Red Metal by Mark Greaney, Lt Col H. Ripley Rawlings IV, USMC
English | 2019 | Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 4.0 Mb
Red Metal :Red Metal A Russian military strike against Europe could change the balance of power in the West. A stunningly realistic view of modern warfare from a battlefield commander and the New York Times bestselling author of The Gray Man.
The Russian bear has awakened. Their tanks race across Poland crushing all opposition on a headlong dash for the heart of Germany. Satellite killing missiles blind American forces while Spetznatz teams destroy Allied communications relays. It’s all part of a master plan to confuse and defeat America and her allies.
Ranged against the Russian attack are a Marine lieutenant colonel pulled out of a cushy job at the Pentagon and thrown into the fray, a French Special Forces captain and his intelligence operative father, a young Polish female partisan fighter, an A-10 Warthog pilot, and the captain of an American tank platoon who, along with a German sergeant, struggle to keep a small group of American and German tanks in the fight.
Operation Red Metal is a nightmare scenario made real but could it just be the first move on the Russian chessboard?
“He struggled to stand, his knees aching still, and had to pull himself upright with the help of a nearby boulder.
The sergeant major called from above. “You hurt, sir?”
Connolly limped a few steps as his knees recovered slowly. “I’m good.” He took the footpath back up the steep hill to his men, still walking gingerly. He found the sergeant major standing by the two mutilated bodies.
“You keep doing young-guy shit like that, sir, those knees ain’t gonna last.”
“Thanks for the advice. You know of anybody around here looking to hire someone to do old-guy shit?”
“No, sir. I’ll keep my eyes open, though.”
They left the enemy fighters’ bodies and went back to the radio operator and the air officer, who now had his boot off and was applying a bandage from his medical kit. Blood poured from the raw calf wound, but the dressing stanched it quickly.
“Let’s call in a medevac,” Connolly said.
“Lima just called one. He has a few casualties, too. None life-threatening. Shrapnel wounds and a gunshot to the arm.”
Connolly grabbed the radio as he leaned in to look over the air officer’s wounded leg.
“Lima Six, Lima Six, this is Betio Six, sitrep, over.”
“Copy, Betio. We have seventeen dead mooj. I understand you have two of your own up there.”