When Captain Greg Jenkins is brutally shot in the head and left for dead at the scene of his parents' murder, the stage is set for his revenge against the Serb paramilitaries who committed the atrocity. After recuperating from his ordeal, he receives training in the deadly art of killing from an SAS operative, named Munro. Captain Jenkins must complete his task before the damage caused by his head wound renders him blind. With the collusion of the UK and US governments, he is smuggled back into Sarajevo to enable him to seek out and exterminate those people responsible for his parents' murder. Greg also receives help from French UN troops and Bill Dewey, a secretive CIA officer in the guise of a US Marine captain. The Serbian guns on the mountains completely surround the beleaguered city, but Captain Jenkins moves among the Serbian troops, dispensing justice like the Grim Reaper.
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The man opened his eyes slowly. Above his head he could see the moonlight shining through the long narrow window. He looked around the strange room trying to recall where he was. Think man think, where are you? Suddenly! Startled by a noise in the corner of the room the man tried to sit upright, a sudden stab of pain in his side made him call out.
The figure in the corner of the room rose from the small desk and made his way over to the man in the bed. "Comment allez-vous monsieur?" the man in the white coat asked, as he held the wrist of the prone figure in the bed.
"What happened to me? Where am I?" the man in the bed asked in French.
"You are in the Skenderija Building in Sarajevo. This is home to the French UN detachment in Sarajevo. You were involved in an incident today when you tried to cross over a bridge from Serb held territory."
"Am I badly wounded?" asked the man in the bed.
"You have a bullet graze to your left arm and you have a bullet lodged in your side, which the doctor will remove tomorrow morning. You also have a wound in your thigh, but the bullet went clean through the flesh without breaking the bone, you also have a cut to your face, which we have sewn up with six butterfly stitches. Other than that, you're as healthy as I am."
"Yes I remember it now," said the man in the bed.
After the man in the bed had been given some soup, he was advised to try and get some sleep before the shelling began. "What's your name?" the man in the bed asked.
"I am Corporal Emile Gitard. I will be your medical orderly at night, there are three more orderlies working days, whom you will meet tomorrow."
Greg Jenkins lay back on his bed and attempted to take the corporal's advice and get as much sleep as he could, before the nightly bombardment started. Although the corporal had given him a sedative to help him sleep, Greg was finding it very difficult to clear his mind.
When you are having trouble getting to sleep, think of a happy episode from your life and concentrate on it. Before you know it you will be in the land of nod.
Greg could still recall the words of his mother with great clarity, although it had been a long time since he had actually heard her speak them.
Greg was seven years old. He sat by himself on Plymouth Hoe watching the large Aircraft Carrier being pulled by tugs into Plymouth Sound. Looking down from the hill where he sat, he could see all the wives and families waving to the sailors lining the decks of HMS Ark Royal, I'm going to be a sailor when I grow up," he would often tell his two aunts.
"Don't you let your father hear you say such things," they would tell him.
Greg's aunts, who were both now in their seventies, looked after him while his parents worked in London. His mum and dad had wanted to send Greg to a boarding school in Gloucestershire, but his aunts would hear none of it.
"If we were good enough to bring you up Peter Jenkins, then we're certainly good enough to bring up your son."
As the happy years of childhood slowly turned to young adulthood, Greg's determination to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and join one of the fighting services became more apparent.
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