Posted: 4/11/2024 8:45:32 PM EDT
| I recently found a link to the beginning of the "Last March" series here on arfcom. Does anyone have a copy of the whole series? |
I dont think this is a brains type of operation.
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Written by Sharkman I think. Can't recall his exact handle, but maybe he will respond. I thought that and his similarly located books were on Amazon now. YEah, here it is: https://www.amazon.com/Spartans-Last-March-J-G-Elliott-ebook/dp/B00G70KEEE |
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Book II The Spartan's Ashes The opening of Book III The Spartan's Inferno |
"I don't want a valuable life lesson. I just want an ice cream."
To the everlasting glory of the Infantry!
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Originally Posted By sharkman6: Book II The Spartan's Ashes The opening of Book III The Spartan's Inferno Is book III finished? |
I survived the cockpocalypse of 11/21/2012.
Bacon grease, the Muslim approved .mil lubricant.
Bacon grease, the Muslim approved .mil lubricant.
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Originally Posted By zoe17: Is book III finished? Originally Posted By zoe17: Originally Posted By sharkman6: Book II The Spartan's Ashes The opening of Book III The Spartan's Inferno Is book III finished? Not finished. Just getting started. |
"I don't want a valuable life lesson. I just want an ice cream."
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I’ve been editing the second book for publication while Dabbling in the 3rd. Was overseas and my computer’s power cord died (110 in the land of 220). That set me back a few weeks. Just got back to the States. Gotta get my computer back to life and get back into it. |
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Originally Posted By sharkman6: Book II The Spartan's Ashes The opening of Book III The Spartan's Inferno |
Now broadcasting from occupied territory
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I'm going back through the sequel to The Spartan's Last March and editing it for publication. I found this part and I can't believe I wrote this in 2019, back before States like Washington passed all sorts of trans laws and who got to used which bathroom in the U.S. Capital Building became a network news story. "Technology isn't an all-or-nothing deal," Nicky Lee answered. "While the Nazis were launching V2 rockets and testing jet planes, their armies still relied on horses for transport. At the height of its power, the Soviet Union could harness the power of the atom, put men in space, field nuclear submarines, yet they had less paved roads than most states in the old United States. North Korean scientists developed nuclear weapons while North Korean peasants ate grass and dug into the ground for worms. Technology isn't a binary, take-it-or-leave-it proposition. Instead, it’s a paradigm where those in power can take what they want and leave the rest, just like your salad bar. Even more so in dictatorships." "But manipulating DNA to mutate an entire population?" Robins asked with disbelief. "Is it so outlandish? In the years before The Protest, people changed their genders at will. Through surgery, through hormone therapy, through other twists and perversions of science and medicine. These manipulations were not only possible but condoned, encouraged even. Parents changed their children's genders based on whimsies, cheered on by doctors and protected by the courts. While members of society applauded these parents' insanity. They fawned over the creation of boutique children and called it, 'courage.' |
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Originally Posted By DFARM: Painfully true. Seems like this world was going somewhere again? Last scene that I recall was a rolling gunfight in some pickups? When we last left our heroes... The Colonel's son and his companions were in Jefferson with Nicky-Lee and all the other tech-geeks/nerds. The combined Gomorrah/New Spartan Army was heading their way to wipe them all out. The next book will deal with that confrontation. |
"I don't want a valuable life lesson. I just want an ice cream."
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Originally Posted By sharkman6: When we last left our heroes... The Colonel's son and his companions were in Jefferson with Nicky-Lee and all the other tech-geeks/nerds. The combined Gomorrah/New Spartan Army was heading their way to wipe them all out. The next book will deal with that confrontation. I can’t wait. Click To View Spoiler |
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Originally Posted By DFARM: Black arrows or something similar? Correct, Black Arrow. One overseas Group of Sparta Knights went native and formed their own army. Think Rudyard Kipling's, "The Man Who Would be King," only with a group of top tier operators. |
"I don't want a valuable life lesson. I just want an ice cream."
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Originally Posted By last_crusader: Man, practically need an ORBAT for these guys. @last_crusader Thanks! That made me laguh. No ORBAT, but there will be a List of Characters/Dramatis Personae for the next book. Between the New Spartan factions, the Gomorrah refugees, and now the Jeffersonians there are a lot of people to keep track of. Just finished editing Chapter 23 of The Spartans Ashes (Book II) this am. That book is 40 chapters total, with two to be written, so we are over half-way there. Will work on the cover art this weekend. Was also working on book III this week and made some progress. Since everybody waited so patiently, I'll give you all an excerpt from book III The Spartan's Inferno next week. |
"I don't want a valuable life lesson. I just want an ice cream."
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Originally Posted By midwinter: @ sharkman6 Just bought the 1st book because of this thread. Looking forward to it. @midwinter Thank you, I hope you enjoy it. It never got the editing attention it needed, so please be patient as you read it. |
"I don't want a valuable life lesson. I just want an ice cream."
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Originally Posted By coregon: Is there anywhere to find these books in actual print? I hate reading on an e-reader... @coregon None are in print, yet. I'm working on getting the second book ready for publishing on Amazon and there will be a print option. After Book II is done I'll go back and cleanup Book I. I know that is ass-backwards, but that's how it is going to be. I understand about e-readers. Right now my only print option book is Uncle Evans, which is stand alone and not part of this universe, but I thought it was pretty good. Most of the regulars on this forum read it. Link is here: Uncle Evans: A Fictional Tale of Anarcho-Tyranny in America I should have some writer copies arriving next week if you or anybody wants a signed copy. |
"I don't want a valuable life lesson. I just want an ice cream."
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As promised. An excerpt from what will be the third book in The Spartan's Last March series. The Crown Prince The Crown Prince woke early, at 4 am. He woke in the royal house; a spacious Victorian mansion well situated on a hill inside The Emerald City, with views of Lake Washington, Lake Union, the Montlake waterway, and the old university. Once the estate might have been described as grand. Now, it was empty and lonely. Both the home and the grounds suffered from years of neglect. The Crown Prince lived alone, with neither family nor servants. The Crown Prince worked out and then drove himself to his office. He arrived well before 6 am. He navigated the building’s empty corridors. When he descended the stairs into the basement, he had a moment of vertigo so bad he had to stop and hold the railing lest he tumble over. One hand gripped the banister tightly, the other hand massaged the side of his scarred head until the vertigo passed. When he got to his office, he found the door ajar. That put him into a heightened state of alert. When he opened the door and went inside, he went into a much, much higher state of alert. Sitting inside his office at the small conference table was the Chief Marshal. The Crown Prince's eyes flashed around the room to see who else was there. Then they locked onto the Chief Marshal. Then they flashed over to the black, pump-action shotgun he kept near his desk. "Relax," Chief Marshal Gorman said. "I came alone. Just me. No guards. No aides or underlings. No spies. No assassins. Just me. You wouldn't believe how hard that was, leaving my silly tower alone. You'd think I was helpless the way they fuss and dote over me. It is suffocating." The Chief Marshal had two glasses and a bottle on the table. He uncorked the bottle and began to pour out two drinks. The Crown Prince took another look at his shotgun. "It seems pretty simple to me. If you wanted to be alone, I would think you could order them to leave you alone." "You would think," Gorman said. "There are things they are comfortable with, things that they are used to. And there are things they aren't comfortable with. When I ask them to do things they aren't used to, you'd think they were the Chief Marshal and I was the servant. They don't want to follow orders. They want to follow routines. Sit down. Drink?" The Crown Prince sat and looked at the glasses full of brown liquid. He looked up at the Crown Prince, dubious. "It is supposed to be quite good. The Third Group looted it from some castle on the coast of Ireland or Scotland or, somewhere. It is supposed to be quite good." "It's not even six in the morning," the Crown Prince said. "True," the Chief Marshal agreed. "But, I've had a series of epiphanies of late. One thing I've realized is that I can do what I want. More than that, I've learned I must do what I want. Must. Doing what I want isn't an indulgence. It is a noble obligation. We only get so much time to do the things we were meant to do. So, if I want to have a fine drink before the sun is up, or something of more lasting importance, I'm going to do it. Conventions be damned." The Crown Prince didn't speak. He didn't make a move for his glass either. The Crown Prince shrugged. "Suit yourself," Gorman said. He raised his glass, sipped it, then made a murmur of approval. "Not bad at all." "Are we about to have a negotiation?" the Crown Prince asked. "No," Gorman replied. "A negotiation would mean I would offer up something that you wanted, and you would offer up something I wanted, and we'd come to an agreement. Alas, you have nothing I want, so there will be no negotiation. I do have an opportunity to offer you, but that will come later. First, I wanted to ask you a question." Gorman took another sip. Murmured approval again, and set the glass down. "The Crown Prince of New Sparta has one power. Just one. He reviews the military strategy put forward by the office of the Chief Marshal and if he feels it is necessary, he vetoes that strategy. That is it and that is all. Everything. The royal family doesn't even have any ceremonial duties." "What's your question?" "Why didn't you veto my strategy?" Gorman asked. The Crown Prince's eyes went from the Chief Marshal to the drink on the table, and then back to Gorman. He didn't give an answer. Gorman wasn't expecting one and continued. "The war between us and Gomorrah went on for generations, but no Chief Marshal ever had his strategy vetoed. Not by you. Not by any of your predecessors. And our strategy never changed. The royal family could have forced a course correction, but it never did. Why?" "A veto would have been a no confidence vote in the Chief Marshal. There's no telling how much political turmoil that would have caused." "Hmmm," Gorman mused. "True. But still, all that time wasted, messing around with Gomorrah. Years. Decades. Generations. All that time. And then the resources. And the lives. So much more could have been done. Could have been done but wasn't. Time wasted." The Crown Prince didn't reply. The two men sat, looking across the table at each other. Gorman smiled a carefree smile and continued. "The strategy of annihilation versus the strategy of negotiation and eventual assimilation. That's what the tension always was. We were either going to go into Gomorrah and destroy it, or we were going to negotiate some kind of peace that would pave the way to bring us all back together in a union. The Spartan Knights always advocated annihilation. So too did most of the rank-and-file soldiers. Here in The Emerald City, the political class always advocated for assimilation. Every Chief Marshal did the same." Gorman paused. "I have to confess, I was never fully committed to the assimilation strategy. I may have advocated for it, advocated strongly even. But it wasn't a belief I held strongly. In my heart, I was ambivalent on the topic. Assimilation or annihilation. I couldn't really care either way. What I wanted was to be Chief Marshal. I always wanted to be Chief Marshal, even as a boy. When I was building the Morning Star network… I wanted the weapons to work to be sure, but I always knew that if I could get the Morning Stars operational, that would pave a path for me to be Chief Marshal someday. The war never figured into it. Gomorrah never really figured into it. Gomorrah was just something that was there, it wasn't something I spent much time thinking about. "So, when the contest came as to who would be Chief Marshal, it was pretty clear what policy I was going to advocate for. My decision was made easier given my opponent. It was obvious that The Colonel was going to advocate for destroying Gomorrah. For him to do otherwise would mean denying everything he ever was and everything he ever did. Our day before the grandees and brassmen came. He spoke from his heart. I told all those notable mediocrities what I knew they wanted to hear. They made me the Chief Marshal. "And now, here we are," The Crown Prince said. "And now, here we are," Gorman repeated, agreeing. "The Colonel went on his Last March and went a long way towards executing the annihilation strategy, which nobody wanted. Only, he didn't annihilate Gomorrah completely. Instead, what was left was softened up for the assimilation and reconciliation strategy. Only, now that assimilation is possible, nobody wants me to do that either it seems." Gorman took another sip and continued. "What I think most people really wanted, was for the war to go on. Forever. Just an unending war. I don't think our soldiers wanted it. But the politicians, the political class here in The Emerald City. I think they wanted it to go on forever. It was a war, but it didn't affect them directly. It was safe. It was another one of those comfortable routines mediocre and unambitious men love. It is like my staff meetings; nobody has to produce anything, nobody has to commit to anything. Just show up and sit through it. The next day, do it all again." The Crown Prince looked down at his glass but didn't touch it. He looked back up at Chief Marshal Gorman. "You said something about an offer?" "I did. I'll start with what I know. Some of this, you know already. But maybe it is best to lay it everything out. That way we are both on equal footing. "After The Colonel's last march, you smuggled his son, Colton, out of New Sparta, along with his team from The Knights Course, and that old, retired Master Gunnery Sergeant, Lefranc. They went into old California where they were discovered and then hunted by what was left of Doctor Chosen's empire. "There were twists and turns. There were chases and escapes, and The Colonel's son and his companions ended up in Northern California, in league with this secret society. Maybe that was just good fortune. Maybe that was all part of some greater conspiracy. No matter. That's where they ended up, and that's where they are now." "What's the offer?" The Crown Prince asked. "Get in contact with The Colonel's son and tell him to come home. Him and his companions." The Crown Prince didn't blink. Not a muscle in his face twitched. His body betrayed nothing. Not a thought. Not an emotion. When he finally spoke he said, "He's a Spartan Knight. He isn't going to surrender." "I'm not asking him to surrender. I'm just offering him the chance to come home." "Why me?" "No one else could do it," Gorman said. "There is nobody else he would trust. His father's dead, of course. His mother, maybe. Major K…" "Major K is dead," The Crown Prince said. "You capital guardsmen killed him. As I understand it, when he went across the river he took a lot of them with him." "They told me the same thing," Gorman said. His eyes brightened. "You don't think he's dead?" The Crown Prince asked. "No corpse was ever revered though. No teeth. No bones. None of his metal prosthetics. Nothing." Still smiling, Gorman shrugged. "I don't think a wise man would simply assume Major K was dead. That's a fool's luxury." "You want me to get the son back to New Sparta so you can what? Arrest him." "I don’t want to arrest him," Gorman said. "I just want him out of that cave he's hiding in." The Crown Prince thought about that for a moment then spoke. "You are offering him the chance to escape before you march your New Gomorrah army into Northern California and destroy the people who gave him refuge." "Yes." "Why." "He is a citizen of New Spartan. He and his companions." "No. Why destroy the people who gave him refuge? To get back at him? To get back at The Colonel." "Nothing as emotional as that," The Chief Marshal said. "This place that the son and his companions took refuge in, it isn't some collection of hovels. It is sophisticated. It was established Pre-Protest. It existed, unknown, for generations. Most important of all, it has existed outside my suzerainty. Its very existence is a symbol of defiance. Thus, I must destroy it. "Why?" "Because I must." "Is this another part of doing what you must and your noble obligations?" "Yes," Gorman said. "What about this army of Gomorrah refugees? Gomorrah existed outside of New Sparta's control for generations. They were our arch enemy, for generations. Defiance to Gomorrah is the reason why New Sparta exists. If you don't care about reconciliation and assimilation, why not destroy them?" Gorman smiled his sly, clever smile again. "Don't worry about what's left of Gomorrah. I can't imagine they'll be around for long." "You left something important out of your story." "What's that?" "The part where you tried to kill The Colonel's son. Several times over. Now you say you want to offer him the chance to come home. How do you square that circle?" "I did try to kill him," Gorman admitted. "I saw him as a threat. An enemy. I've seen many as enemies. The Colonel. His son. Major K. Doctor Chosen. Gomorrah. Those New Spartans whose loyalty to me is less than absolute. Even you, Crown Prince. I saw you as an enemy. Once. But the truth of it is, none of you are my enemies. At worst, you are all just noise. Distractions. Speed bumps that slow me down. Now I realize the truth. I only have one enemy, and that is time. "We only get so much time. On this earth. In our days. We only get so much time to do those things we were meant to do. That we are obligated to do. And our time slips away. It gets stolen from us by lesser men. We sit in stupid meetings. We chase after nonsense." Gorman smiled again. "We agonize over perceived enemies. Before we know it, all our time is gone, and we haven't even made a dent in the list of things we existed to complete." Gorman went silent for a moment and looked around the Crown Prince's cluttered office. His eyes trailed over the shelves packed with dusty books, the rolled-up tubes of paper he assumed were maps, the scattered file folders, the shotgun in the corner, the framed document hanging behind the desk that began with the words, "We the People," in big, calligraphic letters. "All these books," Gorman began. "You've read them all?" "Yes," the Crown Prince answered. "Nearly all. Not the reference books of course." Gorman nodded. "Have you reread any?" "A few." "But only a few?" "Yes." "You can't possibly expect to reread them all," Gorman said. He swept his hand about, indicating all the books. "There is no way you could reread them all. Not even a fraction of them." "I suppose not," The Crown Prince admitted. "So, why keep them around?" Gorman asked. "You've gotten the knowledge out of them. Now, they are just an anchor around your neck. A waste of time. Better to be rid of them, unclutter and unburden your life for what's important." The Crown Prince smiled. "I've been in your tower. I've seen your office. My library of books is nothing compared to what you have collected in there." Gorman smiled and let out a laugh. "True. But I didn't ask for any of that stuff. The numbered groups just bring it in, like they brought this bottle." Gorman motioned to the bottle between them. "I never asked the numbered groups to bring me any of that stuff. I don't think my predecessors did either. They just did it. Maybe just to curry favor. I don't know. I once thought it was silly and a waste of time, but I never said anything." "Once? You don't think that anymore?" The Crown Prince. "No, I don't," Gorman said. "All the great societies had art and artifacts brought from across their empire to adorn their capitals. The Persians. The Romans. The Spanish. The French. The Germans. The British. The British were famous for it." "None of those societies lasted though." "No, they didn't," Gorman agreed. "Ambition, skill, resources, and time. Few of them ever had the right combination of the first three. None of them ever had enough of the last. None." Gorman finished off his drink and then added. "But, that's something I'm working on." Gorman took one more assessing look around the room and then said to the Crown Prince, "Your parents died while you were young. You have no siblings. You never married. You have no children." "What's your point?" the Crown Prince asked with an edge in his voice. Gorman was conciliatory. "You have noble obligations too, Crown Prince. And for you as for all men, time is ticking away." "Father time is undefeated," the Crown Prince said. "No," Gorman disagreed. His eyes took on a faraway look. His body was in the Crown Prince's office, but his mind and his soul were somewhere else. "Father time didn't kill Doctor Chosen. The Colonel did." Chief Marshal Gorman stood. With one hand, he took the bottle off the Crown Prince's conference table. With the other, he grabbed the Crown Prince's untouched glass and in a single, sweeping motion, drank it down and set it back on the table. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the Crown Prince's office. |
"I don't want a valuable life lesson. I just want an ice cream."
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It's always kind of ironic. The Crown Prince could stop it all by beating that guy to death in his office. Then walk upstairs and drop one nuke into the horde, finishing it all with a purge of the sycophants. Only three real Spartans. The Colonel, his son, and the Marshal. Everyone else just goes along with events. |
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Originally Posted By last_crusader: It's always kind of ironic. The Crown Prince could stop it all by beating that guy to death in his office. Then walk upstairs and drop one nuke into the horde, finishing it all with a purge of the sycophants. Only three real Spartans. The Colonel, his son, and the Marshal. Everyone else just goes along with events. I think this is new sparta, just past the peak. The political class has disconnected from the rest of society and has forgotten why the war was being faught, aside from it being a political string to pull on. The colonel probably would have done the future generations of new Sparta a bigger favor by assassinating most of the political leadership instead of going after chosin and the council, even if his last march was an awesome story. |
"Freedom is a messy business." - LaRue_Tactical
I am a sack of blood, held together by un-tanned leather. . .
I am a sack of blood, held together by un-tanned leather. . .