Splintered Sky. Don Pendleton

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       “THIRTY SECONDS TO SRB STAGING.”

      Something suddenly speared through the sky in the distance, darting across the windshield like a laser-bolt effect from a movie. Schwarz tensed, but the angle was all wrong for something coming after the Arcadia.

      “What the hell is going on?” Cole growled.

      “Darkest night…” Broome gasped. “Mission control, are you tracking that on radar?”

      “We’re trying. It came within twenty-five miles of your course,” Thet said on the other end. “Its trajectory is toward the Caribbean.”

      “What is it?” Cole demanded.

      Lyons closed his eyes, his jaw set firmly. “It’s the opening shot. This war has reached the hot stage.”

       Splintered Sky

       Don Pendleton

       Stony Man^®

       AMERICA’S ULTRA-COVERT INTELLIGENCE AGENCY

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      Special thanks and acknowledgment to Douglas P. Wojtowicz for his contribution to this work.

SPLINTERED SKY

      CONTENTS

       PROLOGUE

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

       CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

       CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

       PROLOGUE

       Near Yuma, Arizona

      Sabrina Bertonni winced as she clutched her hand to the bloody gap in her side. The raider’s bullet had merely grazed her, but her clothes were soaked through from what had only been a little nick. Other than keeping her hand clamped over the injury, she didn’t move. The limp bulk of Harold Maguire slumped against her body, casting her in shadow. Maguire’s body shook violently as the raiders emptied more bullets into the group of rocket scientists who had tried to escape out the back of the laboratory.

      The men were masked, clad in black from head to toe, wielding automatic weapons that made almost no sound. They moved with a similar eerie silence. Bertonni’s lucidity was hampered by blood loss and the concussion she’d received when her head smacked a rock on the desert floor with the added momentum of Maguire’s corpse, but from the way the assault force moved, it was as if they were living excerpts from her worst nightmares. Their speed and coordination, and just how quietly they had laid waste to the Burgundy Lake Testing Facility gave her the impression of shadows come to life.

      Though none of the black-clad raiders had spoken, their goal was clear to Bertonni, especially since she was one of the scientists working on brand-new, high-mobility steering thrusters for precision orbital maneuvering. Compact and fuel-efficient, they would be very important in the next generation of spacecraft replacing the aging, worn-out space shuttle. The maneuvering thrusters would make the expansion of the International Space Station easier, and provide the ability to perform round trips to the moon. Bertonni had no doubt that the thrusters could provide extra maneuverability for combat-oriented suborbital fighters and bombers, or armed satellites. The military potential couldn’t be underestimated. The kind of firepower and professionalism displayed by the armed marauders lent credence to what the enemies of the United States thought of the design.

      The security force was provided by the U.S. Air Force, heavily armed and trained soldiers who were responsible for protecting nuclear bomber groups. These men had trained hard against Navy SEAL Opfor units to hone their combat skills and antiinfiltration awareness.

      Fat lot of good that did, Bertonni thought. In the distance she heard the blast of C-4 detonating. The ground shook under her, and Maguire’s corpse slid off her prone form. She stirred, looking around. The shadowy raiders were nowhere to be seen, but with their bombs going off, she knew that they weren’t going to stick around. She fished in her pocket for her cell phone and hit Send to 9-1-1. The lighted LED screen showed she had no bars. The remote Burgundy Lake facility had been chosen for its distance from civilization and privacy, but the administrators had set up a cell tower to make things easier for the staff. Bertonni knew that the calls were monitored through that tower, the better to prevent sensitive data from being transmitted outside the testing laboratories, but right now she needed help.

      The phone didn’t ring. The raiders had been too efficient, probably taking out the cell tower first.

      Bertonni pocketed the phone and crawled, scurrying deeper into the desert, away from the dormitory building. She’d gotten twenty yards when the apartment shook. She looked back to see a cloud of dust and debris swell, escaping through shattered windows and burst doors. The vomitous wave of ejecta hit her hard and knocked her off her feet. Her head swam and she stumbled on the uneven ground. She wrapped her arm around her nose and mouth, filtering out the choking dust with the cloth of her sleeve.

      With a kick, she pushed herself forward and struggled to get farther from the building, hugging the ground, trying not be seen by any straggling marauders.

      The air popped and crackled with weapons fire, and her instincts threw her flat to the dirt again. The cloud hadn’t dispersed, but someone opened fire into the airborne dust. It was the raiders, and they had to have seen her in the shadows just before the exploding dormitory obscured the scene.

      Bertonni crawled, scurrying back toward the destroyed housing, knowing that once the dust settled, she’d be out in the open, an easy target for the brutal gunmen who had visited destruction on the testing facility. When the swirling wisps of the cloud finally dissipated, she was snugged, caked in dust, under the low remnant of a wall. Her breathing slowed, her shoulders tensed as she did her best to impersonate rubble.

      A voice cut through the night. “I told you, I saw someone!”

      “Fuck it, we’ve got to go. Time’s wasting,” another answered.

      “But…”

      “Now!” the other ordered. “We won’t be ID’d.” In the distance, she heard large trucks grinding into gear. “You want to walk to Mexico?”

      There was a sigh of exasperation and then the sound of running feet.

      Cargo trucks grunted and grumbled, rolling away before she could even dare to relax. She sucked in a breath of clean air, exhausted, and light-headed from blood loss.

      No one was visible.

      Bertonni was safe, for now, but she rolled onto her back, looking at the sky. Stars twinkled above her. She gulped air and looked at the cell phone in her hand.

      She