I had a very difficult time with this book, matching the dates and events to those already established in Not With A Whimper: Producers. I really don't look forward to repeating the process in the remaining book(s) of the series. After I'm finished, remind me to never do this again.
Tough jobs like the above seem to age me. I feel older, more tired than I did in my younger days. Perhaps that's why I have an old man in the book recalling his own younger days, though not with joy. Old Paulo says that in his time of military service he created enough regrets to last him a lifetime, his memory triggered by a conversation.
My own memory recently got triggered, but not by a conversation. I was walking in Central Park in New York (on vacation) and water tumbled over rocks in a stream making its very distinct sound. It took me back to where I grew up, when the winter's snow began melting, and the runoff in the streets, ditches, and alleyways tumbled over ridges of slushy snow and gravel. The sound transported me back to where, as a child I and my friends would make little dams of snow, trapping pools of water, then put our feet through the dams, allowing the built-up 'lakes' to flow once more.
The air felt fresh, clear, and crisp. We wore not the parkas of just a month previous, but sweaters and light jackets. The world seemed to be returning to life after the long winter's slumber. And the sound of the water running and tumbling symbolized that.
There I stood, lost in the memory of so many years ago. I now live on the West Coast, and we don't get that much snow. The seasons down here don't have the sharp delineation that they seemed to have up north, and I miss that.
I suppose that, sooner or later, in some book I shall write of a character listening to the music of the melting snow.
But, for now, I'll rejoice in another book published, and hope that those who pick it up will enjoy it. My period of rejoicing, alas, will be limited. With that book out of the way, the next in line begins to demand attention, and it will be back to the old grindstone.
Live well, my friends, and make memories you'll cherish.
Not With A Whimper: Destroyers
Duty.
One man's "duty" is another man's
"mutiny". Major Karl Müller of the European Treaty Organization (ETO)
walks a fine line as his squadron of shuttle-fighters prepares to meet any
enemy in Earth's Last Battle. His orders are to commit what many would consider
a war crime -- an attack on a helpless civilian space station. But if they have to
face the powerful United States of North America, chances are most of the
squadron will not survive long enough to launch from their Azores base -- in
which case the question become moot. But Müller can't count on death giving him
the easy way out.
On the other side of the Atlantic, USNA Sergeant Frank
Jensen views the near future with equal desperation. He and 39 fellow
"volunteers" have failed Colonel Westorn's brainwashing course, and
if the Colonel cannot successfully finish their indoctrination, he intends to
finish them in another way. Jensen believes his group's only chance is to
escape to one of the colony worlds, where Westorn won't be able to find them.
That spells desertion, but his duty to himself and his comrades drives him
forward. However, he sees no chance of
them getting into space without help, and dying here on Earth appears the only
alternative. He knows his people won't go down easily, but wonders what use
Colonel Westorn has for soldier-fanatics.
Throw scientist Christine Burnett, aghast at what the
perversion of her sleep-learning program has done, and the powerful Yrden
Family into the mix, and you know that the world will end not with a whimper,
but a bang.
No comments:
Post a Comment