279 Fire Wind by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE EXECUTIONER made the interception in a bowl-shaped dip where the fury of floodwaters had deepened the path in that part of the gulley. He knew they were coming, and they probably knew he knew. Far from an easy tag, in terms of Bolan getting the drop on them, but what happened next told the soldier he was worth more alive than dead.

The first man charging over a sawtooth hump in the floor of the gulley balked for a heartbeat at the sudden appearance of their prey. It was long enough for the Executioner to pivot all the way around the corner where a slab of stone had marked a stretched second of prior cover and catch the lead gunner with a 3-round burst to the chest. Number One was flying back, arms wind-milling, losing the long rifle behind a spray of crimson, when numbers two and three broke rank and peeled off to the sides of the bowl.

They were quick, pros splitting up and firing on the fly, but it wasn't bullets they hurled down the path.

The steel net was already riding the air, blossoming open on lead weights, when the Executioner held back on the M-16's trigger, shuffling to the side, out of reach of the trap falling from the sky. Something tugged at his arm, his ears barely able to register the chink of metal on stone to his immediate rear, as Bolan hosed them down with short concentrated bursts of autofire, the racket of his weapon bouncing off the wall, tuning him out to everything next except nailing the enemy. The net hit the area he just vacated on a tinny crunch of steel mesh, the walls on either side of the Executioner bracing the flailing bodies of the gunners as his M-16 chattered on, a blazing lead finger sweeping from one target to the other. Chopped and dropped.

All done for now.

The soldier swiveled his head in both directions, checked his rear, aware he needed to get out of the gulley and keep surging. Three more were on the way, figure 150 to 200 yards out, bearing down. Time enough to note the HK SMGs, still hung in place around the shoulders of his fallen enemies. One look at the small boxes with two metal prongs fastened to their belts, and the logical conclusion was the big shots wanted him strung up, in reasonable shape and singing. It gave Bolan a definite edge, knowing they were out to capture, not kill.

Whoever the brains behind this new angle, well, as far as the Executioner was concerned the hunters were on a fool's errand.

All lined up and marching to their doom. Things looked to be shaping up his way.

He made a decision to backtrack, hug the face of the gulley wall, gambling the other trio would go for an intercept point north, down the gulley. He was wheeling, halfway around, when it glittered in his eyes.

A grim smile pulled at the corner of Bolan's mouth as he tracked the soft whirring clank to its source.

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