Second Wave

I wholeheartedly apologise for this slew of updates, I don’t usually bother folks so much, but it is release day, so…

The hardcover/case laminate version of War Mages: Sharpshooter is now live to acquire on Amazon.

You can find it Here! (It will obviously update to your country’s prefs.

Just the softback to go….

First Wave

Miracles do not, in fact, break the laws of nature.

– C. S. Lewis

The War Mages: Sharpshooter e-book is now available for purchase.

Here is the Amazon US Link: Adventure awaits!

I’ll notify when the paperback and hardback are also up and running.

…Company will Advance!

It’s almost Dawn here in Britain, or as they’d say in the Trenches: Seven-oh-five Ac.emma. (7.05 am)

War mages: Sharpshooter has been submitted to Amazon.

I’ll put another post up with the links as soon as they become available.

I just want to take this (very early) opportunity to thank everyone involved, my friends and family, my editor, proof-readers, beta readers, cover designer, and every one of my fellow adventurers for accompanying me on this, slightly longer journey.

Have a great day adventurers.

On the Whistle…

‘Hello, the Somme Public Baths – no running, shouting, or piddling in the shallow end…ah, Captain Darling…tomorrow at dawn. Oh, excellent! See you later then! Bye!’

– Captain Edmund Blackadder, receiving orders for the final attack, Blackadder Goes Forth, Ep 6: ‘Goodbyeee’

War Mages: Sharpshooter is as ready for deployment as I can make it. It will be released tomorrow (Saturday, 09 December 2023), and I wanted to collect my thoughts about it. I’ve mentioned a few times that it has taken about 18 months, which is the longest any of these books has taken me to produce – which is good, because I think it has matured enough to possibly be my best work.

The themes within are harsh, dealing with all kinds of insanity and inhumanity, in a fantastical setting, whilst taking the sting out of it with humour – albeit not Marvels: Avengers levels, where everything is followed by a clever one-liner. There are one-liners in there, and a recurring joke about werfing and flammen. The jokes to ease the pain are typical British Gallows Humour.

Sardonic Banter may also feature.

So what inspired me to write WM: Sharpshooter? I don’t really know. It was just one of those things that happened, to paraphrase David Morell (my long-time, distant, and unsuspecting mentor): ‘You read or hear something…and it sticks in your mind. Listen to it, that’s your writer’s instinct talking to you.’

From then on it was digging into it to find some of the most amazing things. Truth is so much stranger than fiction, and along the way, from a crazy weather machine to midget submarines, it all came together to make the fantastical almost believable.

From Blackadder Goes Forth, to All Quiet on the Western Front, the stories of the First World War and the horror of the trenches are well known, if only for the rhetoric. Yet I’ve done my best to highlight a few quieter facts amongst the fiction: the Sniper, Observation and Scouting School, which in my opinion produced what could be considered World War One’s British special forces (along with the Lovat Scouts), the brutal conditions of the Central Powers’ so-called ‘reprisal camps’, and the incredible bravery and stoicism of the citizenry of the French town of Dunkirk.

And, whilst the silence of frightening battlefields do haunt this book, essentially it’s a good old-fashioned adventure story about people thrown together by circumstance and accident, striving against danger and doubt attempting to survive in a world gone mad.

Here be no dragons – but there is a dog who’s the ‘goodest’ of boys, so there’s that.

Tomorrow at dawn.

We go over the top with them all.

Write or Wrong

Just a quick update to keep this pot boiling – have now completed the final polish and now it’s just a quick sweep over the book to make sure everything is in order and packaged up for KDP.

Release looks like it will be Saturday sometime, but Amazon do say that it may take up to 72 Hours to actually publish. I don’t foresee many problems with the Kindle version, unlike during the pandemic, when my books were held up for a month due to some kind of ‘vetting’, but I’ll leave that thorny chestnut there.

I’m working on a post for tomorrow as well, which I hope will draw all my influences and thoughts together, and round the week (and all 18 months of work) out.

Until then…the boulder (and the sequel!) are calling…

Boulder’s Edge

Peeking around the edge of the boulder now. The weekend draws near, and I just wanted to get a few quick posts out before the final launch of War Mages: Sharpshooter.

Am currently buffing the last layer of polish and hoping it smooths everything out. It’s easy going, which is good, as that means there’s hardly any trouble, but it’s time-consuming which is…to be expected.

What was not expected was everything coming together so quickly – I thought this would be a long, painfully slow release into next year, but I have to say, the face of the project has changed drastically.

Much like the history it is based on.

Here’s hoping things keep going, that boulder is nearly at the top!

More Mages

As promised!

The thick wall they’d just vaulted was a difficult climb, but not insurmountable. Looking at it from this side wasn’t so rosy. Archer saw it was a mess of scorched and pock-marked brick. At the base, buttressed with thick footings, stark pieces of bone were strewn amongst the assorted debris. A cracked, jawless skull leered up at him from the weeds. He threw his hand up to get the attention of his fellows.

‘Halt! Nobody move!’

The soldiers froze instantly, Nunzia following their lead. She turned from the smashed cot to watch him, and he was sure she’d been elsewhere, to a nameless place without a map.

‘What is it?’ Eisner’s expression was a mix of frustration and concern; he scanned the buildings ahead for anyone watching.

With the group dangerously exposed, Ross menaced the dark windows with the Lewis. Archer bent down very slowly, pointing to the head of stick grenade, the pin half pulled by a taut wire going under a plank. It was interesting Ross hadn’t seen it, but then again, he was in boots and gloved hands, his senses prevented from detecting the threat.

‘Ah.’ the German licked his lips, and offered a hollow smile.

Thin, gossamer wire traced back to another bomb. It was foolish to have expected less. They were in a kill zone of booby traps and it was a miracle they hadn’t been blown to bits already. It was keeping the reprobates from swarming the walls to freedom. Like the copious amounts of concertina wire, that men were spitted on and slashed open by, this was a crude form of what the Army called ‘area denial’. The Germans likely didn’t need to refresh the traps, since the blackened timbers, bone fragments and dark stains decorating the ruins would be warning enough.

Fresh shrubs were sparse, growing low to the ground, trained by the unskilled pruning of fire and shrapnel. It was a lethal walled garden none of the intruders wanted to see bloom. It certainly wouldn’t take first place at any Royal Horticultural Society flower show. Archer brought that train of thought into a siding; memories of his mother weeding and planting in the small window boxes were a distraction which would kill him fast in Antwerp.

‘We should have come in by airship,’ Ross ventured, grinning. The paralysing malaise which gripped him aboard the submarine was gone, confidence and attitude returned. He tugged a glove free by gripping the fingertips in his teeth. He placed his palm onto the ground.

‘The Americans already tried that,’ Archer replied drily. He declined to share his dislike of heights, hoping the Canadian wouldn’t mention it.

‘Well, I’m safe up to here,’ Ross said, chewing his gauntlet. He was the furthest forward, having the best cover from the buildings overlooking the devilish allotment. He paused, trapped in deep thought. ‘I’ve got it. I know the safe route out.’ ‘Everyone retrace your steps, follow Hal’s path – you know what to do,’ this last he said to the man in question, who grunted and gave a curt nod.

Suddenly, there was the distinctive twang of a snagged wire.

***

Launch Window

Just as a quick heads-up for my fellow adventurers, I will be hopefully be releasing War Mages: Sharpshooter at the end of this week, to allow for those of you who want a hardcopy to place your orders with Amazon to get it in time for Christmas.

Whether it’s a treat for yourself, or someone who likes the bloody slaughter of a Harry Turtledove-esque Historical Fantasy set in World War One, this should fit the bill.

As per usual, this will be released on Kindle as Ebook, paperback, and hardback – a note on the latter, the hardback is kind of a misnomer, since what Amazon actually use is Case Laminate which is a half-way house between the two formats. Just on that note, the paperback currently is set up with a matte cover, whereas the hardback is glossy.

I may order an author copy to see if I like it, or if the matte is nicer. I’m not sure about this, as I see a mix of matte and glossy on both types of book, so feel free to leave any thoughts you have in the replies/comments. 🙂

I am also currently exploring options for an Audiobook, so that people who prefer to have a story read to them will be able to indulge – although this may take longer, and possibly will be produced some time next year, likely through ACX (Audible’s version of KDP).

I suppose you could buy the book and ask your friends/family/loved ones to recite it over Christmas dinner instead of any speeches..? I’m thinking of you – I promise!

I will put out another post with an excerpt from Sharpshooter tomorrow, but that will be it, my good readers, the rest will only be found in the book itself.

On that note, back to the boulder. Have a good day!

Another Day Another Yarn

Am a day late for War mages Monday, since yesterday was very busy doing not much of anything it seems, but without shopping and taking trips to places you soon notice the gaps in your shelves.

Anyway, here’s what I owe you all!

Orca was a rush of activity, with Nunzia at the eye of the storm. She leapt through the companionway to the helm, slipping between machinery and transoms with familiar grace. The moment her backside landed in the control chair, she grasped the Focus control stick, barking orders. The submersible turned slowly in the plunge, the crew going silent; the steel coffin muffled inside by the cold murk and danger without.

Nunzia kept the boat moving, creeping forward, but the engines were cut, a trembling heartbeat severed. Archer couldn’t feel the deck vibrating; only hear the ribs of the vessel creak occasionally when the sea gave them a squeeze. Sweat broke out on all of them when they saw it, a large shadow passing overhead. Archer couldn’t gauge the distance, the water and glass throwing off his perception.

‘A German destroyer,’ she whispered.

Eisner was there, standing as a member of the group. His eyes met Archer’s, but he didn’t speak. His axe was still safely trussed at his side. The thump of the enemy warship’s engines came through the hull, the heart of the giant beast above them.

‘Did they see us?’ Archer asked the question at large, voice tiny.

‘Possible,’ Nunzia replied.

‘How do you know it’s Fritz?’

She spared him a glance. ‘I just do.’

Everyone hushed; the veteran Italian crewmen froze in place, looking up. The atmosphere in the boat became increasingly muggy, choking the short reprieve granted by surfacing. Small shadows skipped along in the wake of the vessel above, bouncing on the choppy surf before slowly sinking; although Archer thought he could make them out as oil barrels. Bubbles fluttered up from small cracks in the steel drums as they got closer. It spoke of something fizzing away inside, the ugly barrels now made strangely graceful by tumbling in slow motion. The impression was shattered as he imagined a stick handle on an oversized grenade, and froze, feeling as powerless as Ross. The Captain gritted her teeth, sinuously wrapping half-bare legs around the metal feet of her chair where it bolted to the hull. That wasn’t a good sign either, he decided.

‘For what we are about to receive…’ Archer muttered.

Nunzia rattled away in Italian, translated for her passengers. ‘Brace for impact!’

Only a moment later, the submarine was tossed sideways. Archer flailed for a railing, gripping onto it with as much strength as he could muster. Head swimming, the effect was as though he’d been walloped in the temple after too many beers, the world lurching with a sickening violence, threatening to capsize him. When Orca groaned under the buffeting, Nunzia cursed, clinging desperately to her perch. Another thunderous belch outside tossed the little boat so hard that the cries of sailors accompanied it, as they fell into panels, bounced from pipes and machinery.

Somewhere above them, the German ship prowled, waiting to get a glimpse of them maybe, or see their bloated, water-swollen bodies float to the surface with skin like turgid, pale rubber.

The Western Front was no stranger to that.

***