{"product_id":"red-metalisbn-9780593952955","title":"Red Metal","description":"\u003cb\u003eA Russian military strike against Europe could change the balance of power in the West. A stunningly realistic view of modern warfare from a battlefield commander and the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Gray Man\u003c\/i\u003e. \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Russian bear has awakened. Their tanks race across Poland crushing all opposition on a headlong dash for the heart of Germany. Satellite killing missiles blind American forces while Spetznatz teams destroy Allied communications relays. It's all part of a master plan to confuse and defeat America and her allies.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRanged against the Russian attack are a Marine lieutenant colonel pulled out of a cushy job at the Pentagon and thrown into the fray, a French Special Forces captain and his intelligence operative father, a young Polish female partisan fighter, an A-10 Warthog pilot, and the captain of an American tank platoon who, along with a German sergeant, struggle to keep a small group of American and German tanks in the fight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOperation Red Metal is a nightmare scenario made real but could it just be the first move on the Russian chessboard?\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eRed Metal\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“\u003ci\u003eRed Metal\u003c\/i\u003e is red hot! Packed with action, intrigue and a plot ripped right from today’s headlines—you won’t be able to put this one down.  If you enjoy finely-crafted military thrillers, you will love\u003ci\u003e Red Metal\u003c\/i\u003e.”—\u003cb\u003eBrad Thor, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of\u003ci\u003e Backlash\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFew write combat action the way it's described in \u003ci\u003eRed Metal\u003c\/i\u003e. You can hear machine gun rounds zipping by and smell the cordite. This amazing story will kick you right in the imagination.\"\u003cb\u003e—Dale Dye, USMC\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"A fast-paced thriller featuring nonstop action and a little something for everyone...Think\u003ci\u003e Red Storm Rising \u003c\/i\u003ebut ten times faster, with more action and Greaney’s familiar, smooth style...\u003ci\u003eRed Metal\u003c\/i\u003e is a once-in-a-generation type thriller that is not to be missed.\"—\u003cb\u003eThe Real Book Spy\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Mark Greaney’s first   standalone thriller hits you like a thunderbolt and truly lives up to the   phrase ‘can’t put it down.’”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003eNew York Journal of Books \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “All of Greaney’s   considerable talents are on display here, honed to an even sharper edge by   the still-serving Rawlings’ battlefield expertise. This is the modern-day   equivalent of \u003ci\u003eRed Storm Rising \u003c\/i\u003eand not to be missed by those who like their   pages gun-metal strong.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eProvidence Journal \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“As with all of Greaney's work, this is a fun read. If only all our wars were fiction.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This is powerful material, required reading for anyone interested in modern warfare.\"—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A must, naturally, for Clancy fans.”—\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eBooklist\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“A fast-paced, riveting story about heart and courage taking a stand against impossible odds.”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eShelf Awareness\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePraise for Mark Greaney\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Mark Greaney reigns as one of the recognized masters of action and adventure.”—\u003cb\u003eSteve Barry, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e and #1 international bestselling author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Nobody is on a hotter streak right now than Mark Greaney.”—\u003cb\u003eThe Real Book Spy \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[A] high-energy thriller...Clancy fans will have a blast”—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Fast-paced [and] tightly written...A great ride.”—\u003cb\u003eLarry Bond, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Bourne for the new millennium.”—\u003cb\u003eJames Rollins, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eMark Greaney\u003c\/b\u003e has a degree in international relations and political science. In his research for the Gray Man novels, including \u003ci\u003eAgent in Place\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eGunmetal Gray\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBack Blast\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eDead Eye\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBallistic\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eOn Target\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Gray Man\u003c\/i\u003e, he traveled to more than fifteen countries and trained alongside military and law enforcement in the use of firearms, battlefield medicine, and close-range combative tactics. He is also the author of the\u003ci\u003e New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestsellers \u003ci\u003eTom Clancy Support and Defend\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eTom Clancy Full Force and Effect\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eTom Clancy Commander in Chief\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eTom Clancy True Faith and Allegiance\u003c\/i\u003e. With Tom Clancy, he coauthored \u003ci\u003eLocked On\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThreat Vector\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eCommand Authority\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eLt. Col. Hunter \"Rip\" Rawlings IV\u003c\/b\u003e is an active duty Marine and a  veteran of combat in Afghanistan and Iraq. A former infantry battalion commander and light armored reconnaissance officer, he has served for more than twenty years. He is currently assigned to Quantico as the Warfighting Director for Marine Corps Command and Staff College. In his spare time, Lt. Col. Rawlings is an avid scuba diver, small-craft sailor, and microbrewer.\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 1\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSouthwest of Mombasa, Kenya\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne week later\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMajor Yuri Vladimirovich Borbikov hated this hot, filthy, nothing part of Africa, but he was ready to die for it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd as he looked out over the jungle and down the hill to the flatlands below, he thought the odds were stacked in favor of his doing just that today.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe forces arrayed against him were preparing to attack this very morning, and all intelligence reports indicated they would advance up the hill, destroy everything in their path, and take this position. Borbikov and his men could slow them and bloody them, but ultimately could not stop them.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNine kilometers distant, hidden from his view by a thick jungle wood line, a coalition of French, Kenyan, and Canadian soldiers waited with helicopters and armored personnel carriers. Their artillery was in place and their multiple-launch rocket systems were ranged on Borbikov's position. The Russian didn't know the enemy's total strength exactly, but his intelligence reports indicated his small force might be outnumbered seven to one.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBorbikov's communications officer and a dozen troops stood or knelt with him on the roof of this two-story cinder-block building and peered out through narrow partitions in the wall of sandbags erected to protect a pair of 82mm mortars set up behind them. This fighting position wouldn't survive twenty seconds of concentrated shelling, but Borbikov chanced coming up here because he wanted to look out over the battlefield himself: an officer's wish for any last bit of intelligence before the commencement of hostilities.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYuri Borbikov was in command of a company of specially trained troops, members of the 3rd Guard Separate Spetsnaz Brigade of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation. Eighty-eight men in all, they were dispersed now in their defensive positions, manning machine guns, mortars, shoulder-fired rockets, and air defense weapons.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere was a larger contingent of Russian paratroopers here as well: two companies from the 51st Guards Airborne Regiment, five hundred men strong, and while they weren't as well trained as the Spetsnaz unit, they had spent the last five weeks digging in and preparing for the attack that had seemed more inevitable by the day, and Borbikov fully expected the boys from the 51st Guard to fight valiantly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut he knew it would not be enough. The major was a highly trained infantry officer; he'd graduated at the top of his class from the coveted Combined Arms Academy of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation in Moscow, and he had been here in-country long enough to have an almost perfect tactical picture of the battlefield.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd all his knowledge told him there was little chance he could defend this hill for more than a couple of hours.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Russians had been cut off for the past three weeks and were low on food, water, and other provisions, and there was no way they could be resupplied from home, because the French had brought in significant numbers of Mistral surface-to-air missiles to prevent just such an attempt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBorbikov knew defending this location might mean death for himself and his men, but he strongly preferred death to dishonor. He was a true believer in the Russian Federation; he'd long ago bought into the notion that the West was continuously plotting against the interests of his motherland, and he felt surrender here today would bring disgrace on himself and his troops.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo Borbikov, this fight was about honor, but to Russia and the West, this fight was about the wide, flat, and barren strip mine that lay on the top of the hill behind him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eRussia had sent troops to defend a few square miles of rocky scrubland and jungle in a remote part of Africa because something had been found under the dirt here in southeastern Kenya, and that something had been determined to be necessary for the survival of the Russian government, economy, and military.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eExperts said the concentration of highly valuable rare-earth minerals here was like nowhere else on earth. Fully 60 percent of the world's known supply of eleven of the seventeen essential minerals was thought to be under the soil and rock just behind the Russian lines. Russia now held this ground because the country had discovered, purchased, and developed the mine, and even though the Kenyan government had invalidated the contract after accusations of corruption surfaced and ordered the Russians to vacate, Borbikov knew Russia would be crazy to relinquish it without one hell of a fight.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe standoff had been ongoing for five weeks when Kenyan and French authorities informed the lieutenant colonel in charge of the mine's defenses that time had run out. The lieutenant colonel reached out to Moscow and waited for orders.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Kenyans and the French soon notified the defenders of Mrima Hill that the sovereign territory of the Republic of Kenya would be retaken by force without delay.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat call had come five hours earlier, just after midnight, and despite the fact he and his men were seriously outnumbered, Yuri Borbikov was ready to get to it. Five weeks of waiting and talking were over. He was a man of action; at this point he considered fighting a welcome diversion from the boredom of the siege.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn the distance now he heard engines, and his ears were tuned to listen for the sound of the inevitable firing of artillery as the softening-up stage of the attack began.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut it was a different sound altogether that he heard: the metallic creak of the stairwell door as it opened behind him. Borbikov turned around, ready to scream at one of his men for leaving his defensive position. But it wasn't one of his men. It was Lieutenant Colonel Yelchin of the 51st Guards Airborne Regiment. While Major Borbikov was in charge of the Spetsnaz force here, Yelchin had command authority over the entire mine and all the troops.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBorbikov caught his acid tongue before it let loose something he would regret, and instead said, \"I'm sorry, Colonel, but this position is not safe. The artillery could begin at any time.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYelchin stepped up to Borbikov's sandbagged overwatch. \"Good news, Yuri. There will be no attack. We have been ordered to lower our weapons and go to Mombasa to await transport back to Russia.\" He grinned. \"It's over.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBorbikov leaned back against the sandbags, utterly stunned. \"Chto?\" (\"What?\")\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Da. Moscow has worked it out with the Kenyans. We have four hours to pack and vacate. We'll obviously have to leave some of-\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Sir, did you explain to Moscow that we can repel the coalition attack? At least the first wave. We can hold them off, target their antiair missiles, and if we get lucky, take them out. Once we get resupply from our aircraft, additional Spetsnaz, and airborne troops, we can-\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe colonel interrupted the major. \"I did not explain any of that, because this is a political decision, Yuri. The tactics weren't discussed.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Sir, you know the Kenya Defence Forces. Even with help from the French, they aren't ready for a fight. Their tanks are from the 1960s, their artillery is unreliable shit from Serbia, and they won't expect the fury they'll face when they come up this hill.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"They aren't coming up this hill. We are going down it. Four hours.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBorbikov muttered to himself. \"Unbelievable.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYelchin regarded the special forces major now. \"I get it, Yuri. You actually want to fight.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"And you don't, sir?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"What I want is to get the hell out of this shithole and back home to my family. I want to eat real food and drink clean water.\" He pointed to the blazing morning sun. \"I want motherfucking air-conditioning!\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBorbikov did not hide his disdain now. \"Air-conditioning, sir?\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe lieutenant colonel softened a little. \"Look, Yuri. Your passion is admirable, as is your bravery. But we do what we're told.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eColonel Yelchin turned and left the roof without another word.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFour hours later Major Borbikov sat high in the command turret of a BTR-90 armored personnel carrier, the fifth vehicle in the long column leaving the mine. His back was ramrod straight, his shoulders broad, and his head high as they passed the forward positions of the French and Kenyans.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIf Borbikov had been in command, he told himself, this would have gone down differently. Much differently. The major would have ordered his Spetsnaz forces and the paratroopers to fight for every last inch of the mine, they would have booby-trapped the buildings and the equipment, and they would have held out for as long as they could. And then, when the battle was lost, when Borbikov and his valiant comrades were all dead, the citizens of the Russian Federation would have known the mettle of its army, and the West would have known the danger that just a few hundred committed Russian soldiers posed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBorbikov knew his death in battle would have brought honor to the rodina.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut he wasn't in command. Yelchin was in command, and Yelchin obviously couldn't wait to get the fuck out of here.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs his vehicle reached the bottom of the hill and turned onto a dirt road that would lead to the A12 Highway and the coast, Borbikov passed a large contingent of Kenyan, French, and Canadian troops sitting in or on their armored vehicles, staring down the surrendering and retreating Russians with utter contempt. A small herd of rail-thin oxen shuffled lazily among them in the heat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Kenyans were chanting and laughing. Hard to hear over the BTR's engine at first. Borbikov concentrated on the sound till he could make it out.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Ishia, Russia, kumamayo! Ishia, Russia, kumamayo!\" Over and over and over.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBorbikov didn't speak Swahili, but he could guess the chant was something along the lines of \"Hey, Russia, get the fuck out of here.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBorbikov heard a sudden commotion up ahead, men shouting in anger over the rumble of the armored vehicles, and then he saw something slung through the air in the direction of the APC in front of him. Men riding on the BTR-90 ducked down, but no one raised weapons. Borbikov himself reached for his radio transmit key, but before he triggered it, he was slapped hard on his right side with something wet and sticky.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe looked at the soldiers standing there, right off the road. Several French paratroopers had trenching tools out, and they were slinging something in the air toward the passing vehicles, laughing hysterically as they did so.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe major touched his finger to the slop on his neck and cheek. Held it up in front of his goggles to get a better look.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFresh, wet ox dung.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBorbikov glared back at the men throwing shit in his face, his chest still high and his chin still up, but inside he raged. He'd fought in the Caucasus and in Ukraine and in Syria, and he'd never suffered the shame of retreat, much less indignities such as this.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLooking into the eyes of his enemy here, and then into the eyes of his own troops around him, he realized something.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEveryone here thought this was over.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut not Yuri Borbikov. No . . . this was not over. He made a vow to himself right then and there that yet another chapter to the Mrima Hill saga would be written, and he would write it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eYuri Borbikov would be back, and Russia would be the ultimate victors here, slinging hot shit on the vanquished Westerners and Africans as they retreated in shame.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER 2\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWest Coast of Taiwan\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTwo years later\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThursday, 22 August\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA sliver of moon slipped out of the clouds just as the dark forms emerged from the ocean, fifty meters from shore. Two dozen jet-black wet suits shimmered in the moonlight and moved forward through the low surf.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe men scanned the dunes in front of them through waterproof night observation devices, breathing heavily as they did so. The twenty-four heavily laden men were supremely fit, but they were not immune to the effects of the nearly four-mile swim from the submarine.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOnce on land and satisfied their ingress had remained undetected, Captain Chen Min Jun slung his rifle on his back and took an infrared buoy from a mesh gear bag. He turned on the device, then tossed it in the water, setting it adrift in the light surf. The wet synthetic-rope shore cable slipped easily from his grasp as the buoy floated with the flotsam back out to sea. Chen pushed the stake at the other end of the long cable into the sand, then blinked salt water from his eyes, lowered his waterproof night-vision goggles, and confirmed the buoy's invisible light could be seen in his specialized optics.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChen turned to his men. All twenty-three knelt in the sand now, still scanning the isolated beachfront with their own night-vision devices, their rifles arcing back and forth with the movement of their eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe captain whistled softly, a gentle birdcall, and all eyes turned to him. He said nothing. He just raised his hand, then lowered it with a flat palm while pointing away from the water.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe team stood in unison, moved up the beach across the moonlight, weapons sweeping for targets all the way to the mangrove and palm jungle that welcomed them with the sounds of tree frogs and crickets, covering the soft sounds made by the men's footsteps.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne by one, the men melted into the foliage.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe unit found a clearing after twenty minutesÕ push through the triple-canopy jungle. Captain Chen knelt in softly blowing grass and looked into the dark sky as he extended the thin wire-mesh dome antenna of the radio. The instrument was equipped with a digital terminal port, and he plugged in his small tablet computer, tapped a few keys, then waited until it made its connection with the uplink. Chen then pressed the button that read ÒburstÓ and the waterproof tablet blinked red, then green, indicating it had completed its task.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eReliable Chinese computer technology, thought Chen as he folded the antenna up and looked out at his second-in-command, just a few feet away in the grassy clearing. Chief Sergeant Class 3 Liu stared back at him, awaiting orders. But Chen was in no hurry. He was calm. His training had always stressed the most important virtue of a special forces officer: patience. He took his time now, reflecting on what his team had just done.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith only two dozen men, the Sea Dragons unit of special forces of the People's Republic of China had invaded Taiwan.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe Sea Dragons were stationed in the Nanjing Military Region, just across the Strait of Taiwan from the enemy island nation. The unit was revered by other PLA soldiers and duly celebrated by their leadership. They were the only unit in China allowed to wear all-black uniforms with a patch bearing the inscription \"The Front Line,\" due to their special mission to remain always prepared to invade Taiwan.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305301856485,"sku":"NP9780593952955","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593952955.jpg?v=1730760065","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/red-metalisbn-9780593952955","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}