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He carried his newspaper in front him, hiding his erection, and made his way to the cashier and dropped a five pound note on the counter.The cashier was in her early twenties and thought the man was strikingly handsome; sort like Pierce Brosnan at his prime. She smiled at him and he smiled back.‘Dozy cow! Too young! Give her another twenty years and I’ll bend her over the counter and stick it in her hard!’ the radio voiced.“Thank you very much, please keep the change,” his accent was refined with a deep timbre.“Thank you sir,” the cashier grinned back at him.The Stalker exited the coffee shop and searched the street; the woman was striding purposely towards a small BMW. ‘That’s the sort of car that that stuck up bitches drive! Bitch cars! Cunt cars!’ the radio played in his head.He picked up the pace and caught another glimpse of her elegant, sheer- stockinged clad legs as she folded them into the small coupe. ‘See! She’s showing it off again! She wants it! She deserves it!’Michele. The sound was deafening, even through the hull of the tank, every impact making Cooper’s seat vibrate. Fires raged in the distance now, at least a few of their vehicles had taken hits.“They’re hitting our lines with some kind of ballistic missile barrage,” the Sergeant added.“How do they know where we are?” Barry asked frantically. “How can they see us if we can’t see them?”“Maybe they can’t?” Cooper suggested. “That last one hit way behind our lines, they might only have a vague idea of our position.”High above their tank, a dark ring of smoke created a brief opening in the storm, a loud crack that echoed through the desert lagging behind it.“Heads up!” the Sergeant yelled. The dunes around them seemed to erupt, great plumes of sand hurled high into the air as half a dozen submunitions impacted around them. It felt like their Kodiak was being picked up and shaken by the hand of an angry God, Cooper jostling in his seat as what sounded like shrapnel dinged off their armor plating. A.
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