Major Franklin Williamson was the commander of an ultra secret team of soldiers attached to the CIA so deep it was unknown except for a select few in the highest echelons of the government. Faced with the annihilation of his team on a rescue mission he must sacrifice himself in order for them to escape.
The terrorists thought they had a bargaining chip they could bend to do their bidding. What they did not count on was the resourcefulness and determination of the major nor the fierce loyalty of the ghost team members.
For the better part of my life, I have felt the desire to write. During my second year of schooling, I wrote a short story complete with illustrations and presented it with pride to my teacher. She was so impressed she had me stand before the class and read it aloud. I can still remember the thrill of seeing my classmates eagerly leaning forward, intently listening to every word. I can still remember the basics of that story and the shape of some of the illustrations.
As I grew older, my literary aspirations had to take a backseat to the task of making a living. We had very little money to spare, and my father devoted his energies to making a living and paying off debts. My mother worked off farm in a factory and, when home, toiled in the tobacco fields right alongside my father. I was expected to be there right alongside of them. Everyone pulled their own full weight. There was little time for frivolity or daydreaming, as my father termed it. The business of simply earning a living came first.
As I grew older, the desire to write still remained with me, but other matters had to come first. By now, I had been firmly indoctrinated; writing took a backseat to fulfilling my obligations to the family. Help pay for the farm, for the equipment, keep my nose to the grindstone. If I wanted any extras, I would�ve gone out and earned the money myself with a number of part-time jobs.
Years just seemed to quickly pass, and I was on my own with a wife and a career of my own. Oh, I still tried to write, but nothing seemed to work. In frustration, I put aside my dreams of becoming an author and concentrated on other fields.