Today's Retro Monday is a special one. In celebration of Memorial Day and all those wonderful veterans who paid the ultimate price for our freedom, I'm going to be featuring my one and only military themed mm book, Ace's Desire. Set at the tail end of WWII, this book has the dubious pleasure of being the first mm romance I wrote. I have learned quite a bit since then, however Eri and Jacob remain close to my heart.
And from 12PM CST today (5/26) until 12PM CST tomorrow (5/27), I'm going to be giving it away for free in honor of those who've given their lives for our freedom. Just send me a quick email at email@example.com with Memorial Freebie in the subject line and I'll send you a copy.
Hours after being promoted, ‘in the closet’ fighter pilot, Lt. Junior Grade Jacob “Ace” Gordy’s luck has run out. No, his teammates didn’t find out he was gay, but having his Grumman Hellcat crash down over Okinawa after the end of WWII wasn’t the accolades he’d hoped for when he accepted his new commission as part of the Tuskegee Airmen. Now he’s alone and wounded in a remote area of Okinawa during the middle of monsoon season, without an inkling of when or even if a rescue will be attempted. When he’s found by a slender Okinawan , he can’t believe his luck. Not only does Eri speak some English but he’s also attracted to Jacob. Even as passion flares between them, what can the future hold for a black fighter pilot and an Okinawan seaweed farmer?
Jacob growled when the thunder vibrated his Hellcat, followed by a burst of lightening. ”Who’s fucking idea was it for us to escort in this shit? I thought they said this wasn’t supposed to do this until later today.”
“That would be good ole “Uncle Sugar” Ace. You know how well they predict the weather.” Raven cracked, in a jovial mood.
“Figures,” he muttered. His wingman’s infectious mood wasn't wearing off on him. It’s not his fault you didn’t find any ass last night when it’s obvious he did. Gritting his teeth as another flash of lightning struck, he cursed as the rain came down harder, obscuring everything in front of his cockpit window. “How’s the rest of the squad doing up there, Raven?” In a loose formation around the C-46 transporter craft, he barely could see the rest of his squadron. If it weren’t for orders or the fact it carried needed communications and medical supplies, he’d have called the mission off.
“Wishing we were anywhere but here, Ace.”
John Riddington’s answer didn’t surprise him. Only a fool would want to be up here at the moment. “I copy that Blackbird. We should be coming up on Fort Buckner in the next…”
Static filled the cockpit as a bright light flashed in front of his eyes. Blinking he tried to clear the dark spots while alarms screamed inside the cockpit. Thunder rumbled. The engine died and the dash went dark. “Son of bitch! I’ve been hit.”
When flipping toggles and pushing buttons did nothing to revive the engine, he struggled to keep the plane level. “Shit! Ace to Base! I took a direct lightening hit!” Even as he radioed for help, he knew the likelihood of them receiving his radio call was small.
As the vibration of the stick in his hand grew, he cursed his bad luck. The plane was now in a solid dive, hurtling towards Earth. “I fucking told them this was a suicide mission but I’ll be damned if I die like this!” Trying one last time, he thumped the dash, praying for a miracle.
Nothing! Unfastening his belt, he flicked the latches holding the top of the cockpit in place. Grabbing the radio, he made one last call. “S.O.S. Ace to Base, I’m bailing after unsuccessful restart attempt. Last remembered coordinates…26° 55' 0 north, 127° 55' 60 east…”
Dropping the radio mic, he wrenched the canopy back. Icy rainwater deluged him as he managed to open it far enough to squeeze through. Please God, let me survive this. Don’t send my body home in a casket to my momma.
Crawling out onto the wing, he kept his head down in an attempt to keep his vision clear. In the murky darkness of the storm he couldn’t see shit. Saying a prayer, he let go of the plane and rolled off the wing, catching his leg on the sharp edge. Pain seared his thigh. Damnit, I must’ve cut it.
His stomach turned inside out as he hurtled away from the falling plane. Arching his back like he’d been taught, he caught an updraft. Counting the required time, he yanked the pull chord on his chute. Please don’t let me be lower than I think I am. Twisting and pulling on the parachute’s cords, he tried to stabilize himself despite the pounding wind and rain.
Scanning the area for a spot to land, relief filled him when he made out a dark shape he hoped was an island. Keeping it as his point of reference, he guided his chute as close as possible before the water rushed up to meet him. No reef, no reef, he prayed. His scream of agony was muffled as he hit the water hard. Trying to suck in another breath, he got a mouth full of seawater. Spitting it out, he tried to tread water only to sink as his chute tangled around him. Black dots swam before his face as he tried to free himself.
©Dakota Trace All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.