Jungle Hawk Box Set (eBook)

Ebooks 1 - 3

Andreas du Plessis, Pieter Haasbroek (Autoren)

Pieter Haasbroek (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
288 Seiten
Pieter Haasbroek (Verlag)
978-0-00-095539-5 (ISBN)

Infos

One man is the master of a forgotten world.

They call him the Jungle Hawk, a ghost, a legend and a protector of the innocent.

This electrifying box set contains the first three novels in the pulse pounding Jungle Hawk series.

Three epic adventures with one legendary hero.

Book 1: Gold City of Sheba

Deep in the uncharted Congo, a lost kingdom lures a team of explorers to their doom. Their only hope is the Jungle Hawk, a man raised by the forest. When his home is violated, his quest for answers ignites a blazing mission of rescue and revenge against a tyrannical priest-king and his unspeakable cruelty.

Book 2: The Octopus

A dying pilot's last breath whispers a single, chilling word, 'The Octopus'. Across the Congo, the drums of war are beating. The Jungle Hawk uncovers a coded diary and a deadly conspiracy to unleash a bloody, continent-wide uprising. To stop it, he must infiltrate a secret mountain fortress and save an innocent life from a fiery death.

Book 3: Cavemen Valley

A dying man's last words were not a fever dream, they were a map to a world that time forgot. The Jungle Hawk descends into a prehistoric valley where dinosaurs hunt and men have become savage. He must fight for his life against threats that should have been extinct for millions of years to save the survivors of a downed plane.

Fusing the classic action of Edgar Rice Burroughs with the relentless suspense of a modern thriller, this collection is a must-have for fans of fast-paced adventure. Grab your copy and start reading the legend of The Jungle Hawk today!

Textauszug

Chapter 2

CANNIBALS

The Jungle Hawk straightened up from his crouched position. Here, where he now stood between the ancient trees and bushes, the scout of the Matonga had been ambushed. The Hawk’s expert eye, trained by years of careful observation, told him this.

The powerful young man bent down again and observed the bruised leaves. He scratched around among them and saw the dark spots where the Matonga blood had mixed with the ground.

Instinctively, the Woodsman knew that this event could not have taken place earlier than the previous afternoon. On his trek here, all along the scout’s winding trail, he had also found the place where he had slept in a tree last night.

The Hawk searched further and then found the four large sandal tracks that had trampled the Matonga’s tracks in places. From here they headed in a northerly direction. The Woodsman stopped again when he noticed that the Matonga’s trail led southwards out of the north and was crossed by that of the Gold Men.

It was clear that the Gold Men, who were on their way from the south to the north, had to have ambushed and overwhelmed the returning Matonga here.

The young man’s jaws bulged with an unprecedented rage. He was convinced that these Gold Men were also responsible for Toto’s wounds.

For an hour, he followed the tracks that wound northwards along the forest path. Then the strange tracks left the path and headed westwards into the undergrowth and tangle of vines and giant ferns. The Hawk was surprised to note that the Matonga had also had to follow this same path, because his tracks came into the path from the vine thicket.

“Looks like the Gold Men got scared of the Wasari,” he muttered. The Wasari, whose territory he was now entering, were known as the most cruel, bloodthirsty, and warlike native tribe in this part of the forest. The Hawk had often heard natives say that part of the Wasari tribe were cannibals and headhunters.

Once, he had led the Matonga against the Wasari and inflicted a heavy defeat on them, after they had carried out repeated raids in the Matonga territory.

Carefully, he examined the tracks in front of him again and then discovered that the Gold Men had apparently followed the same path on their trek southwards.

In between, he also noticed the Matonga scout’s tracks.

This therefore meant that the white expedition had been ambushed ahead.

The Jungle Hawk looked longingly at the trees, but realized that he could lose the trail if he chose the branches now. With long strides, he began to run further. He jumped nimbly over a fallen log, almost stepped on a coiled snake on the other side, which quickly sprang out of its coils and fled hastily into the dark thickets.

A reckless smile appeared on the young man’s face. Four miles further, the direction gradually began to wind northwards. The Wasari area now lay to the northeast of him. In the meantime, a thin, thread-like mist had slowly begun to gather around the trees. Worried, the Hawk looked upwards. Through the dense canopy, he saw black, swirling storm clouds gathering. A quarter of an hour later, he stopped in surprise. Here the tracks he was following crossed those of another group of people. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that these could be those of the white expedition, because he noticed shoe tracks and barefoot tracks, which could have been those of the carriers.

The Hawk stood stunned, looking around him. Somewhere there had to be a mistake. Four men, armed only with spears and possibly other primitive weapons, could not overwhelm a well-equipped company of this size.

However, his doubt disappeared when it struck him that the four men had taken this direction after the Matonga had already followed it back. The four Gold Men could therefore possibly have made up just a small scouting party, which had been sent out by the main force.

This time, a depressed Jungle Hawk chose the trees. By keeping low, he could easily follow the path of the large company and move much faster and more safely.

And between the branches, a light veil of mist floated and swirled, thin enough to allow him to follow the trail, but too dense to allow him to see far with ease. High above, the forerunners of the tropical wind had already reached the uppermost branches.

He realized that he would soon have to seek shelter, against one of those heavy tropical rain and wind storms, which could snap trees like reeds, but which quickly blew over. A mile further, the Hawk came to a stop. He shifted his quiver into position, felt whether all his arrows were still there, and slid to the ground using a vine.

He landed in an open space in the forest. Around him, the grass and juicy young plants had been trampled flat by many feet, even torn out of the loose soil in places.

He examined the terrain further and found the ashes of burned-out logs. A tattered canvas tent lay to one side.

So this was the place that the Matonga scout had spoken of. Here, the three men, the two girls, and their carriers had been overwhelmed by the Gold Men.

Cautiously, his eyes wandered around him. In the meantime, the floating mist had become much denser and the tropical storm wind had doubled its onslaught on the forest. High above, the branches were going crazy and down here there was a light howling sound, as the wind violently forced its way through the dense vegetation.

Colorful birds fluttered around in terror and clumsily through the branches. Rodents scurried around overwhelmed by fear, seeking shelter in holes and hollow tree trunks. Ahead somewhere, sounded the shrill trumpet calls of a herd of elephants.

The Hawk, aware of the streams of rain that would fall soon, undertook his investigation work with feverish haste and soon found more signs that white people had spent the night here and of a struggle. A rifle and a bandolier full of cartridges lay half-hidden under the shrubbery. There were also the remains of what had been people a few days ago, but had been killed by spears and stripped of flesh by predators.

He examined the human remains and sighed in relief when he found that they were apparently not white people.

With a worried look upwards, where the black clouds swirled low over the forest, he ran further along the trail. The course was again due north, with the Wasari area to the east.

Satisfied that the trail was still clearly visible enough, he again chose the low branches. Around him, the mist stirred like thin breaths.

With a long dive, he grabbed a thick baboon rope and at that moment something whizzed past his head. He swung past the feathered arrow that trembled in the tree trunk to his right. The Hawk released the vine, grabbed a branch, and swung behind the broad leaves in front of him.

His blue eyes flashed over the misty landscape below him. The moment the arrow shot past his head, he was clearly visible from the ground.

The Woodsman’s first thought was that these could be the Gold Men. Carefully, he clambered over another branch and peered downwards.

Above the whistling of the wind and the cracking of swaying branches, his keen hearing picked up the whisper practically right below him.

And then the tropical storm broke loose in all its vehemence! The giant trees cracked as if a thousand whirlwinds had struck them at the same time.

The mist bundled together around the bushes, thin as long fingers between the openings.

Then the clouds tore open and poured out their heavy load in one dark stream. The dusk had reached night intensity.

Somewhere, a lion roared anxiously. A herd of forest antelope tripped around fearfully, throwing their hindquarters against the wind that tore through the jungle branches with brute force.

A silver ray licked lightning-fast from the black, swirling blanket of the thunder god, struck an ancient jungle giant on its crown and cleaved its iron-tough body in two. Smoke and flames shot out and were extinguished again in the cloud streams.

In its fall, the split jungle giant tore through dense, tangled branches and vines and dragged smaller and more tender vegetation along in its fall. A mighty roar shook the earth.

Below him, the Woodsman had heard a cry of fright once, smothered in the terrible violence of the tropical storm.

Under the dense canopy, he huddled cold and slightly annoyed.

Then the thunder god opened his mouth again and sent his tongue of flame arrow-straight down onto the crown of the jungle giant, in which the Hawk was crouching. Hiding birds screamed in consternation of fright, fled with wet feathers, were seized by the mighty wind and crushed like rags against the branches.

Flames bubbled in long tongues from the broken jungle giant. A suffocating gunpowder smell fought its way into the Woodsman’s nose. He tumbled from the branch onto a trembling vine and from here to the ground. A long thorn clove open his skin.

Again, the lash cracked from the night-black clouds. Once more on the jungle giant. Splinters spat out feet away in all directions. Branches cracked and tore. The giant trunk staggered like a drunkard and fought to retain its position, then tilted...

Ten minutes later, everything was over. High above the jungle, which was licking its wounds painfully, the clouds hurried away and simply disappeared into nothing. The sun stuck out its flame-red face and quickly made the steam rise from the forests.

Red stripes and yellow spots decorated the black face that peered carefully around a wet tree trunk. The head was adorned with colorful feathers. In his hand was a razor-sharp spear. The native sneaked out from behind the tree trunk, beckoned behind him,...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 22.9.2025
• Übersetzer: Pieter Haasbroek, Ai
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-00-095539-6 / 0000955396
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-095539-5 / 9780000955395