Showing posts with label WWII Historical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WWII Historical. Show all posts

Monday, July 06, 2020

KITTY'S WAR





This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Barbara Whitaker will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.



Seeking adventure, shy Kitty Greenlee joins the Women's Army Corps. In 1944 England, as secretarial support to the 8th Air Force, she encounters her dream man, a handsome lieutenant who only has eyes for her blonde friend. Uncomfortable around men, Kitty doesn't think the handsome officer could want someone like her.

Recovering from wounds, Ted Kruger wants to forget about losing his closest friends and have fun before returning to danger as a bomber navigator. When Ted recognizes Kitty as the girl who rescued him two years before, he must choose between dating the sexy blonde or pursuing quiet, serious-minded Kitty even though he knows he's not nearly good enough for her.

As the war gears up with the D-Day invasion, will Kitty and Ted risk their hearts as well as their lives?


Read an Excerpt

“Starting Initial Point,” the pilot announced. “McGill take over.”

No dodging it now. The bombardier took the controls for the bomb run.

Seconds ticked away. Ted’s gloved hand clenched the pencil. He forced himself to relax before he broke another one. He couldn’t plot their course on the map without a pencil.

The aircraft reeled from explosions nearby. The bumpy ride made him think of an old truck driving at top speed over a rutted, muddy road in the middle of the night. Unable to dodge the holes, even though he knew they were filled with dynamite. Unable to stop. Just straight ahead until he blew up.

Come on, Come on. Get it over with and get out of here.

“Bombs away.” The beautiful, gorgeous words came through the intercom. The plane lurched upward at the loss of its heavy load. He let out a sigh.

“I’ve got it,” Rollins announced. The pilot took back the controls and maneuvered away from the drop zone.

Ted marked the spot on the map and started his calculations for the return leg.

“Hang on. We’re in the middle of it,” the pilot warned only an instant before an explosion jarred through them.

The plane bounced and shook.

Then another, louder bang.

Ted’s seat collapsed, tossing him to the floor. His head hit something.

Blackness alternated with blurry, bright light.

Fiery pain burned through his thigh. His hand searched for the wound. He gasped for air. His oxygen tube must have pulled loose.

Someone hovered over him. “Kruger’s hit.” It was McGill’s voice. Clutching his tightening throat, Ted watched as Mac stuck the tube of a walk-around bottle into Ted’s mask.



About the Author

Barbara Whitaker, Author
Barbara Whitaker grew up in a small town in Tennessee where the repeated stories of local and family history became embedded in her psyche. Fascinating tales of wartime, from her parents and her in-laws, instilled an insatiable curiosity about World War II. After retiring from her sensible career in accounting, she began full time pursuit of her lifelong love of historical romantic fiction. Enjoying every minute of research, Barbara spends hours reading, watching old, black-and-white movies and listening to big band music.
Although Barbara and her husband have been longtime residents of Florida, they both still think of Tennessee as "home." Visit Barbara's website at http://barbarawhitaker.com. Or find her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/BarbaraWhitakerAuthor.






Buy Links and Other Links:

https://www.amazon.com/Kittys-War-Barbara-Whitaker-ebook/dp/B01MCU9SOW/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/kittys-war-barbara-whitaker/1125466321?ean=9781509210909

https://www.bookbub.com/books/kitty-s-war-by-barbara-whitaker

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33303373-kitty-s-war

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/kitty-s-war-2

https://www.audible.com/pd/Kittys-War-Audiobook/B07MJ7LFKC

https://books.apple.com/us/book/kittys-war/id1164144741



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Wednesday, August 21, 2019

BEHIND THE MASK


Don't forget the Rafflecopter giveaway at the end of this post!


Behind the Mask
by
Marianne Petit
Genre: Historical Romance 

Author Marianne Petit mixes true life experiences with fiction to create a
suspenseful tale of intrigue and romance set in the early days of
war-torn France. 

In 1940's Paris, both rich and poor are thrust together, a mixed society
struggling to survive. American born Yvette Matikunas, one of the
privileged few, goes underground with a deathbed promise to her
grandfather that has her roaming the streets of France with a
dangerous message. She quickly learns that no one is who they seem to
be and trust is a thing of the past.

Injured in battle while trying to save the life of one of his men, Colonial
André Rinaldo is disillusioned by a shell-shocked country and a weak
government. Persuaded to go underground and unite his fellow
compatriots by forming resistance groups, he meets a beautiful
blonde, whose determination to free France from foreign dictatorship
is as strong as his.

In the middle of espionage and clandestine rendezvous, they form a
partnership that deepens under the ever-present threat of arrest. But
with America’s interest in the war building in the background all
Americans are ordered to leave.

Will Yvette return to the States, or will André persuade her to stay and
fight for love?




The train slowed as it approached the station. On the platform, German soldiers stood at attention. As they boarded the train, people shuffled through their belongings for their documents. A hush settled over the compartment in anticipation.

Yvette’s proof of citizenship shook in her fingers. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and dropped her hand in her lap.

Pierre, her canary, was quiet; thank the dear lord, for her nerves were taut enough without his high-pitched chirping. The last thing she needed was for him to draw attention. The last thing she needed was to have someone find Grandpère’s message hidden in the bottom of the cage. The words, written with a shaky hand, made no sense. The grapes are rotting on the vine. It’s time to bring them in. The wine is ripe. But her grandpère’s warning was embedded in her brain. Trust no one. Whatever cryptic message lay hidden under the paper, put her in danger.

The compartment door slid open and Yvette’s heart skipped a beat.

Two soldiers stood in the corridor. One man, decorated with metals that would way down a rock, appeared to be the superior. He had a wide pronounced brow. His chin melted into his neck and his short-cropped silver hair seemed plastered to his head. A long gray mustache turned slightly down over a frown.

Yvette’s gaze slid past the elderly man to the light-haired soldier who studied her with intense blue eyes. Broad-shouldered, about six two, lean and muscular, he dominated the small doorway. His countenance rigid, like one accustomed to enduring the routine of war, he stood at attention, his eyes assessing everyone and everything.

His superior entered the compartment with an air of bitter disgust. The routine common place everyone held out their traveling papers. Her heart pounding, Yvette waited and hoped her American papers would be of no interest to them.The interrogation began in German and she didn’t respond, which brought a heated tone to the superior’s voice. He snapped something to the soldier who stood silently at the door. The younger man stepped forward, his gait like one of the wooden soldiers from the Laurel and Hardy movie Babes in Toyland.

“My commandant wants to know what kind of name Matikunas is,” he said in French.

Her father’s name was Lithuanian, a country annexed by Nazi Germany and placed under German civil administration. The Poles, especially the elite, became subject to mass murder. Was he fishing to see if she was Polish?

“I am an American,” Yvette insisted without further commentary.

Her remark brought a scowl to the commander’s face. He pointed to her birdcage and Yvette’s pulse leapt. When he ripped off the cloth cover, the startled bird darted back and forth in the cage. Pierre’s loud chirp filled the compartment. The German opened the door and stuck his hand inside.

“How dare you,” Yvette spat, in English, knowing he could not understand her. She did not care. “I hope he bites you.” He turned a sinister look upon her, and her body tightened.

The nervous bird hopped from one perch to the other.

The German began to peel up the newspaper lining the bottom of the cage.

Color drained from Yvette’s face. If he finds the note…dear Lord…what will he do? Her teeth cut into her lip. She had heard horror stories of people brutalized, thrown in prison for far less. Grandpère’s death flashed before her eyes. Thinking about the possibilities brought a cold sweat to her brow. Calm down, she told herself. Breathe. Breathe. The German’s fingers were inches away from discovering the hidden message.

Yvette held her breath…

…and Pierre pooped on his hand.

The scene played out in a comic rush. Red-faced, swearing, or so she guessed, the German pulled out his hand and snatched a handkerchief from the breast pocket of the gentleman sitting opposite her, who, in French, called him a German pig.

Yvette suppressed a grin.

Pierre broke out in song.

The commander spun on his heel. He said something to the handsome soldier in the corridor, stomped outside, then slammed open the next compartment.

The train whistle blew and the clanking of wheels, picking up speed vibrated throughout the compartment.

The soldier, who had stood at attention, strode in.

A jolt of fear attacked Yvette’s chest, yet she was struck by the strong sensual lines of his face. A muscle clenched in his narrow jaw. Eyes, like chips of glacial ice, hard and sharp, stared at her. This man seemed far more dangerous than his superior on so many levels.

He stepped up to her seat and bent before her, his face inches from hers. “You are either one brave or lucky woman,” he whispered in English.

He’d understood her! She froze.

Despite the dangerous situation, she was keenly aware of his vitality, of the waves in his sandy hair and his wide forehead. Her senses leapt to life by the warm breath near her ear and the clean scent of freshly washed hair. She felt as though they were the only two people in the small room. As though they shared, a private moment meant for lovers. Her hands trembled.

Before she could respond, he continued. “Lucky for you that bird did not bite him.” The threat had an odd lilt, its tone almost amused. He straightened and stood over her. Whatever compassion she thought she sensed disappeared behind a mask of indifference. “My commander is not happy,” he said in French. “He has instructed me to find out why an unchaperoned woman of your age, I surmise you are about nineteen, is traveling alone. He believes you pose a threat. Would you care to explain?” His voice took on an air of superiority.

“I am quite adept at taking care of myself and I’m twenty-one.”

“Get up,” he ordered. “Gather your things.”

Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. Her legs refused to move.

He grabbed her arm. “Now.” He yanked her from her seat.

No one in the compartment made a move to help and she understood their fear.

Marianne Petit, Author

Marianne Petit is a past President of the Long Island Chapter of the Romance
Writers Of America. Her love of writing stems back to high school.
She spent hours reading Nancy Drew, Alfred Hitchcock and poetry. At
the age of fifteen she wrote a short story for children, as well as
numerous works of poetry. Her love of history stems from her father,
Roger, a Frenchman, whose love of American history greatly influenced
her writing interests .

She is a past President of the Melville Lions club, a service
organization that raises money for the less fortunate - especially
the sight and hearing impaired. 

Newsday and several local newspapers have written articles on Ms. Petit and
she was recently interviewed on TV for her time travel.

Marianne loves to ski, white water raft, horseback ride, and enjoys the
theater. She lives on Long Island is happily married for over 30 years.




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Monday, July 23, 2018

THE FORTRESS


Don't miss the Rafflecopter at the end of the post!

The Fortress
by Madeleine Romeyer Dherbey



GENRE: WWII Historical


THE FORTRESS Blurb:

The war has not made much of difference in Alix’s life. Her father has seen to it that she grows up unaware, unworried, but safe in her tiny village under the cliffs of the Vercors. All around her he has built a fortress whose walls are impregnable—until the 27th of April, 1944. That day he makes a stupid mistake up on the cliff, and the walls of the Fortress start crashing down. Reality breaks into Alix’s life with unrelenting violence, unforeseen possibilities. From now on, every decision she makes will mean life or death.

EXTRA INFORMATION:

Inspiration behind the book-- 

First of all, the Vercors Mountains. Breathtakingly beautiful, dangerous, natural playground for all extreme sport lovers. Rock climbing, canyoning, spelunking, skiing, it's all there. But for me, it's home. It's where my ancestors have lived and are buried under those same cliffs.

Then, the history. The Vercors is a dream of freedom, a heroic battle, a military disaster, but also redemptive last stand. Many military and history books have been written on the subject, but no fiction accounts, and in fact, I was frustrated by the dryness of the accounts which I felt did not reflect the human dimension of that battle.

Finally, my own family history. Three of my uncles were condemned to death for collaborating with the Vichy government and betraying C2, a Resistance camp, to the Nazis. Their sentences were later commuted to forced labor, but the national disgrace verdict stood, and they had to leave the area to avoid being murdered. Despite the death threats, my father— who had fought with honor during the war—decided to stay. The legacy was hard to overcome in a community mauled by four years of occupation and violence, and seventy years later, my last name remains associated with the destruction of the Maquis of Malleval.           

There are also small things, like a Sten machine gun I found in the mud of a summer creek, with this inscription, Pour ma Suzon Cherie, June 12, 1944; or the story of a fifteen-year old boy, a resistant fighter whose name is forgotten, who was tortured and murdered by the Nazis in the summer of 1944.

And finally, Russel Crowe, naturally.

Interview with Madeleine  Romeyer Dherbey

--Favorite author/genre

Väinö Linna, Under the Northern Star, a trilogy. It’s a story of hard work, loyalty, forgiveness, and amazing courage during the ferocious civil war in Finland. Read it. Akseli Koskela will show you what a real man looks like.

I read classic literature, historical novels preferably, and History. I speak French, German, and Spanish in addition to English, and like to read novels in the original language. It’s gives me more insight into the author’s original intent. Currently I’m reading Das Parfum, by Patrick Süskind, and Jerusalem, by Montefiore.

--Favorite quote

What’s on my license plate, LIFAD, the acronym for Leben ist fur alle da. Life is for everyone here. Choose life.

--How long have you been writing?

Nine years? It takes me forever. I set no deadlines, no word-count goals, lest it become a chore. I either get a beer, put on some Finnish Death metal, Insomnium, for example, and settle somewhere where I am not alone in the house, or I go for a long walk on the Appalachian trail—which is barely two miles away—with my dog, Mikko, which helps me put things together. I used to have to be absolutely alone to draft, but not anymore. First, I like the kids’ chatter, the disruptions, and I like taking my time. Writing is part of life, not a substitute. I hand-write, then I type.

--Plotter or pantser

Both, really. The first time the Pantser thing happened, I was amazed. It felt like magic. The legendary muse, as my agent once said. I thought he was out of his mind. Sure, the muse visits once in a while, but it’s mostly hard work. Shock Top helps a lot, too, one and a half, no more, and Finnish metal music. My favorite bands are Ghost Brigade, Insomnium, Wolfheart, and Swallow The sun. It’s as vast and brilliant as a Beethoven Symphony, thunderous but melodic, the perfect emotional outlet. And then, frozen expanses, Nordic lakes, white forests, it’s land’s end, after all.

--What am I working on now

A novel centered around the federal entrapment of a young teacher. I have been teaching for 13 years, and have a deep emotional connection with my special education students. And it’s political! Expressing political opinion in school is forbidden—really forbidden. Besides, the likes of me are pretty much underground. We recognize each other like Christians in Rome, with a glance and a rolling of the eyes. So being able to write the ins and outs of oppression in the public schools world, coupled with a the building of a fake terror plot by a branch of the federal government no one in their right mind should trust, was a bit of a catharsis for me. You will love it or hate it, depending on your allegiances, and who cares? It’s not meant to be commercial.

--long-term plans for my career

I’m going to keep teaching and keep writing. They balance each other.

--Advice to unpublished authors

Discard any idea that worms itself into the narrative because it might help sell the book. No gratuitous sex, no gratuitous violence, no easy, voyeuristic scene that is devoid of purpose. If you sacrifice pleasure and dignity for commercial gain, you will get neither.

--Share something that would shock readers

While I have reinvented myself as a dedicated wife and mother, a passionate teacher of students with severe and multiple disabilities, who relaxes with gardening and hiking with the dogs, I was pretty much the opposite until mid-life. People are invariably surprised about my death metal taste, of course, and I can read the disbelief on their face when I tell them I travelled through the Kheiber Pass with Taliban fighters (I didn’t know who they were, I swear!), or went to a Voodoo ceremony in Haiti (the driver got possessed, it was awesome). 

For the rest, I dare not say. The novel I could write, had I not become Christian thanks to my husband, would be banned from public libraries.




THE FORTRESS Excerpt:

THE FORTRESS Excerpt
This is the part when marc pays a midnight visit to Alix to confront her about drowning a Nazi officer—without his authorization.
“Is that mint?” Marc asked. “At home, we mix it up with heather and those little blue flowers. I think they were called…”
“I only like mint.”
“Nothing wrong with mint.” He waited for her to say something else, something that would ease the tension he felt in the room, but she remained silent. She must be a little shaken, he thought. That’s understandable. “Were you able to get rid of the body?” he asked gently.
“Yes. Why are you here?”
He went up to the little window and lit a cigarette before answering. There was no mistaking the animosity in her tone. I have to fix her fuck-up, and she’s angry? At me? He sucked the smoke deeply into his lungs. “You know exactly why I’m here. What you did today will impact—and possibly kill—many people. It will help if we don’t argue about it.”
“You’re the one who’s mad. I can see it.”
“I’m not very happy, but that’s not the point.”
 “Don’t you ever sleep at night?”
 “Not much. It’s easier to hike in the dark. You can’t see the incline, you can always pretend that it’s flat. What about you? Having nightmares?”
 “Not at all,” she lied. “I would do it again.”
“Ah. The Ice Fairy. I remember.” He could feel a headache coming. “Next time I have a hit job, I’ll make sure to ask you first. At least you’re not wasting bullets.” He had gone to the hidden phone and was checking its functioning as he spoke. “What’s your next project? Anyone in mind?”
“Maybe,” she shrugged. “Do you want to know who it is?”

No, not really, he thought. He couldn’t ease the suspicion that he might be on her revenge list. She had once said that she didn’t hate him, but who could trust her? Maybe she had planned something terrible, like cooking him in the sawmill kiln. He almost made a joke of it, and thought better. She never understood his jokes, anyway. “You owe me an explanation,” he said instead. “I don’t remember asking you to murder a Nazi officer. You want to tell me why you didn’t discuss it with me?”


Madeleine Romeyer Dherbey, Author

Website
www.MadeleineRomeyerDherbey.com
FaceBook
https://www.facebook.com/Madeleine-Romeyer-Dherbey-2067077286871927/?modal=admin_todo_tour




GIVEAWAY INFORMATION

Madeleine Romeyer Dherbey will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via Rafflecopter during the tour.


a Rafflecopter giveaway