{"product_id":"starfistisbn-9780345460554","title":"Starfist","description":"\u003cb\u003ePacked with hard-core action written by battle-savvy combat veterans, the explosive  Starfist series has become hugely popular across America. Now the saga of the courageous  Marines continues in \u003ci\u003eFlashfire\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eas the 34th Fleet Initial Strike Team (FIST) ventures  to the edge of Human Space to fight a number of enemies . . . some on their own side.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Tensions erupt between the Confederation and several frontier worlds when civilians  are shot dead at an army base on the planet Ravenette. Enraged, the Ravenette government  and nine neighboring planets form a coalition, and their first act of secession is  to overrun Ravenette’s Confederation garrison. With the armed forces of ten worlds  seizing the brutal upper hand, the embattled troops need help—now—and they need it  bad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Enter the Marines of the 34th FIST. As the nearest ready-to-deploy unit, the  team is sent to Ravenette with orders to hold the line until reinforcements arrive.  The upcoming operation promises to be no picnic, for while sophisticates may ridicule  the backward ways of the uncouth frontier folk, no one scoffs at their fighting ability.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Charlie Bass doesn’t mince words for his men in Company L’s third platoon. Two army  divisions—perhaps thirty thousand soldiers—are being overwhelmed, and somebody expects  a thousand Marines to save the day. As pompous Confederation generals wreak even  more havoc than the enemy, there are those who call the mission suicide . . . but  not the Marines. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Of course it sounds hopeless, but for Marines like Charlie Bass  and the rest of the 34th FIST, accomplishing the impossible comes with the territory.Praise for Starfist\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Caution! Any book written by Dan Cragg and David Sherman is  bound to be addictive. . . . The authors have a deep firsthand knowledge of warfare,  an enthralling vision of the future, and the skill of veteran writers. Fans of military  fiction, science fiction, and suspense will all get their money’s worth. . . . [These  novels are] fast, realistic, moral . . . and hard to put down. Sherman and Cragg  are a great team!”\u003cb\u003e—Ralph Peters, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eRed Army\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A fast-paced tale of military heroics and personal courage.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, on\u003ci\u003e Starfist\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e “This is state-of-the-art military science fiction.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly \u003c\/i\u003e(starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eDavid Sherman is a former U.S. Marine and the author of eight novels about Marines in Vietnam, where he served as an infantryman and as a member of a Combined Action Platoon. He is also the author of the military fantasy series Demontech. Visit the author’s website at www.novelier.com.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDan Cragg enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1958 and retired with the rank of sergeant major twenty-two years later. He is the author of Inside the VC and the NVA (with Michael Lee Lanning), Top Sergeant (with William G. Bainbridge), and a Vietnam War novel, The Soldier’s Prize. He has recently retired as an analyst for the Department of Defense.CHAPTER ONE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e      It wasn’t late in the evening, but at high latitude on Thorsfinni’s World  the sun was long down by the time the liberty bus clattered to a stop next  to a vacant lot near the center of Bronnysund, the town outside the main  gate of Marine Corps Base Camp Major Pete Ellis. The driver   levered the door open and thirty Marines clattered off, whooping and  hollering in unrestrained glee at their weekend’s freedom from the  restrictions on behavior imposed by the Confederation Marine Corps during  duty hours.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Well, most of the restrictions. They were required to maintain a certain  level of decorum—at least, they were not to commit crimes, or get  themselves injured badly enough to miss duty, or go anyplace from which  they wouldn’t be able to return for morning roll call on the third morning  hence. And it was only most of them who whooped and hollered; there was a  loose knot of eight who were somewhat more restrained. The eight in  question were the junior leaders of third platoon, Company L, 34th Fleet  Initial Strike Team.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “So where are we going?” Corporal Bohb Taylor, second gun team and most  junior of the corporals, asked when the other twenty-two Marines had  scattered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Corporal Tim Kerr, first fire team leader, second squad, and the most  senior of the eight, simply snorted and turned to lead the way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Corporal Bill Barber, first gun team leader and not much junior to Kerr,  slapped the back of Taylor’s head hard enough to knock his soft cover  awry, said, “Taylor, sometimes you’re so dumb I don’t know how you ever  got your second stripe.” He turned to follow Kerr.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Yeah, Taylor. What do you know about the Top that the rest of   us don’t?” asked Corporal Rachman “Rock” Claypoole, third fire team  leader, second squad, and not much senior to Taylor. He followed Barber.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “What do you mean, what do I know about the Top?” Taylor squawked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Blackmail!” Corporal Joe Dean, first squad’s third fire team leader and  also not much senior to Taylor, hooted. “There’s no other way you could  make corporal!” He laughed raucously.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Which begs the question of how you made corporal,” Corporal Raoul  Pasquin, first squad’s second fire team leader said with a loud laugh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Hey!” Dean yelped indignantly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Corporal Dornhofer, first fire team leader, first squad, not much junior  to Kerr, chuckled and shook his head. He and the other corporals fell in  with Claypoole.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Taylor had to run a few paces to catch up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A few blocks and a couple of turns later, Kerr shoved open the door of Big  Barb’s, the combination bar, restaurant, ships’ chandlery, hotel, and  bordello that was the unofficial headquarters of third platoon, Company L,  34th Fleet Initial Strike Team during liberty hours.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Te-e-em!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Twin shrieks barely preceded two young women, one blond and fair, the  other brunette and swarthy, both beautiful by any standard, who flew  across the large common room and flung themselves on the big corporal with  enough force to stagger him back a couple of steps.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Hey! Watch where you’re going, Kerr!” Corporal Pasquin shouted into the  back of Kerr’s head. He raised his hands and pushed Kerr off his chest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Corporal Dean helped keep Kerr upright and moving forward. The press of  advancing bodies behind them forced Kerr and the others farther into the  room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Kerr barely noticed the hands and bodies holding him up and forcing him  forward, he was too distracted by the four arms clinging to his neck, the  four breasts pressed into his chest, the two mouths raining kisses on his  face. He wrapped an arm around each waist and lifted, to ease the weight  on his neck and shoulders.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Way to go, Kerr!” Corporal Dean said, slapping Kerr on the back as he  squeezed past and began looking for a table that would hold them all—and  their girls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Some people,” Corporal Chan laughed, following Dean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Raoul!” shouted another girl, Erika, who sidled through the crowd to take  Pasquin’s hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Another voice boomed out, “Vat’s all dis commoti’n oud ‘ere?” and Big Barb  herself waddled out of the office to the rear of the large room and began  plowing through the crowd like an icebreaker through pack ice. Freyda  Banak wasn’t called “Big Barb” for nothing—she not only weighed more than  150 kilos, she carried her weight lightly when she wanted to move fast.  She planted herself in front of Kerr and loudly demanded, “Who you tink  you are, Timmy, hogging two a my best girls all t’ yersef?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Their cheeks still pressed against his, Frieda and Gotta stopped kissing  Kerr to look back at their employer. Kerr loosened his hold around their  waists and they dropped down a couple of centimeters, but not all the way  to the floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “B-but . . .” he began.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Vot you mean, ‘B-but . . .’? Dere’s no ‘b-buts’ ’ere, Timmy. You led go a  dem girls!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Big Barb,” Frieda said calmly, “you gave him to us.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “And we intend to keep him,” Gotta finished just as calmly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Big Barb glared from one to the other, then planted her hands on her hips  and roared out a long, raucous laugh. “You right, girls,” she said, tears  streaming down her face when her laughter eased enough for her to speak.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Wha’s a madda you, Timmy, lettin’ dem two girls dangle like dat? Hol’ ’em  up like a gennleman! Where you been? All we seen o’ Marines fer the pas’  few mont’s is dem base pogues. Dirty-fort FIS’ yust up ’n take off  somewhere wid’out sayin’ noddin’ t’ us and we don’ know when we see you  again, or if we ever see you again.” She quickly looked around and before  Kerr could answer, asked, “Vhere’s Chollie Bass? I vant my Chollie!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “He’s probably with Katie,” Gotta giggled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I don’ care no Katie!” Big Barb boomed. “Chollie don’ need no skinny  voman like Katie, he needs a full-size voman!” She thunked a meaty thumb  into the center of her own chest.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I don’t think Charlie thinks Katie is skinny!” Frieda laughed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I don’ care vhat Chollie t’inks neider! Zomebody go tell him I’m ‘ere  pinink avay to nodink, vaiting for him!” She turned her attention back to  Kerr. “How many a you are dere ‘ere donight? I make sure you godda good  table. Vell? Answer me!”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Kerr hesitated, unsure which of her many questions to answer first.  Claypoole stepped into the breech.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “There are eight of us, Big Barb. The corporals.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Eight corporals?” She quickly scanned the room. “Vat’s de madda vit  Corporal Doyle, vhy ain’t he ‘ere? He gid kilt vhereever it vas you vent?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “No, no, Big Barb. Doyle’s fine. This is just the team leaders,” Claypoole  quickly assured her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Chust da team leaders? ’Ow come Doyle ain’t no team leader? He’s a  corporal. Corporals suppose t’ be fire team leaders, gun team leaders, so  how come he ain’t?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Claypoole opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of how to explain why a  corporal was filling a lance corporal’s billet. He looked at Kerr. Yeah,  Doyle was in Kerr’s fire team, let him try to explain it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Neber mine,” Big Barb said, looking around again. “You Marines make yer  own rules, whedder dey makes sense or not. Come, I get you gut table. Give  you back room. You,” she looked at Kerr, “come vit me. You,” she looked at  Claypoole, “go gid de oders, bring dem along.” She did her ice breaker  impersonation again, drawing Kerr and his happy burden in her wake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Less than an hour later, the eight Marines and nine young women in the  back room were seated around a large, round table digging into a medley of  reindeer served “family style.” The table was filled with platters of  reindeer—steaks, cutlets, a roast, chops, sausage, even a steaming bowl of  stew. Other bowls held several varieties of potatoes, legumes, grains,  squashes, and less easily identifiable foodstuffs, most of which were  cooked with sauces or gravies. Spices and condiments were spread about,  the full range near to hand for everybody.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    For a while, all that was heard inside the room was the chewing, sighs,  and belches of contented diners; they ignored the hubbub that came muted  through the door. At length, most of the platters and bowls were cleared  down to bits and crumbs—Marines fresh back from a combat deployment have  prodigious appetites.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Dean belched loudly enough to make Carlala, a skinny, busty girl seated  next to him hip to haunch, jump. “Ahhh,” he sighed, “that was great.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “A lot better than the reindeer steaks we used to get here,” Dornhofer  agreed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Very much so,” Kerr added. “What happened?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “We have a new cook,” Klauda said as she moved from her chair to  Dornhofer’s lap.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “She’s a fancy girl,” Erika said, casting a nasty look at Carlala.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Oh?” Chan said meaningfully. “Then what’s she doing in the kitchen?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You’ll see,” Erika said haughtily. “And that’s not the kind of ‘fancy’ I  meant.” She darted a look at Dean and made a show of shifting onto  Pasquin’s lap.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The hubbub in the main room suddenly grew in volume.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Oh, wow, look at that!” Lance Corporal “Wolfman” MacIlargie murmured,  then let out a wolf whistle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Lance Corporal Dave “Hammer” Schultz didn’t bother looking to see what had  drawn MacIlargie’s admiration; he’d seen her as soon as she stepped  through the kitchen door. She was a full-bodied woman in a starched white  shirt-jacket, closed all the way to the throat, over black pants. The  heels of her black shoes were high enough to lift her a bit above average  height. A white cap restrained her mass of lustrous chestnut hair. She  held her head high, and her aristocratic face turned   neither left nor right as she wended her way between the tables filled  with eating and drinking—but mostly drinking—Marines. Two kitchen helpers  followed her, guiding a covered cart. The woman was old enough to be the  underaged mother of the youngest Marines in the room, or the younger  aunt—or at least older sister of nearly any of them. But that didn’t  matter to the Marines.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The woman yelped and spun about with her hand raised to slap whoever had  just pinched her bottom. Only to be confronted by four grinning faces, any  of which could belong to the offending hand. She dropped her hand, gripped  the bottom of her shirt-jacket with both hands, and jerked it down. She  flung her head high, spun about, and, as regally as possible, stalked off.  Guffaws, whistles, and raucous laughter trailed her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She was pinched twice more and propositioned four times by the time she  reached the door to the room where third platoon’s corporals were  luxuriating in postprandial bliss, and hustled inside to what she fully  expected would be relief from the unseemly harrassment she’d undergone in  the common room. She barely remembered to leave the door open long enough  for the two kitchen helpers to wheel their cart into the room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Hey, baby,” Pasquin shouted as soon as he saw her, “come on over here! My  lap’s big enough for two!” He held out a welcoming arm. Erika knuckled him  in the ribs, but that only made him laugh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The woman’s palm tingled, and she began to raise a hand—now she knew who  to slap—but noticed several faces leering at her, and lowered it without  striking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She again adjusted the fall of her shirt-jacket, held her head re-  gally high, and announced, “I am Einna Orafem, the new chef at Big Barb’s—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Chef? Did she really say ‘chef?’ ” Dean crowed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Einna Orafem managed to ignore Dean’s boorishness and went on as though he  hadn’t spoken. “I have been given to believe that you—gentlemen—are  special patrons of this dining salon.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Patrons? Dining salon?” Barber hooted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Once more, Einna Orafem ignored the rudeness of the remark and went on. “I  have come to see if the modest repast I prepared for you met with your  satisfaction.” She looked at the empty platters and serving bowls.  “Judging from the state of the table, I take it it has.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There was a brief pause as the Marines translated for each other: “She  wants to know if the chow was any good.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Hey, babe, that was the best feed I’ve ever had in this slop chute!”  Taylor called out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Honey, you can stuff my sausage any day,” Chan yelled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “No, it’s your sausage that’s supposed to stuff her . . .” The rest of  whatever Claypoole was saying was cut off by the finger Jente quickly  pressed across his lips. Unlike the other young women around the table,  Jente wasn’t one of “Big Barb’s girls.” She was from Brystholde, a nearby  fishing village from which many young women had come to a blowout party  Brigadier Sturgeon threw for his FIST when they returned from a major  deployment against Skinks on the Kingdom of Yahweh and His Saints and  Their Apostles. First Sergeant Myer had strongly admonished the Marines of  Company L that the village women were “nice girls,” and were to be treated  the way they’d want their sisters treated. Of course, Top’s warning could  not stop Jente from latching onto Claypoole and behaving just like one of  Big Barb’s girls—but only with him. Claypoole didn’t realize it yet, but  Jente saw him as prime husband material.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Come and join us when Big Barb lets you off kitchen duty!” Pasquin called  to Einna Orafem’s brilliant red face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Here is a dessert I prepared specially for you,” the cook managed, waving  a wavering hand at the cart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The helpers opened the cart and joined her in a hasty retreat to the  kitchen. But first they had to run the gauntlet of the common room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Wazza madda, dolly,” someone shouted, “didn’t they want what you were  offering?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Yours ain’t good enough for them corporals?” another Marine shouted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Uproarious laughter broke out at the comments.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “She’s the cook,” Schultz growled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Everybody close enough to hear his growl shut up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Jente was the only one fastidious enough while gobbling the dessert to  really notice what it was.","brand":"Del Rey","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304820953317,"sku":"NP9780345460554","price":7.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345460554.jpg?v=1730758544","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/starfistisbn-9780345460554","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}