Alien Wind from the Stars (eBook)

A first contact novel like no other

Dimitrios Molfetas (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
344 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-7560-4 (ISBN)

Infos

What would happen if, in the middle of a civil war, a gigantic alien spaceship suddenly comes down silently in the night and hovers without illumination over the battlefield? In Dimitrios Molfetas' gripping and highly entertaining novel, Alien Wind from the Stars, adversary generals are forced to abandon war while they deal with this otherworldly encounter. Are these extraterrestrial beings on a peaceful reconnaissance mission or seeking to conquer and dominate Earth? Are they a desperate multitude of alien refugees searching the cosmos for a new home, or the vanguard of a sinister invasion force? In this spellbinding and imaginative narrative, Molfetas masterfully weaves a complex and intricate web of suspense, action, and intrigue. The novel's gripping narrative, coupled with its compelling characters and breathtaking plot twists, will leave readers on the edge of their seats.

Biography Retired Qantas aviation ground engineer and construction entrepreneur, I was born and educated in Athens, Greece. After a decade in Central Africa, I returned to Greece before relocating with my wife and son to Campbelltown, New South Wales, Australia for 32 years. We now reside in Rosewell, Scotland for family reasons. I believe that character development is paramount in novels, as dynamic characters breathe life into the plot and enable readers to experience the story through their eyes. Strangely, these characters often seem to evolve independently, as if they are real people. Despite being the author, I feel like an invisible observer witnessing their unfolding journey.

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For back coverWhat would happen if, in the middle of a civil war, a gigantic alien spaceship suddenly comes down silently in the night and hovers without illumination over the battlefield? In Dimitrios Molfetas' gripping and highly entertaining novel, Alien Wind from the Stars, adversary generals are forced to abandon war while they deal with this otherworldly encounter. Are these extraterrestrial beings on a peaceful reconnaissance mission or seeking to conquer and dominate Earth? Are they a desperate multitude of alien refugees searching the cosmos for a new home, or the vanguard of a sinister invasion force?In this spellbinding and imaginative narrative, Molfetas masterfully weaves a complex and intricate web of suspense, action, and intrigue. The novel's gripping narrative, coupled with its compelling characters and breathtaking plot twists, will leave readers on the edge of their seats. Alien Wind from the Stars is a thrilling testament to the indomitable human spirit in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges. This extraordinary novel is a must-read for fans of science fiction, military strategy, and riveting storytelling. Experience the exhilarating adventure and unforgettable journey that will redefine the boundaries of human potential, as humanity struggles to survive, adapt, and ultimately triumph against the alien tide. This unique and meticulously crafted novel is a celebration of humanity's ability to recognize its technological limitations and do what it must to compete, survive, and emerge victorious.

Textauszug

3

On the opposite hill, General Damon Conway observes with his powerful lenses the soundless movements of Beaufort’s lips as he delivers his demagogic rant to his troops, his hands as well, which follow his words expressively. The spectacle alternates between the tragic and the comical; it reminds him of a scene from the old silent movies. He smiles under the field glasses. History repeats itself for a thousandth and one time, he mutters to himself. The same stale method, the same decayed reasoning, the same attempts at persuasion. The arguments are divided methodically into categories: these, for that case, those for the other. Nevertheless, always with success! Can you believe it? What mental numbness many people have…

There’re those who pretend they don’t see, expect to benefit, and meticulously take care not to swim against the flow of the prevailing ideologies they confront. These are the worst kind. Their religion is themselves and money. Men-worms who live and twist in the muddy waters of deceit, whose despicable actions do not shake their lethargic conscience.

Disgusted, he spits on the ground.

A good long-range sniper rifle and some luck could solve the Beaufort problem once and for all. He smiles slightly at this thought. He remembers an old army maxim that a sergeant major instructor had told them during his sophomore year at the military academy: when your enemy is within range, so are you.

Of course, Conway has no intention of ordering such an action, even if he is presented with a better opportunity than this one. What would give him far greater satisfaction isn’t to cowardly assassinate his opponent, but to defeat him in battle. He is sure that Beaufort shares the same sentiment.

Under the weak sun that rose an hour ago behind the azure mountains far away on the horizon, Conway returns the field glasses to his adjutant. Lost in thought, he licks his lips, which he finds a bit acrid. After some time, his cook, a master sergeant in his forties, who had lost his right ear and a good portion of his left palm three years earlier in an ambush, leaving intact only his index finger and the thumb, brings him black coffee in an enamel cup. He is accustomed taking his coffee at this hour (or some substitute when supplies deplete, forcing him to await the whatever meager quantities his people manage to get hold of for him). Simple habits from times of peace are now luxuries, made all the more enjoyable by their scarcity. He tastes with delight the hot black liquid. Next, he draws a fresh cigar from his breast pocket; he peels off its transparent thin plastic wrapping, cuts its edge with his teeth, and spits it out.

The truth is that, from the beginning, he disliked Beaufort.

Slightly over medium height, Beaufort sports a grizzled haircut that is close to the scalp and recedes at the forehead. He has a reddish, square face, with full lips and broad high forehead, all spotted sparsely with small pink freckles. His eyes are chestnut brown, distrustful. A strong jawline gives way to a moderate double chin. His voice is deep, assertive, and complacent. He has stout, hairy hands, with analogous thick fingers. Despite his thickset body, his stomach remains flat.

When the country was still united, and the clouds of the civil anguish were forming many years beyond the horizon, the two men had cooperated often, but only under official necessity. In their relationship, a mutual but unconfessed contempt permanently hung in the air. Like a chilly and unbreakable pane of glass placed between them, while its transparency gave them the pretext to ignore it.

Back in the days of the academy, from his first steps in the military craft, Conway learned to single out one by one those of his colleagues that, in the following years of his career, he would detest; the various Beauforts, who were harmonized continuously and tuned with the established customs and traditions, even the other diverse ceremonies, which bored Conway to death. Such men gave in to total submission in whatever was generally accepted, with tendencies divided – sadistic or masochistic – depending on the situation and with whom they were dealing, superior in rank or inferior.

He had come to understand that, under their deceptive lack of ulterior motives and the mask of the altruist patriot who sacrifices himself for the country, he had an unquenchable thirst for personal projection and power. With their obscure moves and intentions, with their connections (which, as a rule, belonged in the closed system stratum of their caste), their conspiracies and protectors and the other mob of their calculating supporters, they crept toward power like caterpillars, slowly but skillfully.

These kinds of men, Conway thinks humorously, have great respect for their ideals, because they supply them with enemies. Even during the difficult times of peace, these ideals secure them the privileges with which a proper and just nation rewards its heroes.

He spits again on the ground. Contempt hurts more than hatred!

Conway dismisses his thoughts and raises his eyes toward the blue sky. Like a bird of prey, a surveillance PC9 is performing large circles. The small airplane is far away and appears hesitant to come nearer to the rebel positions, as if afraid. But soon, it becomes more daring, and its circles are approaching closer and lower. The buzzing of its turboprop engine breaks up the serenity of the spring morning. It is like the humming of a wasp that unexpectedly intrudes into the house, and it butts confused against the shut windowpanes.

Colonel Teo Valentino, an almost spitting image of Jesse Ventura in Predator I, bellows an order and, almost at once, the antiaircraft gun (a double-barreled of outdated technology) commence its successive cough. Small gray-black clusters appear around the fast airplane, whose silvery fuselage reflects the early morning’s sunlight. The aircraft’s circular flight path widens rapidly beyond the enemy fire range, but before long, it swerves back with its snout leaning downward, the pilot attempting to take some close photographs. Its buzzing is now sharper and shrill. The antiaircraft gun welcomes it hysterically, spitting empty cartridges around the ground and striking its scalded muzzle with hate it seems front and back in the air. The pilot isn’t sure if he has succeeded entirely in his objective from so far away; nevertheless, he decides to pull back. Not that he lacks the daring – on the contrary, the air force pilots are renowned for their bravery and courage. Still, his airplane jolted so strongly a couple of times from nearby supercharges that, despite his bravery, he finally decided that he had pushed his luck far enough.

Valentino is like gunpowder on the verge of exploding. With a lame step forward (his right knee is doomed to partial inflexibility by a shrapnel wound from a rocket-propelled grenade that exploded about ten meters away, shortly after the civil war broke out) lets out a cry, “Why are you running away, you chicken shit – come back to...” and he does with his middle finger the established obscene gesture. He is angry with himself because he didn’t think to hurry while there was still time to take the antiaircraft gun in his skilled hands, sure that the spy airplane wouldn’t have escaped.

The gunner remains motionless on his metallic seat of the antiaircraft gun, numb from the overexertion of the incident. On his brow, glitter beads of sweat. A moment of brief silence settles.

A smart aleck who sits on the barbette of a tank nearby shouts to the gunner, “Eh, mustache, place your hand in front of the barrel and shoot to see if you can hit it!”

The soldiers who are nearby erupt in uncontrollable laughter.

“Try hitting the sky!” another chimes in.

Even more laughter.

The gunner with the thick mustache, boiling from anger – who, incidentally, loathes to be called mustache – among other things proposes to them to go and screw themselves, and that increases the teasing.

The playful banter continuous for a minute or two, before all men suddenly sober up and hastily get whatever job they can find, when they catch sight of the heavily built colonel draw threateningly nearer. They know all too well that Valentino is not fond of these sorts of jokes and that it’s nothing to him to grab with his huge paws a couple of them by the backs of their necks, shaking them like cloth dusters. The two smart alecks especially acquire a sudden interest in the cleanness of their weapons.

Close by, Gabriel Fleming, the war correspondent, sits in the front passenger’s seat of his battered open civilian jeep, with his long legs propped up over the lowered windshield.

Watching the scene with the gunner and his teasing comrades, he smiles, moving his head with amusement. He is fascinated by the gift humans have to maintain their humor even during times of severe suffering. He is tall and thin, perhaps in his mid-fifties, with fine features and dense black hair streaked with yellow. His tan appears somewhat unnatural now at the beginning of spring. His brown eyes, deep and warm, express inner tranquility that appeases the agonies and mental...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 9.12.2024
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-7560-4 / 9798350975604