Showing posts with label Famous First Chapters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Famous First Chapters. Show all posts
🏰Read the First Chapter of Soul Matters by Yolonda Tonette Sanders #FirstChapter
Author: Yolonda Tonette Sanders
Publisher: Yo Productions LLC
Pages: 360
Genre: Contemporary Christian Fiction
With a successful husband, a fulfilling teaching career, and a baby on the way, Wendy Phillips seems to have it all. She’s certain God is on her side. After all, the woman she’s become wouldn’t exist without the strength of her close-knit family or her own determination to be a model daughter, sister, and wife.
But one phone call shatters Wendy’s illusion of perfection, turning her carefully crafted life upside down. Suddenly, everything she believed about herself, her family, and her faith is called into question.
As her marriage crumbles and her faith wavers, Wendy finds herself needing more support than she ever imagined. Her journey to healing will require a sister’s unexpected strength, a mother’s surprising honesty, and a truth Wendy never saw coming.
Now only God’s grace can help her confront the pain she didn’t expect and discover the soul-deep freedom she never dreamed possible.
Soul Matters is available at Amazon and Walmart.
It was ten minutes to three, and Wendy was eager to leave work on time. “Start cleaning up now,” she said to her first grade class. They had crayons, markers, and books all over the place. “Be sure to put everything back where it belongs. After you finish, line up at the door and wait until the bell rings.”
Much to Wendy’s surprise, her instructions were followed with little resistance. A few students mumbled about not being able to finish what they were doing. Still, even they cooperated without her saying anything else. Maybe they could sense that something was different about her. Toward the end of each day, the children usually had exploratory time and could choose between various activities such as reading, coloring, playing educational games, or anything else that Wendy deemed appropriate. She usually walked around the classroom and interacted with several students during that time. However, she sat at her desk like a watchdog this entire week, responding only when needed.
“Just a few more days . . .” Wendy murmured to herself. Next Wednesday, the school would be closed for Christmas break, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was looking forward to having some time off. Although only seven weeks pregnant, she was beginning to feel the effects of this pregnancy on her body. She used to have the vitality of a three year-old, but lately, she felt like she would lose in a walking race against Methuselah. She was convinced that the term “morning sickness” was deceptive. If the feelings of nausea, vomiting, heartburn, and headaches were only confined to a few hours of the day, it would make the first trimester of her pregnancy much more bearable. Instead, she was liable to experience morning sickness at any given moment of the day. While the children were cleaning up, Wendy was on the edge of her seat, waiting for the bell to ring. Thank God it’s Friday. She didn’t think she would be able to make it another day. She was going straight home after work. She would not leave the house until it was time to go to church on Sunday morning. After service, Wendy planned to go over to her parents’ house to celebrate her father’s birthday. Wendy hoped to feel better by next Friday when she and her husband, Kevin, were scheduled to go to Philadelphia and visit his family for the holidays. The Ohio native would rather spend her Christmas vacation recuperating from her ailments in the comfort of her own home, but there was no way she could back out of the trip now. Her mother-in-law was ecstatic about the pregnancy and could not wait until they got to Philly so she could show Wendy some of the things that she had already bought for the baby.
“Keep your hands to yourselves,” she said to two boys who were shoving each other.
“He started it!” David stated, pointing at Jeffrey. “Nuh-uh, he did!” Jeffrey pointed back at him. “It doesn’t matter who started it. Both of you knock it off,”
Wendy replied sternly. Secretly, she knew that David probably was at fault, but she didn’t feel like investigating the issue. David was bigger than the other first graders in both height and weight. Jeffrey was one of those children who looked like he had been born premature, making him an easy target for David. Even though David was sometimes a bully, Wendy liked him, probably because he reminded her of herself.
Wendy had never been a bully, but she had been heavy and tall as a child. She used to feel awkward standing next to other children in her class. It irritated her when adults would ask how old she was and then say, “You look like you should be older than that.” It wasn’t until the summer before her freshman year of high school that she began to thin out. In her adult years, Wendy managed to remain a size eight, but she had to work hard at it, contrary to her younger sister, Kim, who naturally wore a size six.
When the bell rang, it was music to her ears. “Okay, let’s go.” Wendy jumped up and escorted her class to the pick-up area. Once there, another staff member stayed with them until their bus or a parent came to pick them up. When they reached their destination, Wendy said goodbye to her students and headed back to her classroom.
“Attention, all teachers and staff: Mrs. Phillips, please come to the office. Wendy Phillips to the front office, please,” she heard Donna Burchett, the office secretary, announce over the PA system.
For what? Maybe I should go ahead and leave. No one would be able to say for sure that I was in the building during the announcement. Wendy was only a few doors away from her classroom, so all she had to do was grab her stuff and head home. However, she reluctantly turned around and walked toward the office at a medium pace. Her shoulder-length hair often bounced as she walked. Today, it was pulled back in a ponytail. Wendy hated ponytails and only wore her hair in that style when she worked out. However, since she had been experiencing morning sickness, she devoted less time to her appearance. She even had her glasses on, and Wendy normally wouldn’t be caught dead in a pair of glasses.
“Wendy Phillips, please come to the office,” Ms. Burchett repeated.
Coming! she wanted to yell. I hope it is something simple like a signature needed on some paperwork that I filed. She dreaded the possibility of a parent waiting to speak with her about a child’s behavior.
“Hi, you paged me?” Wendy inquired as she burst through the door into the administrative office.
“Yes, dear, you had a telephone call,” Ms. Burchett replied, exposing the gap between her stained teeth resulting from years of smoking.
“A telephone call? From whom?” Wendy asked, scrunching her eyebrows to indicate confusion. No one ever calls me at work. Her friends and family knew she taught and was unavailable during the day. “It must be from a parent. I’ll take the message, but I’m not calling anyone back until Monday.”
“No, honey, it wasn’t from a parent. Someone called from Dr. Korva’s office.”
“Oh,” she said nervously, trying hard to keep her composure and not panic.
“I wrote down the number.” Ms. Burchett handed Wendy a piece of paper and pointed to the phone on her desk. “You can call from here if you’d like.” She carefully studied Wendy’s response.
“That’s okay. I’ll wait and call later since I’m getting ready to leave anyhow.”
“The lady didn’t tell me why she was calling, but it sounded important.”
Wendy could tell that Ms. Burchett was fishing for information. Odds are, she had already tried to gather as much as she could from the person who called. Wendy hadn’t told anyone at the school about her pregnancy yet, and now was not the time to make that announcement. “Thanks so much, Ms. Burchett, but I’m sort of in a hurry, so I’ll call back from my cell phone on my way home.”
“Okay. I just hope everything is fine,” she said with narrow, bluish-green eyes peering from the top of her glasses. “Are you sick, honey?”
“No, ma’am,” Wendy said honestly. Her mind was so boggled with getting to a phone to return Dr. Korva’s call that the feelings of morning sickness had been temporarily suppressed.
“Then why would someone from a doctor’s office call you?”
As much as Wendy wanted to tell Ms. Burchett to mind her business, she couldn’t. The woman was at least in her late fifties or early sixties, and Wendy couldn’t strike up the nerve to tell her off. If only I were a little more like Kim, she thought, because her sister would not have wasted any time putting Ms. Burchett in her place. The two sisters had similar characteristics with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and dimples. However, Wendy’s complexion was just a little lighter than Kim’s, and she was also a few inches taller than her younger sibling. Both ladies favored their mother, but Kim had been blessed with a high metabolism and the ability to speak her mind audaciously. Wendy wasn’t as outspoken. Besides, she generally liked Ms. Burchett, although this interrogation tested her patience. “I’m not sure, but I’d better run so I can find out, huh? You have a good weekend, Ms. Burchett,” she said, backing toward the door.
“Okay, you too—and I’ll talk to you on Monday.” Not if I can avoid it, you won’t! Wendy walked out of the office and raced back to her classroom. She was so disturbed by the call that she rushed past several of her co-workers without speaking. Why did Dr. Korva call me at work? She didn’t know, but she was desperate to find out.
When Wendy returned to her classroom, she grabbed the cell phone out of her purse only to discover a message waiting. That was nothing unusual because her phone stayed on vibrate during the day. A lot of times, Kim called her from the hair salon where she worked and left messages when she was between clients.
“Hi, Wendy, this is Susan, Dr. Korva’s nurse. She would like you to come into the office today, if possible, to discuss your test results. She’s leaving around four this afternoon. If you can’t make it before she leaves, then you need to come sometime early next week. Please call the office and let the receptionist know what works best for you. The number here is 555-3794. We hope to see you soon.”
Wendy’s heart sank. Dr. Korva told me that they take blood and vaginal swabs to run tests on all expectant mothers. The only reason they would call was if something came back abnormal.
She looked at her watch. The time was now three fifteen. It would be a stretch to make it from the southeast side of Columbus to the northern suburb where her gynecologist’s office was located. Such a trip would take forty minutes this time of day, at the very least. Still, she tried to call the doctor’s office anyway, hoping that, with any luck, they would squeeze her in.
Shaking and short of breath, Wendy wiped her sweaty palms on her clothing and dialed the number. “Hi, this is Wendy Phillips,” she said, trying to hold back tears. “I’m returning a call to Dr. Korva. Will she be able to see me today? I can be there in about half an hour?” She altered her traveling time, hoping to increase her chance of being seen.
“Oh,” she said solemnly when the receptionist said Dr. Korva was running behind schedule. Wendy couldn’t be seen until Monday morning. “Well, can you tell her I’m on the line? Maybe she can just tell me the results over the phone.” She crossed her fingers, praying that she would be transferred to the doctor. No such luck. Dr. Korva preferred to talk in person. “Okay, I’ll be there at nine on Monday,” she said, confirming the time of her appointment before hanging up the phone in despair.
How am I going to make it until then? She dreaded going back to the office and arranging for a substitute through Ms. Burchett. Forget it. I’ll just call in, she opted. Sure, not submitting a request for a substitute beforehand was inconsiderate and unprofessional, but she didn’t care at this point. Her main concern was finding some way to make it through the weekend without losing her mind.
Wendy got her stuff and headed for the car. She tried to talk herself into remaining calm, but it wasn’t working. She felt lightheaded. What if my baby has a mental disability? What if it’s deformed or has some kind of genetic defect? She tormented herself. She was afraid of what the doctor would say. She knew it was bad news. Her fear turned into anger toward Kevin. I told him that his smoking could cause damage to the child, but he didn’t believe me. If Kevin just smoked cigarettes, she could probably deal with it a little better, but he sometimes smoked marijuana, and Wendy couldn’t stand it.
Whenever she complained about his recreational activities, Kevin got upset. He would tell her that he was not doing anything that she wasn’t aware of before they got married. True, Wendy knew about his smoking when they were dating, but it was different then. She was attracted to his street-but-sweet personality. She had never dated anyone so successful, yet a little rough around the edges. Plus, he was very pleasing to the naked eye. He reminded her of a Denzel Washington wrapped up in a Barry White voice. He was the perfect package: sexy, successful, and single.
Kevin’s accomplishments intrigued her most of all. He worked hard for everything he owned and built his real estate business from the ground up. He was very successful and made well over six figures a year. He didn’t have parents who could afford to pay for his education. He paid for it himself. He didn’t grow up in the suburbs of some major city but lived in various ghettos of Philadelphia. His father left home when Kevin was only three, and his mother raised him, his older brother, and his sister with money she received from the federal government. He didn’t let his life’s circumstances prevent him from making something of himself, and Wendy respected that.
Foolishly, she convinced herself that Kevin would change the things that she didn’t like about him once they married, but he hadn’t. Now, nearly six months into the marriage, the honeymoon was over, and reality had settled in. If something is wrong with the baby, I know it’ll be all his fault, Wendy told herself.
About Yolonda Tonette Sanders
Yolonda earned her doctorate in organizational leadership from Indiana Wesleyan University and is certified in emotional intelligence. She enjoys teaching, mentoring, consulting, and helping others discover their own voices through writing. When she’s not creating or consulting, you’ll likely find her spending time with her husband or enjoying heartfelt moments with loved ones.
Her latest book is the contemporary Christian fiction, Soul Matters.
You can visit her website at www.yoproductions.net .
Watch her YouTube channel!
Connect with her at X, Facebook, Instagram and Goodreads.
🏰Read the First Chapter of Ring of Rosin by Nancy Golden #FirstChapter
The Ring of Rosin has unexpectedly disappeared. Join King Rugal on his quest to recover the ring symbolizing his right to rule, forged from the stone of fire. A mysterious companion joins the young monarch on a perilous journey. Rugal’s shadowy ally leads him to the nomadic Kargoliths, who are locked in an ongoing dispute with the neighboring kingdom of Tolan. As destinies intertwine amidst the clashing cultures, the fates of Elayas, Tolan, and the Kargoliths hang in the balance.
Will the Ring of Rosin’s power on the Day of Questioning help Rugal defeat the foreign threat to Elayas, or will it be used to destroy him?
Follow King Rugal as he faces the greatest threat to his reign since his coronation. An exciting adventure of valor and unlikely friendships the whole family can enjoy!
Ring of Rosin is available at Amazon.
“One should open one’s mind to new experiences.”
~ Soldar, scholar and member of King Rosin’s court
“Sire, the Ring of Rosin is missing!” Melad, the head steward of the castle, rushed into the informal dining room, wringing his hands frantically, his face reddened with distress.
Rugal put his fork down, his lunch forgotten, and stood up, his frame stiffening. He brushed back his tousled brown hair and took a calming breath. “But how could anyone enter the treasury room?”
Melad couldn’t form any words in response and, with a heartbroken expression, shrugged his shoulders instead.
“What do you think, Father?” Rugal turned to a wiry man lounging in a chair by the fire. Separated involuntarily when he was born, Rugal had only recently met his birth father and for much of that time knew him only by the name others called him, “Jackal.” Their bond had strengthened over their shared experiences, and much to Jackal’s delight, Rugal had taken to calling him Father.
Jackal frowned. “I would think it had to be by someone familiar and known in the castle environs, someone who could get access easily.” He tilted his head to the side. “I wonder what the motive is behind the theft. The Ring of Rosin is easily recognized so would not be able to be sold.”
Rugal’s birth mother, Lady Mura, directed her gaze at Melad and asked gently, “How was it discovered missing?”
Melad rubbed his cheek, his hands trembling slightly. He knew he had nothing to fear from the King of Elayas or his family, but he was intensely distraught that the theft had occurred. “I went to retrieve the ring from its customary place. Since King Rugal had worn it recently, I had sent it to the master jeweler to be polished.” He sniffed. “I was not here when it was returned by the jeweler’s messenger, so I thought I better check the ring and make sure the polish was to the proper standards. When I opened the box, it was gone.” Melad reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small scroll. “This note was in its place.”
Rugal took the scroll from Melad’s outstretched hand and carefully unfurled it. His brow furrowed, and he looked up in puzzlement. The note was written in a foreign script, and he was unable to read it. He handed it to Jackal. “Can you tell where it’s from?”
Mura came over and peered over Jackal’s shoulder. “I’ve seen this script before, when my cousin ruled Elayas. Messages from the country of Tolan had this look about it.”
“Tolan?” Rugal’s eyes narrowed. “Now that is concerning. If the rumors are true, Oldag was born in Tolan. Could it be he has a relative looking to follow in his footsteps and usurp the throne of Elayas?”
A tall, muscular man, the Swordsman sat at the table sipping a mug of ale. He raised his hand, drawing their attention. “Just this morning, we confirmed with a lackey of Oldag’s old entourage that he was indeed from Tolan. I think we need to consider every possibility.”
Rugal cleared his throat, and all eyes returned to him. “So, we know that the Ring of Rosin is missing. We also have a note we think is from Tolan that needs to be deciphered. Is anyone in the kingdom able to read this script?”
“Only one that I know of,” Mura replied thoughtfully. “We’ll have to ask Soldar to return to the castle. He is quite excited to be in charge of restoring public education.” She turned to her son. “Soldar is very familiar with the Kingdom of Tolan. He is also the one who translated messages from King Handerbin of Tolan for King Rosin.”
“King Handerbin,” Rugal pursed his lips. “He must be getting quite old, if he was king during Rosin’s reign.”
“That’s correct,” Mura nodded. “His son, Hamideh, is approaching manhood and will soon be taking the mantle of kingship from his father. We have always had an uneasy truce with Tolan.” Her brow furrowed in consternation. “Something perilous must be happening to cause them to break it. We need to get word to Soldar quickly. The longer we wait, the harder it may become to recover the ring. We will also need him to help us navigate how to respond. His knowledge of Tolan is unparalleled.”
Mura paused and leaned back in her chair. “Unfortunately, Soldar is in Selba at the moment. He and Ethiod are collaborating with city leaders in opening a Sepharim school in Selba, along with restoring schools for those who do not need to learn about managing dynamis. We have to get him here somehow, and fast.”
Rugal grinned. “I think I know just how to go about that. I’ll ask Treble to fetch Argothal.”
* * *
The rumpled scholar pushed his glasses further up his nose, squinting in dismay. “Now Sire, you know I have always made myself available for service, but to ride a dragon? I fear that I should fall…” Soldar’s voice trailed off.
Rugal smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Soldar. Argothal is very reliable, and I daresay he is safer than a horse. All you need to do is sit between those scales,” Rugal pointed, and Argothal turned obligingly, “and hold on. I’ll be sitting right in front of you. Argothal will save us several days riding–we would be back at the castle by nightfall.” Argothal dipped his wedge-shaped head in agreement, the bluish-green scales shining in the sunlight.
“Well, I suppose I must put aside my fears for the good of the kingdom.” Soldar was visibly shaking, and Rugal paused, wondering if perhaps he should find another way to get Soldar to the castle. Just as he was about to suggest seeking alternate transportation, Argothal swung his head around and lowered it to Soldar’s height, his yellow eyes gleaming. He warbled softly in encouragement.
Soldar’s eyes widened, and he smiled hesitantly. “Ah, maybe it will be okay. One should open one’s mind to new experiences after all,” he mumbled to himself. Much to the astonishment of Ethiod and Rugal, the older man leapt onto Argothal’s extended foreleg, clambering to the place between scales that Rugal had indicated, his sparse brown hair disheveled. He looked down at them with a glowing expression.
“Let’s go then, shall we?”
About Nancy Golden
Website ➜ nancygoldenbooks.com
Twitter ➜ https://www.twitter.com/ncgolden1
Facebook ➜ https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61564426002283
Instagram ➜ https://www.instagram.com/ncgolden1
Goodreads ➜ https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/216235312-ring-of-rosin
🏰Read the First Chapter of Blazing Upheaval by Karen Charles #FirstChapter
As the city grapples with unrest, they are entangled in a web of mysteries swiftly building in intensity. In the turmoil, their bonds of family, loyalty, and love are put to the ultimate test. The tension mounts relentlessly until an unforeseen revelation, coinciding with the cataclysmic Northridge earthquake, irrevocably changes their lives forever.
This gripping true-story thriller delivers suspenseful twists and heart-pounding moments, weaving a narrative of family resilience, solidarity, and enduring love in the face of daunting circumstances. It is a tale that illuminates the strength found within the human spirit when confronted with extraordinary challenges.
Blazing Upheaval is available at Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B0BMM6BXLG.
Tiffany glanced out the bank of windows along the side of her first-grade classroom. Ashes rained down as though the heavens were on fire, creating an ominous darkness. Anxiety gripped her! What was burning? The fire alarm had not sounded at school.
Most parents heeded the warning of unrest in the community and kept their children at home. Out of the six students, who showed up that day in Tiffany's class, only Orlando remained. He sat in his seat, engrossed in a book with stunning marine-life photography. He was unaware of the chaos outside.
The principal of Leo Politi Elementary School, bordering Koreatown in Los Angeles, sent an urgent request for parents to pick up their children immediately. In any emergency, teachers could not leave until all their students had left the campus.
The ringing phone on Tiffany’s desk startled them both. “Hello,” she answered, remaining calm.
“Bring Orlando to the office. His mom was called. She must have rolled over and gone back to sleep. The principals will supervise him until she gets here. You need to leave, NOW!” explained the school secretary.
“Orlando, get your backpack. We’re going to the office,” Tiffany instructed. She grabbed her heavy school bag and purse.
Stepping outside onto the walkway was a terrifying shock. The cool morning air was filled with orchid-gray billows of swirling smoke. The acrid smell stung her nostrils. Clasping Orlando’s hand, they rushed to the office, sheltered on the covered sidewalks.
Another student also waited in the office. He cried softly in a corner chair. The principal and the vice-principal would wait for their parents to pick them up while the secretary and Tiffany headed home. A somber principal hurried them to the staff parking lot, unlocking the gate. He reluctantly let them out into a hellish nightmare of rioting, arson, looting, and murder!
The night before, the Los Angeles School District instructed the teachers to come to school as usual if the area looked calm. Coming from the San Fernando Valley, Tiffany took the Olympic Boulevard exit off the CA-110 freeway. Driving down the fourteen blocks to Leo Politi Elementary, the streets were quiet. She breathed a sigh of relief. Little did Tiffany realize that, within three hours, the gates of hell would break loose.
The day before, April 29, 1992, at the Simi Valley Court House, a jury acquitted all four of the LAPD officers who assaulted a Black man named Rodney King. During the early morning hours of March 3, 1991, after a night of binge drinking, King and some friends were speeding down the Foothill Freeway. He was erratically driving his 1987 Hyundai when two California Highway Patrol officers spotted them. They gave chase but could not force him to stop. King panicked not wanting to be arrested while intoxicated in case it was a parole violation. Speeding off the freeway, he tried to elude his pursuers through residential neighborhoods. Soon, Los Angeles Police Department patrol cars and a police helicopter joined the chase. They pinned him down and ordered King and his two friends out of the car.
When Rodney King emerged from the car, the officers said he acted peculiarly, waving to the helicopter and stomping his feet. They tasered him and the order was given to subdue him.
Unknown to the officers, a tenant in a nearby apartment captured the next 79 seconds, recording King’s resistance. The officers responded by beating him with their batons and kicking him thirty times. Later, when a pulverized King was taken to the hospital, he was diagnosed with a broken ankle, a broken facial bone, and multiple lacerations.
The tenant took his videotape to a local television station. They broadcast the graphic display of police brutality, sparking outrage in the Black community.
Now, with the acquittal of the officers who assaulted Rodney King, a group gathered at the intersection of Florence and Normandie Avenues in Los Angeles. Emotions ran high. A White truck driver, Reginald Denny, stopped his truck at the traffic light at that intersection. A group dragged him out of his truck and beat him. Anger was now at the boiling point, ready for a catastrophic, deadly explosion the city would never forget.
About Karen Charles
Website & Social Media:
Website ➜ http://weaveofsuspense.com
Twitter ➜ http://www.twitter.com/karenra24229683
Facebook ➜ https://www.facebook.com/karen.rabe.7/
{First Chapter} Read the First Chapter of The Death of the Kremlin Czar by Jörg H. Trauboth #firstchapters
Author: Jörg H. Trauboth
Publisher: Gedankenkunst-Verlog
Publication Date: August 26, 2024
Pages: 443
Genre: Thriller
Russian President and new Czar Ivan Pavlenko suddenly shows his true colors during the war in Ukraine. He wants the old Soviet Union back. The world is on the brink. The influential oligarch Alexei Sokolov wants to prevent Ivan’s megalomaniacal plans and is planning a fundamental new beginning for Russia. To achieve this, the Russian president must die. How will the US President react to the CIA’s proposal to support the oligarch, who has a romantic relationship with the Russian President’s partner, Yulia?
The poison attack is perfectly prepared, but the Boeing with the oligarch Alexei Sokolow, his lover and over 100 passengers on board is hijacked by a Ukrainian terrorist and is supposed to crash over Berlin after knocking out the crew by shooting. Former elite soldier Marc Anderson is on board with his family and takes over with Alexei. The two flight amateurs try to get control. Will the landing and the assassination succeed or will the Kremlin Czar strike back brutally after realizing the role of Yulia?
The Death of the Kremlin Czar is available at Amazon (U.S. edition) and Amazon (German edition).
CHAPTER 1
“Watch out! High-voltage line at three hundred meters!“, shouted the co-pilot.
“In
sight!“ the commander replied calmly, pulling up just before the
obstacle and immediately pushing the helicopter down again.
The two pilots of the Ukrainian armed forces guided the old Russian Mi-8 helicopter with their night vision devices on a zigzag course away from populated areas and Russian defense walls to the target. The destination was Luhansk. The mission: to free their own soldiers from Russian captivity. They had volunteered for the Ascension mission and trained for the flight intensively in the simulator supplied by the USA, including simulated enemy fire and evasive maneuvers. The simulator‘s current aerial photographs proved to be extremely helpful in the dimly lit night. A lot had changed in Donbass since the region was forcibly annexed by Russian President Ivan Pavlenko. Destroyed cities, abandoned villages, mined escape routes, deportations, rapes, mass graves, poverty, hunger, thirst and despair.
Ivan Pavlenko was called “Czar Ivan II“ by the co-pilot, a former history teacher. But not only by him. The Ukrainian people hated this man who had brought so much suffering to their families with his megalomania and wanted to steal their country. Even those people whose thinking was shaped by Russian culture had turned their backs on this madman in Moscow.
The co-pilot turned to Iris, the commander of the special forces, and signaled “30 minutes.“
Iris had been given his nickname because – like the German anti-aircraft missile of the same name – he was known for always hitting the bull‘s eye. Everything Iris tackled led to success. On a street in Kiev, the child-pushing, medium-sized, friendly man at his wife‘s side would not have been noticed. No one could have guessed that the man flirting with his young daughter was a rare mixture of analyst, combat soldier and leader with a stellar military career ahead of him.
Iris looked at his men. The two teams sat opposite each other and remained completely relaxed despite the loud engine noise in the old transport helicopter with its fake Russian registration.
Perhaps it was a kind of meditative calm before the dangerous mission. Or perhaps it was the awareness that they could be hit by a Russian missile at any time during this night-time low-level flight into the Luhansk Oblast without being able to do anything about it. There weren‘t even any parachutes on board, because every kilogram counted for the return flight, during which the aged and rattling Mi-8 would be fully occupied.
The commander of the special forces fixed his gaze on the German opposite, who returned the look and nodded. Iris had received authorization for this rescue mission with a foreign team member from the highest authority. He had only agreed to it because the German Marc Anderson was considered a legend in the West despite being only thirty-five years old. Together with the US Navy SEALs, he had evacuated an American aircrew from the depths of Afghanistan and later served as a private security officer.
The US president‘s family was rescued from the hands of Iranian terrorists on a luxury yacht by the security agent and his team. He and his team were personally honored by the US President. The Iranian terrorists took revenge and brutally murdered Marc‘s wife in front of their house in Hamburg.
He had not been heard from since. Now, years later, he had resurfaced and was fighting for the life of his long-time friend and companion Thomas Heinrich in Ukraine. Six months ago, “Tom“ had applied to the International Legion of Territorial Defense of Ukraine in Kiev.
Iris remembered. Tom had appeared in his German army combat gear. A giant, not grim, but with the face of a loving father who had no children. The interview and the practical tests amazed the entire check-out team. They were not faced with one of the many applicants who had an identity crisis at home and thought they could save the invaded Ukraine without any specific prior knowledge. No, he was a former sergeant major of the German Special Forces Command with war experience – accurate, fast, stress- resistant, team-oriented, and immediately ready for action. Not a dreamer, not someone who was looking for a hero‘s death. The 2,000-dollar weekly salary was not as important to him as it was to many other applicants to the 1,000-strong International Legion. His strong will to professionally defend the attacked Ukraine on the front line and thus contribute his small part to world peace was his convincing motivation. After just two months on the front line in southern Ukraine, he became a platoon leader and deputy commander in an international company in which Danes, Poles, Croats, Dutch, Israelis, Latvians, British and Canadians fought.
His luck was short-lived in the hail of bullets. During the battle at Bachmut, he was so badly wounded by a shot in the thigh that he could no longer stand on his feet. His comrades, who were being chased by the Russians, reported that he had refused to be taken out with the other wounded. But in the open firefight had saved the team, with his return fire. They returned with reinforcements, came under fire again, fought their way back to where Tom had been lying on the road, but he had disappeared.
Where was Tom? Abducted or buried in a mass
grave? Weeks later, Russian state television presented Thomas Heinrich
as a Western mercenary and announced the court verdict from Luhansk:
“Sentenced to death for attempting to overthrow the constitutional order.“
Seven other prisoners of the International Legion suffered the same fate.
Iris
had studied the recording again and again. Tom‘s right leg was covered
with a dirty bandage. He was supporting himself with a stick and his
face showed injuries, possibly the result of torture. But his loving
expression was unaffected. Tom smiled into the camera as if to encourage
his comrades not to give up. The tortured faces of the other soldiers
showed signs of emptiness, despair and also fear.
While the world press was reporting and Russian state television was announcing further proof of the West‘s war against Russia, the top military leadership was meeting in Kiev. Iris attended as commander of the special forces and remembered every word in the bunker.
The tension in the room was palpable, because
the president himself, as commander-in-chief, expected a quick and
appropriate military decision.
“Why are our men being held in Luhansk
and not somewhere near Moscow or even in Siberia?“ the beefy,
bald-headed Chief of the General Staff had asked the intelligence chief.
With his nickel glasses and cold gray eyes, he looked strikingly like
the current head of the CIA on the other side of the Atlantic. Iris had
wondered whether these features were a prerequisite for the job.
“We are very sure – for two reasons,“ the intelligence officer replied.
“Firstly,
the court rulings were deliberately made in the pro- Russian separatist
region of Luhansk. In doing so, Moscow is once again demonstrating the
legal independence of the region. Secondly, the separatists are using
our fighters as a shield against our attacks to recapture Luhansk. They
accept the proximity to the front line, as they have barricaded
themselves well on the ground and are protected by S-300 anti-aircraft
missiles. So, they feel quite safe and don‘t seriously expect a
liberation operation.“
“And why should our operation be successful in
this Russian hell?“ asked the Chief of Staff, looking at Iris, the man
in charge of the operation.
“We have taken extensive precautionary
measures on the ground and in the air and are planning to land
helicopters in the prison yard.“
“Helicopters landing directly at the target
location? Like when Bin Laden was captured? Do you really think, Iris,
that that would work here too?“
“We are aware, Sir, that our
situation is more difficult. The US operation was about capturing one
person in a residential building in a neutral country that was also
informed. In our case, however, the aim is to free eight of our
international fighters from enemy captivity, who are being held in a
well- guarded prison wing. And unlike the operation in Pakistan, we have
a much riskier route of approach.“
“Indeed, you‘re right, Iris. It‘s very risky,
perhaps even distracting. In the end, we‘ll not only have dead
prisoners, but also dead liberators.“
“To minimize the risk of
detection, we will arrive in a low- altitude night flight operation. We
have three ground teams that will disable or turn off the air defense
systems for at least twenty-four hours while we cross the border. Twelve
of our spies are working in Luhansk, loyal Ukrainians with Russian
passports. One of them, a woman doctor, has access to the prison and
reports that all the prisoners are wounded but transportable. During the
assault on the building, a night- vision-capable-drone from a friendly
country will hover over the target and provide the team and our
operations center here with up-to-date images. But the best is yet to
come.“ He pointed to the head of the secret service, who, aware of his
important statement, took off his glasses and looked around the room.
“Nika is also in prison!“
Surprised, incredulous silence.
“Nika Petrov, our commander of the 72nd Mechanized Brigade from Wuhledar?“ the Chief of Staff asked, as if he had misheard.
“But Nika was declared dead!“, he said.
“That‘s what we all thought,“ Iris replied. “But that‘s not the case.“
Everyone
in the room was aware of the great tank battle. The clever Nika had
blocked the suspected deployment route with destroyed tanks, forcing the
approaching Russian soldiers into the mined side fields. There they
were met and destroyed by his anti-tank teams. The destroyed tanks
hindered the others.
When everything came to a standstill and the
soldiers fled from the tanks, the defenders struck. With no
alternatives, the Russians sent new waves of tanks for days, which were
shot down again by Nika‘s troops. 5,000 dead Russian soldiers, 130 lost
war machines, including over forty tanks and troop carriers.
The famous 155th Marine Brigade of the Russian Pacific Fleet was almost completely wiped out.
After that, Nika‘s trail was lost in days of long urban fighting. He could no longer be found.
The Chief of the General Staff was visibly moved, “My goodness, … our hero is alive! How long have we known that?“
“Exactly one hour ago, straight from prison,“ replied the secret service agent.
“How is he?“
“He‘s been shot through the
shoulder near the spine and is in a solitary cell. Two by two meters
without light, a bucket as a toilet, special Russian VIP treatment.“
The Chief of the General Staff pinched his mouth tightly shut and said, “I realize that. Czar Ivan will never forgive him for that. The loss of the elite unit was almost as painful for him as the destruction of his Crimean bridge.”
Her turned to intelligence chief, “Which nations are the other men from?“
“Besides
the German, a US citizen, a Canadian, two Czechs, a Pole, a Belarusian
and a Georgian. We have already received inquiries from all the
countries concerned about how we want to deal with the problem.
“I can understand their concerns. They are mainly worried about not being suspected of having their own soldiers in our war,“ the chief of the general staff commented, flipping through the profiles of the captured legionnaires.
“What I am reading here is clear. All but the Polish man have a military background, these two even have a background as elite soldiers. The German is from the Special Forces Command and the American from the US Navy SEALs. But that only interests me marginally. These guys are fighting with a Ukrainian insignia, and for that reason alone we cannot abandon them.“
He dialed the number of Ukrainian President Bohdan Sapronoff and informed him of the situation.
“What
do you recommend?“ asked the president, a former actor who surprisingly
won the election but had no idea that he would soon become wartime
President of Ukraine.
“A rescue operation, Mr. President.“
“How do you propose to do that and what are the chances?“ The Chief of the General Staff explained the plan,
“Iris will be the commander. The chances are over 50 percent. There is only this one window of opportunity.“
A moment of silence on the phone.
“Okay,“
said Bohdan Sapronoff. “Green light for the operation. Get the men out!
All the necessary weapons and resources are authorized. The affected
relatives will be informed after the rescue, not before. Nothing must
leak to the public. Good luck to all of you!“
“Thank you, Mr. President!“
The operational precision work began immediately. A second helicopter would fly in parallel as a backup.
Marc
Anderson received an intelligence briefing on the prison wing in the
barracks and the security, studied the photos of the prisoners and
discussed the plan for the rescue of the eight soldiers with Iris.
His operational skills quickly became evident quickly. Iris then appointed him as his deputy for the operation.
After being outfitted and hair cut short, Marc looked like one of them. Little Iris looked up at his 6‘5“ tall new friend. “Wow! How should I address you? Teuton? Blitzkrieg? … No, your name is Gladiator, Marc the Gladiator! Welcome to your new arena!“
“Stop the nonsense, Iris! I don‘t want this! I am Marc and nothing else, understood?“
Iris had drunk the vodka in one go and laughed when he saw Marc just sipping from the glass.
****
“Twenty minutes!“ signaled the co-pilot. The helicopter turned hard at the edge of a forest and descended into a clearing.
Marc
closed his eyes. He always felt the same tension before a mission.
Although, as always, everything was well thought out. Everything had
been carefully planned. The ground intelligence was good. As a
precaution, the female doctor was not informed about the pending rescue
of the prisoners. The entire operation was based on strict secrecy,
surprise, and speed. The helicopters had to be back in the air in a
maximum of five minutes, after which the barracked soldiers were
expected to attack.
A lot could go wrong here and despite all the combat experience of these Ukrainian elite soldiers, the Soviet command-oriented training in the system was unmistakable. Too little independent action, too much focus on the superior, too little dynamic behavior adapted to the situation.
Thank God Iris knew what Marc was talking about and had assembled a team of English-speaking men with experience in Western countries. They had rehearsed the storming of the building for three nights under all possible scenarios.
“Ten minutes!“ the first pilot now signaled.
Marc thought of Jelke in Hamburg. After their marriage, he had promised her that he would finally stop playing “war games“, as she called them.
Now he was sitting here in an old Russian helicopter over enemy territory, in a camouflage uniform with no insignia, acting as a hybrid combat soldier. Worse than his days in the German Special Forces Command.
He wondered whether the drug of one for all, all for one had taken hold of him again.
No,
that wasn‘t it. That time had definitely ended with the murder of his
first wife, Karina Marie. His military service was history, he was done
with it. Neither a tricky security assignment from the business world
nor requests from SEAL friends could change this attitude. The last
mission was to get Tom out today, who was always more to him than a
friend or comrade in military operations. He was his brother.
Iris had told him that Tom was one of the most capable soldiers in the International Legion, popular for his restraint and empathy. Marc had expected nothing less. If everything went well, he would have him in the helicopter in half an hour and he himself would be back in Hamburg with Jelke and his daughter Pia in three days.
At that moment, the helicopter was pulled to one side. “Missile attack!“ shouted the commander.
****
Since his departure, Marc hadn‘t made contact. Although it had been agreed that he would be offline during his mission, Jelke had a hard time dealing with it. She knew it was about Tom, who was in captivity and sentenced to death. It was a shock for her too, as she had a long-standing friendship with Tom.
Tom and the men from his Maritime Security
Services had rescued Marc from certain death in a tunnel in Syria. His
wife Karina Marie, also her best friend, had been murdered and their
child Pia had been kidnapped. Marc had been on a desperate search for
his daughter.
What a time it had been.
Afterwards, Marc had shown clear signs of post-traumatic stress disorder. His appointment of blame, the dramatic rescue of Pia, the gradually growing love between Jelke and Marc, their wedding and Marc‘s cautious return to his company – all that was behind them.
Jelke wondered whether the current mission had reopened old wounds in him.
“What happened to Tom in Ukraine could happen to you now, Marc,“ she thought, trying to suppress the thought.
In vain.
She was afraid.
To distract
herself, she played Solitaire on her computer. But her restlessness
remained and even grew stronger. Her fear fantasies increased, she
dreamed of terrible scenarios in which she saw him badly wounded in a
Russian prison.
Jelke paced back and forth in the living room.
She switched on the ntv news – app on her smartphone and opened the
“The latest“ section. She did that constantly.
There was nothing to
indicate her husband‘s involvement. She needed to talk to someone and
thought of calling Marc‘s sister, Edith.
She dialed her number but then aborted the call. Marc had asked her not to talk to anyone about his mission.
She felt like she was in a cage. Knowing nothing but condemned to silence.
A slight anger rose up inside her. That would never happen to her again! This man had to be protected from himself. He magically attracted disasters and then set off on a rescue mission. This combination was obviously a part of his gene.
At the same moment, she felt sorry for her thoughts. It was Marc‘s job in the company to prevent security crises and resolve them with his former elite soldiers when they occurred. And the tragedy with his wife had not been foreseeable. Who could have known that Karina Marie, as a hotel manager on the ship of US President George F. Summerhill, would suddenly fall into the hands of brutal kidnappers? Who could have guessed that the Iranian ringleader of the Revolutionary Guards had survived and would seek revenge on Marc‘s family?
This series of disasters had to stop! On the other hand, she couldn‘t chain Marc down. Her husband lived for crisis management.
The mental movie started again, “Sentenced to death … in captivity … Russians … Massacre …“
She couldn‘t stand it any longer and dialed his number. Her heart faced wildly when she heard the ringtone.
“Pick up, please, pick up!“ Answering machine.
She hung up in despair.
****
“Yes, we are unharmed, machine okay. But fuck! We‘ve been discovered! Shall we abort the mission?”
“You can continue flying. Our ground team has just reported that this last S-300 on your way has been disabled.“
A few minutes later, they were back in the air. Marc tried to spot the second escort helicopter in the diffuse moonlight, but it remained invisible. They were now flying in a wild zigzag course while the teams clung tightly to their seats. The lights of the city of Luhansk passed by.
Iris gave the signal to get ready.
Marc
breathed in deeply for four seconds using the SEALs‘ breathing
technique. He let the air flow into his stomach with his mouth closed,
held his breath there for another four seconds and then exhaled slowly
through his mouth while counting to four again.
Just as he was
holding his breath to hold it for another four seconds, a sound like a
chainsaw shook the helicopter. Marc could see through the window that
they had obviously crashed into the barracks. The helicopter tipped over
on its side, the engines howling as if in a last death cry, while the
disoriented men hung in their harnesses.
In the rear of the helicopter, where four men were sitting a jet of flame shot up.
****
“For heaven‘s sake, what‘s happening?“ shouted the Chief of Staff. The people in the operations center had jumped to their feet.
“The rotor blades touched the barracks wall,“ the intelligence chief responded, stunned.
The helicopter was standing in a clearing in the forest with its rotor running. “Sorry, guys for that hasty landing! They discovered us and launched an S-300 missile at us! That was damn close!“ shouted the commander to the rear.
The teams breathed a sigh of relief and sank back into their seats.
Iris contacted the officer in the command center.
“Are you all right?“ he asked with concern.
Through Iris‘s helmet camera, they saw the men scrambled out through the overhead door.
“Get out of here, the thing is about to blow!“ they heard him shout.
“One, two, three …“
The intelligence chief counted to ten.
“They‘re
all outside, including the crew!“ he commented. The explosion of the
helicopter threw the men to the ground and illuminated the monitors.
“That‘s it then!“ whispered an operator at the monitors to his colleague.
The
Chief of the General Staff considered for a moment whether he should
order a retreat, especially as the second helicopter had just reached
the ground, which was brightly lit by the fire, unscathed.
As if the
intelligence chief had guessed the general‘s thoughts, he shook his head
in the negative. It was agreed that Iris and Marc would retain full
responsibility, regardless of the situation. But one thing was certain,
the crash had not only woken up the barracks, but half the city.
Iris pulled himself up and got an overview. The target building was brightly lit. He saw armed men and heard orders.
Iris looked down the main barracks street, the lights were coming on there too.
Shouts, first shots!
“We can‘t do this alone, Iris!“ Marc called out to him. “Plan B!“
Iris nodded and called into the microphone,
“Terminator – Terminator – Terminator!“
“Terminator confirmed!“ came the reply immediately.
The two teams approached the two-story
building while the helicopter pilots provided fire cover. Iris signaled
to Marc that his group should take the right entrance, while he himself
took the left. The first attacking enemy soldiers ran straight into
their fire. The eight men of the commando were leaning against the wall
of the house.
Show of hands.
First team in!
“One – Two – Three – Four – Secure!”
Situation overview.
Fire on approaching soldiers, explosives, screams.
Slowly both teams moved towards the cells on the upper floor, covering each other.
“Come
up here!“ a woman‘s voice called out. Iris immediately recognized the
doctor, his informant, by her shoulder-length blonde hair. She threw him
a key, and cried, when she was hit by a shot at the same moment and
collapsed.
Iris was about to rush to her when he heard the voice of the threat operator in his headset,
“Over a hundred soldiers approaching, ten armored personnel carriers as well!“
Iris‘s Alpha team was first at the doors. The doctor‘s key made blasting unnecessary.
In
a few minutes, all the doors were open. The freed prisoners rushed
towards their rescuers. Marc and Tom looked at each other for a moment.
Marc tossed him the submachine gun of a killed soldier and immediately
pushed him to the ground as new attackers took aim at them.
Iris and Marc signaled to each other that all the cells were empty, but one of the eight prisoners was missing.
They
were way behind schedule. An armada was approaching from outside. They
had to get to their intact helicopter immediately, whose rotors they
could hear. But they were trapped. Leaving now would be suicide. The
first grenades hit.
Marc saw that Iris was bleeding heavily on his
right arm. Iris waved him off, not important. Tom crawled over to him.
No time to take off his jacket, but the wound looked worse than Iris had
indicated. Tom tore a piece from his upper thigh bandage and tied
Iris‘s arm. Iris nodded gratefully.
The two teams squatted with the freed men in the building in front of the doors.
“Hopefully,“ thought Marc. “Hopefully the replacement helicopter stays intact, otherwise that‘s it.“
The
sound of chains and engines of the approaching tanks could now be heard
clearly. Just a few salvos and the building would be in ruins.
They exchanged glances. The situation was clear to everyone, including the seven liberated men who had just felt the breath of freedom and were lying between their rescuers with captured weapons.
Marc suddenly had a sense of déjà vu.
Iraq, failed hostage rescue, Tom at his
side, masses of soldiers running towards them, two against hundreds, a
hopeless situation, waiting for a miracle …
Marc pulled
himself out of his thoughts. He looks around. There was no going
forward, no going back. Both teams were trapped, waiting for the
attackers, who were now breaking through the doors.
“Fire!“ Iris shouted.
The first attackers collapsed, were overrun by others, and stormed up to the liberators.
Aim, shoot, take cover, change position.
The next waves of enemies stormed into the building. The unequal battle was hopeless.
Marc
suddenly felt horrified that he might not survive this, his last fight.
A cold wave crept over the back of his neck and into his head. Was this
really going to be it?
Iris and Marc looked at each other briefly. Shooting everything empty, close combat, that was all they could do.
Marc held his body protectively over the wounded Tom.
“Marc, I believe in miracles, like in Iraq,“ he shouted into the noise.
He would be proven right.
A
roar in the air. The thunderous noise of the two MiG- 29 fighter jets
flying over the barracks, followed by the explosions of the bombs,
changed everything. “Terminator“ had worked at the very last moment.
The terminal attack controller at the operations center in Kiev directed the Ukrainian pilots using live images from the drone. The approaching unit stopped during the very first attack and vehicles were hurled through the air. Soldiers fled in panic.
The teams watched through the broken doors and windows as the fighter planes swept past.
Marc,
a pilot himself, thought how difficult it must be for the pilots to
find this small barracks in the city and to fight precisely with the
outdated MiGs. He knew that the resourceful Ukrainians were doing their
job with purchased portable navigation devices and had mounted Western
missiles under their MiGs.
The attackers sought cover. A second and third air raid on the barracks followed. Then it became quiet.
Area clear!“, reported the MiG 29-formation leader.
The
Chief of the General Staff watched with relief as the two teams rushed
out to the intact helicopter. A soldier from the Alpha team was
supporting Iris, whose face was now pale. Marc had Tom slung over his
shoulder, who could barely walk. The helicopter pilots threw up their
arms.
“In with you!“
A few hundred meters further on, tanks broke through the damaged wall and searched for targets.
Marc was about to be the last to jump into the helicopter when he saw a person with long blond hair lying on the ground in the entrance to the prison building, her arm raised powerlessly. But she was waving.
The doctor!
He assessed the situation with a
view of the tanks, ran back, grabbed the doctor under the fire of his
comrades and reached the helicopter, which was already hovering in the
air. Six men‘s arms pulled them both in as the tanks fired their first
volleys.
The helicopter descended behind the wall and disappeared into the darkness of the night.
The pilots flew the shortest possible route back in the hope that rising Russian fighters and missiles would be detected by their own Iris -T SLM and Patriot anti-aircraft weapons. The wounded Commander Iris looked at the faces of those who had been freed. He looked and counted again. Then he looked at Marc, who had also registered every single person on board.
Both knew at this moment that a significant part of the operation had failed.
Iris
spoke in his phone, “Command Center from Leader!“ “Leader, go ahead! “,
answered the Chief of the General. Iris reported to Kiev, “Operation
completed, a total of four people slightly injured, also our agent, the
doctor is with us.” “Excellent, Iris! Welldone!“
“Thanks Sir. The bad news – one prisoner is missing.“ “Who‘s missing?“ asked the Chief of Staff.
“Nika, he wasn‘t in the building.“
The intelligence officer looked at the visibly depressed general.
“Why so upset? At least we got everyone else back alive. It‘s a historic embarrassment for the Russians!“
“Certainly,“ said the general. “But my gut also tells me that the Nika Petrov chapter has only just begun.”
About Jörg H. Trauboth:
He is known as a respected expert in the media on security-related topics. He volunteers as an emergency counselor and is a member of the Crisis Intervention Team (KIT Bonn) of the German Foreign Office. He is a private pilot, married, with two sons and three grandchildren.
In 2002, Trauboth wrote the now out of print standard work “Crisis Management for Company Threats”.
In 2016 the follow-up work was published with Jörg H. Trauboth as editor in collaboration with five authors: “Crisis Management in Companies and Public Institutions”.
Terror expert J. H. Trauboth presented his debut novel in 2015 with the Germany thriller “Three Brothers”. (Available in English). In 2019 “Operation Jerusalem” followed and in 2020 “Omega”. The trilogy is about the former elite soldier Marc Anderson and his team. With these three self-contained thrillers, Trauboth is rated by many readers as the “German Tom Clancy.” The trilogy is available as a printed edition, eBook and audio book.
His first detective novel, “Jakobs Weg” (German), followed in 2021. The highly explosive topic of “sexual abuse of children” is processed sensitively in a scenario on the Way of Saint James and at the end offers contact options for those seeking help.
In 2022, the novella “Bonjour Saint-Ex” was published (German) in which the passionate pilot Jörg H. Trauboth turns the last flight of the legend Antoine de Saint Exupéry into an exciting literary event.
Readers wanted a sequel to the Marc Anderson series. In 2023, ZarenTod – Das Ende der Präsidenten was published, a highly topical political thriller. The Russian president and new tsar, Ivan Pavlenko, suddenly shows his true face during the war in Ukraine. He wants the old Soviet Union back. The world is on the brink. The influential oligarch, Alexei Sokolov, wants to prevent Ivan’s megalomaniac plans and is planning a fundamental new beginning for Russia. To achieve this, the Russian president must be removed. But the plan goes awry. Ex-elite soldier Marc Anderson intervenes. Will Czar Ivan die? What will become of Europe? The book 8/ 2024 in English „The Death of the Kremlin Czar” is the fourth political thriller in the Marc Anderson series.
Website & Social Media:
Website ➜ https://trauboth-autor.de/english/
Twitter ➜ https://twitter.com/JorgTrauboth
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