Nov. 26th, 2017

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I've been re-reading The Red Sweet Wine of Youth, which spurred me into posting an excerpt from Hallowed Ground, my story in Pride of Poppies.

I noticed my pack, which by some miracle had been thrown through the air and landed – pretty well intact – about twenty feet from where we were. I reckoned I could crawl over and get it, so long as I stayed quiet. There didn’t seem to be any of the enemy out on night patrol, but the padre wouldn’t have it.
“It’s not worth the risk,” he said, “whatever’s in there.”
“You might not think that come the middle of the night when you’d be grateful for a wee drop from my hip flask. Think of it as medicinal,” I added, because you never know with these clergy types. Some of them seem to think Jesus turned the water into wine so everybody could wash in it. “I’ve got some chocolate creams, too.”
That seemed to settle the matter, although halfway across those twenty feet – which felt like a hundred yards – hearing a nearby crump made me wonder if I shouldn’t have argued. Although I suppose if your number’s going to come up it can happen as easily in a hole as in the open. I kept going, grabbed the bag and headed back. The look of relief on the padre’s face, seen by a Very light’s timely illumination, was a picture. You’d have thought I was the Archangel Michael himself, come to bear him up to safety on a fiery chariot or something.

More excerpts at Rainbow Snippets.
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