The Kill Zone
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The guys in the Regiment know they face their fiercest enemies when they fight the Taliban. No-one is tougher, more deadly - or more cunning. And if they enter the Taliban's kill zone, they know just what to expect...When three deadly Stinger missiles go missing in Helmand Province, the Regiment is tasked to retrieve the weapons at all costs. SAS legend Jack Harker has a mission to lead an eight-man team into a suspected Taliban facility. He's suspicious about what the aims of the mission really are - and it's about to get noisy. Meanwhile, in Belfast, Siobhan Byrne, a highly trained surveillance operative, is infiltrating the drug crew of a former IRA commander. But are her motives professional or personal? Even she doesn't know any more. Neither Jack nor Siobhan can guess just how closely linked their operations are about to become, or just what's at stake. But as the President of the United States makes plans to visit the UK, a devastating plot unfolds.
likely something stronger. Haq himself was standing next to a battered white van that was parked just by an old cricket pavilion. The numbers on the scoreboard were faded; some of them hung at an angle by only a single hinge. There was obscene graffiti on the wall. It was clear that nobody had used this pavilion for months, perhaps even years. Which was why it had proved to be the perfect hiding place for the missiles once they had completed their long journey from Helmand to the southern tip of
throat. One swipe, and the saw blade cut deeply into him. The guy didn’t even have a chance to scream. He lifted both his hands to his pumping throat and dropped his AK-47. Jack still had the man by the throat and now he pushed him hard through the gap in the door so that he knocked the second guard backwards. Jack quickly bent down and grabbed the fallen AK. With one swift movement he switched the safety to semi-auto and fired a single shot into the head of the second guard who collapsed dead
the chopper, Jack saw the other Regiment chopper doing the same. And they would keep on circling, he knew, until the word came through to attack. On the northernmost edge of the village, where the Paras were to make their distraction, three Chinooks descended with their Apache chaperones hovering above. 1 and 2 Platoon and the Fire Support Group spilled out. As well as their personal weapons, two men carried a ground-mounted .50-cal, while another two lugged its tripod and ammo boxes. Three men
was picking up his kid from football practice. By all accounts the lad had got to his knees and tried to stem the blood flowing from his dad’s neck, and when it was clear the copper was dead, his son hadn’t stopped screaming for an hour. None of the witnesses had dared say a word; at least not until Red had got his hands on one of them and encouraged him to reveal the name of the shooter. Red had tracked O’Callaghan’s boy down, then driven the bastard over the border by himself – he wasn’t the
visual,’ he said. Siobhan peered over his shoulder. He could feel her hot breath against his neck. ‘I got it,’ she whispered. ‘I’m going to hang back.’ Another five minutes of tense, careful travelling – during which the red lights disappeared once more a couple of hundred metres ahead. ‘They’ve stopped,’ Siobhan said. Jack slowed down, then directed the truck off the road on to a patch of dry mud at the side of a parched field. He hit the brakes. Sound travelled easily in these open plains,