Trench Talk [NOOK Book]


In every Conflict there are unsung heroes, those who go beyond the call of duty but go unrewarded.

All wars produce tales that fascinate the young and horrify the old, our duty is to remember the truth of those who fought.

The Great War was such that it is littered with tales of bravery beyond that which can be expected, there are also those who were executed for cowardice ...

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Trench Talk

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In every Conflict there are unsung heroes, those who go beyond the call of duty but go unrewarded.

All wars produce tales that fascinate the young and horrify the old, our duty is to remember the truth of those who fought.

The Great War was such that it is littered with tales of bravery beyond that which can be expected, there are also those who were executed for cowardice because they suffered from Shell Shock now known as PTSD.

This collection is a simple recognition from one Old Soldier to many, many others

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Product Details

  • BN ID: 2940045013390
  • Publisher: David McDonald
  • Publication date: 9/29/2012
  • Series: A War of Words , #2
  • Sold by: Smashwords
  • Format: eBook
  • File size: 275 KB

Meet the Author

David McDonald is something of a unique individual and confounds many with his achievements, having suffered five strokes he has impaired short term memory and impaired cognitive skills.
Despite this he has written seven books of War Poetry, all of which are well received, and another Novella, he struggles with grammar and refuses to surrender to his physical and mental limitations.
I served with David during his eighteen years of Military Service, an outstanding soldier he has used his past to inspire his present in his writing.
I leave it to the reader to decide but this man is worth the respect so many of us who know him display, he is one of the few who fights for the many.

John Holdsworth


His first publications, There are no Unwounded Soldiers, I Never Raised My Son to be a Soldier and Every Soldier Needs a Soul form a Trilogy of poetry and display his ability to use words to tell stories.

The Lost Century is a result of his prolific writing during his treatment for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and contains some hard reading.

The latest and most acclaimed of his works are "A Heart Without Words" and "A Heart with Wounds" which form a brace of books dealing with Emotions.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 5
( 2 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 2 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 19, 2013


    Heheh... ~Other Raven

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 18, 2013

    Don't Look Back

    Don't Look Back

    Chapter 6

    I enter the room quietly. It is very neat and orderly- no shoes or clothes tossed aside, or nail polish and hair things on the the dresser, or so much as a speck of dust or dirt on anything.
    A stylish white lamp is perched on a small bedside table.
    "Hello?" I call tentatively.
    "Hang on!" A voice shouts from behind a closed door.
    I stand awkwardly, waiting for the owner of the apartment to show themself.
    Finally, the door opens. "Sorry!" The girl gasps. "I took a shower and I had to blow-dry my hair and do my makeup and so on." She gives a sigh of mock fatigue, then sticks out a hand. "Hi! I'm Raven."
    I shake her hand. "Perry."
    Raven has chin-length black hair, pale skin, and ice-blue eyes. She wears eyeliner and mascara. Her nails are painted dark violet. She wears black jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a black jacket with the sleeves rolled up.
    "So, Z tells me you need a makeover." She continues brightly. "And that's my specialty. Well, one of a few."
    "Great." I put on an enthusiastic smile.
    "Okay, so I'm just making you flawless. Not that you're ugly, but no one's flawless. A freckle, a birthmark, anything a movie director would want hidden from cameras, and that's where I come in."
    I frown. "Movie director?"
    "No, just a simile. Ignore me!" She laughs a little and looks around. "Where did I put my... oh, yeah!"
    She opens a closet door, then returns with a large makeup kit. She pulls a chair over, and asks that I sit. I obey silently.
    "Ready?" She asks.
    "Yup." I reply. Raven opens her kit and gets to work. Brushes sweep over my skin, something pulls at my eyelashes, other things dab on my lips and around my eyes. My hair is combed, and then worked on.
    Finally, Raven turns my chair toward the mirror on her dresser. "Take a look." She says, looking proud of her work. I examine myself. Longer, darker lashes rimming misty silver eyes. Full, light pink lips. My skin is flawless and almost as light as Raven's. My long blond hair falls in ringlets.
    "Wow." I say in awe. The makeup is a sharp contrast to my white hoodie from Z and my shorts. "That's amazing. I've... I'm not even me!"
    "Of course you are. Now all you need is a dress!" Raven says. "And only Catrina can help you with that."
    I nod slowly. Almost being executed, and suddenly I'm being given a makeover? I'm not so sure abut this.
    Raven leads me to the door.
    "Can I talk to Z really quick?" I ask.
    "Need to see your boyfriend? Sure. I totally understand." Raven says.
    "He's not my boyfriend!" I protest.
    "Uh-huh, whatever." She grins and leads me off. I follow her to another door, marked 128. She opens it and pushes me in, before leaving.
    "Z, you here?" I ask.
    A shuffling sound, and Z stumbles out. His hair is wild and soaked, and hehas a towel around his waist. His gray T-shirt is halfway on, like he had been trying to pull it back on.
    I shield my eyes. "Go get dressed!"
    He leaves. A moment later, he returns in jeans and a T-shirt.
    "What the hell is going on?" I demand furiously. "A MAKEOVER?"
    "I was gonna send you to the set of a new movie. One of the actors is with us, and they have something for me. I can't have a nobody on the set of a movie." He explains.
    "I'm a nobody whether or not I have makeup, you clueless-"
    "Wash it off, whatever! I didn't decide that! The producers won't let you on the damn stage if you look like a goddamned rebel! Get out!" He shoves me out the door and slams it shut.
    I stare at the closed door until the screams threaten to be free.

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