Insurrection by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2014-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Like a swarm of angry hornets whose nest had been knocked down, the Executioner’s steady stream of fire from the Kel-Tec blew through the men sneaking down the hallway. Some of their bodies jerked back and forth. Others fell to the floor on their faces. A few dropped backward, still clutching their weapons, while more were driven against the walls on both sides of the hall, only to slide down to the tile floor. Wet trails of blood dripped down the recently nailed up wallboards in their wake.

The magazine ran dry and Bolan pressed the release button with his index finger, letting the empty metal box fall to the floor in front of him. With the practiced hand that had reloaded countless similar AR-15–based weapons thousands of times in the past, he ripped another mag from a pocket in his vest and inserted it into the well at the bottom of the gun. A quick palm strike to the end sent the familiar click to his ears as the residual noise from his autofire died down and the magazine hit home.

Behind him—somewhere beyond the confusing twists and turns of the recently man-made maze—the soldier could hear running footsteps. Men— undoubtedly Bokos—had entered the building from the alley entrance. The terrorists he had just shot had come from the front. And to get to where they were now, they would have had to pass the room that housed the secluded Christians.

Why had there been no gunfire? Why had the Bokos not engaged the armed men in that room? It didn’t make sense.

But the rising sound of boots running toward him from the alley door took precedence over trying to figure out that seeming discrepancy, and Bolan waved Paul around the corner to where the Bokos he had just shot lay dead or dying. Before he spoke, the soldier began striding from body to body, kicking rifles and other weapons from the hands of the dead men on the floor. More than once in his career, Bolan had seen “dead men” come back to life long enough for one more pull of the trigger. And he didn’t like the idea of Paul, Jabari or himself taking a bullet in the back from a man they thought was dead.

When he came to the last man he’d shot, the soldier saw that there was no need to disarm him. His weapon had fallen, hit the floor and bounced out of reach on its own. The man’s chest was still heaving up and down. He had taken a bullet in the side, but he looked as if he still had a chance to survive if he received some immediate first aid.

Turning to Paul, Bolan said, “Use that big knife of yours to cut some pieces of cloth from one of these guys’ robes. Use them as bandages and stop the bleeding.”

He turned to Jabari. “Then you keep an eye—and a gun—on him while Paul searches the rest of the bodies.”

Glancing back at

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