Finally reaching the entrance to the mall, Bolan bolted out of the ditch and raced to the Hummer. Crouching in the lee side of the rented vehicle, Bolan saw Glenn slumped over the steering wheel as if merely asleep. But the deathly pallor of the man told the truth of the matter.
Carefully opening the passenger’s-side door, Bolan reached past the corpse to pop open the rear door, and then he quickly circled the vehicle and eased up the lid. Neatly laid out in an open row of boxes were medical supplies, weapons, ammunition and grenades.
Trying to ignore the continuous series of explosions in the background, Bolan grabbed a spare Beretta and removed the boxes of small arms to uncover a large canvas bag, the sort used to store tents.
Hauling it out, Bolan dragged it down into the drainage ditch. Yanking open the bag, he withdrew an M16 assault rifle, an M79 grenade launcher, a Neostead shotgun and a LAW rocket launcher.
The Light Antitank Weapon was an old friend of Bolan’s, and had been with him in more firefights than he cared to recall. However, the nearly obsolete weapon did not fire a heat-seeking missile, have a GPS minicomputer or even use a wire-guidance system. It operated on pure marksmanship. Aim and shoot.
As Bolan fully extended the tube, the sights popped up and the launch button was revealed. Resting the LAW on the grass, Bolan drew the Beretta and emptied it toward the distant gunship. Immediately, the Black Hawk banked sharply and charged in his direction.
Standing still, Bolan did nothing.
Moving low and fast, the helicopter streaked across the parking lot. Then the chain gun cut loose, a maelstrom of 30 mm rounds exploding all around the stationary man.
Forcing himself to breathe slowly, Bolan still did nothing. The 30 mm rounds kept missing him, although he was hit several times by shrapnel and ricochets.
Suddenly the Hydra rocket pod erupted into life, the 70 mm rockets flashing out to streak past Bolan so closely that he felt the breeze of their passage and their powerful detonations somewhere in the field behind. His stomach tightened at the loud buffeting. Any sane man would run, but war was a kind of madness, and Bolan stood his ground, willing to die if it meant an end to Castle.
Come on, just a little closer, you murdering bastard....
More rockets streaked away, and the chain gun chattered again, the thundering maelstrom of heavy ordnance gradually starting to target the lone man insanely standing in the weeds. Then, just for a moment, Johnson flew straight and level.
Quickly raising the LAW, Bolan rested it on a shoulder, aimed and pressed the launch button. A volcano of boiling smoke and flames erupted from both ends of the tube, and the 66 mm rocket flashed away almost too fast to track by sight.
As the rocket streaked upward, the aircraft banked hard to the right. But it was too little, too late. The antitank rocket slammed directly into the hull, punching through and detonating inside the helicopter.
In a deafening explosion, the Black Hawk was blown apart, fiery debris spreading far and wide. The shattered blades spun off randomly, and a cloud of debris came straight for Bolan.
With a curse, he hit the ground and heard the chopper’s remnants impact the pavement. The resulting fireball seemed to fill the world, but eventually it started to die away.
Stiffly rising from the ground, Bolan advanced, stepping over twisted pieces of metal and sizzling electronics equipment. Assorted small twinges told Bolan that he had caught more of the shrapnel than expected, but none of it felt serious, his body armor managing to stop most of the damage.
The billowing clouds of smoke were dense and the ground treacherous with loose debris, but Bolan made it to the crash site without incident. What little remained of the Black Hawk lay at the bottom of a shallow crater. Several of the larger pieces were on fire, and the air reeked of spilled aviation fuel.
“D-damn...y-you...”
Jerking up his head, Bolan was startled to see Johnson approaching. The giant was a mess; his clothing covered with fresh blood, half of his face covered with raw blisters. He was also cradling a Thompson machine gun equipped with a laser spotter.
As the red dot of a laser started shakily crawling up his shirt, Bolan drew both of his guns and fired repeatedly.
A line of 9 mm rounds flattened across the body armor of the giant until slamming the Thompson out of his grasp, breaking several fingers in the process. As the Desert Eagle spoke, one of the most dangerous men in America died in a ghastly explosion of teeth and brains.
Holstering the smoking weapons, Bolan checked the corpse for any papers and found a pair of slim booklets hidden under the body armor. The first contained a list of the clients of Castle; names and addresses, along with bought-and-paid-for associates. The other was a deposit book for a Swiss bank.
Leaving the parking lot, Bolan easily avoided the police roadblocks and returned to the airfield.
* * *
DRINKING COFFEE FROM a steaming thermos, Grimaldi was sitting in a canvas chair outside the private hangar. A golf bag was nearby, and Bolan knew it contained a M16/M203 assault rifle.
“Sarge!” Grimaldi said, lowering the cup. “So is he dead, or were you killed?”
“Dead and buried,” Bolan said, too tired to smile.
“Anybody else make it?”
“Sadly, no. Is there any fuel in the Hercules?”
“She’s topped off and ready to go. Where to next?”
“Tarrytown, New York,” Bolan said, heading inside the hangar. “And then Washington. There’s a book Hal needs to read and a lot of escaped felons to recapture....”
* * * * *
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First edition February 2014
ISBN-13: 9781460325957
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Nick Pollotta for his contribution to this work.
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