Planet Genocide I (Galaxies Collide Book 3) by Andrew McGregor Page A
Authors: Andrew McGregor
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is rising fast…lets finish off here and get to the next exit point.’
His long term moustached colleague grinned from experience, used to his friend’s worrying, ‘It is just water…we have probably another twenty minutes before it gets too high…’ He slapped his crewmate’s shoulder, grinning widely, ‘Come on then…let’s get you back to that feisty young Latin wife of yours…’ He shook his head shrugging, ‘How you have the energy to work after each night with her…I have no idea buddy!’
They trudged through the deepening water, heading south for the river and following the twisting tunnels, their fluorescent jackets glowing through the darkness as the helmet bulbs cast shadows and extended images of their bodies across the walls and water.
Then the two figures froze, one man turning to the other in confusion, ‘You hear that? Is that gunfire?’
The moustached man stared ahead to the next corner, his ears straining, ‘Cops are chasing someone down?’ He grinned again reassuringly, hearing muffled screams, ‘They have probably got him judging by the reaction…the next exit to the street is just around the next turning, I will look out first…’
The sludge water splashed against the side walls as they progressed to the bend, their hands extended on either side to steady footing. Turning the corner, the light from grille at the end was dull, their pupils contracting initially as they raised their hands over their eyes to stare. A muscular silhouette stood near the exit, the tall figure slightly lowered as the light from the end to the storm drain behind glistened against the wet body armour.
The two men stared, red piercing eyes sweeping across their figures as a hand rose, the sharp blades glistening in the weak light. The figure was over seven feet tall, the two overweight men turning sharply in the tunnel and wading away, their chests heaving as the realisation of danger filled their minds…the black armoured frame striding boldly forward against the current, the double sword blades sparking across the tunnel walls.
Chapter Four: French Resistance
Overlooking Arromanches-les-Bains on the Normandy coastline in France, Kurt Hausser moved his binoculars across the town below, staring though the darkening trees on the steep slope at the foot of the cliff before him. The lights of several bistros and cafes twinkled through the darkening sky, several patrons stepping from the main doors to glance around nervously and investigate the commotion, the wailing siren distracting them from enticing menus and the venue music.
Blue police lights flashed across the streets before the museum, the Gendarme van turning in the carpark as several black dressed policemen and women spoke with the concerned residents and tourists. Panning the binoculars out towards the wide seafront, Kurt moved to the right to see past the trees, their branches swaying slightly in the evening breeze as a police helicopter circled overhead.
The German smiled to himself as he saw the lone figure walking along the deserted beach, his eyes widening as he saw the three dogs running near their master, the tails furiously wagging as the man walked slowly away from the town. He sighed, shaking his head and smiling dismissively at the lone figure’s tenacity or stupidity, ‘Dummkopf!
Panning the binoculars back, he moved them to look down the central street, the main coastal road from east to west. Three or four sets of headlights were driving slowly along the thoroughfare, the drivers staring out warily at the police officers stood on the pavements as many of the cafe customers began to slip back inside to their meals or bottles of wine.
He lowered the glasses slightly as his wife’s worried voice echoed across the motor homes towards him, ‘Kurt, kommen sie!’ The muffled sounds of the vehicle engines drowning her out as the motorhomes were being moved closer to each other.
Raising the binoculars again, he
His long term moustached colleague grinned from experience, used to his friend’s worrying, ‘It is just water…we have probably another twenty minutes before it gets too high…’ He slapped his crewmate’s shoulder, grinning widely, ‘Come on then…let’s get you back to that feisty young Latin wife of yours…’ He shook his head shrugging, ‘How you have the energy to work after each night with her…I have no idea buddy!’
They trudged through the deepening water, heading south for the river and following the twisting tunnels, their fluorescent jackets glowing through the darkness as the helmet bulbs cast shadows and extended images of their bodies across the walls and water.
Then the two figures froze, one man turning to the other in confusion, ‘You hear that? Is that gunfire?’
The moustached man stared ahead to the next corner, his ears straining, ‘Cops are chasing someone down?’ He grinned again reassuringly, hearing muffled screams, ‘They have probably got him judging by the reaction…the next exit to the street is just around the next turning, I will look out first…’
The sludge water splashed against the side walls as they progressed to the bend, their hands extended on either side to steady footing. Turning the corner, the light from grille at the end was dull, their pupils contracting initially as they raised their hands over their eyes to stare. A muscular silhouette stood near the exit, the tall figure slightly lowered as the light from the end to the storm drain behind glistened against the wet body armour.
The two men stared, red piercing eyes sweeping across their figures as a hand rose, the sharp blades glistening in the weak light. The figure was over seven feet tall, the two overweight men turning sharply in the tunnel and wading away, their chests heaving as the realisation of danger filled their minds…the black armoured frame striding boldly forward against the current, the double sword blades sparking across the tunnel walls.
Chapter Four: French Resistance
Overlooking Arromanches-les-Bains on the Normandy coastline in France, Kurt Hausser moved his binoculars across the town below, staring though the darkening trees on the steep slope at the foot of the cliff before him. The lights of several bistros and cafes twinkled through the darkening sky, several patrons stepping from the main doors to glance around nervously and investigate the commotion, the wailing siren distracting them from enticing menus and the venue music.
Blue police lights flashed across the streets before the museum, the Gendarme van turning in the carpark as several black dressed policemen and women spoke with the concerned residents and tourists. Panning the binoculars out towards the wide seafront, Kurt moved to the right to see past the trees, their branches swaying slightly in the evening breeze as a police helicopter circled overhead.
The German smiled to himself as he saw the lone figure walking along the deserted beach, his eyes widening as he saw the three dogs running near their master, the tails furiously wagging as the man walked slowly away from the town. He sighed, shaking his head and smiling dismissively at the lone figure’s tenacity or stupidity, ‘Dummkopf!
Panning the binoculars back, he moved them to look down the central street, the main coastal road from east to west. Three or four sets of headlights were driving slowly along the thoroughfare, the drivers staring out warily at the police officers stood on the pavements as many of the cafe customers began to slip back inside to their meals or bottles of wine.
He lowered the glasses slightly as his wife’s worried voice echoed across the motor homes towards him, ‘Kurt, kommen sie!’ The muffled sounds of the vehicle engines drowning her out as the motorhomes were being moved closer to each other.
Raising the binoculars again, he
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