The Quixotics (at Amazon)
Today's Special Spotlight is about an intriguing and fast paced action with romance titled The Quixotics. This novel is written by the multi talented, creative and adventurous author John Wayne Falbey with a host of professional achievements to his credit.
Author Links: Connect with author John Wayne Falbey
Author's Website : http://www.sleepingdogs.biz/author.html
Author's Twitter handle:@jwfalbey
Author's Facebook Page : https://www.facebook.com/wayne.falbey
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Book Spotlight - The Quixotics
Ebook : THE QUIXOTICS ( a fast paced romantic action)
Author : John Wayne Falbey
Genre : Mystery, Thriller, Suspense, Romance
Amazon Stores : http://www.amazon.com/Quixotics-John-Wayne-Falbey-ebook/dp/B009RSWROI
Reviews : multiple 5 stars
Achievements : Endorsed by Compulsion Reads
Book Synopsis
Unlike today’s returning warriors, veterans of Vietnam were not welcomed home by many of their countrymen. After risking life and limb in an inhospitable country they often were cursed and spit on when they returned to the USA. Disgusted by this reception, some of these fighters turned their backs on their homeland.
It’s 1970, and three of these young men buy a leaky old sailboat and set out on a leisurely cruise to drink and brawl their way among the islands of the Caribbean Sea. But they had two problems: they don’t know how to sail and they don’t have any money. So a shadowy government agency convinces them to smuggle guns to anti-Castro insurgents in Cuba.
After surviving a hurricane at sea, things go from bad to worse. They’re captured by Castro’s forces, imprisoned, and tortured. But these guys are former special ops soldiers, and manage to escape into the rugged mountains of eastern Cuba. There they meet up with the insurgents and two things happen. The body count rapidly escalates and an unlikely romance blossoms.
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Chapter Excerpt
Stevens and Flynn left the
tumbledown building through the same
window by which they had entered, and scrambled up
the slope behind it. Staying out of sight, they circled
along the edge of the jungle atop the rise. Once at the road, they darted
across it and continued
through the matted forest on the other side until they reached
the cliffs above the
sea. With great care, necessitated by the slipperiness of
the rock walls, they descended the side of the cliff and lowered themselves
into the sea at its foot.
The water was very cold. The
shock of it felt good to them, however. It melted away the sweat and grime of
the hot day, and brought a new, refreshing surge of energy to their tired
bodies. At first, they literally gasped for breath until their bodies
grew accustomed to the chill of the water.
The coastline at this
point circled toward
the town, forming a sort of cove. The two men angled away
from the shore, swimming
toward the open sea for a
while. They used a modified breaststroke to avoid splashing and making noise
that might attract unwanted attention from someone on shore. When they reached
a point about one hundred yards from shore, they began swimming parallel to the
shoreline. As they approached the
first of the two docks, they slowed to
a quiet dog paddle to
avoid making any motions or sounds that might be seen or heard by the few early
evening fishermen sitting languorously at its tip. They moved past without incident,
and steadily stroked their way toward the second dock.
Once again, they moved with extreme caution to avoid detection by the fishermen
on this dock. At last they eased past, and swung toward shore, aiming for a
point about one hundred fifty yards beyond the second dock. It was directly in
front of the old fishing camp.
As they crawled stealthily from the dark water onto the narrow, rocky
beach, Flynn hissed, “I never thought to ask you, are there sharks in these waters?”
Stevens grinned. “Only around
the docks, and then only at night.”
“Jesus.” Flynn shook his head.
They darted swiftly
over the beach, which glistened a dull white
in the darkness of evening, and
took refuge in the black shadows
surrounding the old buildings of the fishing camp. After
a few moments when they were certain that no one had detected their
presence, the two men crawled into one of the two
rotting buildings.
It was the one nearest the road, situated
diagonally across from the two bars. The interior of the
structure was littered with the debris piled up by past storms. As they crept
through the structure, they took great care not to
stumble over or disturb any of the debris that lay everywhere. All around them
in the near total blackness they could hear the scurrying
sounds of things moving. The same foolish thought was foremost
in the minds of both men. They hoped there were no
spiders around; but they knew
with certainty that there
must be hordes of arachnids swarming throughout the ruined
building. Worse even than spiders was the almost
certain presence of scorpions, the nasty-looking, poisonous
cousins of the spider family that are native
to the tropics.
The sounds of things crawling in the rotting,
moldy piles of building parts and furniture, and
the knowledge of what those things were, made the flesh
crawl on both of the men. They each had to
struggle very hard to fight off a sense of panic. Each man was aware of the
incongruity between the revulsion caused by insects in men who
often found
it exhilarating to risk their lives in combat
with something as ferocious and cunning as another human
being.
The hours passed slowly, as
they tensely waited in the building. They
took advantage of the time to clean and dry their weapons with slightly damp
rags they found in the ruins. As the evening eased slowly by, the two Americans
took turns surveying the bars across the road from their vantage point.
According to the old fisherman, soldiers from the base, denied permission to
visit the bars in town by their new commandant, had devised a scheme. They
took turns sneaking out a small side door in the wall that surrounded
the base, at times when one of their friends had guard duty at that particular station. They would then descend the
cliff to the narrow strip of beach below, and slip into town under cover of darkness.
Stevens, having
napped briefly, relieved
Flynn of surveillance duty and took up a position by the paneless window. From
that point he could easily see the
two bars. Flynn, settled into a reclining position
against a nearby wall and whispered, “I hope you
plan to go back a different way than
the one we came
in. I’m not in favor of swimming past those damn docks again
at night.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Stevens said. As he
finished speaking, two truckloads of soldiers from the base came roaring up the road through the darkness. The trucks rumbled by their hiding
place and on through town.
“Wonder where they’re going?” Flynn said, “Kind of late for maneuvers.”
“Quiet!” Stevens ordered. Two soldiers had
just emerged from the nearest bar, and
were hurrying across the street toward them. One of the
soldiers was still struggling to get into his jacket. It
was apparent that they had seen
the truckloads of their comrades pass by, and were
worried that a mission had come up and their absences would be noticed.
Their eyes had adjusted to the darkness inside, and the two Americans quickly crossed the building. They slipped out the rear door and moved swiftly
around the other building toward the beach. They lay quietly in the tall sea grass
atop the small embankment that dropped to the rocky shore below.
In a few moments, the two
soldiers passed in front of them. Like jungle
cats, Stevens and Flynn sprang from the
tall grass and hurtled through the night air,
crashing down upon their prey.
The Cubans crumbled under the swift and savage
assault. Before they could recover their senses or cry out, their assailants
had thrust the barrels of their .45s under the
soldiers’ chins. The chill of the bare metal spoke more clearly to them more
than a thousand words could have. They made no sounds
except for the soft moans of one soldier, whose ribs had been
injured under the sudden, crushing force
of Flynn’s bulk.
The captives were quickly yanked to their
feet and marched into the solitude of the nearest
building. Here, their soiled, sloppy uniforms were stripped
from them, to be donned in turn by
the captors. Once dressed, Stevens and Flynn turned to
the hapless soldiers and bound their arms behind their
backs with strips of cloth torn from their
own discarded clothing.
Flynn picked out the one he thought to
be the more uncooperative of the two captives. Squatting on the floor in front of the
man, he smiled pleasantly and said, “Would you like to answer some questions
for my friend?”
The prisoner spit in his face. The smile on
Flynn’s face never
changed. “We’ll, at least you understand English,”
he said. Almost faster than the eye could see,
his right hand shot toward the Cuban’s
chest. The knife held firmly in it pricked the
skin beneath the man’s
left breast, slid neatly between his ribs and plunged into his heart. Flynn’s
left hand, moving just as swiftly as the right, clamped
over the victim’s
mouth, effectively strangling
any sounds. Flynn didn’t move, he let the dead man’s body
fall away from the knife, rather than trouble
himself to remove it. Next, he moved in front of the
second captive. The poor man, bound and helpless in his ragged underwear,
shook mightily with fear. His eyes were open as wide as they
possibly could be. With a now sardonic smile, Flynn asked, “How about you? Want
to answer those questions?”
“Si, Señor!” The prisoner readily agreed, his
head jerking up and down vigorously.
Flynn nodded toward Stevens, “Your witness,
counselor.”
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