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About the Author
James Mullins holds three college degrees, a Masters and Bachelors in Business Administration and an Associates Acquisition and Contract Management. He lives with his beautifully intelligent Wife Anna and ten pounds of tenaciousness and fury Catalina the Cat (she keeps us in line) and the newest addition to the family TBD the kitten. Hopefully when you return for book two in the series he will have a name!
James has had a diverse employment history. He got his start as an Avionics Attack System Specialist for the United States Air Force’s 71st Fighter Squadron, known as the Ironmen. During several tours of duty in the Middle East, James came to appreciate the beauty and harshness of the desert. Next, he built upon his problem-solving skills as a Pest Control Department Manager for Patriot Pest Control. During this time, he happily slew millions of bugs for the betterment of humankind, or at least making the lives of many a little less gross.
Today, he works for a major defense contractor in the United States. He spends his days helping to keep the purchasing community on the straight and narrow, so that his co-workers can continue to build good ships. All his life he has had a passion for history with diverse interests in Rome, Byzantium, the Middle Ages, and the American Civil War. The Winter Sniper is his fifth novel.
Scourge of Byzantium Bonus Chapters
Chapter 1
The sweat on Athos’ brow dripped into his eyes. Annoyed, he wiped it from his forehead for what seemed like the thousandth time. He looked up at the merciless yellow orb above. The skin on his face felt like it was boiling. Like the other members of the 5th Parthica, there was no escaping their tormentor, the Sun, on this August day.
“Why do we have to drill every day in this heat?” Athos asked.
Constan laughed at him, “Lad, you will understand one day.”
Athos shook his head fervently in disagreement. The young recruit tried to adjust the shield attached to his back but it was no use, “I’d like to understand today. I’ve asked around, and the officers have never made us march in August with all of this gear on.”
Constan chortled at Athos’ ignorance, but he too was feeling the effects of the march. He smiled back at Athos. The scar on the left side of his face gave him a somewhat goofy appearance. Especially with the eye patch, “Think of the bright side. We aren’t marching up the side of a mountain with this gear on.”
Athos shot back, “Let me guess you and the rest of the veterans won the war with Persia by marching uphill both ways.”
Constan removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his thick salt and pepper colored hair, “Aye and under fire the entire time! Those clever bastards built their fortresses on top of mountains. I swear it was nigh on impossible getting to those infernal places much less breaching the walls.”
Athos pointed at his chain mail, his Spatha, and the ax strapped to his back, “Let me guess everyone was wearing all this gear plus an eighty-pound pack.”
Constan replied, “No, we also had to carry a spear. Is there a point to this whining or you just trying to get me to kill you, so you don’t have to sweat anymore?”
Athos ignored the barb and thought to himself, Surely that heat couldn’t have been worse than today. I feel like my skin is boiling off my bones.
The silence was interrupted by Baltazar, Athos’ best friend, “Come on Athos ease up a little on the old man. You’re still smarting from getting your arse handed to you in shield and sword practice earlier today.”
Athos rolled his eyes and snorted, “Spinning more tales Baltazar? Everyone here knows you spent most of the drill on your back looking up at me!” Constan and a few others laughed at the jibe.
Baltazar frowning replied, “Yeah, but at least I didn’t drop my shield on my foot in the middle of shield wall practice!”
Athos grimaced at the memory. His foot throbbed in sympathy just thinking about it, “I’m not sure why we even practice that outdated formation.”
Constan replied, “You young pups aren’t getting any smarter. You’ll appreciate the lesson when some Persian is trying to put an arrow into your arse!”
Athos nodded in understanding, “Testudo is one of the few Latin terms I’ve ever heard. I
don’t know much about history though. I’ve heard our unit is named after a real person. Do you
know much about the original Ironman? People have said that he was a great warrior and that is why we are named for him.”
Constan’s face broke into a grin; he loved telling stories, “Aye, he was born into the Empire long ago. In his day the Empire stretched from the Pillars of Hercules to the Tigris River in Mesopotamia.”
Athos interrupted, “I can’t imagine a day where barbarians were a far-off problem.”
“Indeed, back in those times outside of the frontier area, barbarians were mainly tales of hairy savages parents told to frighten their naughty children. Not like today.” Constan’s eyes fell as he added, “A day in which the damned Goths occupy our sacred capital in Rome.” Constan spat on the ground to emphasize his displeasure at the current state of affairs in the world.
Athos asked, “How did the Ironman become so famous that Emperor Heraclius named the 5th Parthica after him?”
Constan replied, “You see it happened like this. Many centuries ago the 5th Parthica was
charged with guarding a bridge across the mighty Tigris River in Mesopotamia.”
Athos interjected, “Which bridge?”
Constan, became annoyed, “How the hell am I supposed to know which bridge exactly? That’s not part of the story, lad.”
Finishing their march around the walls of Damascus. Nikas shouted, “Right face!” The lead men of the 2nd Kentarchia of which both Athos and Constan were a part, turned right and began marching down the Roman road to Palmyra. The road very quickly led them away from the lush green lands surrounding the Barada River into the open desert.
After each Kentarches finished commanding the right turn onto the Palmyra road. Constan continued his story, “A conflict long ago broke out between the Roman Empire and the Parthians.”
Athos jumped in again, “Who were the Parthians?”
Constan’s cheeks turned crimson, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it is extremely rude to interrupt your elders when they are trying to weave a good yarn?”
Athos answered innocently, “No.”
Constan sighed, “It was a rhetorical question. Apparently, they don’t make them too smart in Armenia, eh? The Parthians were the predecessors of those dastardly Persian bastards that cost us so much blood during the war. “
This time Athos managed to remain silent, so Constan continued the story, “The treacherous Parthians were responsible for the complete destruction of the legion known as the 5th Parthica. They were butchered to a man by those sons of whores. Legend has it that the final legionnaire standing was a man of pure iron. This Ironman stood in the middle of the bridge over the Tigris and held the entire Parthian army off for twenty minutes. It was an amazing feat. Whenever the enemy swung a sword, he was not there to receive the blow. In contrast, his sword drank deeply of Parthian blood.”