fuonlyknew

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for All Pistols taste The Same organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Jacob Paul Patchen will be awarding a free signed copy of No Pistol Tastes The Same to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Print copy US Only. eBook for International. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

No Pistol tastes The Same

by Jacob Paul Patchen

Genre: Suspense (Military/PTSD)

Synopsis

JP’s pistol tastes like bourbon.

 

Sergeant JP Grimm didn’t pull the trigger. Now his Marine brothers are dead. All victims of a child in a suicide vest…a child that resembled Sgt. Grimm’s very own. But how are you supposed to take a child’s life? How can you kill someone that looks just like your own son?

 

Those same hazel eyes he saw in his scope continue to haunt him long after he left the desert death lands as he tries to reconnect with his son, Adin. JP battles another war at home against PTSD and the worthless, dejected thoughts that he is the reason his friends are dead. His wife, Lisa, struggles to let her stubborn husband work it out on his own terms. She does all she can to give him space, support, and strength—but her love can only go so far.

 

As the world shows signs of impending doom from a weakening magnetic field and flaring sun, JP, too, shows signs of his own impending doom. After pushing everyone away, JP must face his nightmares to restore his relationship with his son, save his marriage, and save himself before the modern world burns out in a fiery, electromagnetic disaster.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Death Letter

 

On this green, issued, sweat-stained cot,

in salt-stiff desert cammies,

 

I drip words from my pores, like blood

from shrapnel wounds.

 

It is hot.

And thoughts of you steam my blood.

 

To say goodbye to smiles in a pile of pictures

 

is prison.

 

But, here, there are no visiting hours

no holiday breaks to touch your skin.

 

I am captive in this foreign land

a slave to a unit number

a digit in a media war.

 

I’m a piece of paper to a brass paper weight

filled with training checkmarks, achievements,

 

and next of kin.

 

No amount of wind will let me fly.

 

I am chained in this sand, blindfolded and bound,

as useful as a rotting corpse

 

without life…without soul.

 

And I am days away from that kind of death.

 

Or maybe minutes, or hours,

or even the seconds that tic loudly by

on this olive drab, sun-faded watch.

 

I’m writing to say goodbye,

because, by now,

 

I have accepted it.

 

Sgt. Grimm grunted as he leaned back in his front row, bottom bunk of tent three at Al-Asad Air Force Base. It was a tent big enough to house his whole platoon, though, with the excited noise and chatter of home, he wished it was only for himself. His lower back still felt like needles and his heavy head throbbed as he rested it on his folded digital blouse. “Bed rest.” Doc had ordered after the explosion several weeks ago. Now, as the deployment was coming to an end, and they had left FOB Hit behind them, the marines of Kilo 3/25 decompressed by playing football out front in the dirt, lifting weights at the Al-Asad gym, grabbing hot-chow seconds at the chow hall, or spending hours at the phone center calling home. For many, the morale was high.

 

But JP awoke that morning with another migraine and blurry vision. They’d be headed Stateside in less than two weeks, and he wondered what it would be like to face Joey’s family or tell them how he died—if they asked. Those thoughts kept him in bed all morning. Joey was the only marine who could piss him off more than First Sergeant, but still make him laugh until he forgot about the war. He needed that now, more than anything. But Joey wasn’t there to settle him anymore. Instead, his friend had been shredded by shrapnel at the hand of a bronze-eyed, six-year-old boy. The same six-year-old boy JP knew he should have shot when he had the chance.

 

But how the fuck are you supposed to take a child’s life? How can you kill someone that looks just like your own son?

 

Sgt. Grimm had plenty of time to replay the last few seconds of his friend’s life.

 

I should’ve killed him. I should’ve shot that kid right between the eyes. Dropped him. Ended him. Removed him from this Hell. Stopped him from creating mine.

 

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to relieve the pain throbbing at the back of his eyes.

 

But how? How could I? How could anyone?

~~~~~

Jacob Paul Patchen is an award-winning author and poet of inciting fiction and provocative poetry.

 

Jacob earns his inspiration through experience and believes every book has a purpose. He writes powerful, emotional, and thrilling stories about mental health, war, social stigmas, and other taboo subjects in order to bring awareness, change, and hope to those who need it.

 

Raised in Southeast Ohio, he’s a sucker for fast workouts, long laughter, and power naps. Snacks are his love language, and he thinks he’s a Pisces. Check him out and join his newsletter at Jacobpaulpatchen.com.

 

Author Links: Facebook / Instagram / Twitter / TikTok / Goodreads

Purchase Link: Amazon

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