by Sharon Hamilton
One of the wonderful things about creating my world of SEAL Team 3, is that these characters come back, weave in and out of all my SEAL stories. In real life, there are 200+ members to each Team, so I will never run out! And while some are newbies, “froglets”, others are transitioning out to follow other careers.
The Teams are also very mixed as far as backgrounds, some coming from Puerto Rico, Mexico, Africa, Costa Rica, and even Eastern Europe as naturalized citizens. So there are quirky personalities that can be developed and enjoyed that do “spice” up the story, give a little detail, just like Donald Maas would recommend.
Here’s a little example of my latest book, releasing 8/1/16, Nashville SEAL: Jameson. While this is Book 2, the novella, which is Book 1, is being given free at the back of Jameson for a limited time only. So get your copy while you get this bonus, and enjoy!
Fredo was in communication with the ship’s Com, since she was staying off shore nearly twenty miles to avoid local contact. Earlier in the year, the St. George had been the victim of a plan by pirates to raid the ship, until the unfortunate pirates figured out in the light of day that they’d picked a fight with the wrong dog. They were able to capture a dozen or so and deliver them to an interrogation facility run by the African Union south of Mogadishu.
“Here I thought our elections were fucked up,” T.J. Talbot was telling Coop. “I sure as hell hope we’re outa here in December. Hundreds of people die, they risk their lives to go vote in Somalia.”
“Makes a little protest now and then not seem so bad,” added Armando.
Jameson agreed. “We’re never satisfied, are we?”
Fredo leaned forward to look at him eye-to-eye. “What was the biggest crowd you ever played for, Jameson?”
“I think around five thousand. Maybe more.”
“No football stadiums?” Coop asked.
“Nope. Didn’t get there.”
“That was a pretty big one in Nashville, right? Was that your five thousand?” asked Kyle.
“I believe so. And it might have been bigger too. Crazy. Big venues like that, there are people all over the place, back stage too.”
“I hear you knocked them dead, Jameson,” Rory said.
Before Jameson could answer, Jones inserted, “You wear your Elvis costume?”
Several guys chuckled.
“Don’t knock Elvis. I still love listening to his music,” said Kyle. “I wouldn’t wear the shirts, but I love his voice.”
“You wear rhinestones for that concert, Jameson?” Fredo wanted to know.
“Nope, that’s not for me. I’d be just as happy in a tee shirt. But I wore my lucky shirt—that’s the one I met Lizzie in some years back—kinda fits snug with these shoulders that grew on me.” Jameson flexed his biceps.
“Not much chance you’ll get smaller. You’d best get yourself another shirt,” said Kyle.
“Then I’ll go shirtless. That’s my lucky shirt.”
“I got my lucky boxers,” shouted T.J. He stood up and showed the waistband of his red, white and blue American flag shorts. Several others followed suit. Everyone showed theirs. Jameson had a navy blue with yellow stars boxers on today. Fredo remained seated.
“Come on Fredo,” Coop needled him. “You gotta show yours.”
Jameson soon found out this was a serious violation of the group trust. As if on cue, three guys grabbed him, unzipped his sand camo pants as Coop pulled them down just below Fredo’s butt.
His boxers were pink.
Jameson knew he would never outlive this day.
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