Extract from the third story of Free Fire Zone entitled “A Chat with Uncle Ho.” An old man was hunkered down in soft ashes and smoke, as still and quiet as could be. He wore one of those funny-shaped rice straw hats and a rain cape made the same. He was lucky, the drops was fallin’ like a mother’s hard tears. Splattin’ and making the embers hiss, they probably kept him from bein’ fried. Feathers of ragged smoke from the fires drifted across his wrinkled skin, coatin’ him with oil that smelt like burnt pig. His wispy beard and mustache were blackened and clotted. Free Fire Zone, a book of seventeen linked short stories by Dennis Maulsby, published by Prolific Press. An extract from each of the stories will be posted, one a day. Lieutenant Teiglar struggles with multiple personality disorder — a berserker reptilian persona released in Vietnam attempts to become...
Learn MoreFree Fire Zone, a book of seventeen linked short stories by Dennis Maulsby, published by Prolific Press. An extract from each of the stories will be posted, one a day. Lieutenant Teiglar struggles with multiple personality disorder — a berserker reptilian persona released in Vietnam attempts to become dominate. Extract from the second story entitled “The Ambush.” The monsoon rain beat at the men. Great gray pillars of rain stomped over every-thing. The triple canopy jungle surrounding the patrol never got dry. Water trickled off millions of exposed plant surfaces to make background noise unique to the season and place. One could hear the percussion of drops landing on leaves like a thousand brushed snare drums. Water fell on the top foliage, then dripped downward from leaf to leaf accumulating until one heard the thrup, thrup, thrup of rivulets slapping the spongy jungle floor. Flesh could take the constant soaking, but standard issue leather boots rotted out after three months. So far, it had been one of those usual patrols; no sign of the enemy. A man took a pungee stick in his calf from a pit trap. Two others hauled him back, reducing the group to nine. The remaining men dealt with the damp misery by focusing on family, girlfriends, or the chance the next mail call would bring something good. Everyone drifted off in his own little world, lulled by the drumming, drumming, drumming of the rain. The dreams were better than reality but not being alert in the here-and-now could get you...
Learn MoreFree Fire Zone, a book of seventeen linked short stories by Dennis Maulsby, published by Prolific Press. In Vietnam, free fire zones were enemy territory, where killing and chaos could be hourly events, and survival was achieved by surrendering to one’s most primitive instincts. Rod Teigler, a Midwest farm boy, finds himself in the zones courtesy of Uncle Sam. His ability to stay alive becomes dependent upon a second personality — a persona, rising out of the ancient reptilian portion of the human brain — that millions-of-years old ancestor who decides when to fight and when to run. During the fighting in Southeast Asia, this old berserk one surfaces to keep them alive. With each manifestation, it becomes stronger and more independent. Lieutenant Teigler will bring back home two distinct personalities. Will they learn to co-exist? Extract from the first story entitled “Free Fire Zone” It was black. It was blacker than black — not just the absence of light, a blackness of sound, a blackness of mind and soul…. It crept in, as it always did, after the rocket attacks in those hours of the morning that one wanted to believe were inviolate. It grew so thick that the pulse of its organs could be felt against the skin. The blackness filled every surface and irregularity. The slow tide would crest the earth berm, leak through and around the sandbagged bunkers to touch booted feet, and then rise to groins and chests. It filled the barrels of rifles and pressed cloth and hair against flesh, pushed out the air as it entered pores, noses, and ears, until its acid velvet was all there...
Learn MoreThe Military Writers Society of America (MWSA) has selected Near Death/Near Life, a book of poetry by Dennis Maulsby as one of ten published works to make their Summer 2016 recommended reading list. MWSA is an organization of hundreds of writers, poets, and artists drawn together by a common bond of military service. Rapid growth since its establishment in 1998 makes it currently the world’s largest military genre writer’s organization. Dennis Maulsby is a retired bank president living in Ames, Iowa. His poems and short stories have appeared in literary magazines and on National Public Radio’s Themes & Variations. Prolific Press released his third book of poetry, Near Death/Near Life, May 30,...
Learn MoreAmtrak Dream (An extract from the unpublished novel The House de Gracie.) The train jiggled on its suspension as it ran over a curved section of track. Hugh opened his eyes — the Hudson River glided by. He was on his way home to up state New York after receiving a disability discharge from the Army. His route had included Germany to New York via C-130, taxi to Grand Central Station, and now, the last leg by train. All modes of travel had allowed little chance for peaceful sleep. On top of it all, Hugh was still plagued by a virus caught in Afghanistan — generating alternating bouts of fever and chills. The clickey-clack of the train, a man’s baritone rumble across the aisle, and his fever put him to sleep. Hugh drifted off into a resurrected memory. He was on patrol with Sergeant Murphy. The pair drove a Humvee, the fifth and last vehicle of the convoy taking supplies to an outlying Afghan patrol base. They passed time telling each other riddles. Known as Riddler, Murphy could spew forth an inexhaustible supply, especially dirty ones. “What’s a mixed feeling? The three-striper asked. The answer: seeing your mother-in-law backing off a cliff in your new car. Hugh gave her one: “What is the definition of Macho?” The answer: jogging home after a vasectomy. “What is the difference between oooooh and aaaaah?” The sergeant inquired. After a respectable silence, Hugh said, “I give up.” “About three inches.” came the laughing response. An IED exploded on the lonely stretch of road flipping the lead vehicle onto the roadside. Its fuel tank ignited with a bang. He bailed out of the Humvee, Beretta in hand. A 7.62 round from a Dragunov sniper rifle struck him smack in the middle of his chest. The impact slammed him into the hood of the Humvee. He dropped to his knees. The pistol fell onto the red-brown earth of the roadbed. Murphy ran over. She started dragging him to cover. A second round caught the sergeant in the unprotected area below the armpit. The slug tumbled through both her lungs exiting on the other side. Face in the gravel and dirt, Hugh heard the bass chug-chug-chug of the Ma deuce fifties...
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