January 1970: Lieutenant-Coronet Mike Btackwood is murdered in Cyprus. DisiLLusioned and grieving for his distinguished father, Lieutenant Ross Bl,ackwood bel,ieves there is l,ittte future for him in the Corps. The Royal. Marines have been reduced in strength, and their role in a modern wortd, after so splendid a tradition, is marginal,ised. But Ross's LoyaLty and dedication to the Corps sustain him from vicious gueril.ta warfare in Mataysia, through the morat and potiticat minefietds of Northern IreLand, where one man's terrorist is another's patriot, to the South AtLantic, and a confl,ict as bloody as it is unpredictabte. And he tearns, as every Btackwood has before him, that jungle or moor, insurrection or invasion, mere courage is not enough. Survival and victory batance on the knife edge of destiny.

"Are there any further bids, gentlemen?" The auctioneer's gavel hovered momentarily above the table. "Thank you,Mr. Roberts." It sounded loud after the sudden stillness.The end of a long two days. It was over, until the next time.John Masterman, senior partner of the company which bore his name, closed the leather folder around his papers and a well-thumbed catalogue. He felt tired. Drained,perhaps more than usual, but would not admit it. The faded lettering on the folder said it all. Masterman International Valuers and Auctioneers. Established 1802.

  He glanced through the nearest window. It was only noon,but it looked like dusk in the dull grey light. The new year of 1970 was just three weeks old, and it felt like it, he thought.He was sixty and then some, and his junior partners,especially, often hinted that he should think about retiring.He half smiled. And do what?