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Austin Macauley Publishers - B. Szymanski G.

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108 pages

English

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Follow Without Fear is a Vietnam era, anti-war, romance novel involving the lives of two young college graduates recently commissioned as second lieutenants in the United States Air Force. It was a tumultuous time in our nation's history - a time of racial tension and riots, assassinations, the draft, war protests, and college campus unrest. America's youth was tested in many ways and lives were changed dramatically as a result of circumstances beyond their control. Stan was a fervent and principled young man who believed unequivocally in the wisdom of his country's leadership. He was hesitant to question authority until his experiences in a war zone opened his eyes to the consequences of blindly following an ideal. The story follows his psychological journey from complete trust in the decisions of elected leaders to the chilling awareness that those resolutions may be utterly flawed.

Sujets

Historical romance

Vietnam War

Informations

Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers
Date de parution	29 novembre 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781645364849
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

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Follow Without Fear
G. B. Szymanski
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-11-29
Follow Without Fear About The Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Foreword *One* Ready *1* *2* *3* *4* *5* *6* *7* *Two* Aim *1* *2* *3* *4* *5* *6* *7* *8* *9* *10* *11* *12* *Three* Fire *1* *2* *3* *4* *5* *6* *Four* Cease Fire *1* *2* *3* *4* *5* *Five* Disarm *1* *2* *3* Afterword
About The Author
G. B. Szymanski is a 1968 graduate of The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina, a former U.S. Air Force captain, a Vietnam veteran, and a retired Federal Aviation Administration air traffic control supervisor. This work of fiction is based on his own personal experience, as well as on the experiences of those with whom he proudly served.
Dedication
Dedicated to my grandchildren and to my alma mater,
The Citadel, Class of 1968.
Copyright Information ©
G. B. Szymanski (2019)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Szymanski, G. B.
Follow Without Fear
ISBN 9781643786780 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781643786797 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645364849 (ePub e-book)
The main category of the book — FICTION / Romance / Historical / 20th Century
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019910941
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
mail-usa@austinmacauley.com
+1 (646) 5125767
Acknowledgement
A special thanks to my lovely wife, Joanne, and lovely daughter, Erica, for their encouragement and support during the creation of this work.
This is a work of historical fiction based upon the author’s experiences and on the experiences of those with whom he had the privilege of serving. The characters do not exist as portrayed and any resemblance to actual persons is coincidental. As imagination meets reality, the story is conceived.

Time! What an empty vapor ’tis!
And days, how swift they are!
Swift as an Indian arrow flies,
Or like a shooting star.
The present moments just appear,
Then slide away in haste;
That we can never say, “They’re here,”
But only say, “They’re past.”
– Isaac Watts
Foreword
Stan was now in his seventies. He was relaxing on the front porch of his Texas home with his lovely wife of almost fifty years and their dog, Charlie. The air was turning crisp as autumn made its entrance, and the leaves on the cedar elm trees flanking either side of the house were turning from green to shades of orange and yellow. Their young grandson was playing with a ball on the lawn in front of them when a low-flying plane appeared overhead. The sound of the plane interrupted their solitude and brought back memories of youth and hope, and a loss too painful to bear. His wife shivered, and he did not have to look at her to see there were tears in her eyes.
The road they had taken was similar to that traveled by so many young people of their generation. They were called upon by their leaders and heroes to perform in accordance with expectations. Many did not heed that call, but many others did. The country was divided and its youth paid the price.
*One*

Ready
*1*
The year was 1964. He was stunned. The rifle suddenly flew from his grip as he stood with his squad at a parade rest position. Thunderous, mind numbing sounds with unfamiliar southern drawls then assaulted his ears as cadet corporals administering punishment placed their lips so close to his ears that an increase in temperature and moisture became apparent even though he was being drilled and grilled, along with others, in hot, humid, August, South Carolina sunshine. Stan knew that he should not move and not say a word. His research prior to entering the plebe system at the military college taught him that his only permissible responses were “yes sir,” “no, sir,” and “no excuse, sir.” And those responses were only permitted when he was asked a question by a higher-ranking cadet. So far, he was only being admonished and he was not permitted to speak. The infraction, just one of many to come, was not gripping his weapon tight enough to remain in his grasp and withstand the swift kick it suffered from a cadet corporal. To reinforce his message, the corporal instructed the plebe to sleep with his rifle tucked in his bunk that night, and the corporal checked on the cadet plebe that evening to ensure his instructions had been followed.
During the little free time he had throughout this initial military training, Stan frequently questioned his reasons for having chosen to attend such a demanding college. He was, after all, a Yankee from northern New Jersey with an accent revealing his roots. It took some time and effort before he could really understand what occasionally sounded like a foreign language. Having graduated in the top ten percent of his high school class, with acceptance letters from three other colleges offering similar courses of study and ROTC programs, why on earth did he choose this school?
The ravings and rantings of Senator Joe McCarthy during the 1950s were still very much part of American culture. Stan’s dad, teachers, friends, and coaches saw communists behind all vegetation large enough to conceal such clandestine individuals. He had been taught how Russian government officials spied on their citizens, arrested, imprisoned, and sometimes tortured anyone daring to speak out against their social order. His dad was very much a part of the anti-communist John Birch following and he admired everything about his father.
As was the case for most working class families, college expenses for the children meant sacrifice for the entire family. His father’s goal was to ensure that every one of them received the best education he could possibly provide. And his sons all worked part-time jobs during their high school years while presenting him with their pay to help defray future college expenses.
Many of his closest friends enlisted in branches of the military following high school graduation rather than enter the ranks of factory workers, truck drivers, store clerks and other types of labor performed by their parents. Unlike his friends, he attempted to escape such an existence by gaining entry into one of the federal military academies. After applying and taking examinations, he had been placed on a list as a secondary appointee to the Merchant Marine Academy at Kings Point, New York. This meant that, in the event the primary appointee was unable to attend, Stan would be his replacement. However, that did not happen. He also applied and was accepted to The Citadel, The Military College of South Carolina. The young man decided to attend; however, his parents would have to pay tuition. That school was known for its extremely difficult training environment. There were those at home who said he would never make it through such an ordeal, and he felt added pressure to succeed as a result.
Stanley Marks would turn eighteen in three weeks. He was now at the college he had chosen to attend, and vowed that he would never leave without a degree and a commission as a second lieutenant in the United States Air Force. He worked hard and endured every hardship thrown his way for four, long, grueling years. Later in life, after much reflection, he would thank his parents for their strict upbringing. They, along with teachers, relatives, coaches, and clergy gave him the foundation necessary to accomplish that goal. His military school training prepared him well for what was to follow and it was now time to seek out additional challenges.
Following graduation, the newly commissioned Air Force officer was assigned to Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi for air traffic control training. During a six-week hiatus between commencement and his first assignment, he worked for a state-sponsored summer school program designed for disadvantaged youth. Earnings from that job allowed him to make a down payment on a used sports car, which would take him from New Jersey to Mississippi.
Fortunately, he had, by this time, developed an excellent ear for southern accents and had pretty well lost his distinctive New Jersey twang. That would prove to serve him well for a long time to come. He loved his 1967, Pontiac Firebird. That was the first year Pontiac produced this model and it was his freedom machine. The Firebird was candy apple red with a black vinyl roof, a black interior, black air intake scoops on the hood, and black racing stripes along its sides. It had a 325 horsepower V-8 engine and more chrome under the hood than on the exterior of the vehicle. The car was not air-conditioned, but few were in those days. This young man had never lived in air-conditioned comfort and rolling down the window for fresh air was all he needed and all he wanted. The feel of wind blowing through his well-cropped military-style hair put a smile on his face and a glow in his heart. He was finally beginning to live his dream.
He was free from his humdrum, blue-collar New Jersey existence and free from the rigors of military school; he was on his way at last. Now a second lieutenant in the United States Air Force, he already considered himself a successful man. He had made it and was looked up to by his friends, f