Ataque ao Bunker de Hitler

Babelcube Inc.
Free sample

Rudolph Eineger foi deixado com o dedo dentro de um corpo morto. Repulsado, retirou-o e limpou-o na túnica preta da SS.
Richard Earlgood, um piloto de caça rebelde da RAF, e Michael Dorfmann, um ambicioso agente duplo da Luftwaffe, planejam um ataque audacioso a luz do dia usando caças Hurricane, carregados nas costas do bombardeiro quadrimotor Stirling para alcançar o quase completo... inexpugnável... Bunker do Führer neste livro de ficção ambientado na Segunda Guerra Mundial.
Anna Styles, uma decodificadora da Estação X, tinha um romance com Dorfmann em Oxford e está sendo forçada a “cuidar” do agente duplo. Ela ainda ama Dorfmann, mas se apaixona por Richard também. Esta invasão singular para bombardear o Bunker de Hitler pode vencer a Guerra, mas apenas um homem pode ganhar o coração de Anna. A maioria do pessoal de Hitler simplesmente não acredita que tal invasão seja possível, mas um oficial cruel da SS não vai descansar até pegar Dorfmann e derrotar os Britânicos. Homens , máquinas e paixões serão levados aos limites num ataque... que moldará a História. Ataque ao Bunker de Hitler! A invasão secreta da RAF para bombardear o Bunker de Hitler em Berlim que nunca aconteceu – provavelmente.
Fãs do Esquadrão 633, The Dam Busters, Operação Valquíria, A Águia Pousou , Desafio das Águias ou até mesmo o jogo simulador da Segunda Guerra Mundial War Thunder vão amar este thriller de ação incandescente feito montanha-russa durante a Guerra pelas ruas de Berlim em uma missão de bombardeio que deixará seus cabelos em pé! Categorias: romance, ménage, internacional, espiões, suspense, segunda chance, amnésia, thriller, história, militar, guerra, Segunda Guerra Mundial.
Gênero: FICÇÃO / Histórico
Gênenro Secundário: FICÇÃO / Thrillers
Idioma: Language: Português brasileiro
Contagem de palavras: 87872
Informações de venda: Este
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About the author

Lazlo Ferran: Explorando as faces da verdade.
Educado próximo a Oxford, o autor Inglês Lazlo Ferran tem levado uma vida fascinante na qual foi estudante de engenharia aeronáutica, entregador, designer gráfico, artista de rua em tempo integral, guitarrista e cantor, gravando dois álbuns. Tendo crescido na interiorana Buckinghamshire, Lazlo diz:
“As belas colinas de Chiltern me ofereceram o playground ideal para a mente de uma criança, em contraste com o sistema de educação extremamente rígido de Bucks.”
Criado como um budista, ele viajou muito, sobrevivendo a um levante estudantil em Atenas e viveu no Cairo por um tempo, pouco depois do assassinato de Sadat. Mais tarde, ele passou um período na Ásia Central e esteve a apenas alguns quarteirões de um tiroteio durante uma tentativa de invadir os prédios do governo Bishkek em 2006. Possui um interesse profundo por Teologias e Filosofias do Extremo Oriente, Oriente Médio, Ásia e Europa Oriental. Depois de construir uma longa carreira na indústria científica, Lazlo Ferran a deixou para se concentrar em escrever, e assim continuar a explorar as faces da verdade.

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Additional Information

Publisher
Babelcube Inc.
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Published on
Aug 16, 2018
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Pages
135
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ISBN
9781547538164
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Language
Portuguese
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Genres
Fiction / Historical
Fiction / Thrillers / General
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Content Protection
This content is DRM free.
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Read Aloud
Available on Android devices
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Eligible for Family Library

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""antes do Freeport, houve a Ota"... Quando o primeiro sem-abrigo aparece morto com dezoito facadas junto à Basílica da Estrela, ninguém mostra grande interesse. Nem o inspector Joel Franco, responsável pela investigação na Secção de Homicídios da Polícia Judiciária, nem o presidente da Câmara Municipal de Lisboa (que precisa de dar a imagem de uma cidade tranquila aos seus investidores estrangeiros), nem a jornalista Eunice Neves, que trata dos casos de polícia no seu programa O Crime Nosso de Cada Dia. Para a Polícia, a morte violenta de um sem-abrigo cuja identidade é quase impossível de determinar não é uma ocorrência a que se possa dedicar muito tempo. Mas a situação altera-se na manhã seguinte: aparecem mortos, da mesma maneira, mais dois sem-abrigo na Baixa de Lisboa. E, dois dias depois, são três os sem-abrigo atacados. O serial killer começa, porém, a deixar pistas - e estas apontam para um culto satânico, mas também para a maçonaria. Com o medo a instalar-se em Lisboa, onde o assassino vai multiplicando os seus actos de violência, e enquanto Joel Franco começa a descobrir as origens desta vaga de crimes, o presidente da Câmara de Lisboa e um seu discreto aliado na própria PJ percebem quem é o autor das mortes: o homem que quiseram transformar em bode expiatório quando começou a correr mal o comércio ilícito de terrenos na zona do projectado aeroporto da Ota. No qual pontificara o presidente da Câmara quando ainda era ministro do Ambiente... E em breve vão estar frente a frente dois homens que, à sua maneira, procuram justiça: o assassino propriamente dito e Joel Franco, que tenta vingar a morte de um amigo de infância em cada homicida que persegue. É bem provável que ambos desafiem a antiquíssima norma que regula a sociedade humana: "Não matarás.""
Noite escura. Lá fora começa a nevar. A primeira neve do ano. No conforto da sua casa, Jonas acorda a meio da noite, chama pela mãe, mas o único rasto que encontra são as pegadas húmidas no chão das escadas. No jardim, a mesma figura solitária que vira durante o dia: o boneco de neve, agora banhado pelo luar, com os olhos negros fixos na janela do quarto. E no pescoço um agasalho: o cachecol cor de rosa que oferecera à mãe. Encarregado da investigação, o Inspetor Harry Hole está convencido de que existe uma ligação entre o estranho desaparecimento da mãe de Jonas e uma carta ameaçadora que recebeu alguns meses antes. Quando Harry e a sua equipa começam a analisar antigos casos por resolver, descobrem que, ao longo dos anos, no primeiro dia em que nevou, desapareceu um número alarmante de mulheres, com uma característica comum: eram todas casadas com filhos. E quando se vê confrontado com outro caso com as mesmas características, as suspeitas de Harry confirmam-se: não passa de um mero peão num jogo mortífero. Pela frente tem o primeiro assassino em série da Noruega, um assassino tão inteligente, que quase o leva à loucura. Jo Nesbo nasceu na Noruega em 1960. É músico, compositor, e um dos escritores de policiais mais elogiados e bem-sucedidos da Europa. Com os livros da série protagonizada pelo inspetor Harry Hole conseguiu um sucesso invejável quer no seu país de origem quer a nível internacional, recebendo elogios da crítica e do público. É traduzido em mais de 40 línguas, recebeu vários prémios literários e muitos dos seus livros atingiram os tops de vendas. Em Fevereiro de 2013 o Parlamento norueguês atribuiu-lhe o Peer Gynt Prize, que premeia uma personalidade ou instituição que se tenha distinguido na sociedade e tenha contribuído para valorizar a reputação da Noruega a nível internacional.
*** Get 3 BOOKS FREE > lazloferran.com/3fb ***

Inchoate
Set in prehistoric North America, this tells the story of how a hard-swearing, delinquent time-traveller calls the first Board Meeting in History and inadvertently incurs the wrath of all his bosses. He is put on trial but is he all he seems?

Urdu translation of Inchoate - سائنس فکشن - نمود سے پہلے

یہ کہا نی شما لی ا مریکہ کی سر زمین کی ہے-عہد، گزشتہ سے بھی پہلے کی-قصَہ 

شروع ہوتا ہے ایک ایسے ملزم سے جو انسانی تا ریخ کے پہلے اجلاس میں نا دانستہ 

طور پر کچھ ایسی حرکات کر بیٹھتا ہے جو کہ حکا مِ اعلی کی ناراضگی کا سبب بن جا 

تی ہیں-اس پر مقَدمہ چلایا جاتا ہے- لیکن یہ ملزم اصل میں کسی اور روپ میں تو نہیں؟

Henry's Car

In this hilarious sci-fi story, a Time Traveler from the 16th Century develops a taste and talent for for stock-car racing.

The Jesus Monster

A lethal alien virus reaches the last healthy community on Earth.

Chapter One of Attack Hitler's Bunker!

Rudolf Eineger was left with his finger inside a dead body. Repulsed, he withdrew it and wiped it on the black SS tunic.

Richard Earlgood, maverick RAF fighter pilot, and Michael Dorfmann, an ambitious Luftwaffe double-agent, plan a daring daylight attack on Adolf Hitler using Hurricane fighters, piggy-backing on 4-engine Stirling bombers to reach the almost completed... impregnable... Führer Bunker in this WWII fiction book.

Anna Styles, a Station X decoder, had a romance with Dorfmann at Oxford and is being forced to 'handle' the double-agent. She still loves Dorfmann but she has fallen for Richard too. This single raid to bomb Hitler's Bunker could win the war, but only one man can win Anna's heart.

Iron I: Too Bright the Sun

Seeking revenge for the death of a friend ten long years ago, Major Jake Nanden has pursued his own personal demons with an almost religious fervour through life and through battle.

He is a soldier so highly decorated that his fame reaches far beyond the desolate moon Io where he is stationed. His victories in the Jupiter Wars are hollow though, for he is a man scared of his own soul.

His life seems to be a trap from which he cannot escape. His is the Replicant Company, and replicants are despised by all.

Likened to a cross between Blade Runner and Paths of Glory, you simply must read this beautifully constructed, intensely dark and powerful Science Fiction tale-with-a-twist if you love Phillip K. Dick and Isaac Asimov.

Chapter one of Ordo Lupus and the Temple Gate

His teenage daughter is viciously murdered in Lyon by a long-forgotten biblical monster. A former WWII MI6 agent, our hero is suspected of her murder by the police and his divorcing wife.

With supernatural powers of foresight he goes on the run to clear his name. He has only one friend - a historian and member of the modern Knights Hospitaller but with his help he embarks on a white-knuckle ride to salvation.

In Paris a witch servant of the mysterious Catholic assassin sect Concilium Putus Visum seduces him during his quest for the secret weapon of the Cathars. If he can solve a puzzling set of clues to find the weapon, he might kill the monster and save his marriage.

But why do the assassins and the monster seem to be protecting him?

Lovers of Dan Brown's evocative mix of mystery and history will love this Occult Thriller - a dark and powerful tale.  

Categories: non-fiction, Philosophy, metaphysics, fiction, science fiction, visionary, alien contact, clones, history, military.

Ordo Lupus - from the author:

My own family's roots, uncovered gradually over ten years of concerted research, had led me to one Guillaume, a Chevalier (Knight) in 13th Century Languedoc, France. He was my earliest ancestor.Simultaneously, I had been pursuing a theological interest in the Cathars; first though reading a number of books by Henry Lincoln and later through an interest in Monségur and the Rennes-le-Château, near where the lost treasure of the Cathars is said to be hidden. The Cathars were an ancient sect who came to prominence and were ruthlessly persecuted by the Catholics in the 1300s, mainly in and around the Languedoc Region of France. Their beliefs were gradually imported from the Mediterranean via the Balkans and possibly originated in Paulian beliefs in post-Roman Istanbul (ancient Constantinople). They believed that the Christian god was really Rex Mundi, or 'God of Earth' and that he was an illusion created by dark forces, while the real God remains hidden somewhere outside Earth. I quite possibly sympathise with the Cathars because my later ancestors probably escaped the Catholic persecution of Huguenots when they came to England in the 1500s.

These two areas of interest came together for me when I discovered that one of my ancestors was cast out by the Catholic Church and had been prosecuted for some unknown violation. This resulted in him having to pay the church an annual tithe of a man's weight in wheat. What his misdemeanour was, I cannot say but he was certainly very wealthy and his daughter married well so it must have been a personal crime against the Church. Was he a heretic or Cathar, even though officially they had all been killed in Monségur 200 years before? This question started me on my journey.

A year before I started this work, I read both Dan Brown and Angels & Demons by Dan Brown. These books were certainly an influence on me. Like him, I have been fascinated for many years by the rumour or myth that Mary went to France and that Jesus had a descendant. Like Brown and many others, I speculate that the Cathars did in fact smuggle a great treasure out of Monségur castle, under the noses of the Royalist besiegers. I also speculate on what that treasure might be and how it might affect our lives if it were discovered in the modern age.

I wanted deeper characterisation. I wanted to write something more than a mere fantasy. Some of my characters are world-weary but all have the tell-tale footprints of life all over them.

Lastly, I wanted the gothic. The themes of blood, death, eroticism, sex and transcendence are all things that I desire in a good novel. My influences were Kate Bush, The Mission, Lord Byron, John Keats (The Eve of St. Agnes is a particularly favourite poem of mine) and, to some extent, Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. Sex and death are the themes that everyone seems attracted to. As a consequence, I couldn't resist a climax to my novel that took place in one of the world's greatest Gothic masterpieces. But you will have to read the novel to find out where ...

Grab your copy today!

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*** Get 3 BOOKS FREE > lazloferran.com/3fb ***

Running - The Alien in the Mirror can be considered the cyberpunk prequel to the military scifi Iron Series.

Ishmael Bodd 'wakes up' for the first time, a billion years in the future. He is a Citizen of Supercity, on Marstoo, far away from old Earth in the Universe. In his world, crime doesn't exist and Citizens only need electricity to live, whereas clones, who eat food and drink liquids, are banished to Clonecity.

But he suddenly feels compelled to commit a minor crime and goes on the run. He can never stop running until he has escaped his culture and found the reason why everything suddenly feels so 'strange' to him in this science fiction thriller.

If you like the Terminator series, Blade Runner or Greg Bear’s Hull Zero Three, you will love Running - The Alien in the Mirror.

Includes Chapter One of  Too Bright the Sun.

Categories: science fiction, thriller, far future, clones, androids, cyborgs, time travel, genes, genetic engineering, military science fiction



Character interview with Jake Nanden, star of the Iron Series.

Name (s): Jake Nanden

Age: 34

Please tell us a little about yourself.
I am 5'11', dark hair, short - Army cut, slightly curly. Green eyes.

Describe your appearance in 10 words or less.
Getting middle aged, slightly paunchy with drying skin - like paper in places - except my mech arm. That's synthetic skin on there and as smooth and supple as the day it was sprayed on. I even had mine tattooed but don't tell anyone.

Would you kill for those you love?
I kill every day - most days - to keep my culture intact. I would say that is killing for those I love. Of course there is a moral code... And as a soldier the moral code is almost everything. After a while... killing... it sometimes seems to be the only thing you have left. Family are too far away.

Do you like animals?
I love animals. Their love is unconditional. You can never quite be sure with humans, can you?

Do you have a family?
Ha! Ha! Yes. A test-tube. No seriously my mother - Mary, my sister Justine and a dog - a collie called Frisky. My adoptive dad was the famous robotics designer Robert R. Nanden but he's dead. My mother was his assistant and pretty accomplished at that!

Can you remember something from your childhood which influences your behaviour?
I am not sure about any of my childhood memories. They are probably all implanted. I am a replicant. The first memory I am sure about is playing on the grass with my adoptive mother watching me playing cricket.
She shouted out, "Jake! You are such a talented cyborg!"
Even at my tender age, I knew a replicant was not the same thing as a cyborg and I knew that she should know, as her first husband had been a famous robot designer. Her words had always stuck in my head.
But anyway, adoptive parents of replicant children are always told to create some vivid experience for their kid in the first few days so that the imprinting takes properly. So it's probably not significant.

Do you have any phobias?
Mirrors. Can't stand them. They make me sweat and... well, I'm very nervous around them. I avoid them.

Please give us an interesting and unusual fact about yourself.
I write books - well, I am writing my first; a detective thriller. It's kind of Raymond Chandler-ish. I call it Chandleresque, but I guess that's bad English. My adoptive parents are first generation J5 - that's a space station - so they kinda inherited a USAC - United States of America and Canada - accent. Anyway, I am rambling. The main character is Dusty. He's a sucker for the pretty ladies!

Does your world have different races of people?
We are more concerned with Ischians - aliens. We call them 'Dogs' because they have evolved from something like dogs. Races? I don't think anybody notices any more. Still a stigma to being a replicant though.

Free, replicants, grunts, laser pistol, rifle, cannon, aliens, dystopia, dystopia, utopia, far future, visionary, thriller, worm hole, time travel, big crunch, big bang, gene,s dna, double helix, hominid lucy, AI, artificial intelligence, neural network, telepathy, troop, battle, underground city, clones, A.I., cyberpunk, cyborg, cybernetic, cyber-soldier, reality, philosophy, battle, war, conflict, invasion, colony

Why is a notorious religious cult of assassins keeping him alive?

*** Get 3 BOOKS FREE > lazloferran.com/3fb *** Get Book 1, Vampire: Find my Grave FREE on Google Play.

In this nail-biting, paranormal thriller, the hero's teenage daughter is taken in a blood-thirsty murder by a giant winged serpent; her body is left mysteriously shriveled and crushed. A former WWII MI6 agent, our anonymous hero is suspected of the crime by the police and his divorcing wife.

With strange powers of foresight, he goes on the run to clear his name. He has only one friend, a historian and member of the modern Knights Hospitaller, but with this help, he embarks on a white-knuckle ride to salvation.

In Paris, Georgina, smart, sexy witch servant of the mysterious Catholic assassin sect Concilium Putus Visum seduces him during his quest for the secret weapon of the Cathars. If he can solve a puzzling set of clues to find the weapon, he might kill the monster and save his marriage.

But why do the assassins and the vampire snakes seem to be protecting him? Why is his grandfather's body no longer where it should be; in his grave? What supernatural secret about the family was the old man trying to reveal to him before he died?

Lovers of Dan Brown's evocative mix of mystery and history will love this Occult Thriller - a dark and powerful, nerve-shredding tale, which deftly combines aspects of a crime thriller with those of the occult and historical.

Categories: fiction, thriller, paranormal, occult & supernatural, suspense, werewolf, vampire, fun, psychic, racy.

From the author:

My own family's roots, uncovered gradually over ten years of concerted research, had led me to one Guillaume, a Chevalier (Knight) in 13th Century Languedoc, France. He was my earliest ancestor. Simultaneously, I had been pursuing a theological interest in the Cathars; first through reading a number of books by Henry Lincoln and later through an interest in Monségur and the Rennes-le-Château, near where the lost treasure of the Cathars is said to be hidden. The Cathars were an ancient sect who came to prominence and were ruthlessly persecuted by the Catholics in the 1300s, mainly in and around the Languedoc Region of France. Their beliefs were gradually imported from the Mediterranean via the Balkans and possibly originated in Paulian beliefs in post-Roman Istanbul (ancient Constantinople). They believed that the Christian god was really Rex Mundi, or 'God of Earth' and that he was an illusion created by dark forces, while the real God remains hidden somewhere outside Earth. I quite possibly sympathise with the Cathars because my later ancestors probably escaped the Catholic persecution of Huguenots when they came to England in the 1500s.

These two areas of interest came together for me when I discovered that one of my ancestors was cast out by the Catholic Church and had been prosecuted for some unknown violation. This resulted in him having to pay the church an annual tithe of a man's weight in wheat. What his misdemeanour was, I cannot say but he was certainly very wealthy and his daughter married well so it must have been a personal crime against the Church. Was he a heretic or Cathar, even though officially they had all been killed in Monségur 200 years before? This question started me on my journey.

A year before I started this work, I read both Dan Brown and Angels & Demons by Dan Brown. These books were certainly an influence on me. Like him, I have been fascinated for many years by the rumour or myth that Mary went to France and that Jesus had a descendant. Like Brown and many others, I speculate that the Cathars did in fact smuggle a great treasure out of Monségur castle, under the noses of the Royalist besiegers. I also speculate on what that treasure might be and how it might affect our lives if it were discovered in the modern age.

I wanted deeper characterisation. I wanted to write something more than a mere fantasy. Some of my characters are world-weary but all have the tell-tale footprints of life all over them.

Lastly, I wanted the gothic. The themes of blood, death, eroticism, sex and transcendence are all things that I desire in a good novel. My influences were Kate Bush, The Mission, Lord Byron, John Keats (The Eve of St. Agnes is a particularly favourite poem of mine) and, to some extent, Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. Sex and death are the themes that everyone seems attracted to. As a consequence, I couldn't resist a climax to my novel that took place in one of the world's greatest Gothic masterpieces. But you will have to read the novel to find out where ...

Grab your copy today!

thriller, MI6, secret agent, cursed, Paris, Medieval, time travelling, trapped, werewolf, paranormal, gothic, romance, conspiracy, assassin, vampire, da vinci code, tumbler lock puzzle, Leonardo da vinci, racy, French, witch, wicca, coven, holy blood holy grail, Jesus Christ, Mary Magdalene, fun, adventure, thriller, shapeshifter, snakes, psychic, ancient, Templar, sacred treasure, serpent, succubus, ark, covenant, spell

*** Get 3 BOOKS FREE > lazloferran.com/3fb *** Book 1 Running: The Alien in the Mirror is FREE on Google Play.

A man hell-bent on revenge for the death of his friend, in battle!

Seeking revenge for the death of a friend ten long years ago, Major Jake Nanden has pursued his own personal demons with an almost religious fervour through life and through battle. 

He is a soldier so highly decorated that his fame reaches far beyond the desolate moon Io where he is stationed. His victories in the Jupiter Wars are hollow though, for he is a man scared of his own soul. 

His life seems to be a trap from which he cannot escape. His is the Replicant Company, and replicants are despised by all. 

Likened to a cross between Blade Runner and Paths of Glory, you simply must read this beautifully constructed, intensely dark and powerful Science Fiction tale-with-a-twist if you love Phillip K. Dick and Isaac Asimov. 

From the author:

I have long had a soft-spot for noir films so I decided to write a noir science fiction novel. I also love Isaac Asimov, Arthur C Clarke and Phillip K Dick - particularly Blade Runner, all for their quirky stories but deep-rooted scientific authenticity. The result is Too Bright the Sun, which I am very proud of. Ultimately, I think it is a very beautiful story of one replicant struggle for identity and the surprising outcome.

If you love character-driven science fiction, you will love the twist at the end.


Volume III in the Iron Series: Worlds Like Dust will be published early in 2014

Categories: fiction, science fiction, thriller, first contact, clones, starship, mlitary.

Sample

It’s been over ten years since Gary Enquine sent my friend Przeltski to a certain death. Not one day has gone by without the memories of that battle prowling my mind like a waking nightmare. Many times I have woken in a cold-sweat thinking about it. I will not rest, cannot rest, until Gary Enquine has been brought to justice and been forced to pay for his cowardice. Ten years; it’s a long time but I can be patient. Personal journal entry of Jake Nanden for 2101, Feb 3. 1.

***

Chapter One


The little voice asked, after peering out of another portal at an earlier moment in his life, “Is it possible to time travel for I perceive that I can?”

“Only after you leave this life,” said a voice, high and mighty.

Then the little voice changed its tone for it was angry. “But that’s not fair! For, the one thing I wish I can’t have.”

“Until you leave this life,” said the high voice.

“Yes.”

“Then now you can see advantages to moving beyond this life you have.”

And the little voice perceived that all his previous angers, about matters of the flesh and daily living were not proper angers. A proper anger is the anger that desirable things lay beyond the portal of death. And so from that moment on his struggles to survive, to fight against the current, seemed improper to him and yet he could not help himself.


Two of the Ionian Militia sat on top of Przeltski, ripping his helmet off, while another aimed his laser at his eyes. In the vacuum of Io’s atmosphere, Przeltski was mouthing the words, ‘save me’ but it was too late. I knew I couldn’t and had to try and save myself. I was turning to get away but I could still see his eyes half closing, then looking up and his mouth rapidly shaping the words of the ‘Hail Mary.’ The IM would turn their lasers down to the lowest setting and first shoot out the eyes, then take off the arms and if he was lucky then they would aim for his heart. If he was not lucky, the dismemberment could go on and on for as long as they wanted. I wanted to look away but I couldn’t. I struggled and struggled and then I was awake and knew it was the nightmare.

***

An eye opened. It was mine. The blurry horizon crystallised into the edge of the pillow as I realised where I was: Io. Being a commander has its perks, one being your own private cabin, but it was small and cramped. I closed my eye, reached up for the ledge of the sill above me and hauled myself out of bed. Feeling for the sanicube-handle opposite the bed, I released the cube from its folded position against the wall, selected ‘L’ and stepped in but then had to open my eyes to use it without spilling. A tube dispensed a sterilising solution onto my hands and the stream of water became hot air to dry them. Yawning enough for tears to clear my eyes, I took one step over to the n-gen, on the white work surface above the bed. I selected ‘Fried,’ then ‘Coffee, black’ and clicked on, the com centre. I had disabled the voice but I could see the display said, “2101, Feb 4. 2 – 06.30 I. 2 messages. Download?”

I waited for the ding that would tell me my breakfast was ready. I knew I had just had another weird dream but I couldn’t quite remember it now. I tried. The n-gen dinged and I opened the white door to reveal the plate of hot, fried food and a mug of black coffee. I looked at the food dubiously and lifted the dark blue mug to my lips. The caffeine rush to my head felt good. Putting my left hand on my hip, I arched my back and then looked down at the pallid skin stretched over my late-twenties belly. ‘Bigger,’ I thought. ‘But only slightly.’ I picked up the plate of fried – bacon, eggs, potatoes, beans, fried-bread and mushrooms – all preselected as my personal preferences and lifted some mushrooms and potatoes to my mouth with the forkette. My buds tested the taste; it had that slight hint of mint or something metallic about it. “Damn,” I said out loud. For a few days now breakfast had tasted like this and I wasn’t sure if it was a fault with the n-gen or this batch of plasma. My n-gen was civvy and another one of the perks allowed to commanders; I’d had it for nearly five years and it had been everywhere with me. Normally they didn’t last longer than three years.

Balancing the plate in my left hand, I picked up the remote, pressed ‘Monitor,’ chose ‘North elevation,’ then ‘R’ for recording and ‘Dec 9, 11.00,’ morning on the day we had arrived, a date I chose out of habit. I then pointed it at the panel, shaped like a window, on the narrow wall behind the pillow of the bed and it was filled with the image of the ground to the north of the command-post. Just like a window, you could even see ‘around’ the window frame if you wished to put your head that close to it. Yellow and reddish sulphur stretched away between the rocky silicates, to a jagged horizon a few hundred yards above the level of the command-post and perhaps two miles away. In places the silicate rock was white and in others a beautiful emerald green. If it hadn’t been for the bright purplish glow of the morning aurora above, I could have believed I was in the Mojave Desert on Earth, which was in a memory I had of visiting my grandparents once. Taking bigger mouthfuls, with my nostrils closed to avoid the nasty after-taste, I downed the breakfast and alternated my gaze between the landscape on the wall and the contents of the room. I took in the half-finished bottle of vodka next to the empty glass on the narrow table across the gang-way from my bed and the open notepad next to it with a few scrawled lines at the top of a new page. Writing pulp crime-novels was my weakness, or my hobby, depending on one’s generosity.

I had finished the fried so I continued sipping black coffee and put on the Trion head-band, activating it by flicking a tiny black switch next to my left temple. “Record,” I said. Most company commanders, at least in USAC, were obliged to record their activities for viewing by paid subscribers; part of a deal USAC had made with the Amtel branch of RA. Most hated doing it but at least you could choose what to record and I never gave the leaches anything of real interest. The recording was made by a cam in the comms centre so a leach couldn’t see what was on my heads-up.

“Download,” I said. A red light flickered once on the com centre. On the heads-up display in front of my left eye scrolled the first of two messages:


Contact: Jena Ω “Hi Jake. I know you’re trying to make me jealous by not replying to my last messages but then again you could just be under attack and I’m supposed to be the rational woman so I can deal with that. I might just be too busy this week to record anything for you too. My boss wants me to prepare a legal-briefing for our merger with a company which has connections with Riccard-Amtel! Can you believe it? Oh I know we try not to bring business into our relationship but I couldn’t help myself. The consequences could be so far-reaching. Promotion, relocation. Who knows? Umm. In answer to your question last time; okay I’ve held out for quite a while haven’t I but yes, women do feel that sometimes. I suppose... Tell me more about what you do... Not during the day (with the boyz and grrls) but after. Are you still writing? Chloe misses u too. xx” End.


Contact: Mary “Hi darling Mum here. How’s the (censored) winter? I know this will probably be censored but I don’t care. There’s lots to tell you but I'll keep it short for now. I’m just off to a local council meeting and later there's an art exhibition, Raccauld, which Justine and I are going to. Actually I’m meeting her for coffee at lunchtime. I think she wants to do some shopping. You know what she’s like. You cannot stop her once hubby has been paid. The Gazette had a nice photo of you the other day which I have stuck in the photo album. You’re a hero around here. The young boys talk of nothing else but the Iron Cross, I hear them when we go for picnics by the river. Oh yes and Robert O’Flannery has been elected Mayor again and has approved redevelopment of the area by the river. Office block I believe. Such a shame. One thing I was going to mention. A peculiar thing happened the other day...”


There was a loud banging on the cabin-door which made me flinch. “Stop record,” I said and ignored the rest of the message in the heads-up. I took two steps to the door and opened it. Sergeant Stone’s chiseled face, topped with a brown flat-top and with shaving foam around its cheeks, confronted me. He was dressed only from the waist down.

“Yes Sergeant?” I tried to sound patient.

“Sir. Seismic activity detected 700 yards east of perimeter. About 100 feet down.”

“Okay. Pick four men and get packed. I’ll be with you in five.”

“Sir? We can investigate if you want. You don’t need to come.”

“No but I want to come. I need the exercise.”

“Sir.” There was no salute. I was informal with my troops most of the time in combat situations, especially the officers and Stone in particular, who had been with me a long time.

***

“Lieutenant Osei, you have the comm.”

We were in the port airlock five minutes later, myself unshaven, all in full-combat gear and Sergeant Stone handed me a Trion X.50. As the red light moved to ‘Gravity-local,’ we all grabbed the hand rails. Gravity on Io was about one fifth of that on Earth or about the same as the Moon and without the S-Grav, the rocking motion of the lift as it took us down to the surface would throw us about. The hatch opened and I led the team out into the moonlit night. I could feel the crunch of sulphur and silicates under my boots but all I could hear was my breath and the steady beep, every two seconds of the uplink indicator. We used a two-step canter to move over the terrain in a defensive pattern of two columns of three, ten feet apart. It was enough distance to give covering fire in all directions without hitting each other if needed. What we were looking for was any sign of a drill rig at the indicated distance of 700 yards. The Ionian Militia (see Appendix for more on the Ionian Militia) normally didn’t have the resources for automated rigs so there would be two or three poor bastards manning it, armed with A.M. 27s most probably. They would be targeting our S-Grav singularity, 1000 feet below the MCS – a known Mob. Command Station weakness. Our MCS was fitted with S-Grav Type 4 which was a lot more stable than the Type 3; its governor was accurate to 14-10 Volts, which it had to be to keep the singularity weak enough to be safe but strong enough to work effectively.

***

Database download on the Ionian Militia: The Ionian Militia (IM) was formed by miners on Io, moon of Jupiter on June 1 2089. Their living conditions were already touch but falling iron prices led to smaller pay-rises and longer hours. They went on strike and in the long summer of 2080 Earth News bulletins were full of items about iron shortages and skirmishes between USAC troops and miners on IO. Led by Richard Ortega, the miners demanded some concessions, most prominent being that their families could live with them. This was granted but shortly after their families arrived, the miners were subjected to further pay-cuts and reductions in supply of essential equipment. From the Ionian Iron Miners Union was formed the Ionian Miner's Union, led by Ortega. This powerful union then began receiving equipment and other supplies directly from the Rebel Alliance on Earth, a move that was seen as highly provocative by the USAC forces, then in administrative control on Io and then attempted to block these supplies and suppress resistance using overpowering force. From the Ionian Miner's Union Ortega then formed the Ionian Militia, a small but highly trained and well-equipped force which operated using guerrilla tactics against USAC. The force gradually grew in size and strength until, ten years later, they are a significant force on Io, controlling one half of its surface. Only a few mines remained loyal to USAC, raising Solar System prices of iron and putting an end to the building of the great J stations. End Download.

***

Micro-singularities were inherently unstable anyway for safety reasons but the governor itself was the only real vulnerability in the Type 4. By necessity it was located in the column only a few inches from the singularity and if it could be damaged by a small explosion, then there was a good chance the singularity would run away and if it grew rather than shrank, the result would be a massive explosion. Several MCSs had been knocked out this way.

The militia squad wouldn’t be a problem but I wanted to be fully alert. My vision was still a bit blurry and I blinked a few times and squeezed my lids shut to lubricate my eyes. My stubble itched on the fabric inside the helmet.

500 yards out I raised my hand and we stopped. I pointed to the Sergeant and two of the corporals in their tan-coloured combat suits and motioned for them to move south of the target location which appeared to be behind a slight bluff. I motioned to the other two officers to follow me north. I was sure Stone would spread his men out a little, standard procedure, and I did the same as we flanked the bluff. I thought I could see a faint plume of yellow dust rising, the usual tell-tale sign of a drill-rig, but it was very faint and I wasn’t sure. I crouched down and tapped the shoulder of the soldier in front of me. I pointed at the faint plume and he turned to face me and he nodded. We tried not to kick up any dust ourselves as we rounded the shoulder of the bluff and the soldier in front held up his hand and stopped. This was it. They were there. His gloved fingers counted down three, two, one and then he moved forward, aiming his X.50 at something as I followed him, pointing mine in the same direction. As I emerged into the dip behind the bluff I saw what I had expected, a low wall of sulphur-dirt around a square dugout, perhaps ten feet along each side, with a cover slung over it to collect the dust. There was one helmet peering through the gap, straight at us. I saw the red beam from his A.M. 27 strike the helmet of the corporal and then the sighting beam turned green as the plasma shot was fired. But he was too slow. The corporal had already jumped, done a one-eighty and was coming down with his X.50 blazing green. I fired too. The poor armour of the Ionian’s helmet couldn’t withstand the X.50 rounds. It split and little globules of red blood floated out from under the cover.

The intercom crackled. It was Stone. “Our man taken down sir. Going in for a look.” That meant there had been another guard on the south-side and he was now disabled. The rear guards stayed back as the leading four of us reached the entrance to the dugout, on its east-side and Stone poked his X.50 inside. He immediately backed out, saying “Two grubs,” over the intercom. By now I could barely see the dugout entrance for yellow dust and we waited for the two miners to emerge from the cloud. They came out with their hands up and Stone made them turn through 360 degrees before making them sit up against a rock a few yards east of the entrance. While Stone, recognisable by the over-sized dagger he usually wore, stood with his X.50 pointing at the two prisoners, one of his team dipped into the entrance to check all equipment was switched off before placing a small charge.

During daylight hours you could not normally see the faces of other men through the visors because the filters would give off glare from the sun but I could see the two faces of the Ionians. One looked full of hate but the other looked strangely sullen, scared even. I decided to question him and not the other.

I tapped his wrist, where intercom units used to be, and drew 220 in the air with my finger, the standard Red Cross frequency. Of course he had to activate this inside the helmet verbally and might not choose to do so. I turned my frequency to 200 and waited patiently. After a minute or more the intercom crackled and I heard a sullen, “Yes.”

“Greetings Ionian,” I said jovially. “It’s your lucky day. You are definitely going to live and you might retain all your limbs if you answer a few simple questions.”

“Smith, Corporal, 00001,” he said. His name, rank and serial number included the obligatory 00001. All Ionians used the same serial number. In effect they had no serial numbers which they felt confused USAC.

I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the other Ionian glanced nervously at Smith, several times.

Is he afraid this one will reveal something?

“Well Mr. Smith, Corporal Smith if you prefer...” I was digging and waited for a response.

“Smith will do.”

“Mm. You don’t seem so attached to the Militia as your friend there. How long have you been mining?”

“A few months,” came the terse reply. The other Ionian winced.

“Uh-huh. Have you targeted a Type 4 before?” The other Ionian looked surprised.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“Maybe? It’s the latest type. What sort of charge were you planning to use?”

“What do you mean? I don’t have to answer these questions. Look, if you want to get it over and done with that’s fine by me.”

“What charge?” I made it sound angry and pointed my X.50 at his upper right arm.

“Hey! Wait. I dunno. Four pounds, maybe. We hadn’t decided.”

“Oh. I don’t think so. Okay sonny. So I know you are not a miner so that raises a serious question. What are you doing here?”

Interesting. Is he an observer? A news reporter? Not sure.

“No. Listen. I am just a miner. Okay so I have only been doing it a week. This is my first time. Training courses are hard to come by these days.” He laughed.

“An ironic sense of humour... I like it! Shows intelligence. Maybe too much intelligence for a grub.”

My men were gathered around now, tuned to 220, listening in. I could hear their breathing and their smirks from time to time.

I tapped the shoulder of the nearest to me. “Stay on the proper frequency, corporal.”

“He’s undercover sir,” said one of the other corporals. I recognised the voice; Opinnskey. A bit of a joker by all accounts but clever.

“Undercover Opinnskey? Why do you say that?”

“Look at those arms sir. He hasn’t ever lifted an A.M. in his life. Daddy is probably a high-up, I reckon.” He squeezed Smith’s scrawny arms and the others laughed. The other Ionian looked scared now.

“Maybe he is. Maybe he is. Maybe his Daddy is high up in the army.” I thought I saw just the slightest flicker of his eyelid through the visor. “Did you want to see some active service? Blow up an MCS to impress a girl? I bet that would get you a few nights in bed with that pretty girl.” He looked uncomfortable.

“Okay Stone. Take care of the other one.”

Stone turned the dial on his X.50 to minimum ballistic charge and pulled back on the trigger. He aimed the red bead at the Ionian’s right shin. He pulled back further on the trigger and a green shot of plasma pierced the Ionians shin, leaving a neat black hole for a second which quickly ejected red bubbles before the suit sealed itself. I could see the Ionian was screaming but we couldn’t hear him. Stone repeated the shot on the other shin and then on both forearms. We couldn’t take prisoners and the Ionians wouldn’t take prisoners. But we didn’t want to kill so we just disabled the soldiers. Most of them would never see active service again so we were doing them a favour really. Their medics would pick them up quite quickly once we had broadcast the standard Red Cross distress signal for them. Of course some of the other USAC Companies were less lenient.

I could see Smith was grimacing in anticipation of the pain that would surely come. Perhaps he thought he could get a lighter punishment.

“Well?” I asked.

“Well, what?” he said.

“What's the explanation for you being here?”

“I've told you everything. Just get it over with.”

I crouched down and looked into his eyes. I could see a different kind of fear there now. It wasn’t fear for his physical safety.

“Take the other one away Stone.”

I gestured for the rest of our men to go with him and I waited while the writhing Ionian was dragged around the corner of the bluff.

I spoke to Smith. “Okay now we are alone. Anything you tell me will have been extracted under duress. You won’t have been responsible. I used a dose of SPA on you okay? Now all I want do know is; who's your father?”

“Okay. I will tell you something, something big but you gotta give me something. Leave my arms okay. I heard some guys lose the use of their fingers. I need them, you know?”

“Okay. I tell you what. I will just lightly graze one arm but I better hit the other one or people will be suspicious. Don’t worry. I know just where to hit it. I can reduce the pain too. Deal?” I looked at him. “Deal.” He already looked like he regretted it.

“Shit. Okay. My father is Anatolian Smith.”

“And who is he?”

“You haven’t heard of him?” He seemed astonished. “He is the the General, effectively, of the Ionian Militia for the whole of the northern hemisphere of Io. Nothing happens up here without his say-so”

I forced myself to breathe deeply. This was a supreme stroke of luck and I was having trouble breathing.

Sounding calm, I asked, “So what is it you were gonna to tell me?”

“You want to know something big. I will tell you. There is an offensive planned. We have twelve new SU 401s and they are going to hit your mines at Ruwa Patera. Soon. I think maybe next month.”

“SU 401s?”

“You didn’t know that did you?”

“Twelve? When did you say? In March?”

“As far as I know.”

“How? What weapons? Will there be ground troops? What is the strategic objective in all this?”

“I don’t know all that. I told you what I know.”

“Okay. I am going to give you a little ‘general.’ I’ll put it in your feed now. Relax.” I took a small plastic container out of my Medi-pouch and took off the lid. I screwed the end to the connector of the emergency intake on his respiratory unit and pressed the button to release the general anaesthetic into his system.

I waited for a minute. Then I stood up, aimed my X.50 at his shin and fired a shot through his tibia. A neat black hole was filled with little red bubbles which drifted out into the thin Ionian atmosphere. Then a silver liquid, the sealant, trickled into the hole before it finally sealed the suit, leaving just a few red and silver bubbles floating away.

He moaned but he didn’t scream.

“Are you right-handed?” I asked.

After a moment he answered, “Yes,” through clenched teeth.

I fired a shot through his left forearm and then, as I had said I would, I grazed his right arm with the final shot. There was a lot more blood so I called Stone to get one of his men over to put a tourniquet on him.

I stood up.

Well. This is a turn-up. At last a real piece of luck. A chance for real glory, this is. With this I get promoted another rank, maybe two, and then we will see.

A cold thrill ran through my spine but for fear of it reaching my finger tips and making me dance around like a fool, I confined it to quarters.

We detonated the charge, after dragging the two casualties a safe distance away, and started back for base. There was some commotion off to my right; it looked as if two of the officers were arguing on a private link, one of them stamping his foot and shaking his X.50 but I ignored them.

I wondered what the landscape would look like with trees, or even some grass. Riccard was rumoured to be working on a strain of grass that could grow in these conditions. For a moment I fancied myself as the governor of Io, with plans to geo-form it in some way but I caught myself. My life’s path had been decided for me a long time ago and creativity wasn’t a big part of it.

The rest of my waking hours that day were spent communicating with USAC Command, first through my superior officer, Lieutenant Colonel Roanald, and then with Central Intel. Of course at first they were all skeptical about the provenance of my information but they had to admit it was brilliant if thought up on the spur of the moment. They confirmed the identity and rank of Anatolian Smith. Finally, around 20.00 hours, a decision was taken. I was to lead a task force of three companies in a covert mission to prevent the taking of Ruwa Patera, close to Anderstown, capital of the USAC territories on Io; covert because it was hoped we could surgically remove much of the cream of the Ionian Militia in this one operation if they weren’t expecting us.

scifi, dystopia, thriller, war, Io, Jupiter, iron, cross, android, robot, cyborg, valour, gallant, Greg Bear, lost starship, pods, tanks, armour, military, assault, starship troopers, blade runner, Clarke, Asimov, medal, mechanical arm, first contact, violent ,dog-like, replicants, genes, manipulation, aliens, Anubis, jackal, paths of glory, gears of war, dystopia, clones


Features 9 colour illustrations from the Iron series:

Mobile Command Station (MCS) Mark 6

SU 401 Fighter

X.77 Laser Pistol

Ischian Clover Leaf Laser Rifle

Ischian Light Cruiser

Battleship John F. Kennedy

Ischian Battleship Lu-kshîa

LC5150 "Bullpup" Laser Carbine

Please note: these images may not display correctly on all devices. Links to online images, most high resolution, are provided.

Don't miss the opportunity to download Running, prequel to the Iron series, FREE on Google Play.

Get Three Thrillers Free (including Too Bright the Sun) > tiny.cc/lazloferran

Book 1: Too Bright the Sun

A man hell-bent on revenge for the death of his friend, in battle!

Seeking revenge for the death of a friend ten long years ago, Major Jake Nanden has pursued his own personal demons with an almost religious fervour through life and through battle.

He is a soldier so highly decorated for bravery that his fame reaches far beyond the desolate Jupiter moon, Io, where his battalion is stationed. His victories in the Jupiter Wars are hollow though, for he is a man scared of his own soul.

His life seems to be a trap from which he cannot escape. His is the Replicant Company, and replicants, or clones, are despised by all.

Book 2: Unknown Place, Unknown Universe

Three rookie space cadets crash on an unknown planet with aliens hot on their tail! 

While a dissident alien scientist struggles to control time, he discovers that his wife will betray him. His favourite student discovers a way to see into the past but find himself surrounded by enemies in a complex, fragmenting culture.

Meanwhile, Stone, douchebag son of Iron Cross winner Jake Nanden, a nerd and a feminist from the Space Fleet Academy crash-land on an unknown planet after falling through a worm-hole in this gripping and visionary science fiction thriller.

Called Anubians by humans, the jackal-headed aliens are now revealed as Ischians but they are hiding something on this unknown planet in an unknown universe.

Stone's world is shattered while he tries to escape and warn Earth of danger.

Book 3: Worlds Like Dust

Domes now cover Earth's big cities and soon a force field will trap Earth inside!

The jackal-headed Ischians are here! When General Jake Nanden retired from the USAC, he could never have guessed that his greatest battle was still to come.

Since then, he has joined a spiritual cult called the Blue Path, trying to establish communication with a few peaceful Ischians.

But now his world has been torn apart; his wife and youngest son have been killed, probably his eldest too and the Los Angeles and Washington citizens sweat it out under inescapable alien domes.

His son, Stone, warned him of the invasion and he joined up with Gary Enquine to form a rudimentary resistance network.

Now, they must find a way to rise up and defeat the conquerors of Earth! Nanden must escape and unite the remaining human and clone forces, scattered across the Solar System.

Likened to a cross between Blade Runner and Paths of Glory, you simply must read this beautifully constructed, intensely dark and powerful Science Fiction thriller Series, if you love Phillip K. Dick and Isaac Asimov.

Categories: science fiction, thriller, far future, clones, androids, cyborgs, time travel, genes, genetic engineering, military, science fiction

Character interview with Jake Nanden.

Name (s): Jake Nanden

Age: 34

Please tell us a little about yourself.

I am 5'11', dark hair, short - Army cut, slightly curly. Green eyes.

Describe your appearance in 10 words or less.

Getting middle aged, slightly paunchy with drying skin - like paper in places - except my mech arm. That's synthetic skin on there and as smooth and supple as the day it was sprayed on. I even had mine tattooed but don't tell anyone.

Would you kill for those you love?

I kill every day - most days - to keep my culture intact. I would say that is killing for those I love. Of course there is a moral code... And as a soldier the moral code is almost everything. After a while... killing... it sometimes seems to be the only thing you have left. Family are too far away.

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