And away we go! Welcome to Son of a Pitch, Week 2. This week, I'll be hosting ten writers here on my site.
The top twenty will be selected and posted on Friday. Without further ado:
Title: Standing The Final Watch
Age and Genre: Adult SF
Word Count: 89,000
Innocents abroad in post-Collapse America face slavery or death, until Nick Angriff and the Seventh Cavalry ride to the rescue.
The terrorists who slaughtered General Nick Angriff’s wife and daughter fulfilled their leader’s purpose, by leaving him one mission in life: to kill the killers. Obsessed with revenge, Angriff needs a new reason for living before anger eats him alive. Miraculously, a higher duty calls, except nothing about it is divine.
With no loved ones to miss or mourn him, he agrees to command Operation Overtime, an elite military unit stored in suspended animation against the possibility of national collapse.
He awakens after sixty years to find the United States government destroyed, with a bizarre religious sect dominating the wreckage and enslaving the survivors. Resurrecting America becomes Angriff’s sacred duty.
Before he can save others, however, he must first stay alive. Angriff quickly discovers opposing plots within his brigade, including one to assassinate him. They are remnants of the extremist politics of the dead U.S.A., still fighting old battles, and he’s a target for both sides.
His choice is stark: dig out the threats within Operation Overtime first, or risk everything to help innocents facing slavery and death.
Without knowing friend from foe, Angriff leads the last Americans into the wasteland of North America, armed only with their guts, their wits and a determination to rebuild the United States.
Death raced across Lake Tahoe headed straight for the Tahoe Princess, where Winslow Buffer stood at the bow and squinted into the sunlit waters ahead. No premonition of Winslow’s imminent death troubled Mary Buffer. From the warmth of the tour boat’s passenger lounge, she enjoyed watching her chubby husband brace himself against the railings and turn his face into the wind. It was the first day of their first vacation since before Emily was born. The red-haired toddler stood on tiptoes and waved at her father. Her warm breath frosted the glass. Winslow stood at the bow, despite the cold spray, and waved back.
Out of the chill, Mary watched Winslow acting like a little boy and giggled. He often told her about his fantasy of cutting the clear waters of the Caribbean, the wind blowing his sparse hair, as he stood at the helm of his own sailing ship. She assumed those daydreams cycled in an endless loop in his mind. She certainly hoped so; starting a solo practice as a new CPA required long, hard hours, and he deserved time to dream and play.
The muffled buzz of a speedboat, growing louder as it drew near, caught Mary's attention and she glanced left. Milling people blocked her view. She looked back at Winslow in time to see something metal hit the deck and bounce, stopping near his feet. It seemed vaguely familiar, but her mind did not recognize it before the blast of the grenade ripped him apart.