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Farewell, My Boy

by Garrick Jones

Farewell, My Boy - Garrick Jones - The Seventh of December
Part of the The Seventh of December series:
Editions:ePub - First Edition: $ 5.99
ISBN: B0BVCZM1GV

From the deserts of North Africa to the dark forests in the Third Reich, Tommy Haupner, together with his American lover, Henry "Shorty" Reiter, lead their team in a daring mission to rescue a gifted young savant from Nazi Germany's T4 euthanasia program.

They are forced to flee in a stolen bus in the dead of night across enemy territory with a precious cargo of 24 handicapped children destined for extermination. In a supreme effort to save their charges and to avoid capture and execution themselves, they mount the most daring and dangerous rescue mission possible, the results of which almost end in disaster.

This third book in The Seventh of December series is an action-packed wartime adventure set in the early months of 1942. Stolen aircraft, kidnapped senior Nazi officials, doctors of death and bloody revenge massacres, all of which are intertwined with the love of a helpless, rescued child. Farewell, My Boy, deals with not only the frailty of men's hearts, but the truth that even the bravest are not exempt from the pain of loss, even when it is for a greater good.

This book is on:
  • 2 To Be Read lists
Published:
Publisher: Moshpit Publications
Editors:
Linda McQueen

Cover Artists:
Garrick Jones

Genres:
Action Adventure, Gaylit, Historical, Historical - 20th Century, Military

Tags:
author - australian

Pairings: M-M
Heat Level: 2
Romantic Content: 1
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 26-35
Protagonist 2 Age: 26-35
Tropes: Arranged Pairing, Fated Mates / Soul Mates, In Uniform, True Love
Word Count: 127000
Setting: Egypt, Nazi Germany, London 1942
Series Type: Continuous / Same Characters
Excerpt:
I skipped breakfast, still too full of Egyptian street food from last night, eaten in an effort to soak up the grog. I’d been astounded by how many stalls were still open in the wee hours of the morning after we’d left the pub. It seemed some Egyptians never slept.
I had memories of standing on the bar in my bare feet, leading a rendition of “Along the Road to Gundagai”, before being dragged away by Smiley, who was more than three sheets to the wind himself. We’d somehow managed to flag down a hantoor, then, when we arrived at the hotel, the concierge had had to pay the driver to go back to the pub to find my shoes.
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x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u">I’d been drunk on the camaraderie, a sense of belonging that I hadn’t really felt since I’d left home. Surrounded by cheeky lads, some of them no more than seventeen or eighteen years old, I’d lost myself in the twangy copper accents of my homeland, falling into slang and sentences thickly strewn with epithets and words unacceptable in the company I kept in London. It was wonderful.

Once back at the hotel, Smiley and I had sat poolside in the dark, drinking glass after glass of seltzer-water and chatting about more personal things than we had done in the year I’d known him. I’d asked him if he had someone special, to which he’d replied that he had one or two “on the boil” but because of his position as my adjutant and working with top-secret information he’d been careful to keep them at arm’s length. I’d clenched his shoulder and had told him that the war wouldn’t last forever, but that he should seize opportunities for company and warmth, as long as they were discreet. So many young men who’d gone off to war would never know what it was like to find a moment of happiness in someone else’s arms.
“So you’re telling me I should throw a leg over for everyone who missed out?” he’d asked, to which I’d laughed so loudly someone in the hotel had opened their window and told us to keep it down.
I’d fallen into bed at around three, Shorty’s mess dress jacket on the armchair in my room and the rest of his clothes scattered across the floor. When I’d shaken him awake to ask how the banquet had been with the ambassador, he’d grunted something, then pulled me on top of him, wrapping his feet around the backs of my calves. “Less talk, more action, Haupner.”
So much for romance. But I didn’t mind in the slightest.
COLLAPSE

 

Available as both eBook and paperback from all retailers.

About the Author

From the outback to the opera.
After a thirty year career as a professional opera singer, performing as a soloist in opera houses and in concert halls all over the world, I took up a position as lecturer in music in Australia in 1999, at the Central Queensland Conservatorium of Music, which is now part of CQUniversity.

Brought up in Australia, between the bush and the beaches of the Eastern suburbs, I retired in 2015 and now live in the tropics, writing, gardening, and finally finding time to enjoy life and to re-establish a connection with who I am after a very busy career on the stage and as an academic.

I write mostly historical gay fiction. The stories are always about relationships and the inner workings of men; sometimes my fellas get down to the nitty-gritty, sometimes it’s up to you, the reader, to fill in the blanks.