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The sequel to Army of Worn Soles is approaching publication. My editor has it and I’m hoping for a pre-year-end release date. 

For those faithful readers who have been waiting for this, here is a raw, unedited preview from the prologue to Under the Nazi Heel. Leave a comment, and I will send you a free e-copy of the book when it’s done.

Beyond the frozen lake, the forest fell back from the tracks to open fields on each side. A thin layer of snow had drifted over the fences and covered the tracks since the day crews had cleared them. The plow on the front of the engine pushed it away. Still, the engineer turned a valve and slowed the train even more. “No more fuel for now,” he told the fireman behind him without turning.

The engineer leaned out the side window again to squint forward. A shadow lay across the tracks ahead, where the forest converged again on the railroad. He blinked and peered one more time to confirm his fear. He pulled inside and put all his weight onto the brake lever. “Ring the alarm!” he shouted to the fireman.

The steel brakes screamed and threw the engineer and fireman to the front of the cabin, pressing them against the hot iron. The engineer spun valves to release pressure. Clouds of steam whistled out of a dozen places on the engine and bells rang in every car.

The train slowed but the momentum of the passenger cars pushed the engine until it rammed a barricade of trees that had been felled over the tracks where they slipped into  the forest  again. The logs cracked with a noise like exploding gunpowder. Some flew off the tracks, sending up tidal waves of snow when they came down again. One hit the lantern, extinguishing its yellow light. Others rolled forward on the tracks only to be caught again as the train continued, slowing. They wedged under the engine. It shuddered. Its metal voice screamed in pain. It tilted, threatening to tip over. The engine left the track, sending waves of drifted snow over the fields.

The passenger cars slammed successively into the rear of the coal car, pushing the engine farther. It dug a long trench, sending more snow into the air. Finally, the train groaned to a stop. For minutes, the scene resembled a moonlit blizzard as the disturbed snow fell a second time.

Steam hissed out of the engine, the fire in its furnace still rumbled, bells clamoured the length of the train, and cries and moans of the passengers echoed across the fields and lake. A door on a passenger car creaked open and clanged as it hit the bent side of the car.

The wind sighed through the boughs of the fir trees, shaking snowflakes to spiral down. Nothing else moved in the clearing or on the lake. The whistling of steam became lower and softer. The fire in the furnace became silent.

Minutes passed. Only the steam moved from the broken engine, driven by the gentle wind.

Finally, a helmeted head poked out of the one open door and withdrew immediately. After another minute, the head reappeared and looked left and right. More steam came from his mouth. A muffled order from behind, and the soldier jumped out of the car, struggling to keep his submachine gun above the snow as he sank to his waist. Another followed him, pointing a submachine gun into the darkness beyond the moonlight.

A third soldier jumped out and struggled to move forward, toward the engine. Another soldier jumped out behind him and started to stomp down the snow under the door, to make a slightly clearer area, and then followed the third soldier forward, widening the path he had begun.

Finally, a junior officer in a peaked cap and long coat, holding a pistol in his hand, jumped into the cleared area. He lifted his gloved hands to his mouth and breathed on them in a vain attempt to warm them.

The two soldiers had nearly reached the engine by that time and they called out to the engineer in German. They heard no answer.

The officer ordered one of the men in the snow with him to clear him a path to the next car. He followed the soldier until he could bang on the side of the second passenger car with the butt of his pistol. After a few seconds, that door opened slowly and another junior officer climbed down.

Down the train, doors opened in every passenger car and soldiers and officers climbed out. Men asked “What happened? Why did the train derail? What happened to the engineer?” Officers asked “Any injuries? No? Weapons ready?” Soldiers formed a defensive line, weapons pointed into the forest or toward the lake, but they had trouble holding their rifles and machine guns over the top of the snow.

At the engine, the first two soldiers to come out of the train began to climb the ladder to the engineer’s compartment. The first soldier knocked on the door.

He was answered by a rifle shot from the forest. He arched his back and fell into the snow, knocking the man below him down.

More rifle shots came from the forest, hitting the officers first, then the soldiers with submachine guns. The Germans returned fire blindly. They could not see their attackers and their bullets went uselessly into the trees.

Fire came at the Germans from all sides. Some of the men in the snow tried to climb back into the train but they were cut down, shot in the back. In the moonlight, blood turned the snow  black in the moonlight.