. Turned it
around and looked at it from another angle. It was something about the location
of the TAC. Why did it have to be so close to that building identified as
having women and children in it? Why so close to that mosque?
Maybe he should get another look at the terrain. Maybe the
commo guys knew something he didn’t, but it didn’t seem to make sense that they
needed to be in that specific building in that specific neighborhood. There
were always other options. Why not in this case?
His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten
since breakfast and it was closing in on dinner. If he missed dinner, he’d have
nothing but an MRE until the mission was completed. It would be just his luck
that it would end up being the MRE ham slice or the omelet. That would be
nasty. If he were hungry enough, it would taste like a porterhouse. But on
three previous deployments, he’d never gotten that hungry.
There was always a first time.
He glanced at that fucking envelope and wished that Hale had
given it to someone else. He snatched it out of the dust and shoved it in the
drawer and hoped he’d never have to take it out again.
He paused before shutting the door. A deep disquiet
slithered across the base of his spine. He should call Faith. He suddenly
wanted very much to hear her voice.
He glanced at his watch. He had time to swing through the
call center on his way to chow. If he didn’t get through to her, he’d have to
wait until after the mission to try and call her again.
He closed the drawer and slapped his patrol cap on his head.
He stuffed a Nutri-Grain bar in his pocket in case the chow hall was packed. He
hated hanging out in the lines and the crowds. He hated listening to the
Fobbits bitch and complain when the chow hall was out of their favorite food
even more. They had no idea how good they had it. Fobbits never had to go out
in sector, never had to risk their ass to get basic chow. They never left the
damn base.
He headed back through the Jersey barrier maze that led past
the company ops and back toward the call center. A massive armored vehicle
rumbled past on the other side of the barrier. The new supposedly bombproof
vehicles were still a rare sight. They were giant compared to the more familiar
track vehicles, but according to the powers that be, they were more resilient
when it came to withstanding blasts.
Sam hoped they’d get more. Soon. The last thing he wanted to
do was die in the coffin of a Bradley, especially if another vehicle could
withstand some of the massive blasts they’d been subjected to lately. The bomb
makers were getting more skilled. Which meant that even if Sam thought this
mission was the worst idea ever, he was going to figure it out. Clearing out
the bomb makers might mean one more of his boys or someone else’s troopers
would get to go home in one piece.
He rounded a corner as the armored vehicle rumbled off. He
glanced into one of the bunkers, then did a double take. The dog was there,
lying in the shade. Her head was propped against the cement and her sides were
heaving as she panted hard.
He wanted to keep walking. He wanted to ignore her obvious
hunger. But he couldn’t look away from the abject misery in her eyes. Her paws
were too big for the rest of her body. She probably weighed thirty pounds when
she should weigh fifty. Pity, far too familiar, rose inside him. Goddamned pity
was going to get someone else killed. He couldn’t stop the sympathy from
overwhelming his good sense. He felt bad for the damn dog. If she was mousing,
she was working damn hard for any meals she might manage to catch.
He pulled the Nutri-Grain bar out of his pocket. No one was
around to see him break his own rule about feeding the stupid dog. He felt the
weight of his own hypocrisy deep in his bones as he tore the thin foil wrapper
open and shook the bar into his hand. It crumbled into his palm.
The dog lifted her head, watching him warily. She looked
like she’d been kicked one too many times. He wasn’t about to get close enough
to hand her the bar, that was for damn sure. He’d never hear the end of it if
he got bit after bitching at Lewis and Hale about the friggin’ mutt.
She tensed as he crept a little closer. He wanted to toss it
into the bunker to keep anyone from seeing it if she refused the meal. He was
sure one of the mice would drag it off if she didn’t eat it.
He hoped she didn’t have any puppies. Starving puppies might
send him over the edge of shit he couldn’t deal with in this godforsaken war.
It was a futile wish. She wouldn’t have the empty sacs on her belly if she
hadn’t recently whelped. He inched closer until he was just at the edge of the
bunker.
She rolled over and crouched on all fours, her head down.
Her hackles rose slowly, one by one, until her back was rigid and stiff. Fear
closed off Sam’s throat. He’d never get his weapon raised in time to shoot her.
Forcing himself to move, he tossed her the bar and held up his hands. He backed
away as she crept forward until the bar was between her front paws. Her lips
curled. Her growl rumbled deep in her throat.
He never took his eyes from her as he rounded the corner. He
moved out at double time as soon as he was out of sight. He refused to look
behind him, even as the back of his neck tingled with the primitive fear of
being chased. His spine tingled as he ran, waiting for the sound of claws
clicking on the gravel to announce his demise.
He kept running despite the shiver that ran down his back
and clenched his balls. He knew, knew, that if he turned
around he’d see her loping behind him, a predator toying with her prey, her
jaws opening to snap on his neck.
He rounded a barrier and finally dared to look back. A
shadow disappeared behind the cement, but he saw nothing else. No wild dog was
chasing him. Nothing but shadows from the setting sun and dust dancing on the
rays.
He was safe.
So why did he feel like he was still being watched?
**************************
My review:
4.25 out of 5 stars
In “The Long Night: A Novel of Suspense”, a military fiction story with
paranormal elements by Jessica Scott, Staff Sergeant Sam Brown returns to Iraq for his fourth
tour of duty, leaving behind his pregnant fiancée, Faith, who has extracted his
promise that he WILL return. Will the
price he pays with body and soul be enough to allow him to fulfill that vow?
This tale is a somewhat unsettling but captivating
look at the dark and painful effects wrought by war on the minds and bodies of
soldiers caught up in the moral and ethical dilemmas they face while trying
stay alive in a violent conflict. This
author provides a sobering verisimilitude to her stories that are undoubtedly
mined from experiences she and those around her have faced.
The contrast between the joy of knowing that he is going to
be a father and the hell that Staff Sergeant Sam Brown has already experienced
plus the new challenges and life-threatening situations he returns to is
vividly portrayed. His fiancée, Faith,
tries to live up to her name but has her own superstitious stipulations to
bring him back home safely to his family.
Sam must struggle with evil personified and the overwhelming stress of
following orders, being true to his self and to his men, and surviving to deal
with the decisions he has made in the field. The eerie events that mark his
fourth tour underscore the question that is posed: “You tell me if it’s possible to go to war
and stay a good man.”
Those who are fans of Jessica Scott know that she provides
gritty realism in her stories, but readers of this particular tale should be
warned that this is not a feel-good romance but rather a darker and more
eldritch tale of the horrors of war that can change a person so much that
“Home…wasn’t, anymore” and reminds us of why “Everyone wanted to cheer the
soldier on. No one wanted to actually be
the soldier.” The story is well written,
but definitely a sobering look at the horrific cost being paid both by those
who fight our battles in distant lands and those who wait for them at home.
A copy of this title was provided to me for review
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