BLOOD STORM

This audiobook is narrated by a digital voice. BLOOD STORM: EXCERPT PROLOG: ONE In the Gen III monocular Night Observation Device that fit securely over Logan Cage’s right eye, the blacked out terrorist hardsite in the desert wasteland two hundred feet below him showed up clearly against a solid green field. Its layout was exactly as the high resolution photos from an orbiting KH-11 “Big Bird” reconsat had shown; three barracks-style longhouses surrounding a dirt compound with a tin-roofed vehicle shed at its center. Cage checked the luminous dial of his Huer chronometer. The time was 3:47 A.M. Those inside the terrorist camp would be in maggot dreamland. Z-Comm’s top merc allowed himself the luxury of a grim smile. Their rest was just beginning. Z-Comm was about to put them to sleep forever. As the Reaper’s emissaries, Cage and company would sprinkle them with full-auto stardust. Rockabye and goodnight. Against the indigo blackness of a moonless sky, the black parachutes on which the shadow warriors drifted earthward from the high altitude dropzone would be virtually invisible to observers on the ground. In the combat blacksuits they wore and black Balaclava battle masks that surrounded their heads they would be as unseeable as avenging spectres dropping out of hell to visit bloody destruction on their earthly targets. “Thirty seconds to dustoff,” Cage spoke into the rice-grain mike positioned in front of his mouth on a curved steel wire. “Sing out ... Zabriskie?” “Yo.” “Proffit?” “Yo.” “Domino?” “Yo.” “MacBeth?” “Yo.” A beat, and Cage spoke again into the mike. “Okay. Fifteen seconds. Put some thunder up your butts and hit the ground running.” Down below, even as they slept unsuspectingly, the terrorist splinter group calling itself the Apocalypse Battalion was already cold meat on a slab. The unlucky ones would be those scum specimens who survived to be taken prisoner.