Farmer Black Eagle Force

Eye of the Storm (Unabridged)
1. Auflage 2013
ISBN: 978-0-9891220-0-9
Verlag: Timber Creek Productions, LLC
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 212 Seiten

BUCK STIENKE & KEN FARMER'S BLACK EAGLE FORCE Black Eagle Force is a fast-paced series of military techno-thrillers about a top secret Special Ops team created for missions that are not-and cannot-be officially approved. The BEF is contracted to the Department of Defense to protect America's interests where ever they might be. You never saw us. This never happened. We don't exist. We are the Black Eagle Force. BLACK EAGLE FORCE explodes out of the current day violence now occurring on the US border with Mexico, involving Mexican drug cartels and terrorists. President Annette Henry Thompson calls on the BEF to intercept 'suitcase nuclear devices' headed to a Mexican terrorist group planning to detonate the nukes in the US. The nukes and twenty female sex slaves are being held by a notorious terrorist arms dealer and human trafficker on his heavily defended island north of the Yucatan Peninsula in the Gulf of Mexico. Dare Phillips and Mike Hermann deploy their elite Special Ops force with their unique and deadly 'Black Eagle' VTOL's in the path of Hurricane Ellen.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Farmer, Ken

Leseproben

BLACK EAGLE FORCE

Prologue

February 11, 1836

SANTA ANNA’S ENCAMPMENT

A stinging rain blew through the camp as unseasonably cold weather continued to plague the expedition. Rivulets of water ran off the white canvas command tent and pooled around the muddy black boots of the guards. A brief flash of lightning reflected off the yellow oilskin ponchos that covered the guards from neck to knees. A dozen brass torchieres on finely-turned white oak staffs lit up the gray sky as dawn approached.

Inside the command tent, General Antonio Lopez De Santa Anna Perez De Lebron sat up on the side of his bed. He glanced beside him as Emily West de Zavala—know as the Yellow Rose—stirred from her slumber. The raven-haired mulatto beauty with striking aquamarine eyes lay naked beneath the light blue silk sheets. Being President of Mexico has its perks, Santa Anna mused as he playfully swatted her shapely hips. “Time to get up, my sweet,” he softly spoke into her ear.

Emily smiled as she reached for her nightshirt lying on the woven silk rug. It was an army tent, but it was furnished more richly than even the better Mexican homes. The gilded Louis XIV style chairs had been copied from expensive European ones imported for the Palace in Mexico City.

She slipped on the nightshirt, donned her silken slippers, and then wrapped herself in a warm forest green woolen robe before she blew a kiss to her General and departed. The general’s young valet seated in the next chamber quickly glanced at the gorgeous mistress as she walked toward her nearby tent.

Emilio put together the garish uniform preferred by the General and walked to the flap in the tent separating him from the sleeping quarters. “Your Excellency, your uniform awaits, as requested.”

“Enter,” came the reply.

Emilio nodded his head toward the barber and manicurist. The three entered the room as Santa Anna took his usual seat facing a tall pier mirror against the wall of the command tent.

He watched as the barber skillfully shaved him with a straight razor. The general cast a dispassionate look down at the manicurist as she trimmed, cleaned and polished his nails. His gaze returned to the mirror as he searched for signs of gray in his hair. None were visible and a slight smile came across his thin lips.

His forty-second birthday was two weeks away. He had hoped to defeat the ragtag band of Texians at their pitiful fort located in the Alamo Mission near San Antonio de Béxar as a birthday present to himself. The rain and cold weather was now putting that plan in jeopardy. He knew they were only a half-day ride to the Río Bravo del Norte and would be in hostile territory once they crossed.

As the barber finished, he wiped the general’s face with a warm towel, bowed and left. Moments later, the manicurist finished her morning task. Emilio held the freshly cleaned shirt for Santa Anna; slipped it over his head and fastened the small metal hooks for the upraised collar. Following the shirt was the heavy crimson tunic with gold epaulets. A matching fabric sash completed the uniform as befitting the self-styled Napoleon of the West. The general took one last look in the mirror, turned and exited the tent. Emilio silently followed behind carrying Santa Anna’s sword and hat.

EAGLE NEST RANCH

Some twenty miles to the north in what is present-day Webb County, Texas, a wiry young cowboy was awakened by the incessant repertoire of a mockingbird. Dawn was creeping through the leaden skies to the south and east, but patches of blue could be seen overhead as the last of the stars winked out in silent recognition of the sun’s imminent arrival. To the west, the gray skies were clearing as the last major cold front of the winter pushed through to the Gulf of Mexico.

Twenty-five years earlier, Dieter Hermann purchased a three thousand acre parcel from Don Julio de la Garza’s Spanish land grant for two hundred dollars in gold. Dieter, a successful mill owner, moved his wife, Hilda, two daughters, Ingrid and Mary Catherine and a son, Friedrich, from Pennsylvania to the property located along the north bank of the Rio Bravo. Hilda, bore Dieter another son shortly after arriving at their new home—they named him Jonathan.

Hilda was the first of the family to spot the bald eagle nests in the towering cypress trees just south of the chosen home site. Dieter enthusiastically agreed to her suggestion that they call their new ranch Eagle Nest.

Dieter and Friedrich built a two story German-style house of native stone near Bacerro Creek. Close to the house, they constructed a stone barn, smoke house and adjoining corrals. On the creek itself, they erected a grist mill similar to the one they had back in Pennsylvania.

The previous week, Jonathan’s brother Friedrich had left the Hermann Ranch for the springtime supply run to the small village of Edinburgh. The round trip took six days, but was a necessary journey for those supplies the growing family could not raise or make themselves.

Eight miles from the house, Jonathan Hermann shivered as he tossed the thin wool blanket off, sat up under the lean-to, slipped on his boots and pulled his broad-brimmed hat over his long blond hair. Slowly he buttoned up his handmade sheepskin coat and reached for his batwing chaps. The canvas had kept the wind and most of the rain off, but the small fire had all but died as he slept.

A yawn overtook Jonathan as he moved the flat rocks he had placed to cover the coals. He knelt down, poked the remaining embers together and added some dry grass, a few oak sticks and some mesquite bark he had placed under the lean-to to keep dry. The grass began to smoke and then burst into a tiny flame that quickly ignited the rest of the tender.

His red and white painted cow pony looked on with interest as he stood and stepped away from the lean-to. The hungry filly knew that Jonathan would soon fill the homespun cloth feed bag with precious grain and slip it over her ears. The winter had been a long one and the lush spring grasses were late in coming.

He walked a few feet from the campsite and removed his heavy fur-lined gloves so he could find the buttons to his fly. A few seconds later, he felt the relief of the first morning pee as he watered a clump of prickly pear. “Susie,” he said when he was finished, “let us get some victuals.”

Jonathan walked back to the lean-to, grabbed his poke sack, removed a battered skillet, coffee pot, a slab of bacon and a seal-tight of beans. He poured some water into the pot from his canteen, threw a handful of ground-up, roasted mesquite beans and post oak acorns in lieu of coffee and set it on one of the flat rocks next to the growing fire.

The Deiter family had run out of real coffee several weeks before. Roasting and grinding mesquite beans and acorns made a passable substitute. Jonathan cut a few thick slices of bacon, laid them in the skillet and balanced it on three rocks set around the small fire. He opened the can of beans with his knife and dumped them on top of the sizzling bacon.

The young cowboy went back to a separate sack and removed the feed bag—threw a few handfuls of dried mesquite beans and wild oats in and slipped it over the pony’s ears. “Here you go girl…eat up. We got a long day ahead of us.”

Walking back to the lean-to, Jonathan retrieved the oilskin poncho he had slept on and laid it closer to the campfire. He picked up the skillet with his glove, scraped the beans and bacon into a tin plate—grabbed the coffee pot and poured some of the strong dark aromatic brew into a tin cup.

He sat down cross-legged on the poncho and began to eat with his hunting knife. Looking up to the east, he saw the morning sun breaking through the receding gray clouds. “Yessir, gonna be a good day.” His thoughts turned to the longhorn cattle that were just beginning to drop their spring calves. “Wonder how many new ones we will find today?…No, that is all right, girl, do not talk with your mouth full.”

SANTA ANNA’S CAMP

The general’s staff rose when Santa Anna entered. As he motioned them to be seated, his aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Goez, pulled the chair out and slipped it back beneath him as he sat.

A procession of waiters carried trays of scrambled eggs, chorizo sausages and corn tortillas to serve the finest of Santa Anna’s invasion force. As the waiters left, the Catholic priest appointed to accompany the command group gave a blessing for the food and thanked God for the men assembled to do his will.

Padre Hernandez also prayed for the souls lost in the journey to date and asked for the safety and success of the mission. Santa Anna claimed to be a devout Catholic, but only obeyed the teachings of the church when it was politically...