War Everlasting. Don Pendleton
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“What would you suggest?”
“You’d have to agree to leave with me,” she said. She waved at his attire, looking him up and down, then said, “Step out of your little comfort zone or whatever it is you’ve got going on here.”
“I’m not really looking for that kind of company.”
“And neither am I. But if you want to fit in, or even if you don’t but you’d like to draw less attention to yourself, there’s another way to do it.”
“Okay,” Bolan said, turning to set his half-finished beer on the bar. “Lead the way.”
As they were walking out, Bolan leaned over and shouted, “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“It’s Maddie Corsack. And yours?”
“Mike Blansky.”
She reached up to her shoulder and Bolan took her hand reflexively, resting it on her shoulder as if they were just a couple leaving. “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Mike Blansky.”
They were a half mile from the bar when it all went to hell.
The vehicle came out of nowhere and nearly smashed into the front of Corsack’s SUV, but Bolan was quicker on the draw and managed to grab the wheel in time to steer them off course. The enemy’s vehicle blasted by in a flash of headlights on metal in a bare miss. Corsack stepped on the brakes, and Bolan released the wheel. He’d have to leave the driving to her because the men who bailed from the enemy vehicle looked too anxious to do their jobs.
Bolan went EVA from the passenger seat before the vehicle had fully stopped, Beretta 93-R in hand. It was the only weapon Shaffernik had been able to return to him without drawing attention. The soldier aligned his sights on the first target and took him with a double-tap to the head. The 9 mm Parabellum rounds punched through the guy’s face and blew out the better part of his skull.
The Executioner had already acquired a second target when the roar of a big engine filled his ears—a two-ton pickup truck ground to a halt between him and his attackers. Bolan looked through the side window as it lowered and found himself staring at the grinning face of Jack Grimaldi.
“It’s about time,” Bolan said with a smile.
“Need a lift?”
“Some bigger firepower would help.”
“Got you covered,” Grimaldi replied before sticking his arm out the window, an Uzi in his left hand.
The Stony Man pilot fired a swarm of 9 mm slugs on full-auto burn as he swept the battle zone. The attackers suddenly realized they were no longer up against a lone gunman. They scattered for cover, but Grimaldi didn’t let up, taking two more of them out of the action without ever having to leave the pickup.
Bolan used the distraction to open the passenger door and reached into the long bag he found on the floor. He came clear with an M16A2E2, the stock retracted, and grinned when he spotted the blued finish of an M203 grenade launcher. Bolan dipped his hand into the bag once more and wrapped it around the smooth, oblong shape of a 40 mm grenade. He loaded it, braced the weapon across the hood of the truck, flipped the leaf sight into acquisition on the enemy vehicle and took aim. They never knew what hit them. The high-explosive grenade blew on contact with enough force to shatter the engine into dozens of pieces and lift the front end off the ground. Bolan and Grimaldi ducked as deadly, superheated missiles of shrapnel whistled through the air. The acrid sting of spent explosives assailed their nostrils.
As the remnants of the blast died down, Bolan risked a look around the front of the truck. No more enemy gunners remained to shoot at him. “Thanks, Jack,” Bolan said simply.
“Don’t mention it.”
Maddie Corsack finally climbed from the relative safety of her SUV and stared at the Executioner with interest.
Her reaction surprised Bolan. He would have expected to see shock on her face, perhaps even horror at watching him eliminate their attackers in such a violent manner. Yet she only appeared to watch him with an expression of mixed surprise and mild interest.
“I knew there was more to you than met the eye,” Corsack finally said.
“Looks like you were right,” Bolan replied. He gestured toward Grimaldi, who’d joined them near the hood of the pickup. “That’s Jack.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said with a nod in his direction.
She turned her full attention to Bolan. “Are you with the government?”
“Sort of.”
“You’re here about the plane that went down,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Guess there’d be little point in denying that now.”
“You’re right. And before you try to deny it, I know about the—”
“I hate to interrupt,” Grimaldi told them, “but shouldn’t we maybe beat feet out of here before the cops show up? I mean, you just got out of one scrape with them, Sarge. I don’t think we can afford another one right now.”
Bolan nodded and looked at Corsack. “Is there some place we can go that won’t draw attention?”
“That would depend,” she said. “You got any wings?”
Grimaldi smiled. “Funny you should ask.”
* * *
WITHIN AN HOUR, Grimaldi had Bolan and Corsack off Unalaska and headed to the port city of Adak.
“So, maybe you should explain this to me,” Bolan suggested.
“What’s to explain?” Corsack asked, batting her eyelashes.
“I don’t do coy, lady.” Bolan frowned. “You picked me out of a crowd. You had me pegged as out of place right off, and that’s not something that would be easy for anyone to do who didn’t have a real practiced eye. And you seem to know a lot more about what’s going on around here than even military officials. So spill.”
“I’m not with them, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
Bolan shrugged. “I never suggested anything. But you have to admit that I’m right.”
“You’re right,” Corsack said. “Okay, I’ll level with you. Something really strange has been going on in Adak for the past year. And let’s just say your assessment of my insider knowledge of the military and what’s been happening is correct. Although I promise you I didn’t come by my information dishonestly. Or at least I didn’t come by it with the intent to use it for harm. Just the opposite, in fact.”
“That much I can believe,” Bolan observed. “But I inferred from your earlier remarks about the plane that disappeared that you were taking this a bit personally.”
“My husband was killed in the line of duty.” Corsack took a long pull from the beer Bolan had given her, just one of the few refreshments stocked in the jet’s onboard refrigerator unit. “He was a signals officer at Elmendorf-Richardson.”
“How long ago?”
“Not long enough.” Her eyes glistened. “Damn it, but I miss him.”
Bolan cleared his throat. He understood, although he didn’t say it. He knew it didn’t make a bit of difference if he understood or not, because it didn’t assuage the grief and hurt. The men and women of America sacrificed a lot to serve in the military, especially in this day and age, and Bolan felt they weren’t appreciated nearly as much for their sacrifices as they should have been. “Okay, here’s the straight story,” Bolan said. “I work for the US government in an unofficial capacity. Call me a freelancer with connections.”
“The