An excerpt from "Sundown at Dawn"

Argo...A beautiful crystal clear lake in the Canadian wilderness.


The first hint of dawn was on the horizon. John W. Starr or Sundown, as his team had known him, was in that area of REM sleep just prior to awakening, that world where his subconscious was most active and his dreams were most vivid. Coming up from those pleasant depths, the guttural sounds of Arabic came softly to his ears. Instantly he was fully awake, looking for his weapon and wondering what had happened to the perimeter guard.
    In the dim light he saw Copper, his German Shepherd and constant companion, looking at him expectantly. He realized that it was not 2003 and he was not in Iraq.  It was 2005 and he was in his tent on Argo Lake deep in the Canadian wilderness. Now the only sound was  the mournful call of a loon. He also realized it was not Arabic that had awakened him, but Copper’s deep throated growl.  As he sat in the quiet of his tent trying to make sense of this... a dream? a flashback? ...it came to him again...unmistakable Arabic, followed by more growling from Copper. This was definitely not a sound that the dog liked. The low murmur was followed by a faint laugh and the splash of a paddle poorly applied to its power stroke.
    Copper was now on full alert, growling and again looking to Sundown for his cue.
    “Quiet, Copper, there’s no threat here.” Copper instantly relaxed; his ears went to half-mast as he sat next to his master with his head still cocked toward the strange sound of the voices

    Starr slipped out of his sleeping bag and put on his well-worn jeans and wool shirt. The act of buckling his belt pulled the Smith & Wesson in its pancake holster reassuringly tight to his side. The 60’s era .357 Model 19 Combat Magnum with its mirror-blue finish was more a work of art than a working tool.  It had finger -grooved, beautifully striped Goncalo Alves grips, target trigger, red ramp front and white outline rear target sights. He had carried the Beretta Model 92FS, the standard military issue 9mm auto for years. But the Combat Magnum which had been his father’s, was a comforting connection to him and those halcyon fall days in the nearby Minnesota woods. They had hunted deer and ruffed grouse, which were called partridge, in the North Woods and shared experiences afield which he hoped would never fade from his memory. His Danner mountain boots and multi -cam BDU jacket to ward off the morning chill, completed his outfit. He was a big man, all of 6’2”, narrow of waist and broad of shoulders. His short black hair, pale blue-grey eyes and the hard look of his face gave the promise of no-nonsense, not someone an opponent would take lightly if he planned to live to fight another day. His square jaw and the four inch vertical scar, faint and still healing as it had been for years on the left side of his face, gave him an aura that commanded respect from men and admiring glances from women.

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