After the war the zany Williard brothers and their paramours go looking for adventure and find all they can handle when they decide to see if there really is a dinosur still living deep in the Congo. Flying a beatup old seaplane, the brothers are shot up, shot down, chased by the Mafia for carrying drug money they don't know they have, captured by pygmies and forced to undergo the dread palm wine drinking contest, where failure means being fed to Mokele Mbembe--and if they survive all this, the Godfather is waiting back in New York to feed them to his pet shark.
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Double Dragon Publishing
August 31, 2005
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Adobe DRM EPUB
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Excerpt from Postwar Dinosaur Blues by Darrell Bain
The little brunette stewardess in the green miniskirt eyed the army sergeant sitting in the aisle seat of the 727 bound from Seattle to Dallas. She took in the five stripes he wore and thought he appeared rather young for the rank, but then she saw the overseas bars on the sleeve of his winter class A uniform. A quick glimpse at his chest showed a triple row of ribbons on his left breast. A little older than he looks, she thought, and just back from 'Nam; probably, with money burning a hole in his pocket. Good looking, too, with that dark hair and those dreamy brown eyes.
"Would you like something to drink, Sergeant " she asked, leaning forward slightly and smiling more than a little slightly. She had a week's leave coming with nothing on her agenda and the sergeant looked interesting. Besides, she was getting a little tired of the crowd the other stews ran with. They seemed to consist mostly of airline pilots, whom she was tired of, or shallow characters in gold necklaces and leisure suits, with the pockets of their suits usually filled with dope of one variety or another. A military man might be a welcome change of pace, she thought, even if her friends did consider them dour and too restrained for their tastes
Sgt. James Williard scrutinized the legs beneath the green miniskirt and let his gaze travel up over the rest of the stew's body. Her matching green top was well filled out. He had a hard time getting his eyes to travel up to her cap of wavy dark hair and a lightly freckled face with full lips and pert nose. Nice, he thought. "I'm not a sergeant."
The stew raised her brows. "You couldn't prove it by the way you're dressed."
Williard smiled, with a hint of regret behind it. "I just got discharged. I'm on my way back home." What he didn't say was that until six months ago, he had been a lieutenant, courtesy of a combat commission. Then the war wound down and he found the army was overstaffed with medical service officers. Reluctantly, he accepted continued service at his old rank but soon tired of the peacetime army and decided to try civilian life for a while, though at first he had been uncertain of what that would entail. Now he thought he knew; that is, if his brother's plans worked out. Sometimes they did, sometimes they didn't. Jason was the wildest of the three Williard brothers. Compared to him, Williard thought he and Jerry were boy scouts, a contention no one else who knew them would believe.