SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

When you add a keen interest in military documentaries and military fiction, I jumped at the chance when Geoff asked me to come on board as co-editor for the SNAFU series. Who wouldn’t want to work with authors on stories that combined two of the best genres of fiction that would have readers wondering ‘what fresh hell is this?’

Wars and conflict are a part of our world, of humanity’s history whether we like it or not. No matter your culture or creed, combat sits and weighs heavily in our past. Even before the written word there are pictorial and oral records of battles, some of which are woven through our mythos.

SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest takes the warfare between monsters and military to the next level. Being reduced to that heart pounding, sphincter-clenching fear when facing a monstrous unknown; with your ammo dwindling and next-to-no options… how do you survive? At what cost?

The monsters here have been pulled from the abyss, summoned by dark magic, or are those that have lain dormant just waiting for the opportunity to wreak havoc. Pitched against elite forces and your (not-so) ordinary grunts, what will some sacrifice to save themselves, their brothers and sisters in arms, humanity? That’s the soul of the stories that lay ahead.

Each takes a different look at war, police actions, black ops and para-military, but with each taking place in different eras (epochs even). It’s both modern warfare and historical hostilities that make up this edition, of the finality of an epic battle when there is seemingly no way out… or back. It’s that thread of determination and sacrifice that binds these stories together. Whether it’s fighting one’s way through a gamut of nightmares made real, the horror-filled realisation of battling against an inconceivable and perhaps indestructible creature, or finding yourself up against something you thought was a work of fiction, it’s the fealty of the combatants, their courage and vulnerability, that highlights the best of humanity (regardless of how ‘human’ those soldiers are).

Now don’t get me wrong, the monsters in these tales hold their own, often with their own stories to tell, and our authors have taken these horrors from all spectrums of imagination and mythos — so much so that like the warriors facing off these foes, I was unsure what awaited me. What you think you may know, what these soldiers think they may know pales in comparison to the truth of what lurks in the shadows, what hides beneath your feet, or what awakens when the bell tolls.

And toll it does. SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest is just that. The question you have to ask yourself, is that soldier or hellion?

So sit back, keep your weapons close, and let our authors unleash their monsters…

Amanda J. Spedding — August 2015

Badlands SD Perry

October, 1952

In Korea, October was the only month that didn’t eat a bag of dicks, in Sergeant Edward West’s humble opinion. Between the sweltering deep green of the monsoon season and the icy slide into brutal winter, there were a few short weeks of relief. The leaves start to change, the humidity drops below fifty per cent, the days are mild. The ever-present stink of kimchi and human waste seem to ebb. It was only West’s second October in Korea, wasn’t like he had a whole lot of evidence, but he thought two was enough to say. He’d be out before a third, thank Christ, FIGMO whether the talks went on or not — the big R was scheduled for January.

And then what? Factory work? Management? Car sales? He walked slow, his handful of boys strung out in front of him. The gung-ho young West who’d proudly signed up for WWII was long gone, mislaid in the cold winter and spring of 1945 somewhere between Marche and Mauthausen. He’d gone home broken, an old man still in his 20s. Civilian life was a depressing horror show; blind, idiot smiles everywhere he looked. He lost a couple of jobs, drank too much. When Uncle Sam had called him up in ’50 with a better pay grade for a little police action over in Korea, he’d listened. Like a fucking idiot.

At least here you’re doing something useful. Keeping his guys in one piece, that had to count for something.

Burtoni held up his hand and everyone froze. West listened, scanned the stand of trees to the north, the low foothills east; it was rocky, hilly terrain anyway, but this close to the mountains there were spider holes and tunnels. He heard a scratching, rustling sound, low and close…

Young grinned, pointed two o’clock, and then they were all grinning.

“Mole?” drawled Cakes. His real name was Earl Dupree but everyone called him Cakes, short for Jonnycakes. The kid was a hillbilly. He was also a mouth with a temper, and built like a tank. He never got shook, and was a bear cat with an M1 Garand.