The Hill of the Ravens

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AuthorHouse, 2003 M07 15 - 348 pages

It is morning in America, many years in the future. As the 22nd century approaches, the United States and Canada have been shattered by war and upheaval and have broken up into separate ethnic, racial, and political enclaves. On the east coast a crumbling, bankrupt and tottering United States government still holds a weak and impotent sway over a ragged collection of tattered states and cities, but life is chaotic and plagued with poverty, violence, and desperation. The entire Southwest, beginning with Texas and extending westward to southern California and north as far as Utah, has become the Spanish-speaking Mexican state of Aztlan. And in the Pacific Northwest, from northern California on up to Alaska, a brutal fascist and white supremacist dictatorship rules the Northwest American Republic.

Colonel Donald Redmond of the Bureau of State Security (BOSS) is one of the Northwest Republic’s most ruthless and skillful political policemen. Then on a bright October morning he is called into the office of the State President, where he is given a top-secret assignment. A skeleton from the bloody and treacherous days of the revolution against America is about to emerge from the closet, and one of the most carefully guarded and suppressed mysteries of that revolution may become public knowledge. That long hidden truth may undermine the very moral and political foundations of the white supremacist state. A woman’s life hangs in the balance, but possibly even the fate a of a continent as well, as Donald Redmond and his partner Sergeant Nel plunge into the past and seek for the answer: who betrayed the Olympic Flying Column, and why?

In The Hill of the Ravens, underground cult novelist H. A. Covington offers us a grim and chilling view of a future that may yet come to be.

 

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Contents

Section 1
2
Section 2
3
Section 3
12
Section 4
13
Section 5
59
Section 6
99
Section 7
119
Section 8
142
Section 10
183
Section 11
235
Section 12
273
Section 13
299
Section 14
324
Section 15
325
Section 16
331
Copyright

Section 9
143

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Page 1 - As down the glen one Easter Morn to a city fair rode I There armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by, No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its dread tattoo, But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out in the Foggy Dew. Right proudly high...

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