For God and Country. Mark Bowlin

      

      Also by the Author

      Victory Road 2011 Winner, Gold Medal Award, Military Writers Society of America

      The Texas Gun Club 2010 Winner, Gold Medal Award, Military Writers Society of America

      Praise for The Texas Gun Club

      “The Texas Gun Club is an excellent WWII war novel—realistic, well-plotted, many actual events. . . . [It] describes the successes and failures of command and battle: friendly fire, poor communications, death, destruction, courage, and valor. It has found a place on my bookshelf . . . I am looking forward to the author’s promised next novel in the series [Victory Road].”

      —Lee Boyland, Reviewer

      Military Writers Society of America (January 2010)

      “The Texas Gun Club is a well-written account of a very real critical World War II battle. Only the characters are fictional. Careful attention to detail in weapons and equipment, as well as period ‘soldier slang,’ brings [characters] to life as real people who we might have known back in 1939. . . . The Texas Gun Club highlights one great tragic truth of warfare: because of personal turbulence and logistic screw-ups, and despite unit lineage that may go back to the Revolution, we almost always fight the first battle with ad hoc organizations. The Salerno landing found the 36th Texas Division executing a difficult maneuver (establishing a lodgment on a distant defended shore) against an experienced, welled commander (Field Marshal Kesslring), with precious little time and space to sort it out and get it right. A good read for those who would lead.”

      —MG Don Daniel, USA (Ret.)

      Former Commander, 49th Armored Division, TXARNG

      “The Texas Gun Club is an absolutely superb book. The characters are incredibly realistic, as is the action and the story line of the two cousins dovetailing through history. That it will be a series is refreshing, and I look forward to reading the next excerpt. . . . For a Navy guy, Commander Bowlin has a great handle on the Army. Time for him to get back to the next installment.”

      —BG Jack Grubbs, USA (Ret.) PhD, PE

      Author of The Dryline and Bad Intentions

      “Bravo Zulu to Mark Bowlin for writing an exceptionally entertaining, interesting, and educational novel. I could hardly put the book down and found the narrative and story line just captivating. . . . I can’t wait to read the further adventures of the Texas Gun Club, and I’ll happily pass along this book as a great read to all those interested in history, Italy, military operations, and, of course, just a good yarn!”

      —RDML Tony Cothron, USN (Ret.)

      Former Director of Naval Intelligence

      “I found [The Texas Gun Club] a fantastic piece of historical fiction that all members of the division should read. Having been a member of the 141st, it gave me a great sense of pride in the regiment and the 36th Division. I actually chose to have my regimental affiliation with the 141st after reading Commander Bowlin’s book.”

      —SGT Casey Mueller, TXARNG

For God and Country

      © 2012 Mark Bowlin

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

       All rights reserved.

      For God and Country

      A Texas Gun Club Novel

      The Small Press

      16250 Knoll Trail Drive, Suite 205

      Dallas, Texas 75248

      www.BBSmallPress.com [phone]

      eISBN 978-1-612548-14-2

      Library of Congress Control Number 2011944107

      Printed in the United States of America

      10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

      Author contact information:

      Commander Mark Bowlin, USN (Ret.)

      For God and Country is dedicated to Alex Bowlin.

      Acknowledgments

      First and foremost, I need to thank Susan and Alex for their support during the writing of For God and Country. Many generous people offered technical advice, editorial suggestions, names, and help in a multitude of ways. I’d like to thank my primary readers, Stan Bowlin and CDR Bob Rose, USN (Ret.); as well as CAPT Doug Grossmann, USN; CAPT Scott Kawamoto, USNR (who taught me how to roister long ago); CAPT Valerie Ormond, USN (Ret.); CAPT Doug Peabody, USN; Lt Col Frank Chawk III, USMC; CDR Mark Gerschoffer, USN; CDR Rob “Two-Bit” Hoar; Lt Cdr Robert Hawkins, MBE, RN; LCDR Craig Ozaki, USN (Ret.); Capt Fin Jones, USMC (Ret.); the Reverend Mike Allen, PhD; Gary BGE Beams; Michele Di Lonardo; Toni Bernardi Rose; Cynthia Stillar-Wang and her team at The Small Press; and Bob Wranosky.

      Chapter One

      January 23, 1944

      1100 Hours

      Mount Trocchio, Italy

      Murder.

      It was just a word, but it ran endlessly through the officer’s thoughts.

       Murder.

      What was done to them was nothing short of murder. They had been led like lambs to the slaughter, and then they had been murdered. Hundreds of Texans dead. Thousands of Texans to languish for years in a German prisoner of war camp. Many more forever wounded in body and mind. And for what?

       Murder.

      They were all dead. His friends, his cousin. Dead.

       Murder.

      A crime that cried out for vengeance. No. For justice.

      The tall officer unconsciously wiped away a silent tear before it could freeze to his face. He was uncomfortable—the rocks of the castle ruins were cold and unyielding against his damaged body—but he didn’t move. The mountain left him exposed to the harsh winter day, but he had thought that perhaps from its peak he could see some signs of life on the battlefield. He thought that, maybe, he could see his cousin. If he had even a suggestion or hint that his cousin was still alive, there was not a force in nature that could stop him from crossing the freezing river again and bringing him home. But he saw nothing.

      A temporary truce had been arranged and the short peace had already come and gone as American and German medics had worked through the battlefield together. The war was back on, but the battlefield remained silent. There would be no further attacks across the river today—there was no one left to send over.

      The officer scanned the battlefield again through the scope—he had taken a sniper rifle with the unlikely expectation that he would be able to help those on the other side. He saw nothing and sighed. His sigh turned to a groan, and the groan gave way to a single, broken sob of despair. They were all gone.

      He took a deep breath and decided it was time to leave. He couldn’t help anyone here, but he was needed down in the valley. The company, the battalion, the regiment . . . the division . . . would have to be rebuilt. There was work to be done.

      As he was turning to leave, movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was a staff car. Another