Wreckage of War

By AM Clyne

After WWII in America, no cities were destroyed, no governments toppled. But the wreckage of the war is still there - hidden within its victims. One such victim is a war widow, Mary Boyd, still grieving her husband’s death on the battlefield in 1944. When she finds herself and her child in a dangerous situation, the figure who appears out of the night to help them is one of ‘them’ - a former German POW. Will Mary let go of the past to save her son and herself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AM Clyne
• Release date: Jan 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005478056

AM Clyne

AM is currently an IT Project Manager by day and writer by nights and weekends. When not absorbed in someone else's novel or beta reading for others, she can be found with her laptop immersed in her own fictional worlds. In her spare time, she also loves to lift weights, hike in the woods, watch Star Trek series reruns (all of them), and dream of retirement.

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Dedication

To my writing buddy and mother, without whose brutal honesty, tireless editing, and steadfast support, I would never have gotten this far.

He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster.

- Friedrich Nietzsche

April 5, 1952

Fat raindrops smack against the windshield as Mary Boyd fumbles for the wiper knob. She used to love warm summer rains, but now they just remind her of the day Mr. Boltz came to deliver the telegram. The one that changed her life forever. In the faint yellow glow of the Buick’s instrument panel, her eyes catch the silver glint of her wedding ring. She remembers the day Harry put it on her finger. His own remained in the small box that was returned to her months after his death.

Has it really been eight years since that day? she thinks. It seemed like yesterday when they returned from a brief honeymoon at Niagara Falls and settled into their first apartment together. When Harry’s draft letter finally came—the Government tried to cushion it with the friendly salutation ‘GREETINGS’—she’d wanted to scream, Don’t go! Instead, she feigned a smile while friends and family slapped his shoulder and said, Kill a kraut for me, Harry! April 5, 1944 was the last time she saw him. The last time she tasted his mouth. Inhaled his aftershave. Wrapped her arms around his strong body.

A loud bang like gunfire erupts from the back of the car. She clutches the big steering wheel with both hands as