A J Barker:GERMAN INFANTRY WEAPONS OF WORLD WAR II
- Paperback 2005, ISBN: 9780853680130
Hardcover
Penguin. Very Good. 6.1 x 1.22 x 9.21 inches. Paperback. 2005. 320 pages. <br>Clive Cussler debuted his new series, The Oregon F iles, with the incredible adventure of Golden Buddha… More...
Penguin. Very Good. 6.1 x 1.22 x 9.21 inches. Paperback. 2005. 320 pages. <br>Clive Cussler debuted his new series, The Oregon F iles, with the incredible adventure of Golden Buddha. Now he foll ows that triumph with Sacred Stone, a rollicking new tale featuri ng the enigmatic captain of The Oregon, Juan Cabrillo. In the rem ote wastelands of Greenland, an ancient artifact possessing catas trophic radioactive power is unearthed. But the astounding find p uts the world at risk. Caught between two militant factions bent on wholesale slaughter, Juan Cabrillo and his network of spies kn own as The Corporation must fight to protect the stone - and prev ent the outbreak of World War III... Editorial Reviews From Pub lishers Weekly Eric the Red's A.D. 1000 discovery of a radioactiv e meteorite has present-day life-or-death ramifications in Cussle r and Dirgo's second novel (after Golden Buddha) featuring the Or egon, a state-of-the-art warship disguised as a rusty tramp steam er and manned by some of the world's finest ex-military and intel ligence operatives. Known collectively as the Corporation, the me n and women of the Oregon--mercenaries with a conscience--offer t heir services to various countries and individuals with specializ ed security and military needs. The Corporation's chairman, serie s hero Juan Cabrillo, has several pressing concerns: supply secur ity for the emir of Qatar, who is attending a conference in Icela nd; track down a nuclear bomb that has gone astray; and pick up t he aforementioned meteorite, which has just been found ensconced in a mysterious shrine. These jobs become dangerously complicated when industrialist Halifax Hickman, a man fueled by revenge and hatred, enters the picture. The meteorite, the atomic bomb and a vial of plague are to be used in attacks on holy sites--Israel's Dome of the Rock and Saudi Arabia's al-Haram mosque--and at an El ton John concert. It's a deadly game, but the brilliant Cabrillo is a master player, moving his pieces at lightning speed on sever al boards until he outmaneuvers his opposition in this action-pac ked page-turner. Copyright Reed Business Information, a divisio n of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers t o an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. Review J ust About the Best Storyteller in the Business. --This text refer s to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. From Booklist This is the second novel in the Oregon Files series feat uring Juan Cabrillo as the chairman of the Corporation, a group o f ex-military and intelligence operatives who hire themselves out to countries and individuals needing specialized services--a pri vate army of mercenaries with a conscience. The Oregon is a 500-f oot-long cargo steamer with a state-of-the-art communications and command center and a helicopter. The group's mission is to pick up a meteorite and deliver it to the CIA. It might be made of iri dium, and iridium can be used to construct a dirty bomb. Muslim t errorists who have stolen a nuclear device may use the radioactiv e material in the meteorite to vaporize a large Western city. Ano ther group, led by a demented industrialist, seeks to destroy the Islamic world. As always, the plot covers many locales around th e world, and the dialogue contains lots of military jargon. The l arge cast of characters includes Elton John and Eric the Red (yes , the legendary explorer). Even though the good guys always win, Cussler fans will remain engaged. George Cohen Copyright America n Library Association. All rights reserved --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. About the Author Clive Cussler is the author of numerous New York Times bes tsellers. He splits his time between Telluride, Colorado and Para dise Valley, Arizona. Craig Dirgo has been special projects dire ctor on many NUMA® expeditions since 1987 and now serves as a tru stee. He also cowrote The Sea Hunters series. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. From Au dioFile In another of Cussler's high-tech potboilers, a small ban d of heroes rushes from one intricate crisis to another in an eff ort to save the world and the Islamic religion. The latter is pre sented with objectivity: Some Muslims are terrorists; some are am ong the good guys; most just go about their business. The artifac ts of Islam occupy a central role in the story. The jacket blurb describes J. Charles as having more than forty years of experienc e in entertainment, but his voice reminds one of emerging younger narrators such as Scott Brick. Charles distinguishes the players skillfully through accent and cadence. This is a fun listen. D.R .W. AudioFile 2005, Portland, Maine-- Copyright AudioFile, Port land, Maine --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title. Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All ri ghts reserved. Chapter One LIEUTENANT CHRIS HUNT rarely talked about his past, but the men he served with had gathered a few clu es from his demeanor. The first was that Hunt had not grown up in some backwoods hillbilly haven and used the army to see the worl d. He was from Southern California. And, if pressed, Hunt would v olunteer he was raised in the Los Angeles area, not wanting to di sclose that he grew up in Beverly Hills. The second thing the men noticed was that Hunt was a natural leader-he was neither patron izing nor put on an air of superiority, but neither did he try to hide the fact that he was competent and smart. The third thing the men found out today. A chill wind was blowing down from th e mountains into the Afghanistan valley where the platoon under H unt's command was breaking camp. Hunt and three other soldiers we re wrestling with a tent they were folding for storage. While the men were bringing the ends together longways, Sergeant Tom Agnes decided to ask about the rumor he had heard. Hunt handed him the side of the tent so Agnes could fold it into halves. Sir, Agne s said, rumor has it you graduated from Yale University-that true ? All the men were wearing tinted ski goggles but Agnes was clo se enough to see Hunt's eyes. A flicker of surprise, followed by resignation, flashed quickly. Then Hunt smiled. Ah, he said qui etly, you've found out my terrible secret. Agnes nodded and fol ded the tent in half. Not exactly a hotbed for military recruitin g. George Bush went there, Hunt said. He was a navy pilot. I thought he was in the National Guard, Specialist Jesus Herrara, w ho was taking the tent from Agnes, said. George Bush Senior, Hu nt said. Our president also graduated from Yale, and yes, he was a National Guard jet pilot. Yale, Agnes said. If you don't mind me asking, how did you end up here? Hunt brushed some snow fro m his gloves. I volunteered, he said, just like you. Agnes nodd ed. Now let's finish breaking down this camp, Hunt said, pointi ng to the mountain nearby, and head up there and find that bastar d who attacked the United States. Yes, sir, the men said in uni son. Ten minutes later, with fifty-pound packs on their backs, they started up the mountain. IN A TOWN where beautiful women a bound, at age forty-nine Michelle Hunt still caused men to turn t heir heads. Tall, with hazel hair and bluegreen eyes, she was ble ssed with a figure that required neither constant dieting nor end less exercise to appear trim. Her lips were full and her teeth st raight, but it was her doelike eyes and flawless skin that gave t he strongest visual impression. And while she was a beautiful wom an, that was as common in Southern California as sunshine and ear thquakes. What drew people closer to Michelle was something tha t cannot be created by a surgeon's knife, honed through dress or manicure, or developed through ambition or change. Michelle had t hat thing that made both men and women like her and want to be ar ound her-she was happy, content and positive. Michelle Hunt was h erself. And people flocked to her like bees to a flower in bloom. Sam, she said to the painter who had just finished the walls i n her art gallery, you do such nice work. Sam was thirty-eight years old and he blushed. Only my best for you, Ms. Hunt, he sa id. Sam had painted her gallery when it had opened five years b efore, her Beverly Hills house, her condo in Lake Tahoe and now t his remodel. And every time she made him feel appreciated and tal ented. You want a bottle of water or a Coke or something? she a sked. I'm okay, thanks. Just then an assistant called from th e front of the gallery that she had a telephone call, and she smi led, waved and began to walk away. That's a lady, Sam said unde r his breath, a lady. Walking to the front of the gallery, wher e her desk faced out onto Rodeo Drive, Michelle noticed that one of the artists she represented was coming through the front door. Here her amiability had also paid off in spades-artists are a fi ckle and temperamental lot, but Michelle's artists adored her and rarely changed galleries. That and the fact that she had started her business fully funded had contributed greatly to her years o f success. I knew today was going to be good, she said to the b earded man. I just didn't know it would be because my favorite ar tist would be paying me a visit. The man smiled. Just let me take this telephone call, she said, and we'll talk. Her aide co rralled the artist toward an area with couches and a wet bar off to one side. As Michelle slid into her desk chair and reached for the telephone, the aide took the artist's drink order and a few seconds later began packing ground espresso into the machine to d raw him a cappuccino. Michelle Hunt. It's me, a gravelly voic e said. The voice was one that needed no introduction. He had s wept her off her feet when she was a young woman of twenty-one, f reshly arrived from Minnesota, seeking a new life of fun and sun in 1980s Southern California. After an on-again, off-again relati onship, necessitated both by his inability to be bound to a relat ionship, as well as his frequent absences for business, she had b orne his son at age twenty-four. And though his name never appear ed on the birth certificate-nor had Michelle and he actually live d together before or since-the pair had remained close. At least as close as the man allowed anyone ever to come. How are you? s he asked. I've been okay. Where are you? It was the standar d question she asked him to break the ice. Over the years the ans wers had ranged from Osaka to Peru to Paris to Tahiti. Hang on, the man said easily. He stared at a moving map on a forward wall near the cockpit of his jet. Six hundred and eighty-seven miles from Honolulu on the way to Vancouver, British Columbia. Going skiing? she asked. The sport was something they had enjoyed toget her. Building a skyscraper, he answered. You're always up to something. True, he noted. Michelle, I called because I heard o ur boy has been sent to Afghanistan, he said quietly. Michelle had been unaware-the deployment was still secret and Chris had no t been able to disclose his destination when he'd been dispatched . Oh my, she blurted, that's not good. That's what I thought you'd say. How'd you find out? Michelle asked. I'm always amaze d by your ability to ferret out information. It's not magic, th e man said. I have so many senators and other politicians in my p ocket I've had to buy larger pants. Any word on how it's going? I guess the mission is proving harder than the president envis ioned, he said. Chris is apparently leading a hunter-killer squad to locate the bad guys. Limited contact so far-but my sources cl aim it is cold and dirty work. If he doesn't contact you for a wh ile, don't be surprised. I'm afraid for him, Michelle said slow ly. Do you want me to put in a fix? the man asked. Have him pul led out and sent stateside? I thought he made you agree never t o do that. He did, the man admitted. Then don't. I'll call you when I know more. Are you going to be down this way soon? M ichelle asked. I'll call you if I am, the man said. Now I'd bet ter go-I'm starting to get static on the satellite line. Must be sunspots. Pray our boy is safe, she said. I might do more tha n that, the man said as the call ended. Michelle replaced the r eceiver in its cradle and sat back. Her ex-beau was not one to sh ow worry or fear. Still, his concern for his son had been palpabl e and personal. She could only hope his worry was misplaced, and that Chris would come home soon. Rising from the desk, she walk ed toward the artist. Tell me you have something good, she said e asily. Outside in the van, the artist said, and I think you'll like it. FOUR HOURS AFTER sunrise, one thousand feet higher up the ridge from the camp where they had spent the night, Hunt's pl atoon met a determined enemy. The fire came from a series of cave s just above and to the east. And it came all at once. Rifle fire , rocket-propelled grenades, mortars, handgun fire rained down. T he enemy dynamited the mountain to create rock slides, pelting th e ground below, and they had mined the ground where Hunt's troops sought refuge. The enemy's goal was to wipe out Hunt's team al l at once-and they would come close. Hunt had taken refuge behi nd a series of boulders. Bullets were ricocheting off the rocks t o all sides, sending chips flying through the air and striking hi s men. There was nowhere to hide, no way to advance, and their re treat had been cut off by a rock slide. Radio, Hunt shouted. Half his team was twenty yards ahead, another quarter ahead and t o the left. Luckily, his radio operator had stayed close to the l ieutenant. The man edged toward Hunt on his back to protect the r adio. For his effort he received a wound to his kneecap when a bu llet grazed his raised knee as the man pushed himself closer. Hun t dragged him the rest of the way. Antencio, Hunt shouted to a man a few feet away, take care of Lassiter's wound. Antencio sc urried over and began cutting away the radio operator's pants. He found the opening was not deep and began to wrap a bandage aroun d the knee as Hunt flicked on the radio and adjusted the dial. You're going to be okay, Lassiter, he said to the radio operator. I'm going to get us some help in here posthaste. Then we'll have you medevaced. The fear in the soldiers' faces was obvious. Fo r most of them, as for Hunt, this was their first time in battle. As their leader, he needed to take control and form a plan. Co ntrol, Control, Advance Three, Hunt y, Penguin, 2005, 3, London: Sidgwick & Jackson. A crisp and tight copy, but 2cm tear to front board. Open tears to top edge of jacket. . Very Good. Hardcover. 1999., Sidgwick & Jackson, 1999, 3, (Subject: Small Arms, Personal Weapons, Equipment & Accoutrements) Endpaper pages missing, cracking on front hinge and marks on front board. No dustjacket. text good, useful for reference and information. One of the 'Illustrated Studies in Twentieth Century Arms' Series. Includes small arms, ammunition, machine guns, grenades, support weapons and bayonets. (Published: 1969) (Publisher: Arms & Armour Press) (ISBN: 0853680132) (Pagination: 76pp, illustrationss.) (Condition: ) UL-XXXXXX, 0<
