Fiction With Purpose Political One Bloody Alabaster Eye

One Bloody Alabaster Eye

One Bloody Alabaster Eye
Catalog # SKU2886
Publisher TGS Publishing
Weight 1.00 lbs
Author Name Clayton R. Douglas
 
$24.95
Quantity

Description

One Bloody
Alabaster Eye


A TREVOR CAMERON,
TERRORIST HUNTER NOVEL


by
Clayton R. Douglas

Written in the style of and as a tribute to a great Author, John D. MacDonald, by Clayton R. Douglas in the late 1900s, this first book in the Trevor Cameron, Terrorist Hunter series may even surpass MacDonald's Travis McGee character in complexity and dimension. It was written originally in the late nineties and a future sequence added a few years before 9-11-2001. The future world of Trevor Cameron Hamilton seemed at the time almost like science fiction to all but Mr. Douglas, who as publisher of the Free American Magazine saw so many clues in articles and stories of current events and history that this frightening glimpse into the future was his way of warning today's readers in hopes that an aware majority of Christian Americans might somehow be able to influence his dire vision and prevent such a future from occurring.

This is the only novel in this series that contains this unique format. But readers of this series in the future will walk with Trevor Cameron through the pages of recent history, rub shoulders with real politicians, world leaders, soldiers, spies, bankers, and ordinary people in fictional settings and situations. You will see current events from a new viewpoint and in reading these fiction novels gain a new insight into events unfolding tomorrow.

" One Bloody Alabaster Eye" marks a transition point in one man's life, from a businessman to an avenger. From a landlubber to a lover of the ocean. From a naïve American to a man with a greater understanding about the nature and the viciousness of the world we live in. His adventure begins in the Colorado Rockies and takes him all the way to the Florida Keys.

What starts out as a casual search for a father he never knew becomes a battle for survival and a blooming love affair becomes a quest for vengeance in a lethal paradise. Welcome to a world of warriors where nothing is as it seems. Welcome to the beginning of a legend!

**************

Excerpt:

The kid was young, green and scared. We had been running through heavy woods, mostly uphill, praying for the snowstorm to hit before the choppers could lock onto us with their infrared scanners or the gunners could see us through their night-vision scopes. We were both winded, close to exhaustion, and the vision of what we had seen was weighing heavily on our minds.

The whomp of the blades of a Russian Hind coming over a ridge stopped us in our tracks as we scrambled to unfurl the special ponchos that would hide our heat signatures and provide a slim chance of survival. With our rifles underneath us and the camouflaged, lightweight ponchos over us, we lay in the fresh, wet layer of snow that had fallen earlier and waited. If their instruments located us, we would never feel a thing. Missiles would tear the flesh from our bones in an instant and the war would be over for us. That was probably a better fate than being overtaken by the Gurkha soldiers somewhere behind us.

The Ghurkas were small, Nepalese troops favored by the British and much feared by their enemies. They were bred to be soldiers. Their size was not indicative of their ferociousness. The great knives they carried were passed down from father to son and, once drawn, could not be resheathed with honor without drawing blood.

In Korea and Vietnam, they had fought on our side. In this crazy conflict, it was hard to tell who was who and which side was which.

The sound of the helicopter faded into the approaching night, but the danger was not lessened. The Ghurkas were silent, deadly and as tenacious trackers as bloodhounds. I knew that only an act of God would save us. The kid thought I could.

"Where to now, Colonel Cameron?" he asked, with a composure that startled me. Could it be that he was not as frightened as I had thought? Maybe he just didn't understand how dangerous and close to hopeless the situation was.

I took a deep breath and composed myself. It's hard to be a hero when you are scared shitless. I pulled up a picture of the terrain in my mind and glanced at the compass to orient myself.

"We will keep going north until we hit the highway. Maybe we will luck out and catch a ride with a sympathetic trucker." I kept the heat-masking poncho over my shoulders, put the rifle at ready and started out in a northerly direction.

We were deep in enemy-controlled territory, far from the relative safety of the city. The travel restrictions imposed on the general population cut deep into our chances of getting a ride with a sympathetic citizen. Only trucks and tanks were allowed on the major highways. We had missed our rendezvous and had been written off by our confederates as MIA.

Our mission had been to confirm the rumors of a major termination camp near the border. The reports had been true, but the security around the camp had been far more sophisticated than we had expected. No sooner had we snapped the first pictures of the naked men, women and children being herded into separate facilities and caught a whiff of the noxious smell of burning bodies from the short, wide smokestacks hidden by the towering evergreens, than the alarm sounded, the searchlights went off and we were running for our lives.

I felt a sense of hopelessness wash over me. What good would the photos do even if we survived to deliver them? Who would believe the pictures and who possessed the power to do anything about them?

There were rumors that we had friends in the Army and in high places, but no one with any juice was showing their hand at this point. If the existence of such allies were true, how much longer would it be, how many more lives would be sacrificed before they would act?

My eyes caught the kid's. He was staring at me questioningly. Was he reading my doubts on my face? "Come on, let's move it!" I said gruffly, turning my face from his.

Then I heard a rustling of leaves and turned to see the little, black-clad Gurkha in night vision glasses with his knife pulled coming through the bushes to my right. I ducked and could feel the wind from the blade above my head. My own cold steel blade slipped silently from its sheath and I buried it to the hilt in his side.

Luck. There was no time to congratulate myself. Where there was one, there were others. I grabbed the falling Gurkha and swung him around until we were facing the direction he came from. I started to yell at the kid to get behind me, but there was no time. A burst of automatic weapon fire came from the brush-filled forest. It was eerie to see the tracer rounds coming straight at me. The body I was holding bucked from the impact of a dozen bullets. I grabbed the Uzi hanging loose at the dead man's side and returned the fire.

I fired until the clip was empty, and then I unslung my own mini-fourteen from my shoulder while still gripping my formerly human shield tightly. I fired a few rounds at the suddenly quiet forest and realized I was still alive. And still standing there like an idiot. I dropped the bullet-riddled body and nestled between it and a moss-covered log. I removed the undamaged glasses from the corpse and slipped them over my own head, frantically searching the green shadows of the forest for my enemies and the body for anything I could use. I came up with a few 9mm rounds that would work in my pistol as well as the liberated Uzi. Whoever had fired at us was as good as invisible.

Suddenly I remembered the kid!



336+pages - 6¾ x 8¼ softcover


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