Dust Jacket

By Derek Hart

In Dust Jacket, Connor MacLean is a rare book dealer, who specializes in military and historical manuscripts. His father Grant is a Vietnam veteran and Grandfather Ian served during WWII, while Connor himself served with distinction in Operation Desert Storm. Yet Connor is not the typical disturbed vet. He is a successful businessman, respected by his peers and considered an expert in his field.

MacLean attends an estate sale in an affluent Chicago suburb, where he intends to purchase a number of one-of-a-kind items concerning Erwin Rommel, the famed Desert Fox. This sets the stage for a hidden map, possibly revealing the location of a fabulous gold horde, hidden from the Nazis at the opening of WWII. The map exists and in several people’s minds, it’s certainly worth killing for. Travel across the United States to a former POW camp for Axis prisoners, where clues are hidden, to a whitewater chase on the Wolf River in Wisconsin.

While Connor MacLean deals with an ex-wife, alcoholic father, eccentric grandfather, jealous rival book dealers and neo-Nazis, led by a former German air ace, you will wonder what can go wrong next. All the action leads to a series of plot twists, unexpected developments and the final confrontation on the resort islands of Greece.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Derek Hart
• Release date: Sep 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466034792

Derek Hart

Derek Hart is the prolific author of 28 action and adventure novels, known for their historical accuracy, while still maintaining a high level of entertainment. Romance is also a vital part of Derek Hart's trademark style and his novels generally appeal to men and women alike. Mr. Hart authored Secret of the Dragon's Eye, his first novel aimed at all age groups, which met with instant success and outstanding reviews. The author has since followed with Secret of the Dragon's Breath, Secret of the Dragon's Claw, Secret of the Dragon's Scales and Secret of the Dragon's Teeth. The final volume of the 6-episode series, Secret of the Dragon's Wings, will be available in November of 2018. He has since started a new series, post-apocalyptic in nature, with Minerva's Shield and Nike's Chariot. The third installment, Apollo's Plague came out in November 2017. Abandoned was published in March 2018 and Game Over premiered in June 2018. List of published books: Secret of the Dragon’s Eye Secret of the Dragon’s Breath Secret of the Dragon’s Claw Secret of the Dragon’s Scales Secret of the Dragon’s Teeth Secret of the Dragon’s Wings Claws of the Raven Danger Cruise Favor for FDR Crooked Cross Factor Tracks of the Predator For Love or Honor Bound Tales of the Yellow Silk Element of Surprise Seas Aflame Ice Flotilla High Altitude Low Opening Tangles of Truth Shadows in Replay Flag of Her Choosing Tidal Trap Dangerous (Poetry) Executive Firepower The CARLA Conspiracy The Wreckchasers Minerva's Shield Nike's Chariot Apollo's Plague Abandoned Game Over Mercury's Wings Before the Dead Walked Books coming soon: The Samuel Clemens Affair Pearl and Topaz By the Moon Darkly Broadmoor Manor Neptune's Trident Operation Sovereign Primary Weapon Saturn's Fire Tails of Thaddeus Enchanted Mesa Eagle Blue Last Guidon Excess Baggage Container Carta Codex Shipwreckers Romeo Tango The 5x5 Gang Desert Salvage

Book preview

Dust Jacket

by Derek Hart

**********

Smashwords Edition

Published by

Derek Hart on Smashwords

Dust Jacket

Copyright - 2003 Derek Hart

All rights reserved.No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

This book is also available as print

**********

Table of Contents

Dedication

Foreword

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

About Derek

Critical Acclaim

**********

Dedicated to Koko Kuzmanoff.

She is Greece and Macedonia –

embodied in beauty, dance,

and the fire that burns in her soul.

Foreword

Dust jackets are primarily an artifact of twentieth century books. Until the late nineteenth century the dust wrapper's function was simply to protect the book's covers during the transfer from publisher and reader. Like a candy bar wrapper, it was meant to be thrown away before the book was opened.

In the latter part of the twentieth century the dust jacket has come to be seen -- in bibliographical terms -- as an integral component of the modern book. For some modern books - particularly literary first editions - the presence of the dust jacket on a copy has become important to serious collectors.

Acknowledgements

To Koko Kuzmanoff: for her inspiration, the vital research she provided about Macedonia and Greece; their histories, cultures, language and cuisine, and for her friendship and loyalty, indeed rare commodities these days.

To Mollie Pressler: for her research assistance on WWII POW camps in New Mexico.

And to my Dad: for his continued editing and proofing work which have proven indispensable.

Cover art by David M. Burke.

Introduction

The man who doesn't read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them. -Mark Twain

A good book should leave you slightly exhausted at the end.You live several lives while reading it. -William Styron

**********

Chapter 1

1941

Over Yugoslavia

Shortly After the German Invasion

Like great black birds, three Dornier-17 bombers rumbled through the night, their throbbing engines drowning out any conversation the crews might like to have.These men had just escaped with their lives, not that they knew where that would take them.The orders had been quick and simple.Flight Commander Archibald Fitzsimmons was not one to mince words.

The Germans have invaded in strength, the commander had said.I want three bombers flown out tonight to Greece.

The cargo was not bombs, though, because no targets were given.The aircraft were to be flown low to a small airfield outside of Athens, and one large crate was loaded onto each of the three bombers.

The Yugoslavian Air Force paid well for his services, but Flight Leader Ian MacLean was happy to fly anytime, even for peanuts.He was American by birth, Scottish by blood, and a mercenary by trade.At the age of sixteen he had run away from home.He traveled across Europe and settled down in France with the young daughter of an English industrialist.Soon bored by comfort, his adventuresome spirit led him to join the French Air Corps, which was desperate for men.

Soon after his flight training was completed, MacLean skipped town again, traversing Eastern Europe to Yugoslavia, where that country had even fewer trained pilots.MacLean and other wings for hire were employed as instructors.That had been two months ago.Now the German blitzkrieg was smashing its way across Yugoslavia, and the twenty-year-old MacLean was flying one of three medium bombers to Allied positions and safety.

The engines missed a beat and MacLean glanced at his copilot, a Yugoslavian who was very much MacLean's senior.The man was nervously searching the dark sky, straining his neck.MacLean smiled and tapped his companion's headphones.

Hey, Charlie O, he shouted over the constant din.What are you looking for?We left the Krauts back there.MacLean pointed over his shoulder.

Charlov Onokoff, or Charlie O, as he was affectionately nicknamed, turned around in his seat and stared out the windshield.His uniform was old, but clean, neatly fitting his slender frame.The wrinkled face was twisted in disgust, and MacLean reached out for his arm in reaction.

The Yugoslavian recoiled and glared at his comrade.We have run away from the fight!The Nazi pigs will slaughter my people and we run for safety.We are not men, but slime-eating dogs.

MacLean sighed and sat back in his seat.He ran his fingers through thick red hair, checked the altitude and fuel consumption, and then faced his accuser.

We're not running, Charlie O.We're pulling out to fight another day.You don't really think we'd have a chance against all those Messerschmitts we saw this morning.

Charlie O wasn't convinced.We should have fought them.We can still turn back and attack.The sound of a plea was unmistakable.

MacLean shook his head.We've got orders.

Damn your orders.Charlie O was fuming.

Stop that!MacLean's response was clear.I don't want any old man telling me what to do.I'm going to get out of this mess, get me into the RAF in Greece, and start shooting down German planes.

The sky was suddenly ripped apart by the pattern of red-hot tracers.MacLean barely had time to blink, when several cannon shells slammed across his left wing.Without hesitation, he dove, banked to the right, then climbed steeply.

Charlie O abandoned his seat and took position at the machinegun aimed from the rear ventral hatch.MacLean's ears were pounded by the steady thump-thump of the gun.Twice, burning hot casings landed in his lap, causing vulgar threats between his prayers.

MacLean had no idea what had happened to the other two bombers.The pilots were told, if attacked, to scatter and head to any destination not held by the Germans.To his surprise, though, one black shape flew up on either side of him.There was strength in staying together, because their combined firepower might save them all.

The buzz of rapidly winding engines caused MacLean to react, his finger closing hard upon the firing button.All three fixed guns in the nose burst into flaming chaos.The sky was lit to daylight and MacLean saw the blur of five or more Messerschmitt-109's before him.Two were blown to bits by the barrage from his guns and another flew right into the fire of the Dornier on his left.

Charlie O called down to warn him about another group attacking, but MacLean was lost in the terrible noise and smell of war at high speed.

MacLean was concentrating on avoiding the murderous fire from his rear, when the aircraft on his right disintegrated in a fireball.The concussion knocked his plane up and over.MacLean managed to prevent it from colliding with his remaining partner.

He felt his copilot's presence beside him and took a hurried glance.Charlie O was covered with blood, his face punctured with fragments of glass and steel.An eye was missing from the socket.His arms were hanging limp and the black-leather flight jacket was in tatters.MacLean tried to swallow, but the dryness had taken control now.

MacLean was still trying to figure out a way to help Charlie O, when the plane on his left, riddled with bullets, spun out of control, heading downward.Flight Leader Ian MacLean knew his time had come.He pressed all the automatic firing buttons, hoping for some time.Again, the sky became brilliant as day.He turned to speak to Charlie O, but his copilot was beyond hearing.

MacLean pulled down a parachute from the rack above him, slipping it on while banking the Dornier left, then right.He smelled smoke and heard the crackle of fire behind him.A Messerschmitt zoomed past his nose, flirting with death among the flying flaming steel.The plane was painted a green camouflage pattern on top and as it spun away, its sky-blue underbelly glistened.MacLean's eyes were transfixed by the aircraft, mesmerized by the ghostlike image, and stunned by the bright red shark teeth that laughed at him from under the fighter's nose.

Without warning, the bomber's left engine lost the propeller and spewed forth dense smoke.MacLean jettisoned the ventral hatch which had already been almost completely shot away.The guns went silent, ammunition consumed.MacLean jumped up to the opening.The bomber started downward as he pushed himself into the night.

His parachute opened cleanly as MacLean watched the Dornier plunge to the earth.It crashed into the middle of a lake, high on a plateau.It skipped once, but did not explode, and started to sink.

MacLean drifted down, expecting to be machine-gunned at any minute.Instead, an anti-aircraft battery below began firing at the predators above him.With a jolt he landed, and when he got to his feet, a British infantry officer greeted MacLean.He had made it to Greece.It was April 13, 1941.

A week later, Greece also fell to the Germans and Ian MacLean was marched into a POW camp back in Poland.His one-week service with the RAF saw him shoot down two German planes.

Chapter 2

1971

Near Can Tho, Republic of South Vietnam

The Phantom F-4's came screaming out of the morning sky, winding their way past enemy groundfire.Their canisters of napalm spun to the earth, seemingly in slow motion.The delta jungle was swallowed in liquid flame and belching black smoke.

Behind the aircraft came a formation of Navy Seawolves Huey helicopters, hovering like overloaded wasps attempting to land on another insect's colony.They pushed on anyway, setting down in spite of the hot landing zone, taking repeated hits from the concealed enemy.

Spilling from both sides, US Marines raced to find cover near the slippery paddy dikes.Navy Ensign Grant MacLean picked up one of the cherry newcomers by the collar.

Keep going, Ace, or you'll be buried here, MacLean shouted while dragging the petrified youth through the mud.

The mortar shells came next, sending strangely beautiful plumes of water skyward and deadly pieces of shrapnel everywhere else.The casualties started to mount.

Jesus, Ensign, shouted Marine Gunnery Sergeant Raymond Cove.We're gettin' slaughtered here.Where the hell is that artillery?Can't we get any fire support?

His words were punctuated by the screams of another Marine, hit by sniper fire, only to discover he was a long way from Brownsville, Texas.His mother would never know how badly his life had been wasted.

Lieutenant? MacLean yelled between cupped hands.Let's get some help here, or we're done for.

The lieutenant, straight from stateside, was slumped down behind the dike, his radio operator right beside him.The officer wasn't moving, but was trying to push himself through the earth's crust, hoping to come out anywhere in the United States of America.

Damn kids, MacLean grunted to himself.Tiny puffs of water splashed around him as he picked up a handful of mud.Flinging it at the officer, he hit him in the helmet.

Startled, the lieutenant sat up, red-faced and angry.What the hell?

Sir, MacLean waved.Call in the coordinates I give you.We need fire on that tree line.

I'll handle this, Ensign, the lieutenant shouted back.This is Corps business.He grabbed the mike from the RTO with one hand, while he unfolded his map with the other.

MacLean just shook his head and began organizing return fire from the men around him.Overhead, the choppers were circling, giving as much cover fire as they dared.

What's that building on the hill? Sergeant Cove asked, slamming in another clip.Could they be directing their fire from that steeple?

Lieutenant Richard Felderman, OCS class of 1970, searched the structure in question with his binoculars.Good recon, Sergeant.I think you've solved our problem.

Thanks, LT.Cove shrugged his shoulders, looking at MacLean.

The fire is coming from that tree line, sir.MacLean pointed to the grove.Little muzzle flashes could clearly be seen.Let's silence that first, then check on the Sergeant's theory.

Ensign!The lieutenant apparently wasn't impressed with MacLean's four years of Vietnam experience.That's the second time today you've told me how to do my job.Let's not let there be another.With that, the lieutenant gave his target to the nearby firebase and his naval air support.

MacLean, beyond rage, flipped himself over the paddy wall and started slithering towards the tree line.Every so many feet, he would tumble to right or left, changing his approach to confuse any sniper taking sight.To his surprise, the Marine officer didn't try to stop him.

Bastard's probably hoping I get wasted out here, MacLean said to himself as he reached the next dike without being discovered.Scooting to the far end, he peered over the top.There, as plain as day, a huge sign sat suspended over a black-wire gate.It read: Co Do Orphanage.

Shit, no!MacLean twisted around and screamed at the men behind him.Tell that Leatherneck dickhead he's about to blow up an orphanage.

They all reacted with looks of dismay.The shouts and cries carried across the paddies, but it was too late.Much too late.Five or six explosions bracketed the building, the artillery dead on the mark.The bell tower tumbled in a cloud of dust.Right behind came the Phantom jets again.

The fighters passed by like arrows in flight, releasing their horrible little packages.Flipping in barrel rolls, the canisters found the bullseye too.The horizon erupted in flame, the smell of burning gelignite whipping across the American unit in a matter of seconds.

MacLean could feel the searing heat and something else.The sound fooled him at first, certain it was the whining departure of the F-4's.Then the intense collective screams of dying children assaulted his ears and his sanity.It broke his spirit.

MacLean jumped up and firing his M-16 as he went, charged the enemy position.The Marines that looked to him for their leadership took up his cry.His pack was heavy, slowing him down, so he cast it aside.He tripped, bullets zipping overhead.Picking himself up out of the loose mud, he was suddenly on solid ground.

Sprinting in a zigzag fashion, MacLean jumped through a clump of bushes, to find himself face to face with the enemy.He didn't hesitate, but cleaved the 16-year-old Asian in half with a full-auto burst.Near the only body lay three AK-47's and a hot mortar tube, one rocket remaining.

The ruins of the orphanage were crackling with fire when MacLean arrived.Outside the front entrance, lying unconscious, a nun moaned in agony.Her habit was burnt from her body.

MacLean didn't hesitate, but entered the conflagration.The remaining members of the unit finally reached the school and started organizing medical help for any survivors.

Ensign MacLean came out of the inferno more than ten times, carrying children under each arm and leading scores more.In this case, it was a single-man job, for none of the other men would take such risks.Eventually, the fire became too intense and even MacLean could no longer enter.

Later, Gunnery Sergeant Cove found MacLean sitting by himself.The Ensign felt disgusted and alienated from the Americans around him.After an hour passed, an Army colonel arrived to view the mistake.He took statements from everyone, including MacLean.Within ten minutes he was gone, not the least bit interested in caring for the civilian casualties.

The squad saddled up and moved out, MacLean lagging far behind.The only surviving nun thanked him for rescuing her children, but the hate in her eyes was unmistakable.

Soon after this action, Ensign MacLean changed.His free time was spent rebuilding the burnt-out ruin of the orphanage.The nun and children were gone, off to another parish, but it didn't matter to him.The incident continued to eat away at him, as he sat for hours staring at the simple graves.

The incident affected his performance as an officer too.He began to question orders, took unnecessary risks, and even hesitated returning fire.The river war in Vietnam was no longer his main concern, as he dedicated himself to helping the orphans of South Vietnam.

Finally, the US Navy took notice of his decreasing capabilities as an officer.He was given leave, but upon reaching Japan, was arrested during a drinking binge.He ended up in a hospital with a complete nervous breakdown.Given a medical discharge, Grant MacLean was sent home, to the VA Hospital in American Lakes, Washington.

Chapter 3

1991

Operation Desert Storm

Near Basra, Iraq

It was night when White Horse, a Bradley Fighting Vehicle, moved forward slowly, keeping a hull down angle as it approached the sand berm.Surrounded by darkness, the commander chewed nervously on his mouthpiece.Somewhere just up ahead, were the cream of Saddam Hussein’s vaunted Republican Guards.The armored vehicle kept creeping through the gravel, until the officer could see over the ridgeline with his periscope viewfinder.Lieutenant Hollander smiled grimly, activating the mike.

Brazen Chariot, this is White Horse, spoke the lieutenant.I have Guards in my sights, bearing on my mark, zero two niner, over.

An Abrams M1 tank ground to a halt, the huge turret swiveling around, as the gunner tested his optical sights and loaded a round into the 120mm cannon.The nickname for the tank, Brazen Chariot, was painted on the turret, including the graphic of an ancient chariot spurting flames.It was the unsigned work of a very gifted artist.

The commander of Brazen Chariot, Captain Connor MacLean, used his night-vision scanner again, locking in on the coordinates just radioed to him by his scout team.Sure enough, he could make out over twenty silhouettes of half-entrenched Soviet-made T-72 tanks.The quiet, powerful jet turbine engine allowed his tank to approach its intended target without being heard.

The Captain replied quietly through his mouthpiece, Roger that, White Horse.We will engage.

Five more Abrams M1 tanks pulled up alongside Brazen Chariot.Their big turrets arced around, sighting on the agreed upon targets.They all fired on MacLean’s command.

Brazen Chariot fired its 120mm gun at the first Iraqi T-72 tank.The 120mm armor-piercing SABOT/uranium-depleted steel dart went right through the T-72 and into the one directly behind it.Everywhere enemy tanks exploded, disintegrating in flames and pieces of shattered steel.The crew of Brazen Chariot cheered and exchanged high-fives, then reacted to the Captain’s voice.

All right, men, let’s settle down, he said.Good hunting.Let’s move towards the river.

Just then it started to rain.

Captain MacLean’s tank was part of the 2nd Armored Cavalry Regiment’s dash towards the Euphrates River.The tactical move was directed at cutting off the retreating Republican Guards units from crossing the river to safety.

Nice shooting, Brazen Chariot, rattled the voice of the lieutenant in charge of the Bradley scout vehicle.

Thank you, Lieutenant Hollander, MacLean replied.We are heading towards the river.Can you provide right flank recon, over?

Roger that, Captain, replied Hollander.We’re moving out now.

Captain MacLean responded his understanding and passed his orders to proceed to the other tanks in his detachment.The big M1’s lumbered forward, tracks sliding occasionally on the muddy surfaces.It was now raining quite heavily, a downpour.The progress was slowed substantially and when the M1’s reached the heights overlooking the Euphrates River, MacLean could barely make out the rushing torrent.

Let’s go, commanded Captain MacLean.

The M1 surged forward, as did the other tanks, all line abreast.It seemed as if the sky had opened up, rain just coming down in buckets.

Suddenly, without warning, Brazen Chariot swung around, the treads failing to gain traction.The M1 slid sideways, straight into a depression of mud.The driver went through all the gears trying to force the tank to extract itself, but the behemoth was stuck.The other tanks continued on.

White Horse, this is Brazen Chariot and we’re stuck fast in a mud hole, Captain MacLean radioed, with disgust in his voice.Please provide security until recovery vehicles can pull us out, over.

Roger that, Brazen Chariot, came the Bradley commander’s calm voice.

Shit, sir, voiced one of MacLean’s crew.I can’t believe our sorry-ass luck, sir.

MacLean started to reply, when his headset crackled with alarm.

Brazen Chariot! cried out Lieutenant Hollander.Iraqi tanks, on your left flank, over!

MacLean heard the distinctive clanking of T-72 tracks, even over the rain-soaked ground. As Brazen Chariot sat waiting in the muck, three Iraqi T-72 tanks came over the hill and charged down on the mud-bogged M1.One T-72 fired a High Explosive Anti-Tank (HEAT) round that hit the frontal armor of Brazen Chariot, but it did no damage.

At this point, the crew of the M1, even though firmly stuck, fired a 120mm SABOT round at the lead attacking tank.The round penetrated the T-72’s turret, blowing it clear off into the air.Then, the second T-72 also fired a HEAT round at the stranded M1.That also hit the front of Brazen Chariot’s turret, and again did no damage.The echo of both ineffective hits thundered inside the M1’s turret, violently vibrating the occupants.

MacLean growled his rage and Brazen Chariot fired again, another SABOT charge disintegrating the second T-72 in an impressive fireball.Immediately after that, the third and now last T-72 fired a 125mm Armor-Piercing round at the M1 from a range of 400 meters.The hit tore a deep groove into the frontal armor, but that was it.

Apparently overcome with the futility of continued attack, the crew of the Iraqi tank decided to run for cover.Spotting a nearby sand dune, the Iraqis darted behind it.It continued to rain hard, so that Brazen Chariot’s crew lost sight of the escaping T-72.

Find him! Captain MacLean ordered.

Using their Thermal Imaging Sight (TIS), the crew of Brazen Chariot discovered the hot plume of the Iraqi’s T-72 engine exhaust spewing up from behind the berm.Aiming carefully through the TIS, MacLean fired a third 120mm SABOT dart.The round went through the sand wall and into the tank, which exploded in a fiery display.

Brazen Chariot’s crew sighed with relief.

Well, men, that was nothing short of impressive, MacLean said, wiping the sweat away from his forehead.

The M1 was suddenly slammed forward, knocking MacLean into the eyepiece.The impact temporarily blinded him as he sprawled to the floor. This caused the other crewmen to shout their dismay and shock.Brazen Chariot had taken another hit, but this time in the rear.Wisps of smoke danced through the turret.

Sir! shouted the gunner, crawling over to check on Captain MacLean.

The commander of Brazen Chariot recovered his senses, a nasty gash over his left eye dripping blood.Assume your station, Sergeant, he shouted.Let’s smoke the bastard.

However, the M1 was shook again, this time by an explosion outside, very close.The speaker inside Brazen Chariot squawked to life, a familiar voice proclaiming victory.

This is White Horse, Brazen Chariot, Lieutenant Hollander’s words reverberated through the M1.The damn Iraqis were so bent on waxing your butt, they didn’t see us, and so we wasted ‘em with our TOW missiles.

Captain MacLean grinned and wiped away the blood seeping into his left eye.He spoke into his mouthpiece, saying, Thanks, Jerry, we owe you one.

No problem, sir, Hollander’s tone was serious and supportive.Are you guys okay, over?

We had some electronic gear short out and some smoke, but the fans have cleared it all out, Captain MacLean reported.He groaned while popping open the hatch.

Cool water splashed in his face, which felt marvelous, as the rain continued to fall, just not as heavily as before.Captain MacLean surveyed the scene around his beloved Brazen Chariot.Four wrecks smoldered and burned, grim witness to the end of the Iraqi armored surprise attack.Just off to MacLean’s left sat White Horse, the Bradley A2 idling.He could make out someone waving.

Two M88 tank-recovery vehicles rumbled up near the stranded M1 and began to extract Brazen Chariot from the quagmire, tow cables attached.The big mammoth tank sucked back in the thick gooey mud, but eventually started to move backwards.At just the right moment, Brazen Chariot’s driver shifted and the M1 clanked out of its mucky trap on its own power.

Less than twenty-four hours later, on February 27, 1991, Brazen Chariot was ordered to halt its progress and hold position on the heights overlooking the Baghdad plain.Operation Desert Storm was a resounding success, the combined nations of the Allied Coalition victorious over the forces of Saddam Hussein.

Eleven days after that, Captain Connor MacLean was awarded the Bronze Star for gallantry in the face of overwhelming odds and his crew received a citation for exemplary service.However, within several months of this action, MacLean, in a surprising move, resigned his captain’s commission.The blow to his head had caused a massive concussion and untreated, the swelling led to the damage of some of the nerves in his left eye.Rather than risking blindness and endangering