Excerpt from an early draft of Behind the Green Water:

Opening Chapter....

THE DIRTY YELLOW ball of fire grew to a brilliant white pillar of iridescent flame, searing a trail up into the night sky.

“Everybody down!” Devon shouted, squeezing his eyes shut against the glare. He dug his fingers into the hard sand as the ridge rumbled and shook, rattling his body on the hard surface like a tambourine. Underneath his gut the ground rippled as the shock wave dissipated into the desert.

As Devon forced his eyes open, a Scud slowly lifted from the cloud of desert dust and smoke, balanced on a tail of fire over the barren Iraqi desert. It accelerated, rising faster and faster, all too like the grainy films of the Nazi V-2s on their way to London.

This one angled into the heavy clouds to the west, toward Tel Aviv.

“Get the damn Hog down here before they get off another one!” Devon yelled at Baker. Devon searched overhead for the A-10 Wart Hog and its Maverick missiles, but his night vision had been completely wiped out by the glare of the rocket motor.

Devon shivered, his heavy desert battle dress uniform sweat-drenched after leading his four man special ops team at a dead run from the helicopter drop point to the top of the sand ridge. He rose to his knees and quickly scanned all around their position. To the south, the special ops Blackhawk helicopter scuttled low over the tops of the dunes toward Saudi."

Ten years and many Chapters later, a few miles west at the Jordan-Iraq Border Checkpoint

...Over the lip of the wadi, the roof of the border station poked into the sky, growing lighter by the moment. A crow swooped down, spreading its wings to glide to the peak where it paced back and forth, wings held out from its body, squawking quietly in the morning stillness, then stopping to stare down at Devon. Grandma had told him about crows. He had loved to run through the snake-filled sloughs in an old pair of shorts, tanned shoulders almost black from the sun. She’d warned him crows were lookouts for roaming Tuscarora warriors who’d snatch him out of the swamps and burn him at the stake after taking his scalp. He should have listened.

               The dry scrape and metallic clacks of rounds being chambered in dirty weapons broke the silence that had fallen over the border station. The sharp smell of sweat enveloped him, the old sweat and dust smell he still associated with death. He breathed deeply, a full chest of desert air. What was the old tradition? Silence at the stake? Must be some other tribe, not his family. He wanted to scream in rage. Devon stared back at the line of soldiers, cold sweat running in a trickle down his sides. No eye contact. Each stood, looking at his weapon, except for the officer, a hint of smile underneath his mustache. In the growing light, Devon finally could count the pips on his filthy uniform, a lowly captain, the master of his destiny. Hell, he even out-ranked the foul-smelling bastard. By somebody’s book.

               The captain’s smile changed to a frown when the tall man from the bus slid down the sandy bank, splashed across the water and handed him a folded sheet of paper. The captain ignored the paper and turned back to Devon. “I will speak in English, so you understand your fate.” He turned to the line of men and barked, “Get ready.” They jerked their necks back and stared at him like he was insane until he yelled out a command in Arabic. Then each man snapped to his individual form of attention. The tall man spoke softly, pointing to the paper in the captain’s hand. The captain glanced at it with disgust.

               “Aim.” Again he followed the English with an Arabic command. The soldiers each took aim at Devon.

               Devon raised his head so he could see the sky over the lip of the wadi. Flimsy clouds streaked with pink gradually dissipated high above. The crow spread its wings and dove out of sight with a squawk. Devon stared across at each shooter. The resolve was there in the eyes of one man, the mechanic. His barrel never wavered; eyes were fixed behind the open sights. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too painful. Joe mechanic was going to put one in his heart. The others would be lucky to shoot off a toe, make a bloody mess in the cold water....