I have the great pleasure of hosting Scott Bury’s “Army of Worn Soles” blog tour today. I have known Scott Bury for a couple of years now , he is an exceptional author and a great friend. Scott Bury is based in Canada with his wife and two sons.
Read on for a chance to win a signed copy of Army of Worn Soles plus an Amazon gift card…
About the author:
Scott Bury is a journalist, editor and novelist based in Ottawa, Canada. He has written for magazines in Canada, the US, the UK and Australia.
He is author of The Bones of the Earth, a fantasy set in the real time and place of eastern Europe of the sixth century; One Shade of Red, a humorous erotic romance;
a children’s short story, Sam, the Strawb Part (proceeds of which are donated to an autism charity), and other stories.
Scott Bury lives in Ottawa with his lovely, supportive and long-suffering wife, two mighty sons and two pesky cats.
He can be found online at www.writtenword.ca, on his blog, Written Words, on Amazon, on Twitter @ScottTheWriter, and on Facebook.
Today’s clue: Maurice
from Army of Worn Soles
The Army of Worn Soles launch blog tour begins today, Sunday, June 15, with the first excerpt. Read to the end for the clue that will help you win the Grand Prize of a signed paperback copy of Army of Worn Soles plus a $50 Amazon gift card.
For a chance to enter the early-bird draw, enter the clue in the Comments section.
To see where the blog tour stops next, and to find the next clue, visit the author’s blog, Written Words.
About the book:
1941: Their retreat across Ukraine wore their boots out—and they kept going.
Three months after drafting him, the Soviet Red Army throws Maurice Bury, along with millions of other under-trained men, against the juggernaut of Nazi Germany’s Operation Barbarossa, the assault on the USSR.
Army of Worn Soles tells the true story of a Canadian who had to find in himself a way to keep himself alive—and the men who followed him.
Prisoner of War
Kharkiv, October 1941
Maurice put the bottle on the ground beside him and took off his uniform shirt. He spread it on the smoothest piece of ground he could find, then laid the bottle near the officer’s insignia on the collar and pushed down. He rolled the bottle over tattered, light-brown material until the lice cracked under the glass. Back and forth, twice, three times. He felt a dull satisfaction at his first pathetic victory in more than half a year.
The effort was exhausting. His stomach ached and his throat burned with thirst.
He slumped back until he leaned against the barracks. Men in grey uniforms stood or walked across the cobbled courtyard of the ancient castle. One came toward him, a slim man with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He stopped in front of Maurice and leaned down.
“Maurice? Is it you?”
Breathing required effort. So did looking up. Maurice had not eaten in days, but he still trusted his sight. He knew the man with the light-brown hair and hazel eyes, even in a Wehrmacht uniform.
“Maurice?” the young man said again. “What are you doing here?”
He couldn’t swallow. His mouth held no moisture. “Dying. I’m starving to death.” Maurice closed his eyes and hung his head.
Bohdan crouched beside him. “You got drafted?”
Maurice made the effort to look up at his old friend. “The Red Army made me a lieutenant. What the hell are you doing here and in a German uniform, Bohdan?”
“The Germans kicked the Russians out, something we couldn’t do. Why shouldn’t I join the winning side? And it’s ‘Daniel’ now, not Bohdan.” He looked around to make sure no one noticed him, a Wehrmacht officer, talking to a prisoner of war. “I’m glad you survived, that you were captured instead of killed. The Germans killed a lot of Red soldiers.”
“I know. I was there.”
Bohdan looked around again. “How did you get here?”
“Like you said, we were captured, the whole army, outside Kharkiv. They brought us here.”
Bohdan shook his head. “Are you all right? I’ll see if I can bring you anything, but I have to be careful.”
Maurice looked into his friend’s eyes. “Get me out of here.”
“Set a prisoner free? Are you crazy?”
“Bohdan—sorry, Daniel, you’re my best friend. Or you were. If I ever meant anything to you, get me out.”