It’ll be a few more weeks until FORCE THREE RISES hits Amazon and Kindle—and you won’t want to miss it when it does.
Here are a few excerpts for you:
The moonlight failed to penetrate the deeper woods as Harmon Wetmore groped his way through the trees, oak branches clawing at his flight suit, moving away from the direction of the noise of the excited Chinese. A deadfall grabbed his foot and sent him headlong into the tangle of dense undergrowth. In seeming slow motion he scrambled back to a low crouching run, suddenly breaking into the silvery light, stepping into a small rushing stream.
He stopped, dropped to a knee and peered up and down the streambed’s opening to the sky. Leaning back into the underbrush, he listened. Nothing. Nothing but the usual night sounds of the woods—the sharp chic-chic of reed-warblers and the scurry of rodents sounding far too loud to his adrenaline pumped ears.
Lying there in the night-cooling earth Wetmore let the adrenalin drain out of his aching body, his breathing slowing, the realization of his utter exhaustion coming fully aware. Still prone he crossed his arms under his face and let his eyes close, his body relax. In an instant he tensed from … and just as he became aware of a slight sound nearby he felt the cold, hard barrel of a gun rest against his neck.
Wetmore felt himself go numb at the realization of what was about to happen. A rough whisper delivered through clenched teeth accompanied the cold shock of the deadly gun barrel, “Dobryĭ vecher, gospodin amerikanskiĭ. Dobro pozhalovatʹ v Manʹchzhurii (Good evening, American. Welcome to Manchuria).”
The Director moved behind Brigit. “Okay, make your call much like you used to do at Pearl. Pearl Harbor is already monitoring the channels we are using into mainland China.”
Brigit nodded and turned her head to smile at Amos Mead.
“Your show, Brigit,” the Director said as he stepped back and took a seat nearby.
Dr. Brigit Mead took a deep breath and keyed her microphone as memories flooded back to 1944 and a similarly hard chair in an office in Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii. She remembered that Yang Kuisong’s code name was shandian yun—lightning cloud.
“Calling shandian yun, calling shandian yun. This is Glinda, repeat, Glinda, in the clear. Over.”
Brigit looked down at the ledge in front of her, intent on the tiny sounds coming from the headset. Once more she broadcasted, “Shandian yun, this is Glinda calling in the clear.”
The crackling static in her ears increased, then a voice, “Glinda, this is Pearl Harbor. We have a reply and are translating for you--Shandian yun requests that you provide the countersign confirmation code. But he asked that it not be the last one you used, but the one from the first contact you made with him at the beginning of Operation Ichigo. Over.”
“Roger your request, Pearl Harbor,” Brigit replied. She sat back in her chair staring at the Navy gray ceiling … thinking. Quickly she straightened up and leaned into her microphone, “Glinda calling shandian yun. Countersign Gung Ho. Repeat, countersign is Gung Ho. Over.”
After an interminable moment Brigit heard her reply—not from Pearl Harbor, but in broken, but understandable English, “Glinda, this is shandian yun. I verify Gung Ho. It has been a long time, my friend, and many changes in circumstance, as I’m sure you know. Over.”
“Indeed it has, my friend. I’m glad we are able to make this contact and I know how much risk you may be taking to talk with me. Over.”
The truck looked right, the uniforms were right, and the subdued lighting at this point in the fence drew no notice as the man in the back of the rig jumped out and approached the gate. He quickly cut the chain free and swung open the gate, returning to his place in the truck. The leader turned and peered back into the bed of the truck and whispered, “Is all in order? Everything ready?”
His partner, sitting among an array of explosive ordinance he had prepared answered in the positive. The truck pulled onto the edge of the tarmac and proceeded around the perimeter fence until it was even with the soaring tail of their target. Then it turned and with increasing speed drove directly toward the nearest American B-52 bomber. The man in the rear opened the canvas flap he had rigged that would allow him to do his work. The giant bomber was bathed in the brightness of the mechanics’ work lights so the truck seemed to loom from the darkness.
At first no notice was taken of the truck, then as it continued to approach at an unsafe speed for on-field vehicles airmen began to watch, and then draw away from its seeming aim point. The truck swerved beneath the tail of the behemoth aircraft, the driver marveling at the actual size of the plane. Forty-three feet above them the tail soared skyward. As the truck reached the tail and lined up with the aircraft the first explosive charge was thrown from the back of the truck.
FORCE THREE RISES is the fourth book in the AMOS MEAD Adventure series.
It continues the escapades of the Mead’s from:
Code Name: ORION’S EYE
DIE LISTE: Revenge on the Black Sun.
That’s it for now …. A lot more coming!