A realistic novel of war by a former Marine recon captain follows a detachment of soldiers into Somalia, where they encounter dangerous thugs and official charges of murder against one of the men. America's involvement in Somalia was messy, ugly, lethal, and, to many observers and participants, a totally botched job. U.S. troops confronted warlords who didn't care whether their own people lived or died, while absurd rules of engagement constrained our military. In this first novel written by an ex-marine infantry commander, Lt. Gavin "Sharkman Six" Kelly, a Desert Storm vet, finds himself in Somalia, surrounded by enemies and facing unimaginable barbarity while he tries to carry out his humanitarian mission of saving the lives of starving civilians. West does a credible job of describing hellish conditions in a "minor" military operation that seems to have no purpose, ably reminding us that the soldiers sent into harm's way are human beings who deserve much better. The result is a well-written and informative narrative, though the intense and continuous suffering makes for difficult reading. For larger collections. Robert Conroy, Warren, MI Copyright 2001 Reed Business Information, Inc. It's 1992, and Lieutenant Gavin Kelly lands his platoon on a Mogadishu beach as part of a military operation in Somalia called Restore Hope. But before the troops are even out of the water, one of Kelly's men has killed an armed Somali who, it turns out, was not quite the threat he at first appeared to be. Kelly's choice is simple: admit the shooting may have been wrong, or protect his fellow marine and cover up the truth. He makes a choice, but is it the right one? This is the classic rightversuswrong, loyaltyversusduty dilemma, retold as a war story, this time against the dramatic backdrop of the conflict in Somalia. West, a former marine platoon commander, makes an impressive debut as a fiction writer. He handles the moral issues central to his story with sensitivity but without bogging down the action. Readers interested in Somalia and the Restore Hope operation will want to compare this fictional treatment with Stanton's nonfiction Somalia on Five Dollars a Day (see review on p. 2082). David Pitt Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved "Former Marine West shows staggering insight...in this powerful debut....a perfect, stunning conclusion leaves the reader revved for more." -- Publishers Weekly, September 24, 2001 Mark Burnett creator and executive producer of Survivor A superb war book -- absorbing and deeply expressed. Owen West really puts you inside the minds of the Marines on the front lines. -- Review Owen West attended Harvard on an ROTC scholarship and rowed heavyweight varsity crew. After graduation, he was commissioned a lieutenant in the Marine Corps and commanded an infantry platoon, an infantry company, and a reconnaissance platoon, the Marine Corps special-ops unit. He was the honor graduate of his reconnaissance school, combat diver school, and long-range navigation school classes. After his service, he attended Stanford Business School, where he was elected co-president of his class and served as the CEO for the largest business school nonprofit in the nation. He is now a term member of the Council on Foreign Relations and is a commodities trader for Goldman Sachs & Co. In September 2000 he completed his fifth Eco-Challenge, the world's most difficult adventure race, navigating three Playboy Playmates to the finish line. In May 2001 he reached 28,000 feet on Mount Everest's north face before turning back. West and his wife, Susanne, live in New York City. Chapter One 9 December 1992 Butch: Then you jump first. Sundance: No, I said. Butch: What's the matter with you? Sundance: I can't swim. Butch: Why you crazy...the fall will probably kill ya. I am floating in a black rubber Zodiac on a black ocean at night, waiting to enter a country that is darker still. I strain to hear the clack of an AK-47 coming off Safe, or the abrupt, metallic snick of a machine-gun bolt, but the rapid breathing in my boat makes it impossible to pinpoint the faint noises coming from the beach. It is just past midnight and we can't wait to crash this party. My left arm is dangling over the side of the boat but I'm leery of dipping it into the Indian after the intelligence brief on the dangers below. I take a quick, quiet swipe to test the ocean's temperature and it is so thick with phosphorescence that five bright green streaks follow my fingers through the length of their swim, glowing for a few seconds after my hand has retreated. My right hand remains gently draped over my M-16, my only girlfriend at this moment, a sleek beauty with whom I have snuggled for two years. I have to fight the urge to stand and scream. I'm excited not so much because we may be able to shoot at some folks tonight -- that's just a bonus, really -- but because this landing might very well make