Final Assault by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2015-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

11

Axmed’s motor boat was the first through the gap. It surfaced across the water, engine wailing, scattering the sharks that had gathered there. Bolan hunched and clung tight, waiting for his moment. Axmed stood in the prow and fired his pistol at nothing in particular, shouting out curses and oaths in equal measure. His men followed suit, yelling and firing as more boats skidded after them.

Garrand’s men had started shooting as soon as the first boat appeared. But there weren’t enough of them, and hitting a moving target was hard, even for trained gunmen. One or two of Axmed’s men were plucked from their feet and sent sailing into the churning waters, but not enough.

Bolan peered at the artificial shoreline and saw a huddled group of people—weaponless, bedraggled. Hostages, he thought. There was no one else they could be. Not all of them, though. Not by a long shot. Going by the uniforms, some were crew. Garrand had had inside help, but not everyone was in on it, apparently. That made Bolan feel a bit better about the odds. He raised his UMP and fired a quick burst at the men on the shore, hoping to send them running.

“Remember,” he said, catching Axmed’s eye, “Leave the hostages to me.”

“Pah, what do I need with them when I have this whole lovely ship to plunder?” Axmed fired his pistol again, and then the prow of the motor boat struck the shallows of the artificial cove, grinding to a halt on the manmade reefs that kept the sharks at bay. Axmed was first out of the boat. Bolan and the others followed.

The Executioner moved quickly, firing as he ran. Quick, controlled bursts sent most of Garrand’s men heading for cover. One, a large man holding a woman, gawped at the newcomers. Nevertheless, he swiftly leveled his weapon and shoved the woman aside. Bolan fired, plucking a gout of red from the man’s skull and dropping him where he stood. Axmed’s men moved around him, shouting and firing, as Bolan helped the woman to her feet. “Are you all right?” he asked, hauling her out of the line of fire. He pulled her behind an overturned motorboat. “Can you walk?”

“I—I think so,” she said, her voice ragged.

“Where are the other hostages—do you know?” He caught her chin, turning her face toward him as a gun rattled somewhere nearby. The other pirates were reaching the cove now, and many of Axmed’s men were spilling up the shore toward the gantry and the bulkheads beyond. Others lay dead, either in the water or on the shore. Garrand’s men had been caught by surprise, but they were still professionals. “Don’t look at that...look at me,” he said. She was panting, beginning to hyperventilate—a not uncommon reaction to having a gun shoved in one’s face. Bolan spoke calmly, forcing himself to slow down despite the adrenaline surging through him.

“Take deep breaths,” he said, trying to distract her from the firefight going on around them. “I need you

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