Secrets of Silverwind

By Richard L. Sanders

Youth should never be blessed--or cursed, really--with so much power as he had. A situation made even worse by the sheer torment, utter loss, deep betrayal, and unrequited love that each played their role. Regret and misery were perhaps inevitable. But the tragedy that resulted was unbelievably cruel...

Five years ago, when Caythis raced to Andar City, one of only four that still existed, he wanted badly to save mankind from a second apocalypse. There had been enough suffering the first time the world ended, surely it need not end again.

And there, at the ruins of Andar he made his stand against the enemy of the world himself. Antares. Monster and destroyer. But before that, he'd been like a brother to Caythis. But no love between them remained when they clashed on that day, fighting for the fate of the world's remains.

But then something strange happened. Both Caythis and Antares disappeared. Never seen again. Not even their bodies were found.

Five years later, a vigilante and special investigator named Zero is perilously close to uncovering the full truth of what really happened. And in so doing, makes himself a threat to powers far beyond his imagining. And he soon learns the harsh consequences, and extraordinary lengths, some will go to keep those truths hidden. And he must navigate webs of lies mixed with truths, all while treading lightly, and wondering whether some things are better kept secret.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard L. Sanders
• Release date: Jun 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452476209

Richard L. Sanders

Richard is 34 years old (and holding) and is a Salt Lake City native where he currently lives with his beautiful fiancé Emily and their dogs: June, Bentley, and Mia. (The last of which is technically a cat.) Richard is an attorney admitted to all Utah state and federal courts, but he primarily works as an investigator for the Utah government. He began publishing in 2011 while a first-year law student, and was very prolific with nine publications including eight novels, within five years. In 2016 he took a hiatus from writing, in response to emergent and challenging life circumstances that lasted until 2019. Richard spent these years focused on family, personal growth, and pro bono legal causes. He is excited by his return to the publishing world with several titles planned for release in 2021, including The Gods Who Bleed and Legacy of the Phoenix. In his spare time, he's an avid swimmer, skier, and chess player. (Up for a game? 1. e4 ...)His official website is www.blackoceanbooks.com

Book preview

Secrets of Silverwind

Richard L. Sanders

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012, Richard L. Sanders

Smashwords Edition License Notes: You are not only licensed to enjoy this ebook, it is highly encouraged. DRM has NOT been attached. The reason for this is that I, the author, profoundly don’t believe in DRM. That means you can make copies of this work and share it with your family and friends so long as you are not selling them for money. Just try to remember that, as I write this, I am an indebted student haunted by the specter of student loans hovering over me and any actual purchases of my ebook through the ebook store would be greatly appreciated.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for downloading Secrets of Silverwind. This book holds a dear place in my heart because it is, I believe, the best story I’ve yet told. Others have been easier to write and perhaps, at times, more exciting. But there is something special about this one, a certain je ne sais quoi that haunts me every time I read it or think about it. I hope you will share in that experience as you join Caythis, Kira, and all of the others on their transformative adventure.

For more information, including the free audiobook download of The Phoenix Conspiracy (my best-selling book), please visit www.richardlsanders.com.

Happy Reading!

Chapter 1

He just wasn’t fast enough, no matter what he did.

Caythis leaned forward on his jetbike as it zipped above the rough, sandy terrain. He went into a hard turn and pulled the throttle wide open as he came out of it. A storm of dust flared up in his wake.

He was out of the canyon now, and the wind hit him in full force, buffeting his bike. The chill couldn’t pierce his thick combat armor, but the gusts were strong enough that it was difficult to stay on course. He wrestled with the controls, refusing to slow down. He’d lost too much time already.

A wide sea of rocks and hazards could be seen in the distance, rushing toward him. He flipped down his visor, and the computer in his helmet selected what it thought was the most appropriate spectrum. A heartbeat later, the sandy world around him was a stagnant green with nothing too bright or too dark, enabling him to see easily. Even the brilliance of the sun had been dimmed to a gentle level.

He continued his breakneck pace, ducking low. Leaning hard to avoid the first boulder. A spray of pebbles struck him in the head but bounced meaninglessly off his helmet. After a few minutes of deft, reckless maneuvering, Caythis blasted between the final two obstacles and into the open.

Andar City was in plain view now. What was left of it.

His heart broke at the sight through his visor: a burning green image of intense heat, masses of clouds rising from the molten ruins, and the skeleton of a once great city ablaze like a funeral pyre. He flipped open his visor and stared wide-eyed at the blackened sky. The air reeked of smoke, and ashes flaked onto his bronze armor as he hovered forward.

Andar City was lost. . . .

Caythis had expected Andar to be on its knees, like Skyhaven City, wounded but fighting for its life. Not so. Andar was gone. And so utterly wasted it could probably never be rebuilt. Countless thousands of people lost along with it. Innocent people. People who had never known the full spectrum of Antares’s wrath. Not even Caythis was aware to this extent. Men, women, and even children. Burned to death in an unpitying and unflinching firestorm. An annihilation of this scale hadn’t been seen since the End of the World.

Caythis’s grip weakened as he realized, as fast as he’d come, the wrath of Antares had been faster. That meant Caythis, and all of the others, had deserted Citadel City in vain.

It was very dark now as he flew deeper under the blanket of thick smoke, which made a wall so dense even the sun couldn’t penetrate it. His bike skipped over some small hills, and Caythis considered turning back. Thought about returning to Citadel to help its citizens make their desperate stand against the revolution that was sweeping the four cities, one at a time. If they would even have him . . .

He did not turn around though. Somehow, as the dying fire-lit city drew closer, he simply couldn’t find the strength to direct the bike otherwise. Instead he hovered, thoughtless and stiff, unable to look away from the horror.

Until nearby gunfire caught his attention. He turned sharply to his left and blasted toward the fighting. Knowing it must be his own men—soldiers he’d convinced to desert Citadel, soldiers who had now engaged Antares’s rebels. Perhaps even Antares himself.

Caythis welcomed the chance to destroy Antares.

The popping of gunfire grew louder as his bike screamed closer. Caythis flipped shut his visor and took in the scene as best he could. His allies’ skirmish line had already been broken, and many were rerouting; the rest had dug in for better cover but were about to be flanked by a large force swinging around their southeast quarter. In the enemy’s ranks, the Fallen enforcers could be seen blasting elemental magic. Sprays of water slammed like tidal waves, guided by enforcers in blue armor, and others armored in pearl-white shifted the winds. Together, the dozens of amateurs were constructing a makeshift hurricane.

Caythis gripped the sword behind his back. The handle stuck to his glove like glue, and he whipped it out. With his other hand, he pressed the ring on his middle finger against the sword’s activation chip. Sparks flew down the coil and charged the rods, and, after heating for a few seconds, the two rods forming the blade lit up—charged with plasma. The visor blinked, adapting to the sudden brightness of the heat source, and the blinding blade was dimmed to his eyes.

He held the sword battle-ready, just like he’d trained for, then sharply pushed the bike toward the glowing green lights which he knew were his enemies. As he zoomed closer, he steadied himself and, at the right moment, twisted hard to the left. The insurgents turned in panic as he blasted through their ranks, his blinding sword cutting them down stroke after stroke.

Dozens fell, and those who didn’t—who lacked armor—were poisoned by the intense radiation.

After a few seconds of this, Caythis took fire. Guns were turned; orders were screamed down the lines, and a storm of bullets slapped against his chest and helmet with enough force to almost throw him from the bike. The slugs bounced off his advanced armor, leaving only bruises, but he was forced to abort his attack halfway through.

He withdrew about forty meters and held up his left hand. Raising his palm flat toward his enemies, concentrating his mind. The ring around his middle finger burned, and, on his hand, an orb of fire formed. It glowed bright green through his visor, and he braced himself for the intense pain.

In an instant of sudden agony, a jet of fire leaped from his hand and downed the enemies before him. The people in his range scattered for cover but didn’t find much. He moved the stream from left to right, aiming at them, and, in moments, around two dozen rebels were scorched to death. But the process took a toll on Caythis, weakening him from the pain and draining his energy to the point of fatigue. Unable to continue the use of his magic, Caythis dropped his palm flat toward the ground, and the fire dissipated. He felt limp and spent, but the pain faded quickly.

He brandished his sword once more and brought his bike around the battle in a wide circle, searching for a target.

Caythis ignored the Fallen enforcers. They were amateurs—dangerous only when working as a group. The best way to deal with them would be to find their leader and eliminate him publicly. Chop the head off the snake. So Caythis looked for Antares, dodging attacks sent Caythis’s way, hunting and hunting for his target. And eventually, in a storm of flames, Caythis spotted Antares.

Antares stood on the top of a nearby cliff, wasting Caythis’s allies who’d tried to set up a sniping position. He was a dull dark green, much dimmer than the other people’s bodies who leaked more heat. Antares had coated his crimson armor with some kind of black tar meant to limit the amount of body temperature he gave off. It helped conceal him from the superior eyes of an enforcer’s helmet, but it wasn’t enough. Caythis found the path up the cliff and moved in for the kill.

The disfigured dead burned at Antares’s feet by the dozens, and the white glow of his sword bounced off Antares’s black visor like the shadow of a wraith. Caythis brought his bike down to bear and raised his sword, aiming for Antares’s head.

His enemy held his ground and faced the attack with perfect confidence—his own sword raised and magic hand ready.

Caythis braced himself and closed in.

Antares raised his palm, and a spray of unstoppable fire flew toward Caythis like a web of a billion candles. Obeying instinct, Caythis jumped from his bike just before it exploded in a marriage of fire and fuel. He was blown hard into a wall of stone, landing in a crunch of cracked bones and damaged armor. With an outburst of pain, Caythis looked up.

Antares loomed over him, walking closer with slow steps.

Caythis, being a Fire enforcer himself, was impervious to the flames, but the force of his dismount left him bleeding inside, and every breath was agonizing.

With trained discipline, Caythis put aside the pain. He had what he wanted—Antares alone.

Caythis rose to his feet, holding out his sword which had stayed firmly stuck to his glove.

Antares stopped his advance. "You too?"

His voice cracked over the speaker in Caythis’s helmet. It was a familiar voice, making it that much more painful to hear.

Caythis didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. And for a moment they just stood there, facing each other, surrounded by a ring of scorching fire, and the sounds of gunfire and screams. But, despite his pause, Caythis knew what he had to do.

You shouldn’t have come here, said Antares.

You shouldn’t have started this.

"Sierra, this was for Sierra!"

Caythis was sickened. As if she would have wanted this destruction . . . How dare you hide your evil deeds behind her good name.

Please . . . don’t be my enemy, Caythis, said Antares. "No one understands. I need you to understand. . . ."

Caythis dismissed Antares’s plea. There’s no going back, Antares. I can’t let you leave this place alive. We both know what you deserve. Caythis looked into Antares’s visor, as if peering into his soul, and was not surprised to see that it was blank. Lifeless. Empty. Antares was dead inside, just like the bodies at his feet.

It’s not my fault, . . . said Antares. It’s not true. It isn’t true! I’ve only done what was forced upon me!

Caythis steeled himself, tightening his grip around his sword. Antares, you bring this upon yourself!

At the perfect moment, Caythis sprang forward, the flare of his sword trailed by sparks like a hot white echo. Their swords clashed hard. Hate and plasma locked against each other. Swinging madly, blow after blow, fueled by passion, disciplined by skill, a furious dance.

Their hits crashed with so much force that the flashes pierced the protection of their visors—which refreshed constantly to adjust for the changes. Tears soaked Caythis’s stinging bloodshot eyes, but he pressed his attack. Forcing himself to forget the memories they’d shared together. Forgetting that Antares had once been family. Now all Caythis could see was his enemy. A mass murderer. That’s all Caythis was willing to see.

Their blurry movements were like glowing scribbles in the night sky, echoes of light. To any onlooker, their battle had an overwhelming intensity, like a massive collision of two stars. And, in that final desperate moment, whatever friendship they had once acknowledged was erased forever.

A few surviving witnesses claimed they saw Antares guide his sword into his friend’s heart. Others insist it was Caythis who slew Antares. Some still believe both of them live on. Even now. But whatever the lost truth might be, Antares never returned to lead his rebellion, which marched on without him. And Caythis never returned to defend Citadel, the city he had sworn to protect, which fell three days later.

Five years have passed since then, and their bodies have never been found. And whatever became of Antares and Caythis remains a mystery.

Chapter 2

She should have been here by now; something must have happened.

Zero paced the cement corridor for the thousandth time. A dirty yellow lightbulb hung from the ceiling, shining a long way in the underground. He squinted as he passed under it again, his arms fidgeting like a nervous tick.

I'm sure she's fine, said Dave. He stood guarding the door; his smile stood out in contrast with his oily clothes and submachine gun. Despite Dave’s grim attire, Zero knew Dave for what he really was: a plumber, barely able to use the weapon in his hands. And certainly not fit for combat; almost none of the cell was. All were civilians-turned-vigilantes. Zero was one of a few who knew how to handle himself. And he only intended to stay with them until he could find the people he’d lost. The people he belonged with.

Dave continued, "If Raven were incompetent, she wouldn’t be our fearless leader."

What makes you think I'm waiting for Raven? asked Zero.

Please, I've seen the way you look at her. And who can blame you? Dave whistled. His eyes searched for a response, but Zero showed nothing.

Of course he had feelings for Raven; she was the best of them. Her very soul seemed to radiate passion, loyalty, and a fighting spirit that rallied them all, time and again, in their desperate struggle. No matter how bleak things always were. The others fought for their cause, but Zero fought for Raven. And he believed she and her cell were his only chance of finding his way back. Which was why it was imperative that she was all right.

He slipped his hand around the polished steel of one of his handguns, withdrawing it from his thigh holster. Making sure it was chambered and ready to fire. He kept both eyes on the farthest door. If the terrorists were coming, or the police, they would enter through there. That was the only way into the belowground warehouse they used as a base. There were two other ways out, but no other way in.

All I'm saying is that, if I were single, I'd be all over that, Dave rattled on.

Zero didn’t give him a second thought.

The door burst open, and Zero raised his pistol. Lowering it instantly as Raven hurried through. Long dark hair that matched her name, thin, stunning, with a confident stride, and head-to-toe covered in camouflage, knives, ammo, and bullets.

Welcome home, said Dave.

What's the word? asked Zero. Raven had gone to see one of their best informants—the kind of visit that never seemed to bring good news.

She turned to him, her eyes sharp and piercing. It's much worse than we thought, she said, hurrying through the next door.

Dave, her self-proclaimed second-in-command, was at her heels.

Zero followed at more of a distance. Trying to guess what the newest crisis was.

Okay, everyone, listen up, Raven said firmly. Her eyes were steel like the carbine strapped to her back, and her soft angular features were a sharp contrast to her powerful presence and passionate personality. She stopped in the center of the room, and all eleven of them clustered around her.

Carpenters, janitors, technicians, even a psychologist. Not at all suited for the deadly hardware they packed, and it killed Zero to see their eagerness. These weren’t soldiers. And every single one of them would die, sooner or later, if they continued this fight. Yet if they didn’t, what chance did Silverwind City have?

They're going to bomb a school, said Raven.

Her words had sounded calm and impassive, but Zero knew it had taken deliberate effort.

We don't have a lot of time. We have to go to Irons Borough.

That’s the poorest section of Silverwind, said Alice. The police have almost no presence there as it is.

Which is why we can’t tip off the government and sit this one out, said Jakob.

If that were our style, none of us would even be here, said Raven. We don't have much time. They're going to strike from underground.

The Rigilian terrorist cult—like Raven’s cell—was one of several groups to find the network of underground structures a useful maze to hide in and to navigate the city with very little restraint. Designed for industrial reasons, the tunnels and other belowground structures had become a no-man’s-land, with police and civilians rarely setting foot underground except in secure locations. Which were becoming fewer and fewer all the time.

"Why? asked Alice. Why would they do such a thing? I don't understand why anybody . . . They're just children. How could this possibly help anything?"

Because we're dealing with very sick people, said Dave, grabbing some ammunition. "They believe their god has appeared. That he wants them to create chaos by any means, so he can take the city. Damned cultists."

Don’t worry, said Raven, looking Alice in the eyes. We’re going to stop them. You hear me? Those children are going to be all right. She pulled the carbine off her back and clicked a magazine into place. These underground warehouses connect to a series of rooms that have furnace pipes running to that part of the Labor District. We think there are only six places where they can plant explosives that would do the job. And we’re closer to all six of them than they are. They have a head start, but, if we move fast, we should get there before they do.

The dozen of them broke into teams of two, and, in a matter of a few seconds, they’d coordinated which paths through the underground storage catacombs they’d each take. Zero pressed seventeen brass bullets into each of his extra magazines. It was a tricky process with gloves on, but, as always, he wore them to protect his identity. It was better for everyone—even the other members of the cell, his friends—if the truth about what he really was remained a secret.

He didn’t have time to arm to the teeth, but, as he slid a metal clip into each of his handguns, he felt ready for a fight.

He wasn’t quick to find a partner, distracted by his preparations and by the concern he had boiling inside for the people he’d lost. Wondering where they were and if today would be the day he’d finally find them. Thinking about who he really was, he glanced at his own reflection in a glossy puddle of leaking water. The person staring back at him didn’t betray any of the anxiety he felt so strongly. So much depended on him—more than anyone realized.

He and Raven were the last to leave, pairing them by default. Her eyes narrowed, and he spotted the hint of a smile at the corners of her lips. Their affection had evolved by accident and had remained as secret as possible, out of necessity. But Zero found it difficult to keep his eyes from following her, and, when she was out there alone, which was often, he always worried about her.

He took point, and she followed wordlessly behind him. They worked best together and often didn’t need to communicate to know what the other was thinking.

Zero squeezed the cold steel of his pistol grip, steady and stealthy, creeping along the wall. The lower level wasn’t well lit, and they often crossed through large areas with no electric lighting at all. Hiding in the shadows was easy, but it gave Zero a nasty twist in his stomach every time he was forced blindly into the open. Hating that it was impossible to tell who could be waiting.

He continued along, cornering as carefully as he knew how, shifting from room to room, Raven covering his back. Everywhere they went, shelves and boxes sat derelict, and thousands of crates were stacked high on thousands of pallets. The air was stale from minimal ventilation, and every breath tasted like dust.

As they neared their target, Zero slowed to a stop and crouched, perfectly silent. He pressed an ear against the cement wall and waited, sweat beading on his forehead. Nothing could be heard. He hesitated, heart beating like a steel drum, then made a hand signal that meant Now!

He entered the room with his handguns held high. It was a large storage unit, filled with tables stacked high with machinery and a few large piles of girders. The lights were on, but dim, and on the left wall was a narrow alcove—probably leading to the gas main. The perfect place for a bomb.

He snuck to the nearest table but spotted something extremely out of place.

Max’s disembodied head was on the ground, only a few feet away.

Zero felt sick, terrified, and immediately concerned that, with Max dead, Zero would never find those he was looking for, despite Raven’s help. Max had been the only person in the cell who’d known who Zero really was and how to find who he was looking for.

Zero muffled his disgust and looked away. He crouched down defensively and raised a hand to alert Raven that something was wrong.

Approaching footsteps caught his attention. Someone appeared in the far doorway: the grim bearded face of a man wearing a thick brown jacket, holding a basic submachine gun. He held the weapon roughly, like he didn’t know how to use it. On his right hand Zero could barely recognize the blue alpha tattoo. The mark of Rigil—a follower of Antares who had gone rogue and had started his own revolution.

The terrorist stepped into the room, glancing from left to right, then dashed his way toward the alcove with a bomb strapped to his back. When no more of his friends entered, Zero aimed one handgun and fired twice.

The shots rang loudly in the enclosed space, and the terrorist collapsed, seemingly struck in the shoulder and back. He rolled down into the pallets.

Zero moved deeper into the room, following the shadows around some cover of his own, meaning to finish off the bomber.

The room exploded with noise. Four other Rigilians stood up from their hiding places, and the room was lit up with gunfire. Zero rolled to better cover, waiting for them to drain their magazines as they peppered the room with bullets. Slugs plinked, bouncing off the cement walls all around. Zero dared a glance behind him, but Raven was too well hidden to see.

The noise faded, and he heard the clicking of clips being replaced. He popped up from his cover and strafed several rounds of covering fire to allow him access to a better position behind a pile of industrial machinery. He managed to kill one of the Rigilians. Zero dropped his own magazine, squeezed in another clip, and cocked the gun. Behind him came the distinct whine of Raven’s silenced carbine, followed by the heavy thud of a body just ahead.

That left two alive and the one wounded; the playing field was almost equal. Zero prepared to spring to his feet again, looking carefully at how best to flank his enemies.

An enormous wave of heat spread through the room with a bright, blinding flash. Zero moaned, rubbing his eyes clear as a splash of concentrated energy landed nearby. When the brightness faded, he saw that most of the industrial machinery he’d used as cover had been melted into a sizzling, molten ooze. Plasma weapons.

Enforcers! Raven called from behind.

The guardians-elite were the last people anyone wanted to see right now. Zero abandoned his ruined cover while plasma scorches began to scar the room. The pounding of submachine gunfire had changed directions. Zero wasn’t at all surprised; he knew the Rigilians feared the enforcers even more than he did. But, after a few more flashes, and even fewer seconds, the submachine guns were silenced forever.

Zero stood and sprinted for the back door. The whole operation was a complete disaster. Raven was crouched next to the exit, and her rifle blazed yellow, giving covering fire at huge personal risk to herself.

Run! Zero yelled at her.

She ignored him. Raven’s stubborn loyalty was legendary.

Just then she lit up like a candle, charged with an overwhelming dose of pure energy. Then she was gone. A charred mark on the floor, a bit of burning hair and clothes, ashes next to a liquified metal carbine. Leaving only him. Zero. Alone.

His insides burned, and his jaw popped as he ground his teeth together. He’d lost her; he’d lost her! And he’d lost Max and his information. He’d lost his only connection to the people he belonged with. He’d lost everything. . . . Nothing felt real anymore. And in an outpouring of fear and vengeance, he spun around, staring death in the face, channeling his fear and loathing.

There stood the two enforcers, each in full green combat armor.

Zero clicked his handguns into automatic mode and sprayed his enemies while standing his ground.

The bullets bounced pointlessly off their armor, and the enforcers ignored his efforts. They could vaporize him. Why didn’t they? Why didn’t they just kill him? Why didn’t they just end it? Zero didn’t want to die, but he could not accept the reality of what had just happened. It couldn’t be real. He felt so much rage inside him that he almost charged his enemies, wanting to tear them apart with his bare hands. He felt the urge to tear off his gloves and unleash hell upon them—or try.

They did not vaporize him. Instead Zero heard a deafening ring, and his vision blurred bright white. He fell blindly to his knees and tried to cover his stinging ears. Someone grabbed his head and pressed a rag against his face. Zero held his breath and struggled valiantly, knowing, better than they did, what effects the drug would have on him. He broke free for a moment, arms swinging madly, but even more hands gripped him, and continued to press the rag against his nose and mouth even harder. In complete desperation, Zero spasmed violently with all of his strength, energy, and hate, but their combined grip was unbreakable.

At last he choked and breathed in deeply, with no choice but to submit, knowing as he drifted off to sleep that his life, as he knew it, was over.

Chapter 3

His view was like an ocean of lime. Everything clear as crystal. A bright circle glowed around him, like burning emerald fire. He swung his sword against an unseen enemy, feeling the recoil of every blow. And, in what became a twisting whirlwind of black and white, he remembered only the fleeting words, You bring this upon yourself.

***

Zero awoke. It was a bright room, white and barren. His first thought was an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

There was a bottle of water that held several gallons, a table with some bread and meat, and a toilet in the corner. He felt like he’d seen this place a thousand times, but, as he looked it over, he was sure he’d never been here before.

He sat up on the cot and stretched. His arms and legs were sore, and he was light-headed but otherwise felt fine. He rubbed his head, trying to figure out what was going on.

The only thing he remembered was being dragged off a cold metal table. A lot of noises all around him, but they were muffled by a ringing in his ears, and he hadn’t been able to see.

But that memory was empty and didn’t explain where he was now. And it felt more like years ago, not hours.

He stood up to examine the room more carefully, brushing his hands against the firm walls as he walked. Searching for clues, an exit, anything. But the place was sealed tight with only one door and no windows.

Opposite him was a mirror that encompassed half a wall. He was certain it was one-way glass. He looked past his reflection and imagined who might be staring at him from behind the mirror. Observing him. Keeping him prisoner.

Of course all he could see was a pale face and familiar disheveled black hair along with sky-blue

Reviews for Secrets of Silverwind

[simon_goodson-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book grabbed me by the throat in the first sentence, had me hooked by the end of the first page and didn't let up until the final page. Absolutely loved it. Action packed and highly recommended.