Full Blast. Don Pendleton

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      PROLOGUE

      Ho’s Island, North Korea

      “Did I hear that right?” Rafael Encizo asked.

      David McCarter pushed to his feet.

      “Yes. You heard it right. It sounds as if our friend Khariza has just gone nuclear.”

      “Can we discuss this later?” Gary Manning suggested. “I have a feeling company is on the way.”

      McCarter raised his head and listened, picking up the approaching sound. He heard voices, too, shouting orders back and forth.

      “Back off,” he said.

      Covering one another, they retreated, moving back toward their entry point.

      Rafael Encizo helped himself to additional magazines for the Kalashnikovs they had acquired, handing out others to McCarter and Manning.

      “Here they bloody well come,” McCarter announced.

      The distant sound became movement, dark shapes flitting in between the packing cases and pallets of merchandise. Light glanced off weapons. The clatter of autofire sounded. Bullets thudded into boxes. Wood splinters sprayed the air. Some zipped dangerously close to the Phoenix Force.

      McCarter paused to pull the pin on a grenade. He hurled the bomb in the general direction of the advancing hostiles. The explosion echoed within the confines of the building, the flash showing the men of Phoenix Force there were approximately eight armed pursuers. The grenade took out one man, who went down screaming, arms flailing as he fell.

      Encizo moved into view, a rocket launcher, armed and ready, over his shoulder. He swung the muzzle of the weapon toward the advancing hostiles and pulled the trigger. The missile burst from the tube, trailing a tail of flame. It streaked across the interior and struck a heavy steel-support girder. The explosion sheered the girder, the blast deafening within the confines of the building. Metal creaked and groaned overhead as the girder fell away.

      “Hit them again,” McCarter ordered.

      Manning had lifted another launcher from its box. He swung it to his shoulder and fired, sending the missile in the same direction as Encizo’s. The explosion spread its deadly effect across a wide area, scattering the Korean hostiles in bloody heaps.

      “We got any more of those?” McCarter asked.

      “Here,” Encizo said.

      “Lay one on those bloody M-1983s.”

      Encizo followed through, the rocket launcher drilling the missile at the metal pallet holding the heavy machine guns. The damage left the 14.5 mm quads twisted and out of commission.

      In the lull that followed, Phoenix Force backed away, still armed with the Kalashnikovs they had acquired from the weapons supply. They helped themselves to more of the grenades.

      Manning opened the door and pushed it wide. From where he was standing he could see their plane. He checked out the immediate area and saw no one. The big Canadian knew how quickly that situation could change.

      “Let’s go,” he said over his shoulder.

      As the others followed, Manning turned and headed for the parked vehicles they had spotted on the way in. The closest was one of the Jeep-type utilities. Manning leaned in and scanned the layout. He dropped onto the driver’s seat and flicked the ignition switch. He jammed his foot on the floor starter. The engine turned over and caught. He pushed the gas pedal down and the engine roared. Manning felt the Jeep sway as McCarter and Encizo clambered in behind him.

      The Brit clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, mate, our plane’s waiting.”

      Manning put the vehicle into first gear and released the handbrake. He stepped on the gas and let out the clutch. The Jeep lurched forward, picking up speed with surprising ease. The ride was hard. The vehicle wasn’t fitted with very sophisticated suspension, and every bump and dip in the ground was transmitted through to the passengers. That, plus the still rising wind, made for an uncomfortable ride.

      Manning swung the Jeep in under the main wing, turning it so the vehicle stood sideways-on, providing a degree of cover.

      Smoke was rising in thick columns from the holes in the weakened roof of the building they had just evacuated, and armed hardmen were starting to appear.

      “Keep them busy,” McCarter yelled as he jumped from the Jeep and headed for the plane.

      The side hatch of the Anatov An-26 was open and the Briton swung himself up into the body of the aircraft. He made his way along the aisle toward the cockpit and had almost reached it when the door swung open and the pilot charged through.

      The Chinese was about McCarter’s height, broad and heavy. He slammed into the Briton, knocking himself back a couple of feet. The impact also sent McCarter crashing into the seats close to him. He fell back, losing his grip on the assault rifle as he sprawled across the seats. The pilot followed him, large hands reaching out to grab hold of his adversary’s throat. McCarter rolled off the seats, landing on his hands and knees. The pilot swung around and made another lunge at McCarter, bending over him. The Briton dropped, turned on his back and swung up his right foot. The sole of his boot caught the pilot under the chin, snapping his head back with enough force to break bone. The pilot let out a strangled yell.

      McCarter, pushing upright and avoiding the pilot’s lunging blows, grabbed hold of the man’s thick black hair. He yanked the pilot off balance, then pulled the man’s head down, hard, onto his rising knee. The blow was brutal, caving in the front of the pilot’s face, shattering bone and splitting flesh. Dazed and in pain, blood streaming down his face, the pilot tried to hit back, but McCarter had neither the time nor the inclination to continue. He leaned in close, encircled the pilot’s neck with his right arm, and put on the pressure, twisting hard. He felt the neck snap. The Chinese went limp in his grip. The Phoenix Force leader let the man drop to the deck. Snatching up his rifle, McCarter pushed through the door into the cockpit. He dropped into the pilot’s seat and began the startup procedure.

      MANNING HEARD the first of the plane’s twin turboprop engines start to turn, coughing as it spit out thick clouds of smoke from the exhaust vents.

      “Doesn’t he love waiting till the last second,” the Canadian muttered.

      “They don’t,” Encizo said.

      He was watching the tight group of armed men moving in their direction. The North Koreans were carrying assault rifles, and they started to fire once they were in range. The first shots fell short. The following volley was closer, some of the СКАЧАТЬ