What would a mad mullah actually do with a weapon of mass destruction? Simple. He would use it.
Derek Martell is in a dead end career, manning a fuel point in Eastern Iraq. It’s a far fall from a life of fortune and glory, but he’s lucky to have any job at all. Until he wakes up after a sand storm, to find Doomsday is at hand. The apocalypse has started, and his invite was late.
Teamed up with a rag tag band of other survivors, Derrick must fight his away across the burning desert to escape a resurgent Caliphate. Outnumbered and outgunned, his only hope lies at a desolate airfield. If he can find a plane, he stands a chance of escaping the insanity of the Middle East. If there is still a world worth escaping too.
A global catastrophe is unfolding, an epidemic that reaches every shore. Only genetic Arabs seem to be immune, and scores will be settled. 1000 years of tactical losses have been reversed in the blink of an eye. The Western world only has one card remaining to be played, a weapon of radiation and fire that has only been used twice. But backed up against the wall, what choice do they have?
Derek and his team are running against the clock. A counter strike is imminent, which won’t matter if the locals get them first. All Derek needs is to find a freedom bird. But first he has to dodge…. the Sword of the Caliphate.
From The Book:
The Humvee came over the top, front wheels off the ground. They were giving it all they had, buying us the space to do what we needed to do. Roaring past us, they kept the pace, with a little luck drawing the full attention of those in pursuit. A half second focused on them was one more tiny bump in our stacking of the deck. I put a hand over my left side machine gunners helmet, ready to call down the fire of the Gods.
The dust of their passing washed over us, temporarily obscuring the killing ground. It dissipated as I heard the roar of another engine, close. Steady, we needed them almost on us.
There! I saw the under carriage of the first enemy truck as it bounced, already hearing Scott open up as I slapped my gunner. Fire belched from the muzzle, the bolt slamming home over and over. His weapon fed a deadly chain of brass cartridges in one side, spewing disintegrating links and empties out the other. The Nissan pickup shredded under the combined impacts of hundreds of rounds, glass splintering in all directions. Bullets tore rough gouges in the sheet metal, the truck coming apart like a meteor entering the atmosphere. I noted a massive red stain where the driver’s side windshield use to be as it rolled past us, slowing as the flattened tires bit the sand. No time to congratulate ourselves, I hit the left gunner again to tell him to cease fire, and slapped the helmet of the right.
A second truck had already appeared, its driver swerving left under the hail of deadly projectiles. Its bed was full of fighters, limbs flailing in the dance of death as bullet after bullet struck home. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, they never had a chance.
The third came over the top, a machine-gun mounted on top, my subconscious absorbing the detail of his dress. Islamic Green jacket, black pants and turban. I simultaneously slapped left and right gunners, as a bullet struck his skull, blood and bone fragments tracing a path through the sky like pollen on the wind. The trucks windshield spider webbed into white lines as it’s driver slammed on the brakes, far too late. Momentum kept it rolling towards us, crashing into the front bumper of Jim’s vehicle, not 10 meters from us. His turret wouldn’t let him depress the machine gun enough to finish the job, and we both saw movement that wasn’t death throws in the back of it. He struggled to pull the rear pin and free the gun as I jumped to my feet. My XDM pistol was in my hand before I even thought it, emptying the 19 round magazine in a cascade of flying brass…….