Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book?
When did it come out? Where can we get it?
Strike for Honor is a pretty intense contemporary political drama with naval action. It’s about an admiral whose son is killed
by a North Korean missile attack during a naval exercise. With the U.S.
administration unwilling to upset nuclear limitation talks with North Korea by
taking a tough stand, the admiral decides to strike North Korea’s nuclear
enrichment plant. This, of course, creates an international crisis and upsets the
American President. I had to do a lot of research for this book, but that was
part of the fun. I did not apply everything I learned, but it broadened my
horizons.
Strike for Honor was released this
March and is available from Amazon and Smashwords.
Is
there anything that prompted Strike for Honor? Something that inspired
you?
When I conceived this
project, I really wanted to concentrate on my main character, Admiral Pacino,
and his problems with the White House administration and how it treats, or
fails to look after the veterans. Largely, the book still does, but having
opened the door on North Korea, there was no turning back, and during my
research, I found out far more than I anticipated – surprisingly more. We
all know how North and South Korea were created. What many people don't know
is that after the armistice was signed, America housed nuclear weapons in South
Korea in direct contravention of the Non Proliferation treaty, which over time,
directly led to North Korea developing its own nuclear program. America
and North Korea agreed to abandon its nuclear program, and in return,
America would provide N. Korea with a water cooled reactor to meet the country's
energy needs. It did shut down its program on three occasions, but America
failed to deliver on it promises. It is a complicated and tortuous history, and
made for fascinating reading.
Great!
So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a
pastime of yours?
I always wanted to
write. As far back as I can remember, the printed word held a fascination that
allowed me to escape into other worlds, other characters. For an imaginative
kid, it was better than candy - almost. Where I attended primary school, there
was a small library at the top of the street, which I made my own. At school, I
loved my essay writing assignments, even though many of my classmates found it
an agonizing chore. I could never figure out what was the big deal. My
specialty was using elaborate, flowery language. But nobody could describe a
sunset, a moonlit night or the booming of crashing surf like I could. The one
thing my writing lacked was people. It took me awhile to make the connection.
Prose was great, but great writing had to involve people, drama, conflict,
emotion and everyday life. When I learned to write dialogue, everything
clicked, or so I thought. I still haven’t stopped writing and learning how to
do it. Of course, having read many books, it didn’t seem all that hard, so I
wrote one. You don’t want to read it. Call it my training wheels. Well, one
thing led to another...
Do
you have any favorite authors, Stefan?
During my science
fiction phase, two authors stood out: Roger Zelazny and Keith Laumer. When his
writing was good and before he descended into sorcery and mysticism, Zelazny
had an evocative, deceptively easy style that was a pleasure to read. When I
can reread a book several times and still enjoy it, that’s my view of a great
book, and Zelazny had several. Keith Laumer had an irreverent, sardonic writing
style that blasted my sensibilities and often amused me. Some of his stuff was
terrible, but a lot was extremely entertaining.
Since my sci-fi days, I
sampled writers from other genres: 19th century sea warfare, techno thrillers
and others. I like Stephen Coonts, at least his early works. Sadly, he
descended into trash popularism, culminating with Saucer, a truly
terrible book. But a couple of hundred books later, the techno thriller genre
gave me a solid grounding into the workings of governments, spy agencies, the
military, and war machinery of all kind. It was a good launching platform for
my own contemporary novels.
Do you write in a specific place? Time of day? What works for you?
I am a morning person, a
result of having to get up early over many years to go to work, and that’s when
I like to write. That discipline hasn’t left me and I still get up early. I am
fresh and my mind is charged, ready to
go – most of the time. I find I am most
productive during the first half of the day. In the afternoon, I spend
transcribing material from my notebook into the computer and doing initial
editing. Although I don’t normally write in the evening, sometimes I do. It all
depends on inspiration and what I am writing about at the time. There are also
moments when I wake up in the middle of the night when an idea pops up and I
simply have to jot it down. When I don’t do that, I wake up knowing there
was something important I needed to write, but it’s gone. Frustrating.
I know exactly what you mean, Stefan!
So, are there any words you’d like to impart to
fellow writers? Any advice before you head off?
If there is
one thing I learned over the years as a writer, if anyone is contemplating
taking this on seriously, he should be prepared to spend many lonely hours with
a pencil and paper, and sitting behind a computer screen. There will be
disappointments, frustration, angst...and moments of sheer exhilaration and
satisfaction when the words flow and the creative process produces something
wonderful. Writing is a gift, but it can also be a curse. But once bitten with
the urge to create, there is no cure.
So true.
Okay, so there you
have it, folks. Stefan has a great book
out. You can get it on Amazon
and Smashwords.
Here is the blurb of Strike for Honor.
In a joint
exercise with the Korean navy, Admiral Pacino’s son is one of the casualties
from a North Korean missile strike. Enraged that the President is more interested
in stitching a deal with North Korea, forgetting the lost American lives,
Pacino decides to make a statement by bombing military facilities in both
Koreas. Appointed as the CIA Director, Mark Price is plunged into a plot by
dissidents to overthrow the North Korean Supreme Leader, bringing the country
closer to the West. Pacino’s attacks don’t make his new job or the President’s
any easier. Wishing to avoid embarrassing the Administration, someone decides
to remove Pacino – permanently. Strike for Honor is a stunning geopolitical thriller that examines
American foreign policy and national values.
Now, for the good
part. We’re giving you a sneak peek of Strike for Honor. Enjoy!
As
they neared the docks, he could see tall loading cranes cluttering the harbor
docks. Navy personnel were everywhere: officers, ratings and toiling gangs.
Across the water, two tugs crowded the sleek 567-foot length of USS Shiloh,
CG-67, a Ticonderoga-class Aegis cruiser, getting ready to depart. Her
functional boxy superstructure and rear helicopter housing didn’t make her
graceful, but her business was dealing out death, not stand in review.
Linda
pulled the car to a stop before a guarded gate and switched off the engine. She
looked at him and her brown eyes turned misty. He reached for her. With a
strangled sob, her arms were round his neck.
“There,
my sweet. It’s only an exercise,” Vin murmured softly into her short hair after
swallowing a lump.
She
pulled away and dabbed at her eyes. “I told myself I wouldn’t get emotional.”
He
smiled and brushed her cheek with a finger. “It’s all right. You can be
emotional for both of us.”
“Just
don’t be a hero, okay?”
“You’re
talking like I’m off to a war.”
“With
North Korean boats shadowing you, no one can tell what they’ll do.”
“I’ll
have a powerful ship under me with all the missiles I want to fire. They’d be
crackers to try something.”
“If
they do, make sure you duck. And that’s an order, Lieutenant.”
“Aye
aye, ma’am.” He pulled her tight and their lips met. Her soft mouth opened and
the first touch of her velvety tongue made him feel all prickly. Joined in a
dance of abandon, he wondered what the hell he was doing trading her for the
sea.
Having
to come up for air, he broke the moment and looked deep into her eyes. “Keep
that thought,” he said and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.
She
tittered and fisted him on the shoulder. “Dirty old man.”
“Always,
my sweet.” He glanced at the digital watch on his right wrist and sighed. “Got
to go. Love you.”
“Me
too,” she said, clearly distressed despite the brave little smile she gave him.
He
wanted to say something comforting and endearing, but words would only make it
trite. Abruptly, he unclipped his belt, opened the door, stepped out and
slammed it shut. As he made his way to the rear of the car, its trunk lid
popped open. He retrieved his dark blue duffel and walked toward the guard post
without looking back. He heard the Honda accelerate away behind him.
Saying
goodbyes had never been his strong suite.
A
marine, the semi-automatic on his right hip within easy reach, stepped out of
the small windowed shack and saluted.
“Morning,
sir.”
A
second marine inside the shack watched them both. Vin could see three M16A2
rifles mounted on the back wall. He returned the salute, slid the duffel to the
ground and dug out his wallet. He handed the ID card to the guard who passed it
to his buddy. After a computer check, Vin got his card back and the marine
saluted again.
“Give
’em hell, Lieutenant.”
Vin
grinned and returned the salute as the gate rolled back on its tracks. “Cocked
and locked,” he said as he picked up the bag. He paced slowly into his world
and breathed deeply. The green water was smooth and there was hardly any wind.
Walking
down the pier, he was barely aware of background noises permeating the air like
a pervasive blanket: cars, forklifts, trucks, prime movers, and the constant
hum of machinery—a harbor readying itself for a major deployment.
Tied
portside, a thin thread of gray smoke lingered above USS Curtis Wilbur’s rear
stack. The warship’s sharp clipper bow cleaved the air as it rose into a clear
sky. Massing 6,900 tons and 505 feet long, painted drab gray, the Arleigh
Burke-class guided missile destroyer was a powerful ship. Armed with
multiple Mk 41 vertical launch cells that could launch Tomahawk or Standard
attack missiles, Evolved Sea Sparrows for defense, VL-ASROC antisubmarine
missiles, five inch/54-caliber main gun, torpedo tubes and a Phalanx CIWS close
in defense system, the ship could hold its own. Two MH-60 Sea Hawk helicopters
housed in a stern hangar extended its reach when sub hunting. Pushed by four GE
gas turbines powering two shafts, going better than thirty-six knots, the ship
was also demonstrably fast.
Admiring
the sleek lines, like he told Linda once, he couldn’t wish for more.
Behind
his ship, tied along its starboard side, lay a sister destroyer, Mustin.
Lassen and Fitzgerald were laid up for major maintenance and
would be missing the scaled down FTX, no doubt to the chagrin of their
skippers. Apart from them, everybody else was going, except the carrier USS George
Washington. She’d be missing this one, a deal to appease the North Koreans.
As the Fleet’s Deputy Commander, Rear Admiral Kenneth Pacino—due to get his
third star in the fall according to the grapevine—would be running the exercise
from his command ship, USS Blue Ridge, LCC-19. Vin wondered what his old
man was doing now. Probably giving his chief of staff ulcers, he mused
sardonically.
Despite
the fact both of them were at Yokosuka, he’d had limited contact with his
father. Their respective duties simply made socializing on a grand scale
impossible. To make up for it, his mother visited when he was in port and Linda
valued being under the wing of an admiral’s wife. It wasn’t patronage, merely
taking practical advantage, and Vin would have been nuts not to take the social
benefits his father’s position offered. That’s as far as it went, and neither
would have it otherwise. His father’s rank was never used to advance or influence
his career. Still, it was nice to know he had one admiral in his pocket if
needed.
As
he approached the destroyer, its arching side looming beside him, the offset
gray-black DDG-54 painted prominently on its bow, Vin figured life could be a
whole lot worse. He paused beside the gangway guarded by two marines and
returned their salutes. Without being asked, he held out his ID. The marine
looked at it carefully and made a tick on his clipboard.
Vin
shouldered his bag and climbed up the gangway. Reaching the weather deck, he
looked up, saluted the colors and then saluted Lieutenant JG, Mike Couper,
standing his stint as Officer of the Deck. The boy looked confident; a far cry
from his initial eager, trusting phase when he first came on board. Wanting to
make a good impression, he micromanaged, driving his team to distraction,
forcing Vin to remind him that he was there as a manager. The chiefs were there
to look after the sailors.
“Permission
to come aboard, sir,” Vin said formally. Couper returned his salute.
“Permission
granted, sir.”
Vin
stepped on the steel deck and quickly looked around. There weren’t many people
about, most of the activity being below decks.
“What’s
the word, Mike?”
“Set
to shove off at ten hundred, as per the advertised schedule. You’ve got the
afternoon watch in CIC.”
“Everybody
on board?”
“Just
about, but—”
“I
know. Koslov hasn’t reported in.”
“Not
yet, and Commander Linnen is something pissed,” Couper agreed equitably,
clearly not overly agitated at the prospect of Koslov getting a reaming.
“Well,
it wouldn’t be a deployment if the Exec wasn’t pissed at somebody,” Vin said
comfortably and walked toward an open hatchway leading into the ship’s bowels.
Commander
Deron ‘Sheet’ Linnen was a good officer and cut the crew a lot of slack, but he
didn’t have much time for any prima donna. Senior Chief Koslov’s last minute
departure antics definitely fitted into that category. Every ship had a
character and Koslov was Steel Hammer’s, as the ship was commonly
referred to. How people came up with such names, Vin couldn’t figure. They
might as well have called her Glowing Hammer after the Fukushima
reactors went into a meltdown. Curtis Wilbur and several other ships
happened to be in port at the time and it was rumored everything in Yokosuka
received a dosing, although according to the official poop, tests showed
nothing. The men still joked about it and he was told other ships had requests
for transfers, but no one from Wilbur went. The men liked how Captain
Tyler Woods ran things. For that matter, so did Vin.
After
squaring away and raiding the wardroom for a coffee, he went topside. Standing
beside the ASROC torpedo launcher, he watched the hands single up the bowlines.
At ten a.m. sharp, the ship’s horn blared, sending up a plume of white steam
from the forward stack and tugs eased the warship away from the wharf.
It
was time to do some paid business.
Author Bio
Stefan Vucak is an
award-winning author of seven techno sci-fi novels, including With Shadow and Thunder, which was a 2002
EPPIE finalist. His Shadow Gods Saga books have been highly acclaimed by
critics. His book, Cry of
Eagles, won the coveted 2011 Readers Favorite silver medal award.
Stefan has leveraged a successful career in the Information Technology industry and applied that discipline to create realistic, highly believable storylines for his books. Born in Croatia, he now lives in Melbourne, Australia. In addition to writing, he is also an editor, a book reviewer, and an avid reader with a passion for travel.
Stefan has leveraged a successful career in the Information Technology industry and applied that discipline to create realistic, highly believable storylines for his books. Born in Croatia, he now lives in Melbourne, Australia. In addition to writing, he is also an editor, a book reviewer, and an avid reader with a passion for travel.
Website: www.stefanvucak.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/StefanVucak
Twitter: @stefanvucak
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