Ballistic Force(100)

“Okay, we’re set,” Cook whispered. “See you when the dust settles.”

Bolan nodded, then moved on to the far side of the road. Cook, meanwhile, backtracked and dropped to his stomach behind the trunk of a fallen tree set five yards from the roadway.

Crouched behind one of the standing oaks, Bolan waited and listened. At first he was aware of only an eerie, deathly silence, but as the seconds ticked by he detected a number of sounds: scattered chirping up in the higher branches of the trees, the faint rustling of leaves in the predawn breeze, the far-off pecking of a woodpecker. Now and then he could also hear a shuffling on the ground, presumably the sound of commandos shifting position.

Less than two minutes later, Bolan finally heard the mechanical drone of the convoy. The sound gradually increased and soon he could see headlights probing the roadway. Finally the lead jeep appeared, traveling a good twenty yards ahead of the missile transporter. A second jeep brought up the rear, following closely behind the transporter. The tops were off both jeeps and as the vehicles moved closer, Bolan did a quick head count. There were three men in the front vehicle, four in the other. He couldn’t be certain, but from where he was crouched it looked as if the second jeep was tricked-up with a rear-mounted .50-caliber machine gun. He figured all the men were armed, as well, but they showed no sign of being aware that they were heading into an ambush.

It had been a while since Bolan had seen a missile transporter, and as the vehicle rolled into full view, he couldn’t help but marvel at its size. It was more massive than a semi-truck, and its thirty-two wheels—four attached to each of eight separate axles—were almost cartoonishly large. The road was barely wide enough for the vehicle and Bolan wondered how it was able to negotiate some of the turns it undoubtedly had had to make while lumbering its way through the forest.

As the convoy closed in, Bolan shifted slightly and raised his carbine to his shoulder. He drew bead on driver of the lead jeep and tracked him as he approached the spot where Cook had planted the explosives.

“Three,” he murmured to himself, index finger curled around the trigger of his M16. “Two…one…”

There was a sudden explosion and the ground trembled slightly beneath Bolan as Cook detonated the charge set ten yards ahead of the lead jeep. The driver was applying the brakes when Bolan pulled the trigger. The front windshield shattered as the Executioner’s round sought out its target.

It turned out that one of the commandos in the trees had been gunning for the driver, as well, and the man jerked in place behind the wheel as both bullets struck him simultaneously. He slumped over the steering wheel, his limp feet slipping off the clutch and accelerator. The jeep lurched forward a few feet before the engine stalled. By then the man riding shotgun had taken a shot to the head and the soldier in back had been felled, as well.

The sound of more gunfire and more shattering glass continued and quickly drowned out the echoing the din of the explosion. With deadly precision, the drivers of the other two vehicles were brought down by sniper fire, and although a soldier in the rear jeep managed to swivel the machine gun into play, he, too, fell victim to a fusillade before he could return fire. In a matter of seconds, it was all over. The rattle of carbines ceased, and though both the transporter and the second jeep continued to idle, with their drivers slain, the vehicles weren’t going anywhere.

Bolan stared hard through the darkness, but he saw no survivors. Still, he kept his M-16 at the ready as he rose from a crouch and stepped onto the roadway. One by one, Cook and the other Rangers emerged from cover, as well, and approached the ill-fated convoy.

“Good work, men,” Cook called. “Now we just—”

Cook fell silent when he was interrupted by a sudden burst of gunfire. One of the Rangers to his immediate left let out a pained yell as he slumped to the ground and another commando several yards away similarly toppled over.

“What the hell?” Bolan scrambled away from the road. More gunfire sounded and bark flew as rounds from the unseen enemy chewed at the tree he’d sought cover behind.

Baffled by the turn of events, the Executioner moved to other side of the tree and peered back at the convoy, trying to trace the trajectory of the shots still being fired at him and the Rangers. He heard the cry of another wounded commando, then, turning quickly, he spotted the telltale discharge from a rifle being fired from beneath the missile transporter. And from the sound of it, the concealed rifleman wasn’t alone. It seemed as if there were at least two other gunmen using the oversize tires for cover as they continued to snipe at their ambushers.