By Marko Kloos
The alien forces often called the Lankies are amassing at the sunlight system's aspect, consolidating their conquest of Mars and environment their points of interest on the earth. The far away colony of recent Svalbard, bring to an end from the remainder of the galaxy through the Lanky blockade, teeters at the verge of hunger and cave in. The forces of the 2 Earth alliances have gained minor skirmishes yet are at risk of wasting the conflict. For battle-weary employees sergeant Andrew Grayson and the ragged forces of the North American Commonwealth, the struggle for survival is getting into a catastrophic new phase.
Forging an uneasy alliance with their Sino-Russian enemies, the NAC launches a hybrid job strength on a protracted shot: a stealth project to breach the Lanky blockade and reestablish provide traces with Earth. Plunging into wrestle opposed to a cruel alien species that outguns, outmaneuvers, and outfights them at each flip, Andrew and his fellow soldiers may possibly turn out cornered on their domestic turf, without means out and no wish for reinforcement. And this time, the fight for humanity's destiny can in simple terms result in both victory or annihilation.
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Extra info for Angles of Attack (Frontlines, Book 3)
Ballard is staring into it. "Did you hear me? I'm not playing your stupid games any more! " The quartzite lens stares back impassively. STARFISH 45 PETER W ATTS So you were right, Clarke muses. She remembers the sheet in Ballard's cubby. You figured it out, you found the pickups in your own cubby, and Ballard, my dear friend, you didn't tell me. How long have you known? Ballard looks around, sees Clarke. "You've got her fooled, all right," she snarls at the fisheye, "but she's a goddamned basket case!
She reaches out (mirror fragments tumble off her thighs) and taps it with one hand. It crashes to the deck and shatters. "Just housecleaning," she calls. Lubin says nothing. She hears him move away up the corridor. He's going to work out fine. It's been a few days now and he's been scrupulous about keeping his distance. There's no sexual chemistry at all, nothing to set them at each other's throats. Whatever Ken Lubin did to Lana Cheung— whatever those two STARFISH 50 PETER W ATTS did to each other— won't be an issue here.
Fischer checked the fridge: root beer. The boy took it with a nervous smile. Fischer sat down beside him and put a reassuring hand on Kevin's lap. The expression drained from Kevin's face as though someone had pulled a plug. Go on, Shadow said. He's not complaining, is he? Kevin's clothes were filthy. Caked mud clung to his pants. Fischer reached over and began picking it off. "We should get you out of these clothes. Get you cleaned up. " Kevin just sat there. One hand gripped his drink, bony fingers denting the plastic; the other rested motionless on the couch.
Angles of Attack (Frontlines, Book 3) by Marko Kloos