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O Sol Brilhante Demais
Um homem determinado busca vingança pela morte de um amigo, em batalha!
Em busca de vingança pela morte de um amigo há dez anos, Major Jake Nanden tem combatido seus demônios pessoais, com um fervor quase religioso, tanto em sua vida pessoal como em batalha.
Ele é um soldado tão altamente condecorado por bravura que sua fama o precede mesmo além da desolada lua em Júpiter, Io, onde seu batalhão está posicionado. No entanto, suas vitórias nas guerras Jupiterianas lhe parecem vazias, pois ele é um homem que teme sua própria alma.
Sua vida parece ser uma armadilha da qual não consegue escapar. Sendo de um pelotão replicante, que assim como clones, são odiados por todos.
Ataque ao Bunker de Hitler! – A invasão secreta da RAF para bombardear o Bunker de Hitler em Berlim que nunca aconteceu – provavelmente.
Rudolph Eineger foi deixado com o dedo dentro de um corpo morto. Repulsado, retirou-o e limpou-o na túnica preta da SS.
Richard Earlgood, um piloto de caça rebelde da RAF, e Michael Dorfmann, um ambicioso agente duplo da Luftwaffe, planejam um ataque audacioso a luz do dia usando caças Hurricane, carregados nas costas do bombardeiro quadrimotor Stirling para alcançar o quase completo… inexpugnável… Bunker do Führer neste livro de ficção ambientado na Segunda Guerra Mundial.
Anna Styles, uma decodificadora da Estação X, tinha um romance com Dorfmann em Oxford e está sendo forçada a “cuidar” do agente duplo. Ela ainda ama Dorfmann, mas se apaixona por Richard também. Esta invasão singular para bombardear o Bunker de Hitler pode vencer a Guerra, mas apenas um homem pode ganhar o coração de Anna Anna.
A maioria do pessoal de Hitler simplesmente não acredita que tal invasão seja possível, mas um oficial cruel da SS não vai descansar até pegar Dorfmann e derrotar os Britânicos.
My new romantic spy novel Screaming Angels published!
To celebrate, I will be giving away one, signed copy of Screaming Angels to my Newsletter readers in a competition on 16 October at 5pm BST. To sign up for the Newsletter before then, click here or go to the menu at the top of this page.
Yulia let the rare intimacy hang in the air. It floated away on the evening’s love.
“The biggest twist was at the end – I really didn’t see that coming” – Eileen Thornton
How the Soviets stole the secret of Rolls Royce’s best jet engine and built the greatest fighter in the world.
Don, the only member of his Rolls Royce Nene team that called his boss Ed, was a working-class Yorkshireman, Edward, a graduate from Dorking. They were Surrey chalk and Yorkshire cheese, but when Don had yelled “Pass Ed!” during a company football match, Edward let the term of endearment go with a smile and they had been close ever since.
“Right! Let’s tidy away and get testing!”
The seven men tightened every bolt on the jet engine’s outer casing, checked the test stand bolts for tension once more and wiped everything clean. Edward left the test chamber through the partition door and took up station with the rest of the team, behind the control panel. Don checked the last few hose connectors and left the chamber, closing the thick door behind him, but struggled to slide in the heavy draw bolt for a moment, with his back turned. Edward couldn’t see what Don was doing.
“Don’t touch the master door lock!” Edward joked.
“I never would. There! Got it!”
Edward completed the test form, pushing his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose to focus better:
Monday 22 July, 1946
RB.41 Nene MK.3 throttle-up test. Attending: Nene team, headed by Donald Hill. Manager: Edward Torrens.
“Right. Fire her up Don!”
Edward’s affable smile belied the tension in the small control room. The cream, concrete partitions had been designed to muffle the sound of WWII piston engines, not stop exotic alloy jet turbine blades, turning three or four times as fast, from exploding. Only a few weeks previously another of Edward’s Nene engineers had been injured when a fragment penetrated the wall and ripped part of his cheek away. As Don pressed the starter button, Edward wondered why such an alchemist’s brew of wires, alloys and unearthly, screaming power amounted only to the placid sounding ‘Nene’ in the Rolls Royce executives’ minds. Everything went well until Edward yelled into Don’s ear at the top of his voice:
Edward realised he had actually crossed his fingers, just before he heard a high-pitched, metallic ‘ping.’ He lunged for the red cut-off button and smashed it down with his fist.
Don and the others stared at him with blank expressions, as if trapped in a slow-motion movie clip.
“Duck!” Edward yelled, before dropping to the floor and scrambling under the bench, dragging Don with him.
The turbine’s shriek had dropped in pitch about half an octave in those few seconds, but then the air ripped apart with a giant explosion. The sound or rending metal, mixed with the sound of concrete being ripped apart and debris hitting the walls made them shut their eyes and pray.
Eventually, silence returned, followed a moment later by the blaring of alarms and the sound of rushing feet.
“I didn’t hear owt!” Don said between coughs. “Bloody good job the engine revs dropped a few thousand! Or else I don’t think any of us would be here!”
Covered in white concrete dust and debris, the others scrambled to their feet while Edward looked for his spectacles in the debris. He found the metal frames, but the round lenses were both missing.
“I heard it!” he muttered. “A fan blade breaking loose. One of the advantages of managing four test teams and attending all tests – not that Sanderson approves. You learn what to listen for! I lost my spectacles and I think some of the glass went in my eye. I can’t see!”
Brina didn’t remember what keelhauling was, but she decided she didn’t want to know. Many of the ship’s crew stared at their feet while others dragged her to the bow. “Do you think this a good idea?” she heard Devlin say to Brindley. “Suppose she dies? She probably will!” “Then we won’t be docking in Tasman.” “She’s only a woman!” “Shut up Devlin. Do it now!” The crewmen lowered Brina over the bow by the length of rope attached to her wrists while another sailor guided the other length of rope to the stern. He worked it under the moving ship’s hull and pulled it taught. “Ready!” he yelled from the stern. Six men lowered Brina to the crashing bow-waves, while three others hauled on the stern rope. Her feet touched the cold water, so she began to take deep breaths, taking her last a moment before her head went under. After that, she understood little of what happened, except that the sea battered her against the barnacle-studded planks of the hull and her lungs began to scream with the agony of asphyxiation. She held on as long as she could, feeling her chest convulse with its primitive urge to breath. The last thing she saw was a patch of light in the bottle-blue water behind her thrashing legs. “You’re a lucky bitch!” a male voice said. “The Captain wouldn’t have revived anyone else but you!”
“I need a shave.” “Let me show you. Take this off first.” She tugged on the collar of his jumpsuit. “Oh no! You’re not getting me naked that quick.” “Ha! You’ll see us naked before too long. Don’t be shy.” “No!” “Alright! Just strip to the waist then.” Omah unfastened the sticky front tab and peeled the smooth, metallic top down to his waist, rubbed his bare chest out of embarrassment and gave Archivist a lopsided grin. Now look in the mirror and say, “Shave!” “Shave! Hey! What’s this! I have a white mark on my chest. Like a key!” “Yes. I thought it was kinda cute when we were shown your body in one of our first briefings.” “Oh god! You mean you’ve seen me naked?” “Sure! All of it. And you’re quite a healthy man.” Omah blushed and replied. “But what does this mark mean? Do you have it?” “No. You’re the only one. We don’t know what it means. You had it when you came to u- … . Oh there, now you’re jumping the gun! Or making me! Let’s do the shave.” “But wait a minute! At least it’s something not blue! And Controller; he seems very emotionless and blank. Are you all robots?” Archivist’s laugh sounded like the delicate titter of a teenage girl. “It sometimes feels like it.” “Androids then? Cyborgs?”
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The music business, especially the busking and the London rock scene in the ’80s and ’90s.
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Amit Bobrov is a great writer from Israel. His first fantasy novel is the first volume of a sweeping epic.
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Only available in kindle, this is from a new writer Lami Kamikaze. Its very funny and takes an unusual view of the conflicts shaping the modern world.
Testimonial from Lami Kamikaze:
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— Omah learns about nano-generators, commonly called n-gens. —
“Ship!” he said out loud, not being able to remember the correct name of the intelligent machine. “Can you hear me? R19 or whatever you’re called. Ah, it had something to do with water. Now I remember. R1902, do you hear me?” “I hear you Omah. But my correct name is R19020.” “Sorry.” “It’s okay.” The ship’s voice was low, soft and soothing. But Omah couldn’t tell if it was male or female. “Can you put the light on please? I’m not sleepy.” The light came up to a comfortable day-time level. “Thanks! Also, I need something to eat. I’m starving!” “Your last century was the late 13th of the 6th Age. Do you recall it?” “Some of it.” “Do you recall microwave ovens?” “Yes.” “Now we have nano-generators. Some call them n-gens. They create almost anything, up to the size capacity of the generator, from a block of white plasma. To the right of your desk, above the bookcase, you will see its door. You may tell it what you want yourself by speaking clearly. But now I will do it for you.” “I see it.” “What would you like to eat?” “Roast chicken with bread sauce, mushrooms, carrots, sprouts and gravy. Followed by hot apple pie and cream.” “Coming right up!” “You sound like one of those vid chefs!” “When you see a red, flashing light, you can safely open the door.”