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Knockout: USA vs. Militia [Englisch] [Taschenbuch]

Ian Slater
3.0 von 5 Sternen  Alle Rezensionen anzeigen (1 Kundenrezension)

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  • Taschenbuch: 384 Seiten
  • Verlag: Ballantine Books (27. November 2001)
  • Sprache: Englisch
  • ISBN-10: 0449005593
  • ISBN-13: 978-0449005590
  • Größe und/oder Gewicht: 17,5 x 10,7 x 2,8 cm
  • Durchschnittliche Kundenbewertung: 3.0 von 5 Sternen  Alle Rezensionen anzeigen (1 Kundenrezension)
  • Amazon Bestseller-Rang: Nr. 1.288.854 in Fremdsprachige Bücher (Siehe Top 100 in Fremdsprachige Bücher)

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Acclaim for Ian Slater

"As impelling a storyteller as you're likely to encounter."

"Superior to the Tom Clancy genre . . . and the military aspect far more realistic."
--The Spectator

"A most satisfying what-if thriller . . . The plot [is] a full-speed-ahead page-turner. . . . Flashy, fast fun."
--New York Daily News

"Searing suspense . . . [A] rousing, splendidly told adventure."
--Los Angeles Times

"Taughtly written, this novel is loaded with scenes that will have you grasping the book so tightly your knuckles will turn white. . . . The final scene is a climactic hair-raising thriller."
--West Coast Review of Books

"A first-rate, crisply told adventure story."
--Toronto Globe and Mail

"Thrilling, fast-paced . . . Sea Gold combines a high sense of adventure with excellent character and story development. . . . An out-and-out winner."
--Hamilton Spectator

"Full of furious action."
--Quill and Quire

"Provides page-turning thrills that should leave even the steadiest hands shaking."
--The Toronto Star

"One of the top suspense writers in North America. His plots are intelligent, well thought out, and have the eerie specter of reality hanging over them like a rain cloud on the horizon."
--The Hamilton Spectator

"One of the most riveting chase sequences in recent fiction."
--Midland Free Press

"In the right place at the right time with the right story."

"A good, powerful, readable, terrifying, inescapable story."
--Vancouver Sun

"An excellent book . . . There's something for everyone in the plot."
--Canadian Book Review Annual

"It is doubtful that any book provides a better foundation for a full understanding of Orwell's unique and troubling vision."
--The Washington Post

"The best introduction I know of to the life and ideas of George Orwell, [written] with insight, intelligence, and imagination."
Author of From William Morris to Sergeant Pepper: Studies in the Radical Domestic

"Penetrating and illuminating--one of the few treatments of Orwell which is at once completely informed and freshly intelligent."
Author of Reflections of a Ravaged Century

Leseprobe. Abdruck erfolgt mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Rechteinhaber. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

THE MAN’S VOICE was calm, measured. “Is this the White House?”

“Yes, sir. How may I direct your call?”

“You’ll do.”

“Sir. How may I direct your call?”

The man shook his head. He was in a phone booth on the I-5 above Seattle, watching the line of traffic branching off toward Anacortes, the terminal for the ferry run to the San Juan Islands off Washington State.

“Sir, how may I direct your call?”

“To the President.”

“Sir, I can’t—”

“Now listen to me. You tell the son of a bitch that he’s to release everyone at Camp Fairchild within twenty-four hours or the USMC is going to blow something up.”

“Sir, could you repeat—”

Of course, NSA—No Such Agency—would now be taping him. He’d have to cut it short. Even so, he wasn’t at all flustered. “The USMC,” he told the receptionist, “is the United States Militia Corps, and that’s twenty-four hours from now.” He hung up and drove over to the mall at Burlington for a coffee and a sugar-soaked Cinabon roll. He prided himself on keeping in shape—everyone in his unit did—but he believed in rewards too, and he had been planning this for a long time, ever since the government inquiry came out with what he considered whitewash hogwash about Waco, saying the Federals had done nothing wrong. Uh-huh, they only used tanks against women and kids before they incinerated them.

Twenty-four hours after the phone call, no one at Fairchild, where the Feds held all the militia who’d run afoul of the law, had been released. They probably thought he was a nut case.


Everett, Washington State

EVERYONE IN THE crowd of visitors, most of them American, was excited, impatient to start the tour of the Boeing plant. And why shouldn’t they be? Since 1916, Boeing had made the biggest and the best, everything from the Model 40 which had carried the U.S. mail and two passengers—“load permitting”—to the ubiquitous B-52 bomber; the Saturn booster that had launched Armstrong to the moon; the ever popular Air Force One; the International Space Station in ’98; and, for the millennium, the magical tilt-rotor Osprey, which performed either as a standard prop plane or helicopter. And sitting on the test runway, not far from the tour center, was one of the new generation of 737s, the world’s largest digital state-of-the-art completely computer-designed twin jet airliner. A band struck up the national anthem of Thailand amid a cluster of suits, sunglasses, and ribbons as Boeing’s latest effort was ceremoniously handed over to its new owners.

Mel Haley and Pete Rainor had bought tickets for the eleven a.m. tour. It was now ten-fifty and like most of the other tourists, they were biding their time looking at the exhibits in the tour center. Rainor stared at the big grainy black-and-white blowup of the massive Flying Boats Boeing had built just before the Second World War, when airfields were scarce, which quickly changed with the onset of war, dooming the flying palaces. “Every passenger,” Rainor said, “had his own bed. Can you believe it?”

“What—oh, yeah,” Mel said, wondering whether he had enough time to run across the parking lot to the washroom. Rainor had told him there were none on the tour. He heard a woman behind the ticket counter trying to explain to a group of Japanese that no one under four-foot-two or cameras were allowed on the tour. Rainor told Mel he’d better decide about the washroom because the eleven a.m. tour would soon be called to the theater for a ten minute time-lapse film of how a Boeing 737 was constructed. After that they’d board the bus and go to the Everett Building, which would be about another ten minutes. And then they’d go through the long tunnel to the big freight elevator capable of holding an entire busload of tourists at one time.

Rainor’s attention was fixed on a photo of the Flying Boat’s flight deck. “Enormous,” he told Mel, but his companion was preoccupied with his bladder. It was the excitement, he guessed. He’d always wanted to go on a tour of the Boeing factory at Everett. Hell, just the building alone was worth seeing, the largest by volume in the world.

“How many football fields did you say it would hold?” Mel asked, trying to put the washroom out of mind.

“I didn’t,” Rainor said. “You must’ve read it somewhere.”

Mel shrugged. He was more a soccer than a football fan anyway. “I’m gonna ask the guide how many soccer fields it covers.”

“Don’t you ask him anything,” Rainor advised.

Mel nodded. Rainor had a point. It wasn’t that Mel thought Rainor was inherently smarter, but he had done all the homework, and besides, Mel knew he was a relative newcomer. He hailed from the wet west side of the Olympic Peninsula, from down near La Push, where it rained fourteen feet a year. He’d tried to make a living as a fisherman, but had joined the militia because of the Supreme Court ruling that said he couldn’t fish for salmon but the local Mi’kmaq Indians could, and that they could kill whales “for ceremonial reasons,” when anyone else would have been jailed for doing the same thing. It was just like some soft-assed liberal judge in Washington, D.C., to side with the Indians, he thought, because they claimed they were the first inhabitants of North America and had been exploited. Who wasn’t? he wondered. And anyway, he wanted them to bring that guy out from the vault in Oregon—the corpse that anthropologists said had Caucasian features and thereby predated the Indians’ occupancy of the North American continent. But oh no, the Indians had made a big stink, and together with the soft-assed liberals, had made sure the guy was shoved away in a vault.

“ ’Cause,” Mel opined, “if it’s proven the Indians weren’t here first, there goes their claims for being First Nations and all that bullshit. An end to the federal handouts. Then the sons of bitches might have to live like the rest of us.” His favorite No Trespassing sign against the Feds, Indians, and everybody else was one he’d seen on the Oregon side of the Columbia River that said simply: “Keep the Fuck Out!” A free man on his land, unafraid of the government. That’s how it should be, and if you found any goddamn arrowheads on your property, you should throw them in the river before the goddamn government declared your place a midden—“a sacred site”—and sent out some goddamn medicine man to help the Feds expropriate it as a “heritage site.”

Mel didn’t take in much of the time-lapse film on the construction of the 737 because now that the tour—or rather, the introduction to it—had begun, he was getting nervous. There was a sense that there was no turning back. The only thing he remembered about the movie was how fragile the huge jumbo seemed when you saw it not as a finished, solid-looking object, but as an arrangement of so many individual pieces.

When the lights came back on, one of the guides, a snappily dressed young blonde in her early twenties, gave a short spiel about safety in the plant. “You’ll be seeing a lot of signs saying FOD—anyone know what that means? Yes, that’s right, ‘Foreign Objects Debris.’ The planes you’ll see cost millions of dollars to make, and we don’t want anything to get into these planes that shouldn’t be there....

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Die hilfreichsten Kundenrezensionen
3.0 von 5 Sternen Action as usual 26. Dezember 2003
Again the militia causes trouble in the US northwest. Special forces join to destroy the militia hideout after an attack against a nuclear missile sub.
As usual Ian Slater writes with a lot of action. The charaters of his WWIII novels come to life again. The book is easy to read and continues the story of the US vs. Militia an WWIII novels.
War diese Rezension für Sie hilfreich?
Die hilfreichsten Kundenrezensionen auf (beta) 4.0 von 5 Sternen  2 Rezensionen
6 von 7 Kunden fanden die folgende Rezension hilfreich
4.0 von 5 Sternen A surprisingly good book and series despite themselves 19. Dezember 2001
Von Brad Smith - Veröffentlicht auf
By most standards, this series should be horrible. There are glaring factual errors (such as, in one previous book, using a Harpoon anti-ship missile as a surface-to-air missile), little attention paid to time and continuity, and relatively rough characterization.
However, it's cool.
I've read the entire series of the Freeman universe, from the WW3 books to the USA vs. Militia books. They're fun, exciting, and just plain entertaining books, and are written so the problems I highlighted at the beginning are treated as advantages, not disadvantages. This novel is no exception.
In previous novels, a great deal of the United States Militia Corps' (which I will not refer to as USMC, not wishing to taint Marines with the perversions of rebel traitors) manpower was captured and incarcerated in a detention camp at Fairchild AFB. The driving plot of this novel is Lucky McBride, the militia's greatest warrior, and his attempt to force the government into releasing those prisoners. This develops into a series of disastrous encounters for both the government and the militia, requiring the intervention of General Douglas Freeman.
One of the striking features about this series is that the fog of war affects both sides equally; rarely does any plan go off without a hitch, and neither side is favored. Also, while the characterization is rough, it's often very good...particularly, in this book, Maddin. And, finally, there is a great deal of humor in the series, the intention of which I'm not sure about (though you should see Force 10 for the best examples of that).
All in all, this was another enjoyable book of a good series.
2 von 2 Kunden fanden die folgende Rezension hilfreich
4.0 von 5 Sternen Decent continuation of the series 9. April 2002
Von Ein Kunde - Veröffentlicht auf
I've read all of the WWIII books, as well as all of the USA vs. Militia books, and they have great characters, which draw you into a sense of being able to somehow understand them to a T. As for the previous review dealing with a harpoon anti-ship missle being used as a surface to air missle, it is factual since the design is based on radar tracking technology, and comes equipped with its own radar to guide it to its target. If you read a lot into the technicalities of the books, and understand the dynamics of the weapons, you can see that the author has quite the grasp on technology, and the ingenious uses for armaments. Good book, but not the best in the series.
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