Читать книгу Blind Justice - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

Slugs slapped the ground around Bolan

He kept moving, increasing his pace. Bullets zipped into the grass behind him, a couple even closer than the first volley—and then he was surrounded by trees. The trunks and low branches shielded him as shots slammed into the timber, chewing bark and ripping at the foliage.

Overhead, the dark bulk of the hovering helicopter appeared. The men on the ground were waving it away, but the pilot ignored their pleas.

Bolan shouldered the MP-5, tracked the ground team and gave them a couple of short bursts—two went down, three others scattered.

As the chopper swung in toward the edge of the forest, Bolan edged around a tree, steadied his aim and let go with a long burst, concentrating on the helicopter’s engine. The rounds hammered at the aluminum panels, punching ragged holes in the metal, as the Executioner held his finger on the trigger and cleared the magazine.

The chopper’s power faltered, the smooth beating becoming ragged.

Bolan turned and ran deeper into the forest. The advantage was his, but he knew it wouldn’t last. There were still the surviving members of the ground team, plus however many had been in the helicopter—an unknown figure at the moment.

The Executioner had a feeling that wouldn’t remain a mystery for long.

Game on.