Читать книгу Cartel Clash - Don Pendleton - Страница 2

The man behind the machine gun hadn’t known what to expect, but it most certainly wasn’t to have a friendly gun turned on him. Bolan raked the Jeep from front to back, bullets punching into the hood and windshield. The driver jerked back, his chest and head pulverized by the continuous blast of automatic fire.

The Jeep swerved and ran on for yards before the engine stalled and it rattled to a stop. The Executioner hammered at it until the gas tank’s contents caught a spark and erupted in a boiling surge of flame.

The surviving traffickers had begun to pull themselves together for a concerted rush at Bolan’s vehicle, but the Executioner swung the barrel of his weapon back on line and inflicted more damage. Under his relentless fire, the men went down hard, bodies bloodied and torn.

Bolan’s finger released the trigger and the chatter of the machine gun ceased. All that remained was the moaning of the wounded. The dead held their peace.

The Executioner knew the clock was ticking. Though the numbers were still falling, he knew without a shadow of doubt there would be others.

How long he might hold them back was anyone’s guess.