War Drums. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ LYNX HELICOPTER SURGED closer, rotor wash swirling the dust and smoke in eccentric spirals. The pilot stayed high until the explosion faded, then dropped to a position where the scene below could be examined. The truck was a blazing wreck, torn apart by the missile, blackened and skeletal, tires smoldering and sending out black, bitter fumes.

      “Where are they?” The question came over the pilot’s headset from the door gunner.

      “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe the missile blew them into little pieces.”

      The gunner grunted. “I’m sure I saw them jump clear just before it struck.”

      Easing the helicopter down, the pilot cut the power, reaching for the AK on the deck at his feet. “We had better make sure. If we go back and say we think they’re dead, Kerim will make it hard for us.”

      The gunner’s sigh was audible over the headset. “I know.”

      They exited the helicopter and walked to view the wrecked truck.

      “They went out on the far side,” the gunner said, checking his AK again, nervous and hoping it didn’t show.

      The thick smoke from the wrecked truck had laid an opaque curtain across the immediate area, denying them a clear view beyond the vehicle.

      “The blast could still have hit them. Knocked them unconscious.”

      It was a hope; one the pilot was depending on.

      IN THE MIDST OF THE SWIRLING smoke Sharif was slapping at his scorched robe, trying to put out the smoldering fire. In any other situation it might have offered a moment of light relief, but Bolan had picked up the sound of the descending helicopter and knew for certain that the attack was far from over.

      “Ali, the chopper is coming in for landing. They’re still looking for us.”

      The Bedouin snatched up his assault rifle, checking the action to make sure it hadn’t been clogged with dust. “Then I hope they find us.”

      “Go around that way,” Bolan said. “I’m taking the rear of the truck.”

      He moved out quickly, conscious of the helicopter engine winding down now that it was on the ground. He used the smoke as an effective shield, hiding his movements until he was able to determine he was well clear of the demolished truck. As the smoke began to thin out, Bolan moved forward, seeking his targets, and in a few seconds when the hot breeze dispersed the smoke he saw one of two figures turning in his direction, registering Bolan’s presence. The man tried to gain target acquisition, but the Executioner took a swift two-step to one side, crouching slightly as he brought his AK in line, finger already pressuring the light trigger. The assault rifle jacked out its deadly fire, and the other man shuddered as the 7.62 mm slugs struck him in the chest. He fell back, making an attempt to push to his feet. Bolan cut him down with a second burst that ripped into his left side, shattering ribs and spinning the man facedown into the bloody sand.

      More autofire caught Bolan’s attention. It came from the area Sharif would have been approaching. Bolan sprinted around the wrecked truck, eyes searching for the Bedouin. He spotted him moments later. The man was bending over his downed target, taking the man’s weapon from him and removing the magazine. He glanced up at Bolan’s approach.

      “These are not fighters,” he said. “Any Bedu child would defeat these idiots.”

      “I’ll take your word for it, Ali.” Bolan glanced at the helicopter. “Could you guide us to your camp from the air?”

      “You can fly this thing?”

      “I’m no ace, but I can make it stay in the air.”

      Sharif grinned and said dryly, “Then, indeed, Cooper, we will take your Western magic carpet.”

      Telling himself he would have to buy Jack Grimaldi a drink, in fact a couple of drinks for the flying instructions he had given, Bolan settled in the pilot’s seat and went through the routine of adjusting the controls, boosting the idling power up to speed. He watched the instrument panel. His takeoff was steady, with only a little side slipping as he worked the controls.

      “One thing about the desert,” Sharif said. “At least there are no tall buildings in the way.”

      Bolan wasn’t sure whether he was making a joke or passing a genuine comment. He closed his mind to Sharif’s muttering and concentrated on getting the chopper on an even keel.

      “So which way do we go?”

      “Toward those hills,” Sharif said.

      Bolan’s handling of the helicopter settled down within a few minutes. His confidence grew, familiarity allowing him to keep the aircraft on an even keel and maintain height and speed. He promised himself an intensive refresher course once he returned to Stony Man and got Grimaldi on his own. Even Sharif relaxed, ceasing to grip the frame of the seat so tightly. He began to scan the terrain below. Some minutes into the flight he leaned to peer through the side canopy.

      “We are being tracked, Cooper. It looks like one of the trucks from the camp.”

      Bolan took a look. He could clearly see the vehicle following them. The configuration of the truck matched that of the ones at the camp.

      “How far before we reach your people, Ali?”

      “Less than an hour.”

      “We need to deal with that truck. I’m not going to risk leading it right into your camp.”

      “Then send a missile. Like the one that hit our truck.”

      Bolan checked the missile configuration. The readout told him the pod was empty. “No more missiles, Ali.”

      “Can you fly this machine lower? Close enough to bring the machine gun back there into range?”

      “Just make sure you use the harness. I’d hate to lose you now.”

      Sharif clamped a strong hand on Bolan’s shoulder as he clambered out of his seat. “I have faith in you, my friend.”

      “And put the headset on so I can talk to you.”

      While Sharif made his way through to the cabin section Bolan pulled on the pilot’s headset. He began to maneuver the helicopter in a wide circle, intending to come up on the truck’s rear, at the same time losing some height.

      “Cooper? Do you hear me?”

      “Ali, you don’t have to shout. That microphone is sensitive.”

      Sharif lowered his voice. “Is that better? Good. I am ready. The machine gun is loaded and also ready.”

      Bolan leveled off behind the truck. The driver had anticipated what Bolan intended and had started to swing the truck, removing it from a direct line of travel. The soldier heard the door-mounted machine gun as Sharif fired a test burst. His volley fell well short. His second was better, still off target, but closer.

      “Can you not keep this machine steady?” Sharif yelled into the headset.

      Bolan settled the controls СКАЧАТЬ