Can You Please Be Quiet

By Jason Blacker

Specialist Riley is on his second tour in some godforsaken place in the Middle East. He can't remember where it is.

He's four months into a six month tour. Though he hears the tour might be extended to twelve months. He hears a lot of things. Most of them aren't true, and most of them take place in his crumbling mind.

In the course of an hour Riley's fireteam makes it into the City in Ruins for a reconnaissance. And in the space of this one hour all hell breaks loose and air support is required. How many of the three of them make it out alive? How many are left for dead at their own hand.

An unapologetic look into the madness of war and the toll it takes on the mental health of our soldiers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lemon Tree Publishing
• Release date: Dec 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781301050321

Jason Blacker

Jason Blacker was born in Cape Town but spent most of his first 18 years in Johannesburg. When not grinding his fingers down to stubs at the keyboard he enjoys drinking tea, calisthenics and running. Currently he lives in Canada.  Under his own name he writes hard boiled as well as cozy mysteries, action adventure, thrillers, literary fiction and anything else that tickles his muse. Jason Blacker also writes poetry and daily haikus at his haiku blog.  You can find his haikus and other poetry at his website www.haiqueue.com.  For FREE books and to stay up to date and learn about new releases be sure to visit www.jasonblacker.com where you can find more information about his writing and upcoming projects.  If you enjoy space opera in the tradition of Star Trek then take a look at Jason Blacker’s pen name “Sylynt Storme”. It is under the name Sylynt Storme where you can find both sci-fi and vampire fiction written by Jason Blacker.  “Star Sails” is the space opera series and “The Misgivings of the Vampire Lucius Lafayette” is his vampire series.

Book preview

Can You Please Be Quiet

The soldier is sitting on a box of grenades. His rifle, a dusty M16, is lying dead next to him on the dusty ground. It is hot outside. He takes his helmet off his head and drops it on the ground. It spins and wobbles in front of him. His gloved hands rub his head, his curly brown hair.

They’ve gotta let me go. Goddammit they’ve gotta let me go, he says.

Spit drops from his mouth and a bubble of snot can’t make up its mind if it’s coming or going from his nose. His eyes are bloodshot and wet. The box of grenades is locked and he’s dragged it out into the open from storage. He shouldn’t have done that. But he needs someplace to sit. His face is stained with oil, dust and sweat. A river of sweat snakes down the side of his cheek by his ear. It caresses the curve of his jaw and sneaks under his undershirt.

It’s too goddamn hot here, he says.

He’s still rubbing his head, a fine mist of salty sweat sprays up like a halo. He rubs the backside of his gloved knuckles into his eye sockets. He’s trying to get rid of the dampness, the sting and the scratchiness of this Arab air. The heat makes breathing hard. It’s chokingly hot. He’s been here four months already. Two more and he might get home. Might.

Word on the street, though, is that they could see their tours doubled. Twelve months is too long. He won’t last that long. He might not last another day. Every day is a tour. A grinding tour.

He can’t stomach food anymore. This soldier. Everything is salted with sand. Disgusting, hot, sweaty sand of these hell’s acres.

We’re heading out, Riley, says a colleague.

He gets up. He sighs and takes a deep breath. He looks out through the barbed wire fence. Way out in the distance to the city. The city in ruins. Must he go there again? He goes there everyday to look and see. To prod and prick. To find what can be uncovered. Everyday is another disaster. A day spent