Hunter Killer (The Zone, Book 3)
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IN THE WORLD OF TOMORROW, WAR WILL BE FINAL! Along the ravaged countryside, dead bodies lay trapped in icy graves as the bleak face of winter froze the devastation along the battleground known as The Zone. Russian SA-8 missiles silently stood waiting and ready to heat up the cold war as freezing temperatures all but closed the Baltic ports. While a Soviet fleet planned a killer punch to the convoy routes, American Major Revell and British Sergeant Hyde of the joint NATO strike force plotted their course of action. They would get one chance to maintain the balance of power in The Zone and stop the Russians. And they knew that their men-frostbitten but stalwart heroes-would do anything to defend their free way of life. The only chance was an air drop onto a Swedish island-a sabotage mission in Arctic weather to strike down the deadly warships amid the icy terror of... THE ZONE.
weighed twenty pounds or more. ‘You quite sure you want to undo it, Sarge?’ There was nothing in the sniper’s tone that conveyed threat or warning, but Hyde hesitated before taking hold of the top and starting to unscrew it. ‘Don’t.’ Hyde turned to see that it was Libby who had grabbed his wrist. ‘I’ve just about had enough of you. The major may have laid on that last minute trip to the refugee registry for you, but you’re not under any special protection. I’m warning you . . .’ ‘Go ahead then,
sheath.’ ‘I’m the armourer, remember.’ Along with all of the others, Libby was staying well clear. ‘Those little buggers were withdrawn a year ago. The shielding’s inadequate. What the hell do you want with them?’ Clarence casually rolled the bullet in his palm, making no move to replace it. ‘On two recent occasions I’ve been in good positions for clear shots at Commie officers; long-range, but nothing exceptional. I’ve hit them and seen them go down, only to watch them get to their feet a few
of the metal-framed chair he was waved to, and waited for Ol’ Foul Mouth to settle in the swivelling bucket-style seat on the other side of the wide polished desk that dominated the artificially lit room. ‘My one little luxury.’ Lippincott ran his hand over the beautifully waxed wood. ‘Had to slip a couple of fifties to a horse-faced master sergeant to get it in, but I feel happier with it down here, tucked away nice and safe.’ ‘There must be a lot of German civvies up above who’d like to feel
distant rumble as further explosions rocked the ship. It probably wouldn’t stay afloat for much longer; there had to be a limit to what the much-repaired hull could take. ‘Think we did much damage to those warships, Sarge?’ Burke had failed to find an excuse for stopping work for a moment, and now struck up a conversation with his NCO in the hope of inventing one. ‘Enough to have scared the shit out of their admiral, I should imagine. The poor sod must have thought he had a safe run until he
trimming of her knickers. She was sobbing, between alternate distraught snatches of threats and imprecations. ‘What’s she saying? She’s gabbing too fast for me. Shrugging, Andrea turned to go out, but answered when Dooley grabbed her arm and spun her about, repeating the question. ‘She said she is going to report you. She will tell the police you raped her.’ ‘Silly cow, she’s just worked up, that’s all. Her husband’s got his own factory, he’s in local politics I think, she ain’t going to risk