A boot to the ass stirred me. I opened my eyes to the grizzled mug of Sergeant Clantalion looming like an apparition from one of the Three Hells. His square jaw and scarred face thrust near mine. I mustered a crack about his breath. It came out as a grunt.
He grunted in return. His voice was gravel. “Get up, Mortlock. Time to die.”
I swallowed and tried again. This time I managed to sound coherent. “Already Sarge? I was dreaming.”
“Me and your wife again?” he countered, moving to kick the next person, a friend of mine called Fearson.
I moved my legs, stretching full length. Cartilage cracked. I shifted. Pain shot across the lower back, a grim reminder of yesterday’s march over rugged terrain.
Fearson turned to face me. Calloused fingers wiped at his sleep matted eyes. His weary voice echoed my pain. “I hurt.”
I sat up, clearing my throat to spit. “Might be that slab of ground we slept on.”
I looked around. A handful of shapes lurched zombie-
“Simple agreement would have sufficed, Mortlock,” Fearson replied, standing beside me.
The morning air was damp and chill. My nostrils caught a familiar scent. Food. Some kind soul had stoked last nights’ fire. Over it an iron pot boiled feverishly, filled to the brim with a pungent smelling broth.
... features an attack by a rampaging mammoth skeleton. Seriously, what other recommendation do you need than that?
Ryan Harvey -
There are echoes of REH, Gemmell and Drake. It features undead mammoths. What ain’t there to love?
Deuce Richardson -
More Praise:
The interactions between the soldiers are spot on.
Jeff Draper
This is the sort of hero I can relate to.
Janice Clark -
He has a talent for telling stories at a dizzying pace. -
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