Meltdown te-97

by Don Pendleton

  The Russian was up in an instant.

  Bolan heard the rumble before he noticed the hole opening in the earth in front of him. He dived to one side just as a deep chasm opened in the snow. The rushing torrent underground had been too much for the tunnel walls. Weakened by the huge volume of superheated steam and water, they had given way under the intense pressure. Gnawing its way to the surface, the water had begun to spread out under the whole area, drenching the earth with its poisons.

  While Bolan watched helplessly, Glinkov climbed into the chopper. The Executioner cursed. The man was getting away. He fired twice. The first slug bounced harmlessly off the chopper's fuselage, the second flattened against the bulletproof glass of the cockpit.

  Eli and Rachel had caught up to him. Eli hit the ground, hauling Rachel down with him. The chopper's engine roared as its gun pods rotated, seeking them out. There was a burst of fire, and the earth exploded around the three warriors.

  "Holy shit," Eli whispered when the firing stopped. "What the hell is that?"

  "That's a 30 mm cannon," Bolan informed him. "Three barrels and remote controlled."

  "Damn. We're in for it now."

  "We can't let him get away," Rachel cried. "Anybody got an idea?"

  Another surge of cannon fire tore into the earth. The three fighters hugged the ground, trying to burrow into the snow. Just to their left, the sound of the rushing flood grew louder. The hole was beginning to widen. "We can't stay here," Bolan shouted above the roaring water.

  "Why the hell isn't he taking off?" Eli asked.

  The shadows in the cockpit were stationary for a moment, then changed places. The chopper lifted off sluggishly. Glinkov was inexperienced, at least with the Cobra. At a height of fifty feet, the chopper spun on its axis. Bolan stood helplessly. But the helicopter wasn't going anywhere. With a roar, it loosened a salvo of rockets. The three warriors on the ground watched as the missiles crashed into the containment building near its curved peak. The roar was deafening.

  The top of the building disappeared in a shower of flame and smoke. The ground trembled. But the concrete held. Four feet thick and reinforced with steel, it was built to withstand incredible stress. The machine wobbled under Glinkov's uncertain hand. Again the chopper belched fire, and a second cluster of rockets flew toward the building. But this time the pilot's shaky control was costly. The cluster of rockets sailed past the containment building. They vanished into the trees and exploded harmlessly against the mountainside.

  The Cobra descended abruptly. As it touched down, the cockpit door slid open. There was the distant sound of an argument, barely audible over the roar of the chopper's engine. A second later, there was a muffled gunshot, and Peter Achison tumbled out into the snow.

  The chopper's engine surged again, the rotor spinning faster and faster. The machine wobbled slightly, lifted off and bounced down hard. In an instant, Eli was on his feet. He tossed a pair of grenades to Bolan. "I'm going to draw his fire. How's your arm, Mack?"

  "Eli, don't be an idiot," Rachel said. She jumped to her feet and grabbed Cohen by the arm.

  He shook her off and ran toward the chopper. At first Glinkov didn't see him. Eli was counting on the Russian having his hands full controlling the chopper's flight. He dodged back and forth like a halfback in broken field.

  Charging straight ahead, Eli tried to draw attention to himself. Bolan saw the cannon turret swivel and leaped to his feet. Behind him, Rachel was screaming over the roar of the rushing water. The turret swiveled again, drawing a bead on the running man. Bolan plunged on behind him. For a moment the chopper wavered, then lifted off the ground.

  It hovered in the air, wobbling like a dead puppet on its last string. The turret swiveled again, this time seeking Bolan. Glinkov seemed uncertain of himself. Cohen was closer, but he knew Bolan was the bigger threat. The first burst of cannon fire passed harmlessly over Eli's head. It plowed the earth between the two running men. Cohen rushed on. His Ingram was spitting at the chopper, but the slugs bounced off harmlessly. The air was full of the chopper's roar.

  Then, getting control of the machine, Glinkov rose higher. Fifteen feet in the air now, and rising. Eli ran right under it, and out of range of the deadly cannons. Glinkov would have to move to find him again. The chopper slipped sideways, and Eli was back in the open. He stood motionless, fighting to get another clip in his Ingram. When the gun was reloaded, he backed away, trying to get an angle of fire that would let him chew at the chopper engine's air intakes. The cannon turret swiveled again, and Eli began to fire. The cannon barked, and hellfire rained all around Cohen's figure. This time Glinkov didn't miss. For a second everything stopped. Then Bolan heard Rachel's scream over the noise of the engine.

  Pulling the pin on his first grenade, Bolan chucked the M-56 in an arc. It bounced off the fuselage just in front of the air intake and fell into the snow.

  Bolan hit the deck as the grenade went off, sending razor-sharp steel fragments whizzing overhead. Glinkov banked the chopper slightly to the left, and Bolan was on his feet. The turret swiveled as the Russian tried to draw a bead on the man below. Bolan pulled the second pin and sprinted straight at the chopper.

  The angle was too tight for effective control of the cannon turret, and Glinkov tried to raise the chopper. Bolan let go of the second M-56 as the helicopter pitched forward and roared over him. The grenade sailed just over the lip of the intake, and the Cobra surged ahead. Bolan dropped down and dug into the snowy crust. The grenade went off, and the chopper pitched wildly to one side. The fuselage burst into flame. The Cobra yawed and staggered. The entire area was bathed in light from the burning fuel.

  Its engine mangled, the rotor shaft seized and one blade snapped off. The chopper fell like a stone.

  Its fuel tank exploded as its nose tipped forward. The ruined machine was consumed in flame for an instant and then fell into the churning maelstrom of radioactive waste. The hiss of the extinguished flame was applause to Bolan's ear. Bolan sprinted to Achison and rolled him over. There was a jagged exit hole where his forehead had been.

  Splinters of bone stuck out at odd angles. The gore oozing from the ruined skull had already stained the snow in a small circle around the dead man. Robert Hanley would never know it, but his account had just been closed. Turning back toward the plant, Bolan stood motionless for a long moment.

  He didn't want to face Rachel. Eli was dead, he knew. There was no way in hell he could have survived the burst of cannon fire that took him down. Rachel was bent over her brother's body.

  His head was cradled in her arms, and she was rocking back and forth. She crooned softly, as if to a child.

  Bolan knelt beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder. She turned her face toward him for a moment but said nothing. Her face was streaked with blood and tears. Her lips moved spasmodically for an instant, as if she wanted to speak. But when the words didn't come, she turned back to her brother, bending low over the motionless body, and kissed him softly on the forehead.

  "Please, go away," she whispered.

  Bolan knew he had no choice.

  Epilogue

  Thunder Mountain was down, but not out. The extensive damage would take years to repair. The cleanup years more. But the Hudson had been spared, thanks to guts and quick thinking on the part of Stan Robbins. Matt Stevens was appointed to a special Congressional panel on nuclear power security. He had lived through hell and was better able than anyone else to advise on how a recurrence might be prevented. For Mack Bolan, though, it was another battle in the endless war. But a special battle. Thunder Mountain would haunt him. There were times when he would wake in the night, the sound of a surging flood filling his ears.

  It had been close. Closer than he cared to think about. But the image that would stay with him the longest was the one he could bear the least. Rachel Peres, and the empty look in her cold eyes as she glanced away from Eli's lifeless form lying there in the cold snow. For them, the battle would never be over. Never mind the wa
r. And Rachel Peres? She had gone back to Israel. She thought Mossad was something she wanted to get away from. It was a part of her past.

  The contract assignment for the CIA was to be her last job. Until that night. There in the darkness, she came to understand that a real warrior doesn't walk away from a war. War doesn't let go that easily, and the warrior doesn't quit while there's something worth fighting for.

  And if Mack Bolan knew anything at all, he knew that there would always be something worth fighting for. And he knew that somebody had to stand up and lead the battle. Somebody had to draw the line.

  Somebody had to say "enough." And most of all, Mack Bolan knew, even if no one else did, that he would be that person. As often as he had to. Until the war was over. Or until he stopped breathing.

  FB2 document info

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  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 2005-01-05

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