Pirate Offensive. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ be it,” Lieutenant Fields said, swinging a LAW rocket launcher onto her shoulder.

      Pressing the release button, she extended the collapsible tube to its full length. As the sights popped up, the firing button was revealed. Spreading her legs slightly for a better stance, she aimed for the third floor corner and pressed the button.

      A double volcano of flame and smoke erupted from both ends of the lightweight tube, the back blast extending for a dozen yards across the trawler and out to sea. A sharp stiletto of flame lanced from the front port, and the 66 mm rocket streaked away.

      The rocket punched straight through the bulletproof windows then exploded inside, engulfing the entire third floor in a roiling chemical hell storm.

      “Yee-haw!” shouted Chung as Fields shot a second LAW rocket into the building.

      “Again,” said Narmada. “We need the lab leveled.”

      “Whatever you say, sir.” Chung lifted a Carl Gustav from the open case of launchers on the deck.

      Sliding in a napalm rocket, he hit the ground floor once more, the blast spreading outward from every broken window. The building started to sag, then tilt, wide cracks opening in the stucco siding.

      Lieutenant Fields added two more LAWs into the crumbling foundation. The double blast did the trick, and the entire laboratory complex collapsed inward, throwing up a wild display of bright embers and swirling smoke.

      Fire engines could now be heard, closely followed by the wail of police sirens and ambulances.

      “Send in the tank,” Narmada said, lifting a LAW from the case. “I’ll handle these fools.”

      The front of the modified trawler slammed onto the pristine white beach, and a LAV-25 armored personnel carrier, or APC, rumbled out of the hold and onto dry land. Charging forward, the driver smashed aside the white stone tide wall and everything else in its way.

      When the LAV-25 reached the ruins of the Maxwell laboratory, the driver started moving around the rubble in concentric circles until the armored prow clanged into something very hard. Burning timbers fell away to reveal a squat, armored vault.

      Like a soccer player maneuvering a ball toward the goal, the tank driver pushed into the heavy cube, knocking it out of the growing inferno and bringing it to rest safely on a relatively undamaged patch of parking lot.

      Sirens screaming, three police cars, followed by fire trucks and ambulances, squealed into the parking lot.

      From his position on the trawler, Narmada sent two LAW rockets directly into the cluster of emergency vehicles. Suddenly, the rear of the tank slammed open and out came a group of men wearing fire-resistant suits and driving a small forklift. They had a little trouble getting the safe onto the prongs, but it was finally accomplished, and the steel box was loaded with extreme care into the rear of the APC. The fit was tight, but the intel had been good, and the rear doors closed firmly.

      Chung, Fields and Narmada watched the tank drive back toward the trawler.

      “Keep an eye out for jet fighters from Gitmo,” warned Narmada, swinging up a Sidewinder missile launcher and activating the radar.

      “Gitmo?”

      “Or Miami. They’re both close enough to do a recon.”

      However, the empty sky remained clear as the APC trundled back into the ship, and the landing hatch was cycled back into place. Leaving the harbor, the trawler headed directly out to sea.

      * * *

      SUDDENLY, CHUNG GAVE a cry and staggered backward on deck, his shoulder gushing blood.

      “Impossible!” Fields gasped, squinting into the darkness toward the coastline.

      A second later, wild gunfire erupted onshore, the bright flashes of a small-caliber pistol strobing on the beach. The shots seemed wild, erratic. But another incoming round hit the door to the wheelhouse, and a third zinged off a brass stanchion.

      “Bastard got me,” Chung grunted, slapping a hand on top of the wound. “Filthy stinking islanders...”

      “Did you really expect them not to shoot back?” asked Narmada, sounding almost amused.

      “I thought we’d taken them all out!” Lieutenant Fields shouted.

      Chung, stumbled to a weapons chest, pushing aside a Redeye and a LAW to triumphantly extract a very old four-shot rocket launcher.

      “Clear the deck!” he screamed, then started shooting, not caring if there was anybody behind him to be obliterated by the back blast.

      Soon, a wall of flames spread across the beach, and Chung tossed the rocket launcher overboard with a grunt of satisfaction.

      “Get below and see the doc,” Narmada said, still watching the sky.

      “I’m fine.” Chung winced as his arm moved.

      “No, you’re not, and that was an order, not a request.”

      Scowling darkly, Chung paused, then nodded and started toward the nearest hatchway.

      “Sir...” Lieutenant Fields began.

      “Long story, Lieutenant,” replied Narmada. “Suffice it to say that unless he draws a weapon and points it at me, my personal debt to Chung will never be canceled. Good enough?”

      “Whatever you say, sir.”

      The nameless trawler was just reaching the horizon, the fires on the beach disappearing below the waves, when the night was cut by the loud siren of a Coast Guard cutter streaming in from another Key. Without pause, Narmada and Fields both opened fire, and the cutter vanished.

      Chapter 4

      The Bermuda Triangle, Atlantic Ocean

      It was raining again.

      Not a real storm, or a squall, or even a proper downpour, just a steady, miserable mist that seemed to seep down every collar, dampening clothing and skin. The rebels stayed inside as much as possible, closely watching the radar screen, while Bolan felt compelled to stand on the bow to watch for other vessels.

      Naturally, his crates weren’t the only cargo in the hold—that would look too suspicious, even to amateurs, but he hoped the bait would be irresistible. Despite the fact that the Triangle was a known hot spot for pirates, many rich fools sailed their million-dollar yachts in these dangerous waters to have bragging rights at cocktail parties back home in Manhattan, London or Milan. But not all of them came back alive. Pirates grew rich over the foolishness of people who thought great wealth gave them some sort of protection against the wild animals in the world.

      Sometimes wisdom comes very hard, Bolan noted dourly, wiping the mist from his face. The peaceful governments of the world did what they could to patrol the high seas. But the oceans were vast and the pirates very fast.

      The Constitution was a Canadian ore freighter, massive and heavy, with all of the maneuverability of a sand bar. But the superstructure was strong, and СКАЧАТЬ