As Russian troops pour into northern Poland, an elite Platoon of American scouts in Stryker reconnaissance vehicles faces a dangerous assignment; they must clear the route ahead for a US Cavalry column preparing to counter attack the flank of the enemy spearhead before it reaches Warsaw.

But the scouts' difficult mission is made even more complicated when a Company of Polish militia are added to the counter attacking force, and a vital bridge is found to be defended by the enemy. 

Faced with an impossible battle to win the bridge, and the challenge of unreliable Polish allies, the Cavalry scouts must find a way to fight through a dug-in Russian force that is determined to hold the vital crossing at all costs.

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From the book...

The Russians had the range to the bridge already zeroed in. They didn’t need to know exactly where the Americans were. They only needed to know they were making another attempt to seize the bridge. Mortar shells began to fall like rain, churning the ground to a slurry of muddy furrows and spewing deadly shrapnel. Inevitably men on the road and along the riverbank began to fall. Some were killed outright, shredded to pieces by the booming barrage of explosions. Others were scythed down and fell into the long grass clutching at gruesome wounds. Cries of pain and agony filled the space between each fresh explosion, becoming shrill with panic and desperation. Freshly spilled blood spattered the blacktop and soaked the fields.

The MGS’s behind low cover to the east of the bridge returned fire, their muzzle flares lighting up the night. The wicked recoil of each round kicked up a swirl of dust around the rocking chassis. Ejected round casings shot out from a chute in the rear of the turret and clattered on the ground. The M1128’s were operating in batteries to concentrate their fire, scouring the slope of the far crest with canister. The thrashing hail forced the Russian infantry deep into their trenches, but did nothing to slow the rate of incoming mortar fire...

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When the Russian Army invading northern Poland threatens to quickly overwhelm Warsaw, a lone Company of American Abrams tanks and a unit of Irish infantry are sent forward to the small village of Stare Lubiejewo and given an impossible mission; hold back the advancing Russian Army at all costs.

Overwhelmed by enemy tanks and APC's, the American tankers and the Irish infantry heroically fight off one determined assault after another until it seems they must surely be over-run.

But the American and Irish fighting in the bomb-ravaged village have one last desperate plan up their sleeve. If it works, it might just buy the time the Allies need to reinforce and save the threatened Polish capital...

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From the book...

The two tanks broke free of the rubble that sheltered them and dashed gamely out into the fields, firing from point-blank range at the enemy troop carriers. A handful of advancing Russian infantry were crushed under their surging steel tracks. Others were scythed down by the Abrams machine guns. Three BMP-3’s exploded in quick succession before the first of the enemy APC’s slewed round on its spinning steel tracks and began to edge backwards. With the Abrams so close to their own troop carriers, the T-90’s on the ridge fell silent, fearful of hitting friendly targets.

One of the BMP-3’s fired its main gun at an Abrams as it rampaged towards the hedgerow. The round struck the American tank’s turret and deflected away harmlessly. Two more APC’s fired at the same tank but the Abrams emerged, its sloped steel armor scorched and dented, but intact. The Russian infantry in the fields around the village lost all cohesion; they became just a cluster of desperate men who realized salvation depended on them retreating to the shelter of their troop carriers before the vehicles reversed and fled the field. The soldiers edged backwards, still firing to cover their withdrawal, and glanced nervously over their shoulders, fearful they would be abandoned...

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As fierce fighting across Poland and the Baltics captures the world's attention, a single squadron of American F-16 pilots deployed to Ukraine must battle against overwhelming odds and impossible conditions to take the war to the Russians.

Shot down behind enemy lines on a dangerous sortie in the skies over Kiev, rookie pilot Steve 'Lone Wolf' McQuade is rescued by a group of Ukrainian refugees who are on a mission to rally patriotic resistance against the Russian invaders.

Relentlessly hunted by the enemy and with time fast running out, McQuade decides to help the refugees on their perilous journey - risking his life for a chance to change the course of the war, and to unite a nation.

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From the book...

“Gunslinger One. Fox Two!” 

The AIM-9M leapt off its rail like a dart, corkscrewing and skidding across the sky towards the formation of trailing MiG fighters, the short-range heat-seeking missile hunting like a bloodhound.

The Sidewinder swerved unerringly towards the nearest enemy fighter. At the very last moment the Russian pilot saw death approaching. He had only just begun to turn away from the danger when the missile tore off the MiG’s starboard wing.

The shock wave of the sudden violent explosion washed over the F-16. The Fulcrum disintegrated in the sky. The severed wing went cartwheeling across the clouds and the fighter became enveloped in a bright bloom of fire and smoke. 

The two surviving Fulcrums split apart into a panic of chaotic dives and climbs, each pilot frantically trying to put lift vectors and G’s towards the incoming danger. The enemy jets went to full power and turned tightly into the diving Vipers that trailed them, pumping out flares to turn the sky into a chaos of smoke and confusion...

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Russian High Command has a plan to smash NATOs forces arrayed along the Poland-Lithuania border with an assault that would punch a hole in the Allied lines and overrun the NATO perimeter along a ten-mile wide front.

A triumph would turn the momentum of the war in Europe back in Russia’s favour.

Standing in the way of the Russian advance is an isolated American outpost, manned by a Platoon of veteran soldiers and a rookie Lieutenant. ‘Fort Suicide’ is right on the frontlines isolated from support, and is directly in the path of the imminent Russian advance.

The rookie Lieutenant commanding ‘Fort Suicide’ must fight for the respect of his men, battle superior officers who don’t believe him… and wage war against the entire Russian Army if his men are to survive one of the war’s most epic and savage engagements.

 

From the book...

The first Russian infantry began to advance, moving up the incline of the muddy slope in short bounds. They went in a loose mass of bodies; running, kneeling to fire, then running again. One of the Russian soldiers knelt and aimed into the drifting smoke, putting a bullet within three inches of Ponting’s face. He ducked down behind the sandbags and glanced at his watch, then to Sergeant Harley.

“Get back to the main trench. We’ve got two A-10s inbound, ETA now thirty-five seconds.”

Harley grunted. “I hope this works, Lieutenant,” he scrambled to the edge of the trench and prepared himself for the short dangerous dash across a no-man’s land peppered with hot lead.

“As soon as the two A-10s clear the area, we give the Russians everything we’ve got,” Ponting gave final instructions and then his voice turned reckless. “And if it doesn’t work – I’ll see you in Hell, Sergeant Harley.”

The veteran Sergeant hesitated, then turned back, a wicked smile spreading across his mud-spattered face. “I’ll be waiting at the gates for you, Lieutenant Ponting.”

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During the disastrous Allied retreat north following the fall of Warsaw, a small group of American infantry from the 10th Mountain Division are cut off from the rest of their company while fighting a desperate rear-guard action.

Abandoned and surrounded by Russians, Lieutenant Simon McLane and a handful of soldiers are aided in their escape by a Troop of British Challenger 2 tanks from the Royal Tank Regiment. The tankers and infantrymen forge an unlikely alliance as they fight their way towards Gdansk. Against overwhelming odds, and against a relentless enemy, death and danger shadow their every step.

In a war that can’t be won, merely surviving is a triumph. 

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From the book...

The Russian BMP-2s came charging across the valley floor. McLane saw great flurries of mud and clods of grass thrown up by the churning tracks. The APCs were slewing sideways in the soft boggy ground as they raced towards the farmhouse, heedless of any danger. They slammed to a halt two hundred yards short of the main building, on the far side of the low stone fence.

The BMP-2s were menacing armored beasts, their angular front hull like an avalanche of steel, their low-profile turrets turning towards the wall of the farmhouse. They were painted in a woodland camouflage of olive green and brown. Their steel tracks were caked with mud and grass, their hulls streaked with the dirt and grime accumulated from endless days of hard combat.

McLane felt a frisson of fear turn the sweat on his back cold as ice.

For what we are about to receive…

The hatch-like rear doors on the three vehicles swung open and Russian infantry spilled out, marshaling in the lee of the steel troop carriers to protect themselves from American fire.

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It was one of the most dangerous secret missions of the War in the Pacific: a coordinated US submarine attack against a Chinese arms shipment rumoured to be bound for Pakistan.

But as USS Oklahoma City sails towards the Chinese coast she stumbles onto an even greater threat to the West. Outnumbered, isolated and alone, with tension aboard the submarine at breaking point, the OKC and her exhausted crew must battle to outwit the Chinese navy and then finally fight for their lives.

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From the book...

“Match sonar bearings and shoot tube one, Master Nine, aye!”

A second later the Oklahoma City seemed to tremble with a liquid pulse of energy that sent a tremor through the entire length of the submarine.

The Mk 48 ADCAP (Advanced Capabilities) torpedo surged from its tube and dashed towards its target. The Mk 48s were fast, deep-diving and highly maneuverable – widely regarded as the most advanced torpedoes in the world. Charged with a six-hundred-and-fifty-pound warhead of PBXN-103 explosive and an electromagnetic fuse, they were nineteen-foot-long lethal killers. Each torpedo was wire-guided to allow crucial targeting data to be relayed between the weapon and the BSY-1 fire control system aboard Oklahoma City up until the point where the torpedo reached the terminal stage of its attack. Then the Mk 48 became autonomous; using its powerful active seeker in the nose of the weapon to detect and close on the target.

Once the torpedo was racing across the dark ocean void the Combat Systems Officer reported both weapons had launched successfully.

The Mk 48 executed its wire clearance procedure and began to accelerate to its top speed of over fifty knots. The Sonar Supervisor relayed the information to Captain Coe. “Conn, sonar. Weapon running normally. No target alertment.”

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When the Belarusian Army launches a surprise Motorized Brigade-sized attack into central eastern Poland, a Battalion of Polish regulars and two Companies of American paratroopers are all that stand in the way of catastrophic disaster.

Isolated and unsupported, the small makeshift unit must somehow slow the Belarusian invasion as it surges towards Warsaw until NATO can send more troops to reinforce the overwhelmed defenders.

Up against impossible odds, the handful of Allied troops must find a place to defend, and then find a way to fight the enemy to a standstill, while praying that an airborne assault by the American 173rd Airborne Brigade will reach them in time…

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From the book...

The first Javelin team fired thirty-five seconds after their initial missile had blasted from the launch tube. The highway had become a target-rich environment. The Belarusian tanks were log-jammed along the length of the blacktop behind a haze of drifting smoke. The operator fired the missile in ‘Top Attack’ mode and it went streaking away into the sky on a thin feather of exhaust smoke, then plunged down into the milling chaos further along the road, spearing through the thin top armor of another T-72 and blowing the vehicle to pieces. The tank seemed to sag on its suspension for a split second and then exploded outwards in a huge tower of flames and roiling smoke. Metal fragments were torn from the tangled carcass and flung hundreds of yards into the surrounding trees. 

The Belarusian Captain commanding the Company of tanks frantically ordered two of his stranded T-72s to barge their way through the mangled wreckage to clear the highway. The MBTs nosed forward into the smoke and flames and began to shunt one of the destroyed vehicles towards the fringe of woods. 

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The Korean Peninsula saw some of the most savage fighting of the Third World War. Several American units covered themselves in fame and glory during the campaign, while some Companies went into battle with a black mark against their names. 

‘Culprit’ Company were troublemakers and misfits; outcast rebels with a reputation for ill-discipline and insubordination. But in the face of the enemy, they were the bravest of the brave.

For the new recruits joining ‘Culprit’ Company as the Army advanced through the mud and blood towards Kaesong city on the North Korean border, their initiation to the fury of warfare was a brutal trial-by-fire from which only the toughest soldiers could ever hope to survive. 

 

From the book…

As they moved forward, the Allied artillery opened up again, this time firing smoke to shield the advance from enemy fire. The rounds landed three hundred yards ahead of the infantry with a muted distinctive ‘crump!’ and bloomed into a white swirling curtain of haze.

The column of Brads to the right of the infantry began to accelerate and Hector signalled for his men to keep up. They reached the fogbank of smoke and went through it like they were warily stepping across a threshold into a parallel universe.

On the far side of the smoke, the attack force began funnelling into the mouth of the valley. Through the skeins of haze Hector saw the two hills rising on his flanks as the American attack was forced to compress. The Brads and the Abrams tanks changed course, squeezing towards the center where the infantry were still pushing manfully forward. Hector was struck by a sudden chill premonition of foreboding that ran like a jagged knife down his spine but before he opened his mouth to shout a warning, enemy machine guns opened fire and the world suddenly turned into a blood-soaked inferno.

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Close to the border with Poland, a small German town conceals a powerful Russian electronic warfare system (EWS) that might influence the fate of an Allied armored attack designed to push the Russians back across the Oder River.

Thrown together by circumstance, a Company of US soldiers and a Company of German Bundeswehr begin a deadly hunt for the enemy EWS, battling a deadline and impossible odds.

The search to locate the enemy system puts every soldier’s life in danger and leads them on a perilous journey behind Russian lines; the consequences of failure too dreadful to contemplate.

At stake are the lives of thousands of allied soldiers and a combined force of almost one hundred Abrams and Leopard tanks that are racing towards the battlefront on a collision course with a phalanx of Russian T-90s defending the enemy’s brittle northern flank…

 

From the book…

The Russians broke from cover and began to withdraw east along the road. Elway was consumed by the red mist of a warrior’s rage. The days of tension and anxiety, the hardship and deprivations, the nerve-shredding constant apprehension exploded from him in a savage roar. “Kill the fuckers!”

He dropped to his knee and fired at a Russian soldier who had just emerged from the dark shadows of a doorway. The retreating figure was lit up in the viewfinder of Elway’s goggles, but even without the high-tech optical aids, there was enough ambient light from the surrounding burning buildings to throw the man’s figure into stark relief. Elway fired twice, missing with his first bullet and hitting the man in the knee with his second. The Russian went sprawling to the ground, the AK-74 in his hands flying from his grip and skidding across the blood-soaked cobblestones. Elway sprang to his feet, bounded forward, and shot the man from close range, then turned, wild-eyed, looking for another target. He could hear screams and shouts. He saw Bell fire three times at a fleering figure, but he had no idea whether she hit her man.

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