Highly Recommended - says New York Times Best Selling Author Michael Marshall>
An Action Packed Thriller for fans of Lee Child, David Baldacci and Brad Thor.
“Leon ran into the corridor, more bullets crackled past, so close that he could smell Death’s fetid breath upon him. But he felt no fear. For he was charmed beyond others and had danced with the Reaper many times before.”
Can one man bring an end to three generations of war by sacrificing himself and everything that is precious to him?
An honest and brutal depiction of the South African Apartheid war and how it strode across the boundaries of Europe, Africa and America, tearing apart the hearts and minds of all who were involved in it.
˃˃˃ New York Times Best Seller, Michael Marshal says...
A gripping action thriller - Fierce and uncompromising with remarkable characters and real emotional punch.
C. MARTEN-ZERF raises the bar on how good intelligent action adventure thrillers can be.
˃˃˃ The Review, London says...
Hard hitting and grittily realistic. Marten-Zerf writes with Fast Paced Action, combining Violent Action with gut wrenching emotion. Another great Vigilante Justice Action Thriller from C. Marten-Zerf.
˃˃˃ Award winning author
Zerf voted "Best Read" by Radio London's BBC 4
Winner of the Golgonooza Gold medal for Best Fast Paced Action Books.
Genre: FICTION / Thrillers
The book is currently ranked at 300000 on amazon.com. This equates to around 30 - 50 sales a month. However, the sales are increasing and I feel that the novel will appeal to people who enjoy hard-hitting action books, regardless of language or culture.
Leon swept the sweat from his face using the back of his hand. They had been running hard for over four hours with full battle packs and the young lieutenant marvelled at the fitness of his men. Particularly the machine gunner, a short, wide Zulu that they all called Popeye. His 7.62 mm Mag with eight hundred rounds weighed in at a little over fifty pounds. Together with his food and water this boosted the load to the approximate weight of a ten-year-old male child. Yet he had run alongside Leon for the better part of the morning, never slacking nor complaining.
The land around them shimmered in the harsh African heat. Red sand, copses of scrubby thorn trees and mile after mile of waist high razor-grass. Featureless and barren as an alien world. Even the compasses didn’t work due to the high magnetic content of the blood-coloured soil.
Leon held his right hand high and swung it around twice, calling his men to him. They jogged up and gathered around. He crooked his finger at the tracker, a tiny San bushman on secondment from 31st battalion. The members of Leon’s stick referred to him as Tabatha, an approximation of his actual name that was a series of clicks and glottal stops totally unpronounceable by the western tongue.
‘Tabatha.’
‘Boss man.’
‘So, are we getting any closer?’
Tabatha nodded. ‘One hour. Maybe less.’
Leon pointed at the sun. ‘Show me.’
The bushman described a short arc with his hand. How far the sun would travel in the time that it would take to catch up with their foe. Leon always made the little tracker show him the time because, while he was an almost supernatural hunter he had no idea of western chronology and so, whenever he was asked a time related question he would always give the same answer in order to cover his ignorance; ‘One hour. Maybe less.’
