In one of the world’s most treacherous jungles
While bombing rebel positions in the remote Congolese rainforest, mercenary fighter-bomber pilot Seth Gustafson is shot down by rebel anti-antiaircraft fire. Surviving his traumatic bailout, Seth now finds himself in a desperate race of survival against deadly wild animals, exposure, hostile tribesmen, and heavily-armed rebels.
A race begins between death and survival
Far from friendly forces, a small group of combat helicopters search high and low for Seth. With the odds stacked against him and the danger mounting, will Seth make it to the designated extraction point before the rebels capture or kill him?
Will he make it Out of the Congo?
Packed with gripping suspense, Out of the Congo will take you on an unforgettable journey of survival through the steamy undergrowth of the rainforest where danger lurks around every corner.
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Enjoy this Excerpt from Out of the Congo
Waking Up in the Nightmare
Seth
There was the sensation of lying on rough, uneven ground. Blunt objects poking his back in odd places. A massive backache like a dagger was plunged in the base of his spine. He was face up and could sense humid heat on his face, yet he willed his eyes to remain shut as if to postpone the reality. Sweat poured from his drenched hair, and he gently wiped his face with his right hand as he gingerly sat up. He slowly opened his eyes. The pain in his lower back rocketed up his spine. He reached around and rubbed his lower back .
What’s wrong with my back? Slept on it wrong. Damn, it hurts like hell.
Where am I?
The grim truth of his predicament crashed down on him. The sweat streaming down his face forced him to squint as he took in his surroundings. His senses were bombarded from every direction telling him one word: jungle. His mind swam in an endless stream of questions. All reason tumbled. He put a dirty hand to his forehead to clear the confusion threatening to overwhelm him. He inhaled the damp and musty rot of ages and ages. His ears were assaulted by the strange and exotic—some frightening—calls of invisible creatures in the wall of green that surrounded him. The animals were all around and above him.
Are those birds? Or monkeys? Or perhaps everything?
He shifted his weight slightly to relieve his aching back. The excruciating stiffness made movement difficult. Something tight around the middle of his chest. The gear. His weary mind registered the clothing on his chest and then down to his legs.
My flight gear.
Thousands of hours of flying tactical jets had required putting on and taking off the tight-fitting gear hundreds and hundreds of times. With well-practiced experience, his hands worked quickly to remove the gear. The tightness in his chest instantly subsided as he unzipped his survival vest and unbuckled his parachute harness.
Ah, okay.
Events slowly came back to him. He inhaled a gulp of the hot, humid air. Though the warm, moist conditions made it difficult to breathe, catching a deep breath served to recharge him despite his surroundings. He glanced up, straining his sore neck. His heart dropped.
Oh mate, you are in trouble.
There was no sky, only lush green. He stared at the green roof above him for a moment. The locals called it mti-pa which translated literally as roof of trees. He fixated on the triple canopy of green despite the pain in his neck and back. He marveled he had managed to avoid entanglement in the thick green mess up there, hanging from a gallows of tangled parachute chords. Amazing.
The harrowing moments prior to the present predicament were nothing but a haze. The memory of a plunge through the forest roof flashed intermittently in his wounded mind. Jolts and jostles, parachute harness straps pulling the circulation from his extremities. Tumbling through the endless limbs and vines. His helmet ripped from his head—his hand shot up to his sweaty head confirming the helmet was gone. His hair was matted from hours of wearing his helmet… What was it? Not long ago, right? Damn, he was in such a fog, and his head ached along with the rest of his body. A part of him screamed to do something. Wake up and get moving. The rest of him did not agree. Why did he need to move now? Extremely tired and aching. Wait. There was danger and possibly death if no action was taken. But what action to take? An instant answer from the gravely concerned part of his mind: Get moving! Get away from here!
The exhaustion was overwhelming. The fog faded to blackness, and he succumbed to sleep. As he was pulled down into the black cocoon of deep slumber, a vision of a beautiful smiling woman brought immediate relief from the troubles of the world.
“Be strong, love,” she said.
She blew him a kiss. He reached out in hopes of touching her silky, smooth skin. She could save him from this confusing hell that was his reality. Her smile lit up his troubled mind. Then she said something he had difficulty interpreting:
“When you wake-up you will have to get moving, love. You can’t stay here.”
The vision of her warmed his soul, and he did not want to leave her. Her hair was beautiful and flowing, and he swore he smelled her perfume. Then the radiant smile that had haunted his dreams for months faded.
“You’ll be okay, love, but you have to move. Move now. You can’t stay here.”
“But I’m tired and weak and want to stay here with you,” he said aloud to the jungle around him.
She smiled and blew him another kiss with a wink.
Then she was gone, and the blackness came.
