Читать книгу Assassin's Tripwire - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

Bolan froze. His nostrils flared.

The smell was unmistakable. It was human body odor, and if he was smelling that, it could only mean one thing.

There were enemy soldiers right here, right now.

Bolan ripped his knife free and slammed the blade into the dirt next to his knee. A scream welled up and blood darkened the arid soil. Bolan left his knife where it was lodged and threw himself into a forward roll.

The ground erupted around him. Half a dozen soldiers, concealed in shallow grave-like depressions, popped up all around him. The soldiers pushed themselves to their feet, their weapons and web gear trailing plumes of dirt. Weapon-mounted lights cast hazy beams in the dusty air.

Bolan’s suppressed Beretta machine-pistol was already in his fist. He pivoted on one knee, tracking the weapon lights.

The Beretta coughed out 3-round bursts as the Executioner tapped out a Morse code of death on the trigger.