This week I am delighted to have a slice of cake with John Bowers.
What kind of books do you write?
My stories all take place in either the future or a different universe. E.g.; The Fighter Queen saga and the Nick Walker series both take place in our (Earth’s) future. The Starport series takes place in a different star system entirely.
Can you describe your writing why?
Writing is a compulsion. I think it’s because I was so bored as a kid, when I couldn’t get to the library to check out books, I started writing my own. Why do I write? Dogs have to bark, I have to write.
Share with us your favourite passage from the book you enjoyed writing the most
Tough one! Twenty-two novels, hundreds of great scenes (yes, I’m blowing my own horn).
Let’s try this one, from Famine Planet:
The sleds lifted off, formed into parallel convoy lines, and skimmed forward. In less than a minute they were approaching the hillsides where the fighting had been hottest; smoke still drifted from a dozen brushfires and guns were firing, a few rebels fighting a rear-guard action to cover the retreat.
The sleds soared low over the hills and dived down again as the next valley opened up. Terra saw a road up ahead, long and straight, a narrow ribbon of pavement that stretched toward the next line of hills six or seven miles in the distance. At least a hundred vehicles, everything from dilapidated farm trucks to cut-down passenger cars, were racing down the road at full speed. Sunlight glinted back from chrome surfaces, and Terra saw armed men aiming their weapons at the waves of oncoming sleds.
“Light ‘em up!” Wilma shouted as she dived lower and broke into the lead.
Terra swung her Twin Forties into position, attached her belly strap, and pulled the shoulder grips tight. She had an open car in her sights but was still too far out to fire with any accuracy, so she took a deep breath and waited. Bullets whined past the sled, others ricocheted off the hull. Terra sighted the center of the car and waited a few more seconds…
At two hundred yards she opened fire. The gun mount shuddered in her grip as twin streams of tracer streaked toward the vehicle, striking it in the rear of the passenger compartment and walking forward. Glass and metal and bits of seat-cushion fabric swirled into the air as the bullets ripped through the car; the men in the back seat were smashed into bloody pulp, their rifles pinwheeling from lifeless fingers. The driver’s head evaporated into a crimson explosion; the blood spray spattered Terra’s PlastiGlass shield, obscuring her vision. She levered the shield control and it sank into its recess, leaving her exposed to enemy fire. It was a calculated risk—the rebels were firing blindly, their shots going wild, and she needed to see her targets.
The car fell behind and she began drawing a bead on a farm truck loaded with terrified rebels. She fired again, gently hosing the vehicle from side to side. For two or three terrible seconds the rear of the truck was bathed in pink mist as the rebel soldiers disintegrated under her slugs. Arms, legs, and heads flew out onto the road, where they bounced sickeningly in the truck’s wake. Without warning, the truck began to swerve, then hooked to the left and flipped, grinding any survivors under the wreckage as it skidded down the highway. More blood spray whipped over the sled, drenching Terra’s face with pulverized gore.
Wilma nosed up slightly as another sled took the lead; Terra took the opportunity to catch her breath and wipe her face. She spat blood out of her mouth and recharged her guns. Racing like hounds, the leading sleds began leapfrogging each other, first one, then another taking the point. A minute later Wilma was back in front, and Terra’s body shuddered under the recoil as her guns hammered again. She was dimly aware of the men behind her cheering each time she hosed a vehicle on the road—every rebel she killed was one they wouldn’t have to face on the ground.
She machine-gunned three more cars and two trucks, then another sled took over. Terra wiped her face again, picking off bits of flesh. Something had stuck to her throat and she peeled it off—her stomach churned as she recognized it as an ear, and she flung it away in disgust. She quickly dug out her canteen and swallowed a mouthful to still the convulsion in her gut that was filling her mouth with salty saliva. The cold water helped; she popped her magazines and loaded fresh ones.
Suddenly the road up ahead became congested with stalled vehicles. Aware of the slaughter behind them, rebel drivers had decided they had a better chance on foot, and quickly stopped to let their passengers run for it. Terra saw hundreds of men spreading out on both sides of the road, running into the cornfields, which were barely waist-high at this stage of the growing season. Some sleds continued to strafe the vehicles, setting them ablaze, but Wilma veered left and throttled back, soaring ten feet above the routing rebels. Almost no one was shooting back as Terra and half a dozen other gunners blazed away, mowing them down by the score. Shouts and screams, barely audible above the chatter of guns, filled the air as the cornfield gradually turned from green to red. Blood fountained everywhere and a pink cloud drifted on the breeze. Askeloni sleds turned and circled, crisscrossing the fields in search of more victims. Finally a few rebels threw up their hands and the pilots were ordered to back off; several unloaded their troops to round up the survivors.
As Wilma banked away toward the road and its inferno of burning cars, Terra slumped in her harness, emotionally and mentally exhausted. Her body trembled, both from the vibration of her guns and the horror of her deed. She felt numb. It hadn’t been that long ago that she sat on a mountain road in Llanovista Province on Tropicon, the morning sun hot on her back, staring at a convoy of burning trucks and the mangled bodies of over a thousand men who had died without firing a shot. That had been the most horrible day of her life, and she was one of the lucky few who survived.
Now she was doing the killing.
She closed her eyes and sat breathing deeply, trying to shut out the last few minutes. Combat was one thing, but this felt more like murder.
She looked around as someone tapped her on the shoulder. Dennis Chandler was leaning forward, his face grim.
“That was quite a demonstration, Private. I’d say you deserve that Crystal Cross. You’re a born killer.”
His cameraman zoomed her bloody face in all its gory splendor. She had no way of knowing that, in about thirty hours, she would be the lead story on the Askelon Evening News.
Tell us about your latest project
I have no projects at the moment, but I do have 22 novels on Amazon. They make up three series.
The Starport series is political in nature, inspired by American politics. It’s about the first female president of the planet Askelon and the attempts of powerful forces to take her down, regardless of the damage to democracy. Five novels.
The Fighter Queen stories are about a galactic war in which the Sirian Confederacy, which has a primitive world view in which racism and slavery are rampant, embarks on a series of conquests to conquer and enslave other worlds, including Terra (Earth). The Fighter Queen is a girl named Onja Kvoorik, born on Vega 3 during the Sirian occupation, smuggled to Terra by her father when she was 12 years old. Her single goal in life is to defeat the Confederacy and free her mother and sister, both slaves of Sirius. Five novels.
Nick Walker, United Federation Marshal, is about a young lawman, a Star Marine veteran, who enforces the law on the Final Frontier. Some have called it a “space western” and some have even compared it to Firefly (although I don’t see the relevance). Nick Walker is my best-selling series. Twelve novels.
What is your favourite cake?
Chocolate.
You can find all of John's books on Amazon: www.amazon.co.uk/John-Bowers/e/B004UFOT3U
Join me next week when I will be having a slice of cake with Lyndi Alexander.
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Claire Buss is a multi-genre author and poet, completely addicted to cake. Find out more about her books on her website clairebuss.co.uk. Join the discussion in her Facebook group Buss's Book Stop. Never miss out on future posts by following me.
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