COLD WINTER, HOT WAR (BATTLE OF THE BULGE) by SHIRLEY MARTIN

PURCHASE FROM THE BWL STORE

By December of 1944, Hitler’s Nazi Germany appeared defeated, its once great cities reduced to rubble.  The British, Canadians, and Americans had freed France; Paris was liberated.  The Russian army menaced from the east.  Why, the GIs might be home by Christmas.

But Hitler had a few tricks up his sleeve, a plan to turn the tide in Germany’s favor.  Code named Wacht am Rhein (Watch on the Rhine), the plan would defeat the Allies by capturing the port of Antwerp, Belgium.  Aware he’d need increased manpower, Hitler extended the draft for males sixteen to sixty.

Here we should state the opposing chains of command.  As head of SHAEF (Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Forces), Gen. Dwight Eisenhower was in command of all Allied forces in the West.  Under him, Gen. Omar Bradley commanded all of the American armies.  Field Marshal Sir Bernard Montgomery commanded the British and Canadian armies.

In Germany, Hitler had absolute control of the German armies both in the East (Russia) and in the West.  Under him, he gave command of the German army in the West to Field Marshal Gerd von Rundstedt, an aristocratic officer who held Hitler in utter contempt.

Bruised and battered from a recent battle against the Germans, several American divisions recuperated in the Ardennes, a forested area of gently rolling hills that borders France, Belgium, Luxembourg, and Germany.  This, during one of the coldest winters Europe had experienced.

Early on the morning of December 16, ‘44 (a Saturday) three German armies smashed through the American lines in the Ardennes.  The front of the attack hit four American divisions: the 4th, the 28th, the 106th, and the 9th Armored division.

That the attack caught the Americans by surprise was not due to faulty intelligence.  The British had broken the German code (ULTRA), and friendly Belgians had warned the Americans of increased troop and tank movements behind German lines.  As we would say today, the Americans didn’t connect the dots.

Numerous small villages, many of them inside Germany, dot the Ardennes.Villages such as Malmedy, Honsfeld, St. Vith and La Gleize will forever remain part of the historical record.

According to Hitler’s plan, once the Volksgrenadier (people’s army) achieved its breakthrough, Col. Jochen Peiper was to drive through the northern reaches of the Losheim Gap. Peiper was a handsome, well-bred SS officer who spoke fluent English. He was one of Hitler’s favorites. (After the war, Peiper was charged with war crimes, although he probably was not present when men of his command in Kampfgruppe (Battlegroup) Peiper massacred American soldiers who had surrendered with their hands up. He was tried and sentenced to die by hanging. Later, the sentence was rescinded, but he served several years in prison. In his later years, he died when left-wing terrorists burned his house down.)

Another of Hitler’s favorites was SS Officer  Otto Skorzeny.  Hitler gave him a specific task: sow confusion among the Americans.  Find as many soldiers as possible who spoke English, grab uniforms from dead American soldiers.  Confuse the Americans.  Soon, the confusion took a ridiculous turn, when even Eisenhower had to present his ID to Military Police.  Successful at first, changing signs and giving false directions, too soon German ignorance of American habits gave them away. For instance, a Jeep will hold four people. So didn’t it make sense to seat two in front and two in back?  But Americans didn’t operate that way.  One of Skorzeny’s men was flummoxed by opening a pack of American cigarettes. Those Germans who were captured faced the firing squad.

The American divisions fought bravely, but caught by surprise and outmaneuvered, they were forced back (west), eventually fifty miles.  Hence the title Battle of the Bulge; it actually made a bulge in the American line.  The 106th Division had to surrender, all 8,000 men.

The battle had its lighter moments. Gen. Fritz Bayerlein commanded one of the Panzer (armored) divisions. In the course of the battle, his division came into contact with an American field hospital.  There, he became so entranced with a “blonde, beautiful” American nurse that he dallied when he should have been moving.

At first, the Americans didn’t realize the magnitude of the German offensive.  Before long, it became obvious that this was a major battle.  Eisenhower called a meeting of his generals, those affected by the offensive.  Noting their glum faces, he told the men he wanted them to look on this battle as an opportunity.  He instructed Gen. Bradley to order Patton–fighting a separate battle farther south– to swing his army north to aid the Americans in the Ardennes.  When Patton protested to Bradley, and Bradley relayed the protest to Eisenhower, the latter said, “Tell him Ike is running this damn war.”  After that, Patton's Third Army fought bravely, making a huge difference in the fighting.

Within days, the Americans stopped the Germans at the Elsenborn Ridge, forcing them to take a less favorable route through the Ardennes.

Soon, the battle became a race for Bastogne, a major road center.  The 101st Airborne Division under Gen. Terry McAuliffe reached Bastogne first, but were soon surrounded by Germans. Under a white flag, the German commander sent a message to McAuliffe. Surely he could see he was surrounded; why not surrender to save further bloodshed?  To this, McAuliffe had a one word answer, “Nuts.”

By the latter part of December, the skies cleared, enabling the Army Air Force planes to find their targets. But the Germans didn’t give up easily.  It wasn’t until the end of January that the battle was over. Hitler’s gamble had failed.  Henceforth, it was referred to as Hitler’s last offensive.

Months of horrific fighting and many deaths loomed ahead. (One of the author's neighbors was killed while driving a truckload of ammunition that hit a mine.)

By May of ‘45, Hitler had committed suicide. (cyanide pill) The British, French and Americans held western Germany. The Russians held Berlin and the eastern portion of Germany, a division that would have tragic consequences in the coming years.  Germany faced utter defeat.  When one of Hitler’s generals asked von Rundstedt what they should do, the general  snapped, “Surrender, you fool!  What else?”

The Battle of the Bulge marked the beginning of the end for Nazi Germany.  Although caught by surprise and outmaneuvered at first, initially driven back, the Americans soon recovered and fought bravely.  As Capt. Charles B. MacDonald relates in his excellent history of the battle, it was “A Time for Trumpets.”



I've written historical, paranormal and fantasy romances, so there should be novels and novellas to please just about everyone. My books are sold at Books We Love, Amazon, Snashwords, All Romance ebooks, Barnes and Noble, KOBO, the Apple IStore, and at other sites where ebooks are available online. Several of my novels are in print, and you can find them at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
Please visit my website at www.shirleymartinauthor.com
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Building a Fantasy World

Available in all ebook formats and
on amazon.com

by Kathy Fischer-Brown

While I never attempted to write one before, I am a big fan of the fantasy genre and I relied heavily on my experience as a “world re-creator” to build the alternate universe in my new fantasy adventure series. In my historical novels, I strive for believable settings, details, and mores to play a major role that adds believability and boundaries for the characters to act out their lives. For me this is one of the most challenging and enjoyable parts of the writing process, and I will add that for this book, it was more fun than I ever imagined.

Starting out, I wanted to avoid some of the common genre archetypes found in a lot of fantasy fiction these days (elves, orcs, dwarves, and “dark lords,” to name but a few). So I drew on my knowledge—and lots of research—of actual peoples and cultures and endowed them with other qualities.

In creating the characters that populate The Return of Tachlanad, I combined elements of our world and its historical past with those from my imagination. For example, one of the secondary characters, Ulunc, is a very young member of a species of known as Skaddock. These creatures somewhat resemble primitive hominids that roamed the earth in prehistory, but with a Stone Age skill set. Milith people, while having many traits common to elven types (without pointy ears), share certain “aboriginal” cultural attributes with many indigenous people from around the world, among them a matrilineal social structure and coming of age rituals. Nortlunders (mostly bad guys) are a mosaic of ancient Roman and Viking cultures, with their violence and lust for conquest. Lothrians are a mishmash of Celtic and ancient Britons, including some of their myths, legends, and druidic hierarchy. All with a bit of a twist.

Magic, is a strange power, and nearly always a component of fantasy fiction. While it exists in the universe in which my book is set, I tried to anchor it in a physical world, where Nirmanath, “the current of life,” is a tangible force, and things like the casting of auras, astral projection, potions that can cause amnesia (or death), and the ability to invoke one's own invisibility are possible. In this world the rumble of thunder is the roar of an angry god, and an old man with a living crystal can harness the power of the elements.

As with every author, the primary goal in writing any book is to create an entertaining story about likeable (and unlikeable) people dealing with adversity, love and hate, people the reader wants to cheer on—or boo and hiss at—people who undergo physical and emotional changes. A story about the human condition.

Kathy Fischer Brown is a BWL author of historical novels, and The Return of Tachlanad, her newly released epic fantasy adventure for young adult and adult readers. Check out her The Books We Love Author page or visit her website. All of her books are available in a variety of e-book formats from Books We Love, and from Amazon and other online retailers retailers.

TURKEY TALK, 1964



                                                   http://store.payloadz.com/go/?id=2357295



After 51 years of marriage, I still wouldn't dare claim all-knowledge. I have stuck with my own for a long time, and it continues to present enough twists, turns and drama to satisfy the need of any writer.   

This holiday season, I look back on small events now half a century distant. They were not as exciting as the life the young Hamilton's lived, with a revolution still to be fought and won. However, like the Paul McCartney song, these days I often feel like a "relic of a distant age." So here's my little newlywed's story:

The first turkey I ever cooked was in 1964. I was a young married, an ex-student, as was my husband. We were living in a dismal basement apartment in NYC, whose front window looked out upon the back of the building’s garbage cans. Needless to say, we kept the blinds closed. We shared a bathroom with some elder ladies who we never saw, but who, no matter how loudly I scrubbed the place after using it, would arrive soon after I'd left and vigorously wash the entire bathroom all over again. I suppose I can’t blame them, for lots of old people in the city lived in fear of their neighbors.

We’d managed to buy the turkey, a small one, although it took some financial planning to get the cash together, as I didn’t have a job. Only my husband, Chris, did.  As a nineteen year old with zero skills, it didn’t pay much and rent took the lion's share. As for me, I’d left the hospital I’d been working in back in Philadelphia and come to NYC in order to be with him. At the time, I was violently morning sick—to the 9^th degree. I mean, Rosemary, in Rosemary’s Baby, had nothing on me! The only things I could reliably keep down were weird cravings: green pea soup, grapefruit, and sardines. Anything else—upchuck! Maybe that’s why the invisible ladies next door were so diligent about scrubbing our shared bathroom.

On the big day we cleaned up our turkey as I’d seen my parents do, slapped it in a big bakeware pan that we’d found in the kitchen, turned on the oven to 350 and then walked over to Broadway to see a little of the Thanksgiving Day parade. We were so far uptown that there wasn’t much to see, but there were bands and high school kids from out of town feeling really proud of themselves, and people wrestling with a couple of balloons—my favorite, Dino the dinosaur—being dragged about in the gusty wind. The other big event for me was seeing Fess Parker of Davy Crocket fame, waving and smiling from the back of an open car. Like a zillion children from my generation, he’d been my hero back in the fourth grade.  I’d wept while watching the Walt Disney show the night “Davy” died at the Alamo.

 

Now that little girl's life seemed incredibly distant. Chris and I looked at each other. We were married, pregnant and close to broke. Whether one or either of us would ever get back to college—and how the heck we would manage it--was still up in the air. Nobody’s parents were happy. With all this drama swirling, the parade, so very pointedly an event for kids, got boring fast. 

We turned and walked back through the wind and grimy uptown streets to our little pad. When we got there, the place was redolent with roast turkey and baked potatoes. The bird made snapping noises as the juice splattered about inside the oven, casting a smoky pall around the kitchen. We decided that this must mean it was cooked. Chris fetched it out, and lo and behold, it was done, all crispy, juices running clear. 

I was surprised because I was, for the first time in months and all of a sudden—genuinely hungry. It was quite a fine meal, our first Thanksgiving—meat, potatoes, squishy store bread and a freshly opened can of cranberry sauce. For a change, it went down and stayed there. 

Who knew I’d be remembering it fifty-one years later?

 ~~Juliet Waldron~~

Historical Novels at:

http://www.julietwaldron.com

 

A MASTER PASSION, the story of

Alexander Hamilton & Betsy Schuyler

Available in print and electronic versions: 

 

http://www.bookswelove.net/authors/waldron-juliet/

http://amzn.com/B00V8UT9I0

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/538709

https://store.kobobooks.com/en-CA/ebook/a-master-passion-the-story-of-alexander-and-elizabeth-hamilton

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-master-passion-the-story-of-alexander-and-elizabeth-hamilton-juliet-waldron/1122410105?ean=9781771456746

 

 

Perfect Time, Perfect Place, Perfect Setting by Connie Vines

Grauman's Chinese Theater, Hollywood,CA
Corner of Hollywood Blvd & Orange Dr.

When I am writing a novel, character and plot for the “who” and “what” of a story are, in my opinion, are two of the most important factors.  However, setting, the “where” and “when”, comes a very close third.

A powerful setting is almost like a character in its own right. 

The setting is a ‘presence’ in the story.  The setting can become an ‘influence’ on events. 

Without an intimate knowledge and feeling for place, I do not believe a writer can bring the story alive in the reader’s imagination.

Setting is more than just streets, buildings and landscape.  Setting is local history, customs, nature, weather, and legends.  Setting is food, accents, music, fashion, and people going about daily business.

Everyone has a place that inspires him or her. Or, creates a sense of belonging, excitement, or a desire to escape.

My settings are as diverse as my interests are.  In my Rodeo Romance Series, my settings are the western United States.  My heroes hail from a rugged untamed area: Texas, New Mexico, and Wyoming.   Since I have traveled through and vacationed at my chosen settings, I use my firsthand experience and reactions to enrich my stories for my readers.

Montana is cold, very cold (I do not like being even a little bit cold).  One minute it’s storming, the next it’s sunny, and then the sun goes down and it’s freezing.  Since my heroine (Rachel) has lived most of her life in Montana, the cold is not a big deal for her.  When I begin my story, I scrawled a note to self: do not harp on the temperature, or have said heroine run around in circles shouting, “It’s a snow storm—the T-rex of all snow storms!  We are all going to die!”  (However, this may appear in one of my YA novels—be forewarned.)

Montana is Big Sky Country—a nickname Montana has totally earned.  In Montana, the elk, deer and antelope populations outnumber the humans. Cowboy boots and hats re formal wear.  Montana Pro Rodeo Circuits are some of the best in the country. Most importantly, the whole state is just one big small town.

An excerpt from “Lynx”, Rodeo Romance, Book 1.

Rachel melted against the back or her chair, as Lynx’s fingertip brushed a strand of hair from her face. Her body shivered all the way to her toes. Fidgeting with a silver bracelet on her wrist, Rachel didn’t know how to deal with this type of covert seduction. “You’ll have a good time during Cheyenne Frontier Days,” she said addressing her comment to both men.

“Everyone has a good time,” Lynx clarified.

Dan chuckled. “Everyone who’s able, anyway.”

Rachel reached for her glass, glancing at Dan. “I don’t understand.”

Dan pushed his Stetson further back on his head, revealing a bright crop of red hair.  “I landed in front of the angry end of a bull last year and broke my arm. Lynx had a hell of a good time, though.”

Excerpts from “Brede”, Rodeo Romance, Book 2.

Brede waited for her to seat herself before sitting down.

For some reason he’d thought she was kidding when she said she didn’t know how to cook.  It appeared she was telling the truth after all.  The green beans had an almost-scorched smell that even he’d never mastered. . .

The saucepan slipped from her fingertips and clattered to the floor.

She’d tried to tell herself that it was only the storm and the lights would come back on in a matter of minutes. Still, terror that was icy cold and merciless grabbed her by the throat and crushed what little courage she possessed when the cloudy, moonless night turned the room to inky black.

It was happening all over again!

She was alone.

Alone in the darkness. .

Not all of my stories aren’t set in the great-outdoors, or set thousands of miles away from my backyard.  I also use ‘local’ settings for inspiration.  My Sassy and Fun Fantasy Series is set here in SoCal (southern California and up the coastline).  Meredith is patron of the arts and a local celeb.  She lives in LA and vacations in a cabin in Forest Falls. 

 “Here Today, Zombie Tomorrow”.

El Mexicano was the best (and only) restaurant in town. . . Climbing the steps to the porch entrance, Meredith was glad to see little had changed from their last visit. Cozy and rustic, the outside was on the tacky side of eclectic, but the inside was familiar and welcoming.  The host seated them near the wood burning stove. . .Careful to keep her gaze locked on the contents of her mug, Meredith felt cluttered with a million bittersweet memories of happier times.

Look around in your own back yard (or within driving distance) for inspiration.  You may discover the model for your fictional town, a make-believe stellar world, or an unexpected setting for your historical romance.

Medieval Times, Buena Park, CA

Post pictures on your office wall.  Listen to music.  Explore with you senses.

Remember, only you—the writer, can bring the setting alive for your reader.

Universal Studio, Hollywood, Red Carpet,
"Fast & Furious, 5" Movie Premier

Laguna Beach, California
Where "Beaches" was filmed.

Me in 100 + degrees heat, Hard Rock Cafe,
Hollywood, CA







http://www.amazon.com/Connie-Vines/e/B004C7W6PE


https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/here-today-zombie-tomorrow/id927550135?mt=11

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/vinesbwl

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/%22Connie%20Vines%22?Ntk=P_key_Contributor_List&Ns=P_Sales_Rank&Ntx=mode+matchall

CAUGHT IN THE STORM - by Vijaya Schartz

I live in Arizona, near Phoenix, where storms have become more violent over the years. I never used to fear the storm, not in all my years... not even when a micro-burst half destroyed my house over a decade ago. Of course, I was at work at the time, not inside it. But last summer, I was driving on 59^th Avenue on a sunny Saturday afternoon, when one of those sudden monsoon storms hit. Within minutes the sky darkened, like twilight in the middle of the day, strong winds, dust, zero visibility, then rain.

Thick walls of water like gray sails waved beyond the windshield, gusty side winds carried large objects across the road and knocked them against hard surfaces with loud bangs. Through the water curtain, I could see car lights in front and in back of me. The wind whooshed like a turbine. The electric poles along the street shook wildly. Lightning hit, close by. Light exploded all around, and thunder cracked and boomed, echoing inside the car, inside my body like a deep drum roll.

That’s when fear set in. My heart beat faster than after running a 10K. Still, I couldn’t panic. I had to think... and fast.

Although the cars had slowed, stopping on the main road with traffic would be suicide. Driving in this chaos would also be suicide as the electric poles swayed dangerously, waving their array of thick power lines overhead. The street was flooding fast. What to do?

Eyes riveted to the right curb that quickly disappeared under the rising tide, I spotted a faint driveway to the side, and remembered it must lead to the DMV parking lot. Following the curb, I managed to get my car off the road and into the wide open space... anywhere. I couldn’t see the white lines on the pavement anyway. Other cars followed my tail lights and parked in a line next to me, as if taking comfort in company. I felt their presence somewhat reassuring.

Were we safe? Not really. There was no safe place to hide from the storm. The flagpole overhead shook dangerously under the gusty winds flapping the flag, and the ropes snapped against it with loud metallic knocks. Garbage cans, branches, and large pieces of debris flew and swept across the open area with unprecedented force. I feared at any moment the wind might lift my little car and throw it against a concrete building.

Then, as fast as it had come, although it seemed to last for hours, the storm moved away, leaving me relieved and shaken at the sight of the destruction. In the last spattering of rain, I could see fallen poles across the flooded street, downed power lines sparking in flood water, traffic lights strewn in the middle of the intersection, and fallen trees.

A few hundred yards south of the DMV parking lot, on 59^th Avenue, where I would have been had I not turned, several electric poles had fallen. One had crushed a car, trapping the driver inside, in the middle of a small lake. No way to get to the car to see if the person inside was dead or alive. It was a woman, I learned later on the news. Rescued by the fire department, she was not seriously hurt, but I felt guilty and glad at the same time. It could have been me.

In the aftermath of the storm, all the streets in the area were flooded or blocked by debris, trees, branches, pieces of roofs. People stood on their front porch, staring at their destroyed property, eyes wide, as if wondering how so much destruction could happen in so little time. Emergency vehicles blared their sirens. After many detours and turnarounds, in dangerously flooded streets and bumper to bumper traffic, it was dark, hours later, when I finally reached my small apartment ten blocks away. I was never so glad to hug my cat.

No matter how strong or fearless we are, there is always something or someone stronger than us, and Mother Nature is teaching us lessons at every turn. The memories of this storm will stay with me forever, and I bet they will end up in a book someday.

In the meantime, you can read my latest contemporary romance with a hint of suspense, set in Scottsdale, Arizona, and available in all eBook formats everywhere.

ASLEEP IN SCOTTSDALE

http://amzn.com/B014SEGD2W 

When Talia runs over billionaire Kyle Dormant with her bicycle in the dog park, she considers their meeting a happy accident. He believes it is destiny, but her physician's mind rebels at such notions. Their budding romance comes to a grinding halt when Kyle won’t wake up from deep sleep... with no medical explanation. Baffled and deeply concerned, Talia digs into his recent past for a plausible cause. Instead, she uncovers dark family secrets. Convinced Kyle's condition was induced, and someone wants him dead, she is anxious to save him, but the closer she gets to the sordid truth… and a possible cure, the greater the risk to both their lives.

Vijaya Schartz

Romance with a Kick

http://www.vijayaschartz.com

http://bookswelove.net/authors/schartz-vijaya/