Book cover

I would like a cover design for a book
Prologue
My undercover life as an outlaw biker began in Iraq—not that I knew I was embarking on that path at the time. It seems fitting, though, now that I look back—one frying pan to another. The only place hotter than Texas, where I grew up, is the Iraqi desert. For months I’d been sweating in that oven: 120° Fahrenheit in the shade, if you could find any; sand storms every other day; and everybody on edge from stakes that just kept getting higher and higher. It was 2004. Iraq was a hotbed of insurgents, and in the wake of the Abu Ghraib scandal, the U.S. Army was under intense international scrutiny. There was no margin for error.
I was career military. I had joined Kansas State’s ROTC when I was just seventeen, and since then I’d served in South America, Bosnia, and Israel; in addition, this was my third tour in Iraq. I’d been trained as a medic and as military police. Even my wife Marie, a nuclear engineer, was army. So I guess you could say I’d been around the block. Compared to what I’d done before, my mission now was simple: leading the search and rescue of allied personnel. When special groups went out on missions, my team and I followed to extract anyone who died or was injured.
So on a typical day hot enough to fry an egg on your helmet, my team was following a routine convoy. To get there, we had to go through this piece-of-shit village. The other men and I hated this place—every time we went through, the villagers took turns taking potshots at us. In a war you expect a certain amount of hostility, but we’d had about enough of these guys. Dodging bullets can make a man touchy.