Line of Honor by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2012-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

11

“You are going to let them live?” Nelsonne was slightly incredulous. Most of the team seemed against the idea. The four prisoners knelt miserably in the dust with forlorn looks on their faces as the sun rose. Bolan had allowed them some water and a disgusting meal of gooey rice and reconstituted mystery meat out of their ration packs while the team had gone over the battlefield. There had been little of worth to strip from the burned-out AFV. They had gathered the Falcon’s fallen weapons and gear. Bolan was interested to note they were using M-16 A-4 clones. He was much more interested in the support weapons that had been left behind and the hand grenades. Lkhümbengarav had gathered them, inspected them and loaded those still functional into the Mog.

Bolan regarded his captives. They wore no insignia. “T.C.?”

“They are Falcons, on a black operation in the Sudan. Nearly all Falcons speak English. If this team specialized in North Africa, some of them will speak Arabic or French, as well.” One of the prisoner’s eyes went wide with alarm at this declaration. “For example, this one understands English.”

The prisoner spit on Ching and snarled something. Ching sighed and started to turn away. He blurred back around and literally slapped the teeth out of the prisoner’s mouth.

“T.C… .”

The prisoner collapsed to the dust. Ochoa whooped from the bed of Rover 1. “Whoa, snap! Bitch-slap on the Hal-con, mari-con!”

“Sancho, shut it. T.C.?”

“He implied that I was a traitor.”

Bolan raised a quizzical eyebrow. “To the Republic of China?”

Ching smiled. “No.”

“You think they’ll talk?”

“I do not know.” Ching suddenly cracked his knuckles. “You could try asking them nicely, and then I can try asking not so nicely.”

One of the prisoners turned and looked Bolan in the eye. “You guaranteed my men would not be mistreated.”

“What’s your rank?” Bolan asked.

The Falcon regarded the Executioner frostily. “Your nearest equivalent would be staff sergeant.”

“Well, Staff Sergeant,” Bolan said with a shrug, “you’re free to go.”

The staff sergeant blinked.

Onopkov loomed over Bolan. “That is it? You let them go?”

Bolan ignored him. “Lucky, let each have two canteens back and their packs with rations and shelter halves.”

Lkhümbengarav looked close to open revolt. Bolan didn’t blink. “That’s an order.”

He was fairly certain this was the first time he had been sworn at in Mongolian, but the men went to the pile of Chinese supplies and broke out rations.

Ching shook his head. “You are making a terrible mistake,” he said bitterly.

“It’s mine to make,” Bolan replied.

Ceallach looked back and forth between the prisoners and Bolan. The Brit’s left arm was in a slightly bloody sling. He had confiscated the staff sergeant’s Type 80 machine pistol. The weapon hung loose in his hand. “Striker?”

“Scotty?”

“Not that I’m questioning orders.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Ceallach waved the machine pistol at the prisoners. “But they’re elite troops.”

“And?”

“And you let them go? We’re going to have to bloody fight them all over again, aren’t we?”

“That could happen,” Bolan said. “But a deal’s a deal.”

Onopkov drew his pistol.

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