Desert Falcons by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2015-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Desert Warfare Training Center

The interior first floor of Delta Building was devoid of furniture or any other obstacles, which made clearing the expansive room a fairly easy task. At Bolan’s suggestion, St. Alban split the team in two, with him taking three men up the farthest stairwell, and letting Bolan lead one man up the closest one. They used the same, standard stairwell and room clearing techniques they’d used in the other buildings. This time the pace was a bit slower due to the weight of the shields. They encountered live adversaries on the second, third and fourth floors. Both stairwells ended on the fifth floor, and the two teams met in the middle. One last double staircase led to the roof. It had two alternating sets of stairs, with a platform in the middle.

“This is it,” St. Alban said. “Think there’s somebody up there waiting for us?”

“Most likely,” Bolan said. He took the shield from his point man, who was obviously depleted from the long trek upward. “Time for me to do some of the heavy lifting.”

St. Alban grinned and did the same. The others formed a line behind the two leaders as they moved up the stairs.

“Make sure you keep a rear guard,” Bolan said. “I’ve got a hunch there might be more surprises in store.”

St. Alban nodded and told one of his men to assume that position.

As they got halfway up to the middle platform, the door below them burst open. Two adversaries ran in firing wildly. The rear guard was ready and took out both of them with a series of shots. Just as this was occurring, the door to the roof opened, and a hand dropped a flash-bang on to the floor.

“Grenade,” Bolan yelled, and managed to kick it on to the lower set of stairs. In the three seconds that it took for the grenade to explode, he ran up to the door and thrust it open, holding the shield in front of him and his pistol at the edge. He knew the only way to get out of an ambush was to fight your way out. This sudden move apparently startled their adversary on the roof, and Bolan shot the man twice, the second round hitting him in the clear visor part of his helmet. St. Alban was beside him now, and they took time to clear the roof as the rest of their team burst through the door. After clearing the area and posting one man at the door monitoring for anyone trying to flank them, Bolan pointed to the red, white and blue basketball. St. Alban grabbed it, ran to the tube and dropped it down. He slipped off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“The prince’s team will have the advantage of knowing what’s coming,” he said. “Especially that damn flash-bang. Good move kicking it out of the way.”

Bolan took off his helmet, too. The air, as hot and dry as it was, felt good against his skin.

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