Restless Soul
In 1966, a group of battle-weary American GIs trekked through the Vietnamese jungle knowing each step could mean facing the enemy's guns. But instead of ambush, they stumbled upon a hidden treasure beyond their wildest dreams. It was a discovery that exacted a terrible cost.A vacation spot picked at random, Thailand is intended to provide relaxation time for globe-trotting archaeologist Annja Creed. Yet the irresistible pull of the country's legendary Spirit Cave lures Annja and her companions deep within a network of underground chambers–nearly to their deaths. The ancient burial sites have slumbered through the ages. Yet no rest is found there–just the voices of the dead. When the dead speak, will they help Annja uncover the perplexing past of a remarkable find or will they call her to join them?
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âAnnja, come on! Move!â
Annja watched the water. It rose noticeably in the passing of a few heartbeats.
She cursed silently. When she started out that morning, it hadnât crossed her mind that all the rain would affect her exploration of the caves. She should have considered the possibility. She should have realized there could be flash floods. Being on vacation had made her mind numb.
She glanced at the nearest coffin, then back at the water. The river could conceivably reach the coffins or perhaps completely cover them.
No doubt this chamber had flooded in the past what with the annual rainy season and the monsoons. Perhaps the rising river was the explanation for no bodiesâ¦the water had washed them away and left behind only the heavy teak coffins and the most cumbersome pieces of pottery. Maybe the water had even rearranged where the coffins had originally been placed.
She hadnât imagined the voice. She heard it distinctly now. It hadnât come from the coffins, though. It was as if it had traveled through the very stone of the cave and seeped into her head. It echoed like a child calling down into a canyon.
Free meâ¦
Restless Soul
Rogue Angel>â¢
THE LEGEND
â¦THE ENGLISH COMMANDER. TOOK JOANâS SWORD AND RAISED IT HIGH.
The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade.
The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd. Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.
Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are rebornâ¦.
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Prologue
Vietnam, July 1966
At first, he hadnât minded the sound of the place.
He was Bronx born and raised, and the constant insect chorus of the Vietnam jungle was an interesting oddity and an almost welcome change from the frequent sirens and ever-present racket of traffic back home.
The birdsong, the swish of the big acacia leaves in the breeze and the occasional chatter of monkeysâ¦it was all a pleasant diversion from orders barked by commanding officers and the grumbles of the men in his rifle company. He even liked the smell.
But that was more months ago than he cared to count.
Now the sounds blurred into a hellish cacophony that he had to pick through to listen for branches snapping, footfalls that werenât from his men, the metallic click of machine guns and rifles ready to fire. Now the place reekedâ¦of mud and rotting leaves, of things his imagination wasnât vivid or brave enough to picture, and sometimes of decomposing bodies that neither side had retrieved.
Sergeant Gary Thomsen had learned to hate summer and the jungle. He hated the trails tangled with plants that grabbed at his heavy pack and all his weapons. He hated the sweat running down his face as plentiful as rain. He hated the fear twisting in his gut that someone was hiding around the next tree ready to kill him. He hated everything about Vietnam and the goddamn war that the politicians in the States wouldnât call a war. A police actionâwas that the latest term?
He hated the leeches most of all.
He knew that they were clinging to him now. They were somehow always able to find their way up his pants and under his sleeves, into his boots, so they could gorge themselves on his sweet American blood. Heâd led his men through brackish ponds and across streams and along a riverbank that morning and well into the afternoon, so there would be leeches on everyone.
He wanted to strip and pull the leeches off, but that would have to wait. There was another three hours or so left of what passed for daylightâ¦the canopy was thick and not much sun was getting through. He had his orders to reach the firebase before dark and regroup with the rest of the platoon.
âSargeâ¦â
Gary scowled that someone had broken the relative silence. He turned to Private Wallem, a gangly hawk-nosed Texan who was pointing to just north of the trail. A body, mostly bones and scraps of dirty cloth, lay under a big fern.
âItâs one of theirs, Sarge. See? You can tell by the boots. Wonder if we got him or the jungle did? Guess it doesnât matter. As long as itâs one of theirs and notâ¦â
Gary shut out the rest of Wallemâs words and fixed his eyes on the body, angry with himself that he hadnât spotted it. Not that it was all that interesting or all that important. But nothing used to get past him.
Heâd set himself as point man for the patrol. The squad leader wasnât supposed to walk point. He was supposed to take the second position. But Gary thought he had the keenest, most experienced eyes, and he wanted to be up front.
