Lessons In Fire: Part 3

The First is Just the Beginning.

Outlaws!

Apologies for the delay on the conclusion and lessons of my first published story. The passing of my grandfather completely derailed my scheduling, and I have an ocean of new task to handle. A house to and get into selling shape, an estate sale to manage, and all of that without falling behind on my projects.

While I juggled family, WE HIT 100 MEMBERS OF THE GANG!

Thank all of you so much for riding this crazy trail with me, sharing some time at the fireside and supporting my dream. I feel like the 100 subscribers here are worth 1000 times more than any other socials follower count, even when they are four times in number.

On The Writing Front

Back To Eden was not accepted, and feedback was understandably not provided to the hundereds of submissions. I am pondering either expanding the story into a future novel or releasing it here. Actually posting my fiction, compared to rants and requiems, seems to be less successful, but I feel the need to provide receipts that I am actually an author at times.

All the submissions are in for Chaos Theory: Biological Bedlam. I will be focusing on edits for those stories, and wrapping up my own final edits to Apex. The beta feedback on Apex is strongly positive, and I’m very excited to have this one out to the world. Strong Jaw and Red Mane are over a year in production. Writing this story is the biggest writing challenge I took on since starting my first novel.

I’ve submitted to Warhamster, a tongue in cheek anthology all about everyones favorite pet rodent getting in a scrap. It’s got an allstar writing cast and is basically a Blasters and Blades anthology. I’ll announce more details as they come.

That’s it for writing updates, lets get to the final part of Children of Fire!

Lesson 3: Nobody Cares, Unless You Make Them

I showed up to Liberty Con 2024 with high hopes and a backpack full of copies of Contested Landing. This was my first published work! I needed to move some books! Lots of fellow authors and my publisher were there! I could leverage that to sell books!

Even if I wasn’t selling, the more experienced authors would be, and the more people that bought for them, they would see my story too!

Then I got there, and learned a quick lesson. The only thing your first acceptence gets you is “Congratulations!” and then people keep it moving.

That backpack full of books stayed full. I was an unknown, nobody recognized me besides my online friends, all fellow authors selling their own works. I made so many amazing friends, but in the realm of gaining readers, it did almost nothing.

Writing one good story simply gave me a chance in the game. I hadn’t built an audience. I did nothing besides share my work on socials to promote my release. I didn’t have any clue what else I could even do. When I tell you nobody cared, I mean nobody. My Publishers booth didn’t have any copies. My fellow antho authors brought one copy, if any. Everyone relied on more established titles.

Truth is when you get that first contract, unless it’s a big trad deal or you were already a superstar, this is just the start of your grind. The Writing part of being an author is literally only step one.

Being a professional author isn’t about writing stories. It’s about creating them and then marketing them. The only person that will sell your work for you, is you.

My first royalty check, the total money that Children of Fire made me in a year? Less than an hours work at my day job.

I thought I was the writer, and that other people would sell my product. That’s not the reality of the Small Press and Indie Press world. Nobody cares about your book, until you personally make them.

A person reading your work is the last step. After they bought it, after they chose to invest in you. Always remember that.

So thank you, all of you, for taking the time to care, to invest your time, money, or both into me.

May We All Find What We Seek,

Jesse James Fain

Children of Fire- Part 3

“All Elements, this is Jupiter. We have word from Odin that Fenrir and Jormungandr have crossed the Rath River, and ETA is thirty minutes. Hold positions until further notice. We are almost done here; keep those fish-headed bastards held down.”

It had been a fairly easy affair to do just that so far, which was making me nervous as the professional paranoia of a warfighter always did when things were going too well. The enemy had made some heavier pushes to our west, but only the occasional groups of not-so-sneaky Mackerels had come at us.They were rapidly shot dead or hit one of the soiree gifts we had quickly spread with our demo experts and Nobu’s assorted trap rounds from the mortar teams.

I’d managed to eat and get near everyone else fed and watered. Made sure my team leads knew their sectors for a third time and settled in with Ghost Squad. We scanned constantly, our personal AIs and our own eyes looking over everything, but most of the squads took shifts so someone could eat or nap. This was a ROC squadron’s misery. We wanted to fly in, break things, and go home. Instead, we were getting bored. Repeatedly, the fish heads attempted to bombard us, but Jupiter’s anti-air defenses struck them down. Every time, for the first six times, we expected an attack to come streaming out of those bizarrely colored woods. Every time, it didn’t happen. That was also a growing suspicion. Someone was trying to lull us into a pattern or trick us into not looking when we should. The GRN Deathstalker had won its slugging match but reported that it was now engaged with a new Marcillian vessel, a smaller ship that was more of an annoyance than a true opponent.

Snipers had started playing games on both sides, our own marksmen and the enemy constantly looking for someone to peak too long or in the same spot twice. Layla had almost gotten her head taken off, but one of those sinkholes we were warned about decided to try and eat her instead. I’d been about to tell her to get down personally when she disappeared tits deep into the earth, and an angry wizz crack zinged over her. Fishing her out while not getting shot was an interesting experience.

Naturally, it was right when we had word of help that the fan motor got running again, and the shit stream smacked right into it. The Mackerel’s hovercrafts raced over the horizon, and then their own Marcillian orbital commandos were slamming into the slope and fields before us. As ROCs, we flew singularly, limiting our signature in orbit and allowing us to use our Peregrine Shells as a weapon. The fish people dropped their troopers in squads with a much bigger boat that was a lot more likely to get hammered in orbit. The issue is when they did make it through; we had six Mackerels for every ROC.

Drop pods slammed to the dirt as Marcillan hovercraft opened fire on us with a sound similar to shearing paper. A15s roared back in a deeper tone, and suddenly, the fight was on again. The initial shock took Richardson down, his shield overloading in a burst and blood spray blossoming from his neck. Doc Jason was there in an instant, but the hit looked arterial. Medicine still struggled with damage like that. The drop rang my teeth like I’d hit a granite block with a shovel, but I recovered quickly. I roared commands, target priorities, and laser-marked for Nobu’s mortar teams. We rained destruction on them almost instantly. Cluster munitions, antipersonnel rounds, and even gauss cannons entered the fray. All the mines we had laid went to work, but big chunks of them blew when the drop pods slammed down, lessening the effect they had on the actual soldiers. Valeria streamed updates for me. For minutes, it was just frenzied warfare. Shooting, reloading, dying. Casualty reports would sicken me later, but in that moment, I had to kill.

“Got to swap this barrel!” Markus called from behind one of the A-15s. He’d torn through three belts in sustained bursts and had a literal pile of Mackerels to his name. Even with good fire discipline, no matter how hard Dad and I tried, we couldn’t dissipate that much heat fast enough to save any known alloy. Corsica silently grabbed a spare, and when she was in place, I roared “Go” on the local comms channel. Everyone nearby cranked up the fire to cover for the machine gun being down. The barrel change took ten seconds. It was almost too long. Markus threw the weapon’s safety on, tossed a switch, and released the barrel from the firing chamber. Glowing with heat the color of an orange popsicle, Corsica slipped the barrel off with a single armored hand and slammed another in.

“Unleash Hell!” Constantine said in place of my killer crush as she dodged away with the glowing metal. Markus settled back into the stock, and plasma-charged rounds lashed forward again from the thundering beast of a weapon. We reloaded in shifts, and I scanned the battlefield again. There were so many of them pouring from pods and vehicles. I started shooting more. The bodies were stacking up, but the Mackerels were unrelenting. They attacked with a determination almost unseen in human battles. We killed them incessantly. I mentally commanded Valeria to submit an immediate air support or long-range bombardment request.

The Marcillian grenade that landed next to Markus snatched me from command mode, and we got lucky when I whipped it back over the top in my best John Rocker impression. Exploding out among the fish heads, it cleared a small gap in them. Corsica started expending ordnance. My ROCs threw grenades, rigged antipersonnel mines to be hurled over the ridge, and launched rockets at minimum range.

Nobu and his heavy weapons team ran out of mortar rounds as we started making shots just inside of pissing range. I could hear his battle cry as they rushed forward, the team spread out to help us on the main battle line. His damascus-patterned tachi was beautiful as it cut a cresting Mackerel down over Markus’s head, sparking as the fish head’s shield overloaded, trying to stop the near molecularly sharpened blade. The machine gunner was still firing into the mass of the oncoming enemy.

All of us were given an emergency notice; then rail slug rounds slammed in from the GRN Deathstalker and GRN Arrakis, the ship having just joined our mothership in orbit to smash the rest of the Marcillian fleet. The rain of car-sized projectiles slaughtered our enemy on the other side of the ridge but showered us in loam and dust. Visibility went to near nothing as the mud and blood swirled around thunderous impacts that shook the earth beneath us. The cloud of blood-soaked mud and vaporized plant matter blocked even thermal. Unable to see more than a few feet, I was bashed from behind and fell to a knee. The air clearing as I fell, I lunged to chop a leg from under the knife-wielding Mackerel hovering over a rising Markus. Nobu and Corsica fought back-to-back, materializing in the haze as I spun to help Layla with the two biggest damn fish heads I had ever seen. Layla dashed in, lashing viciously with her arming sword, while I snuck around using her as concealment and hacked with vicious abandon.

We devolved then down to animalistic attacks and slaughter. Exhaustion, disorientation, and fury made the battle primal in its execution. The smell of Mackerel blood was overwhelming as we clashed in that blurry, dirt-choked hell. The wind was struck from me as a random burst of needle fire smacked my shield. Layla and I both went to the ground. My thigh was a mass of searing agony before Valeria hit me with another dose of drugs. My axe abandoned to the mud; I locked both hands on my A7 and fired back at the charging fish heads that had shot us. The Mackerels, desperation, and panic threw us into action as we fired quick, rapid bursts. I watched a Mackerel squad fall, but more of them slipped in from the dust and shadows. They closed the distance in that awful lizard-like movement.

I was going for a grenade when they shot Layla to bits from only a few steps away. A burning wrath for vengeance struck me, and I was in the midst of pulling the pin when suddenly the fish heads were falling. Rounds ripped through them as Corsica stood over me. Her A7 chattering in concert with another of its brothers somewhere to my left. Nobu’s shadow slunk through the dust, and the constant pop and flash of overloaded shields sparkled as his grim blade did its work. Corsica drug me onto my feet. Praise the heavens for the painkillers and the Snake Bite. I’d have been shaking way too badly to disarm that grenade otherwise.

I was swapping to my second to last magazine, cursing that after all of this madness, I was going to die from a lack of ammunition, when suddenly all I could hear was the pounding of feet and “OOHRAH.”

Battle Group Fenrir, GRMC, rushed in at that moment. They slaughtered Marcillians with their own personal weapons, knives, or shotguns. The raw desire for blood and glory from the massive warriors was infectious. Every one of them half the weight of a grizzly bear and all of the ferocity. Our wolf howls joined them in one last push from my utterly exhausted troops. We charged out from the slowly settling dust through the mash of pulverized fish head corpses and rail gun craters. We drove the Marcillians back with firepower and ferocity. I limped along between the battle drugs and Valeria locking my armor’s leg like a splint. The glory of this thundering moment was stolen from me by my shredded leg. I hate getting shot.

Eventually, the slimy fucks broke and ran once more. Fallon and some of the swifter Marines chasing them for kilometers. They left the wreckage of hovercrafts and their dead or dying comrades. The Marines settled in, and we all half-collapsed into the dirt from exhaustion for a while.

Corsica and Nobu shared a Peregrine crash hole with me, while we waited on transport. The Deathstalker would send a shuttle eventually as the Marine’s command took over Olympus. Doc Jason had wanted to treat me first, but my artery was fine, and my armor’s medical procedures had the bleeding stopped. There were dozens of Winter troops that needed help. Layla, somehow, some way, was breathing, and I’d be damned to Hel before I had Doc spend a minute on me he could spend on her.

Nobu calmly cleaned his tachi. Wiping down the beautiful blade with a spare cloth that slowly made the blade the cleanest thing in our crater. He appeared about to speak some sage wisdom or observation when we all heard a roar over the net and a bizarre shriek. We jerked our heads around to look down the line. Ethan was locked in a grappling match with a two-hundred-pound sabretooth toad. His squad rushed to help at first, but he rebuffed them, screaming that he could take the big bastard.

Corsica popped her helmet off, dug out a broken tooth, and spat blood and bone onto the alien earth. I chuckled for a moment, watching Ethan go for a rear naked choke on a giant amphibian, and then marveled at her in the light before taking my own helmet off to brush the sweat from my face and mohawk.

“So, how about you and I grab dinner after we get out of medical?” I asked her.

Her response took a moment to type out on her wrist communicator, and I looked down at the text.

Sweet Freya’s tits, I thought I was going to die before you would ask. I’m kissing you, torn up mouth and all, after we wash all this fish blood off. It smells like that chum bucket we used fishing on Neptune. By the time I’m healed, we will be on another drop somewhere else to wipe up the rest of these Mackerels.

“Deal.”

Two days of injections in Med Bay and two showers later, I lay in the soft glow of my Peregrine Shell. Data screens scrolled slowly, and I listened to my Winter division bullshit while sending a gentle text to Corsica in a private channel. The GRN Deathstalker slowly floated through the expanse to get into alignment. I muted the channel, feeling it was almost time, and took in a deep breath. My playlist couldn’t start until the mag rails clicked.