Читать книгу Nuclear Storm - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

Bullets punched holes in the fender near Bolan’s head.

He rolled to the passenger side of the pickup just as the sniper rifle’s report boomed again and another round tore through the cargo bed on the driver’s side. The flames from the engine would soon engulf the entire truck or reach the gas tank. Neither scenario made for a case to stay put.

Sticking his gun up over the edge of the bed, Bolan cranked off several 3-round bursts, then heaved himself over the side. Falling to the ground, he scooted under the truck, hoping to pick off at least one of the shooters before the sniper got lucky.

He scanned the forest, looking for movement, and caught a flash of fire from the tree line about twenty yards behind the truck.

Then a whoosh came from behind him and the engine burst with a spray of fluid. The flames dimmed for a moment, then flared up with renewed intensity. Bolan felt his feet and legs growing hotter each second. He shut all that out, and narrowed his world to the dot inside the circle at the end of the gun.

Amid the chaos, the Executioner inhaled through his nose, let the air escape through his mouth and squeezed the trigger.