By Stan Lee
The 1st ever ibooks novel via the mythical Stan Lee, founder of surprise Comics and co-creator of Spider-Man and the X-Men! The German conflict desktop rolls throughout Europe, crushing every thing in its course. the USA and her Allies have just recently entered the battle, yet is turns out either side are too frivolously matched. The battle may well drag on for years, may perhaps pass both way...until the day the saucer fell like an arrow from the heavens, bringing with it secrets and techniques of world-shattering end result. The Nazis are fast to trap the spacecraft and its unearthly occupants; the Allies ship in a suicide squad, a gaggle snidely known as 'Logan's Losers' - to both retrieve the extraterrestrial beings and their secrets...or smash them. Russia, too, learns of the downed unidentified flying object and sends their very own agent into the center of Germany. yet there's a traitor one of the Allied invasion strength, operating to carry the Allies down from inside of, and while Logan ultimately reaches his target, it's a prisoner of the 3rd Reich, sentenced to die on the hand of an previous, implacable enemy.
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Why do you try it with me? You’ve already had what you wanted. Or do you want more? ” “Go to hell,” he said. “I’ve had a bellyful of you and your country. ” He snatched at a sock on the floor and snapped it on. “France! What do you know about France? Do you know how they came into the cabaret and arrested everyone? Do you know they stuck a pistol into my husband’s mouth and blew his head off? ” Nicole threw back the covers and went to the window. She opened the curtain, indifferent to whether anyone could see her.
What did a downed aircraft have to do with it? He had to find out. He drummed his fingers on his desk for several minutes, then asked his secretary to get General Eisenhower’s office. qrk 8/16/01 2:58 PM Page 41 17 OCTOBER 1942 THE SATED SWINE PUB EAST END OF LONDON, ENGLAND T he French singer—a dark-haired woman named Nicole DuPrix— was working the crowd of soldiers, sailors, and airmen as only a French woman could. Her skirt was just high enough, her voice just smoky enough, her eyes just inviting enough to guarantee that every heterosexual male in the room would feel a pressing need beneath his fly buttons.
Where? That he didn’t know, but he had faith that the answer would soon be revealed to him. As he went to the window, Marcel saw the steel ball lying on the ground beside the chrysalis. He hesitated, looked back at the angel, whose head seemed to drop in assent. Still watching the angel, he made the sign of the cross and picked up the steel ball, sticking it in his jacket pocket. Leaving his sabots behind, he ran barefoot across the pasture, carefully keeping the stable in the Germans’ line of view.