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Murder on the Red Ball Express
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Murder on the Red Ball Express
Unavailable
Murder on the Red Ball Express
Ebook424 pages5 hours

Murder on the Red Ball Express

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September 1944; Central France.
Two trucks of Company C, 514th Quartermaster Regiment pushed on through the cloudy, moonless night as the sounds of war - mostly long-range German artillery - crept ever closer. On their tail Pvt. Bobby Jenkins and radioman/mechanic Pvt. Trevon Malloy followed with a load of fuel - some rationed for them, most of it headed for General Patton’s tanks pushing eastward through the French countryside. Somewhere ahead the convoy’s lead trucks had disappeared into the inky blackness. Somewhere behind, the rest of the trucks slogged along ready to climb up their ass if they didn’t keep pace. Three days without rest, except to refuel. Three days without hot food. Three days having to piss out the window as the truck careened wildly through the ruts carved by the incessant parade of supplies. Three days of white-knuckled terror dodging ruts, rocks, and German shells, carrying jerrycans of gasoline and boxes of ammunition just waiting for a spark to become a traveling bomb.

Welcome to the Red Ball Express.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherL.W. Hewitt
Release dateNov 26, 2018
ISBN9780463142752
Unavailable
Murder on the Red Ball Express
Author

L.W. Hewitt

I have coffee most every morning at my "office" - a small table in a 1920s style restaurant and hotel called the Olympic Club in Centralia, Washington. Visitors assume I work there, some think I am the manager. I direct people to the bathrooms - the urinals in this place are a tourist attraction all by themselves. This is where I write. The chaos and atmosphere prep me for the day, and everyone in town knows if you need to talk to me, just drop by the "Oly Club."Most don't know that I have a master's degree in business, and have run my own technology company for nearly twenty of my last forty working years. I won a national championship on horseback, raced sailboats, wrestled octopus, baby-sat a killer whale, and once was a cook on a salmon purse seiner.I have read "A Soldier's Burial' aloud over General Patton's grave in Luxembourg, and said a prayer of thanks at the very spot at Magaret in Belgium where the German panzers were stopped outside Bastogne. I cried on Omaha Beach in Normandy and in the gas chamber at Dachau. I wear a silver Stetson and boots when I travel and answer to "Hey, cowboy!' in several languages.I have led an interesting life - married forty years, have three children, nine grandchildren, and thirty foster children, some with families of their own now. I am now free to pursue my passion for writing - especially about the two great wars of the twentieth century. So I cherish my role as "author-in-residence," or that crazy guy at the table by the urinals - it depends on your perspective.

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