Mary J. McCoy-Dressel

Hello, folks. I hope you’re enjoying your weekend so far.

You know, I’ve heard it’s almost worthless to promote other than first books in a series. I don’t have standalone books except for my coloring book. Bet you didn’t see that coming. No, I’m not here to mention my coloring book, but if interested, see the menu at the top.🖍🖍🤠 I’m also not here to promote to you, my blog readers, but if a new reader stops by, feel free to check out my books.  ❤

I’m here to talk about my youngest brother. Haha, I mean my youngest Carlson brother from the Double Dutch Ranch Series. His name is Dane. You’ve met him unless you’re new to my blog. His book is number three in the series–Of the Cowboy’s Own Accord. He’s an Army Ranger. Book three is far from being the first book, but his story is important too.

Because of hearing it’s best to only promote first books, I’ve been posting a lot of first book snippet’s lately, plus my newest release. If I continue to publish snippets or excerpts from the same three books, pretty soon you all will have the whole book. LOL. Now you know, I won’t be doing that. After all, I have to pay bills and eat.

So, this week, I’m giving you a snippet… Wait. Okay, lately they have been excerpts instead of snippets. Honest, I had started out with the intention to post snippets. Maybe next year I’ll go back to posting…you guessed it–snippets.

Double Dutch Ranch Series: Love at First Sight #3

To set this up for you: Dane is deployed and on a mission. Things didn’t go to plan. He hates when things don’t go to plan. I debated on including the curse words in this snippet, but I chose to disguise them instead. It takes something away from Dane’s predicament, but I don’t want to offend anyone. However, it is my blog, and I may choose not to disguise them in the future.

Early readers of this post got the full words, but after some consideration, I changed my mind about including them. You’ll still find a couple. Some of my faithful readers skip over it in my books, but it doesn’t stop them from reading them.

Warning:

• Combat scene–possible PTSD trigger.

He came to with a foggy head, but the sound of gunfire brought him to reality. Someone keyed up their radio, calling out latitude and longitude coordinates for close air support to clear the area. Shaking his head to rid the blur, he tried to figure out why his right arm was numb—and man-o-man, his gut smoldered from the inside out. Something pulled on his leg at the ankle. The growl told him immediately. Why?

S&*%^#&$ch, my belly hurts like hell. He scurried to sit upright but couldn’t. His arm was pinned. Nothing but dust and debris was scattered around him. Powdery grit coated his lips and filled his mouth. Sand exploded around them with each grenade launch. The pain in his gut heightened when he breathed in. A scratching sound. Digging.

“We’re trying to get you out. Stop fighting, Sarg. Dustoff inbound. They’ll get you to the trauma care center.”

“Get the dog off me. What the F$%@ you doin’? I got enough problems here.” The tan and black shepherd shook and pulled his leg like a rag doll.

“Saving your life. Your leg’s pinned, too, but coming free. You’ve been hit.”

Roger that. The voice belonged to Corporal Hanson. Dane lifted his left arm that had lain across his midriff. It was covered with blood. He raised his head to see his abdomen. Lot’s of blood there, too. Then he remembered the explosion. His breath caught as pain riddled his body. S&*%^#&$ch, he hurt like hell. “Damn, I’m dizzy.” He touched around his abdomen. A pressure bandage controlled the bleeding now. He shook his head again, still in a fog. “My right arm is pinned under the rubble up here. It ain’t budging. What happened?”

“We got hit. RPG’s and mortar rounds. I’ll get you out. You’ll be okay.”

He’d said the same thing to guys dying. “How about the others? It’s not looking too good in here.” When his eyes focused long enough, he examined the ceiling. “I see light above. Where’s that damn dustoff? The whole ceiling’s about to cave in.” Dane wiped sweat from his face, but it wasn’t sweat. Not unless his sweat turned red. Other than that, his body was soaked in real sweat.

“Everybody else is okay.”

Gunfire raged on around them then it stopped. He removed his knife from its sheath and dug at the dirt beneath his arm. Tugging, he attempted to free his body, but he weakened. His arm had been lodged in tight—pinned above the elbow as far as he could tell. He held his breath as pain came in waves. He couldn’t feel his fingers. “This isn’t where I wanna die. Everything’s murky.”

“We’ll get you out, but you need to be still before you bleed out.”

More gunfire. A spray of bullets hit the rubble around them. S$%@! “Take cover. That’s an order, Corporal!” Dane reached for his rifle, secured it against his body, and prepared to kill the best he could with his left hand on the trigger. He anchored himself on his side. One spray of gunfire from an AK-47 rang out loud and clear, and the digging stopped. “B#$%@$#@. Get your a$$ up here, Coop.” He lowered his eyes for only a moment. The corporal had been hit—his arm or shoulder bleeding out like a faucet across Dane’s lower leg. His head bled. Coop’s digging had gotten his leg free.

Dane stretched as far as he could and tried to grab a hold of the corporal’s vest to drag him closer. How long before he’d be screaming out, or maybe he had. Hanson’s body was inches away from his reach, but Dane couldn’t get his arm to budge enough to grab hold of him.

He patted the ground. “Come here, boy, come on, Boston.” The dog crawled forward but turned to go back to his handler. Dane lowered his rifle and grabbed the dog’s vest. “It’s okay, boy, stay. Grab hold of him.” He shook his head—his thoughts and focus fading fast.

Directing the dog to the corporal’s shoulder, Boston grabbed hold of his vest strap, pulling and yanking, dragging him toward Dane a half inch at a time until Dane could grab hold enough to pull Hanson up. He removed a tourniquet from Hanson’s IFAK bag—using his free hand to twist it tight on Cooper’s arm, and took a felt pen to write a T on Hanson’s forehead to indicate the tourniquet. He pressed a bandage against Hanson’s head wound.

Wiping blood from his own face, he picked up his rifle and braced it against his body, pointed it toward the opening, and waited for whatever might happen. “Come on you B$@%#$@. I’m taking a bunch of you out with me. Coop, don’t die on me. Dammit all to hell. Not you, dude.” Dane faded in and out of consciousness. Focus waned. He had to get them out of there…out of there. He had to get them out of there…and then the ceiling crumbled.

End of Snippet.

I’m sure equipment has changed since I wrote this book, so what is included here was in use when I wrote this story. I had professional advice  from more than one person when writing. One guy, a lieutenant and an Army Ranger, was actually stationed in Afghanistan when he answered my questions. I’m grateful to him. Since writing to him back then, he seems to have fallen off the planet. I hope he’s okay. Cheers to him wherever he is, and thanks again.

Thank you all for reading.

I didn’t know there was a football player with this name when I created my Dane for this book. I certainly hadn’t intended to use a real person’s name.