Dead Heroes
By Ray Drayton
“The author has mixed history with fiction in a fast paced action novel that will hold you to the end.
Written with an obvious knowledge of the geography and topography of the area.
A great read.”
Synopsis:
‘I stood there listening to the moans and threats
coming out of his broken mouth.
Suddenly I felt immensely proud.
I had bagged my first British soldier,
and I was only twelve years old…’
The streets in the slums of Belfast where young adolescents learn when to fight, when to run and when to do both. Their very survival depends on it.
To the inhabitants, death is a daily occurrence and tomorrow may never arrive.
Amongst the housing estates of Belfast, life is not a precious commodity. It is cheap and expendable and only the strong survive to fight another day.
Whichever side the young extremists find themselves on, the ideal is to fight for ‘The Cause’ – and probably to die for ‘The Cause.’
This is Michael and Danny Riley’s world. A world of death and violence all in the name of ‘The Cause.’ Two brothers who are so adept at administering their brand of terror on the streets, they begin to believe in their own immortality.
The Riley brothers are heroes to ‘The Cause’ and heroes of the people around them… DEAD HEROES.
This is a story no British or Irish publisher dared to print during ‘The Troubles.’
‘WHY???’
Because many events described in this book ACTUALLY HAPPENED…
The night is cold and pitch dark.
A lone dog can be heard barking in a back yard. A door opens and then slams shut. The barking stops.
It isn’t so much the mind numbing cold, it is the sounds and smells of coal fires that strikes terror and loathing into the heart of the young officer. A cold wet fog hangs low over them like a shroud. The continuing dampness eats away at any exposed skin, chilling them to the core.
The lonely wail of a siren reaches a crescendo before fading into the murk.
‘What the hell went wrong? Where is the rest of our patrol?’ A jumble of questions scream in Lieutenant Anthony Hawley’s head. The nineteen year old angrily tries to control savage tremors shaking his body. It is all he can do to stop himself from getting up and running away as fear threatens to give way to madness. The gut wrenching fear tells him the enemy is close by in the dark, waiting for him to make a move – waiting to kill both of them. The body tremors continue relentlessly. He feels cramp knotting his calf muscle as he tries to shift a fraction. The Lieutenant keeps applying pressure to a field dressing against the Corporal’s neck. The sniper bullet furrowed across the NCO’s neck, rupturing an artery.
‘The bastards must have night sights.’ Anthony thinks to himself, fighting despair. The patrol had been on a routine recce from their base at Sion Mills, a small town south of Strabane, on the Ulster Border.
The Lieutenant is on his first three month tour of duty in Northern Ireland.
The soldier’s skin under his two fingers is now wet and clammy in spite of the marauding cold, telling him time is running out. The fog is too low for a helicopter extraction, leaving an APC vehicle as the only choice to get them out alive. The Lieutenant is under no illusion of the outcome should an extraction not happen – or should the IRA gunmen find them first. The cold muddy ditch they are desperately hiding in will become their grave…
It is little wonder many British soldiers after their experience in Ulster, tried for selection to join the Special Air Service regiment. The SAS were the one enemy loathed and feared by the IRA and for good reason.
The SAS played by the same rules the IRA did – No Rules…
coming out of his broken mouth.
Suddenly I felt immensely proud.
I had bagged my first British soldier,
and I was only twelve years old…’
The streets in the slums of Belfast where young adolescents learn when to fight, when to run and when to do both. Their very survival depends on it.
To the inhabitants, death is a daily occurrence and tomorrow may never arrive.
Amongst the housing estates of Belfast, life is not a precious commodity. It is cheap and expendable and only the strong survive to fight another day.
Whichever side the young extremists find themselves on, the ideal is to fight for ‘The Cause’ – and probably to die for ‘The Cause.’
This is Michael and Danny Riley’s world. A world of death and violence all in the name of ‘The Cause.’ Two brothers who are so adept at administering their brand of terror on the streets, they begin to believe in their own immortality.
The Riley brothers are heroes to ‘The Cause’ and heroes of the people around them… DEAD HEROES.
This is a story no British or Irish publisher dared to print during ‘The Troubles.’
‘WHY???’
Because many events described in this book ACTUALLY HAPPENED…
The night is cold and pitch dark.
A lone dog can be heard barking in a back yard. A door opens and then slams shut. The barking stops.
It isn’t so much the mind numbing cold, it is the sounds and smells of coal fires that strikes terror and loathing into the heart of the young officer. A cold wet fog hangs low over them like a shroud. The continuing dampness eats away at any exposed skin, chilling them to the core.
The lonely wail of a siren reaches a crescendo before fading into the murk.
‘What the hell went wrong? Where is the rest of our patrol?’ A jumble of questions scream in Lieutenant Anthony Hawley’s head. The nineteen year old angrily tries to control savage tremors shaking his body. It is all he can do to stop himself from getting up and running away as fear threatens to give way to madness. The gut wrenching fear tells him the enemy is close by in the dark, waiting for him to make a move – waiting to kill both of them. The body tremors continue relentlessly. He feels cramp knotting his calf muscle as he tries to shift a fraction. The Lieutenant keeps applying pressure to a field dressing against the Corporal’s neck. The sniper bullet furrowed across the NCO’s neck, rupturing an artery.
‘The bastards must have night sights.’ Anthony thinks to himself, fighting despair. The patrol had been on a routine recce from their base at Sion Mills, a small town south of Strabane, on the Ulster Border.
The Lieutenant is on his first three month tour of duty in Northern Ireland.
The soldier’s skin under his two fingers is now wet and clammy in spite of the marauding cold, telling him time is running out. The fog is too low for a helicopter extraction, leaving an APC vehicle as the only choice to get them out alive. The Lieutenant is under no illusion of the outcome should an extraction not happen – or should the IRA gunmen find them first. The cold muddy ditch they are desperately hiding in will become their grave…
It is little wonder many British soldiers after their experience in Ulster, tried for selection to join the Special Air Service regiment. The SAS were the one enemy loathed and feared by the IRA and for good reason.
The SAS played by the same rules the IRA did – No Rules…