Ballistic Force(101)

“Back away!” Cook shouted to his men as he fled to the side of the road. The commandos on the ground followed suit. Their colleagues up in the trees stayed put, but from their lofty positions they were unable to see the enemy, much less fire at him. That was left to Bolan.

The Executioner aimed his carbine and fired at the underside of the transporter, then sprang forward, bolting onto the road and taking cover behind the lead jeep. Enemy fire plinked off the vehicle’s metal hide and tore up the earth around it. Bolan cautiously dropped lower behind the jeep, finally settling onto his stomach and peering past the underside of the chassis. At first he could barely make out the transporter, but once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw not only the massive hauler but also the silhouettes of at least three men positioned directly beneath it. Bolan wasn’t sure how they’d gotten there. Thinking back, he couldn’t remember seeing anyone riding outside the transporter before the ambush. And even if they had been, how could they have avoided the Rangers’ sniper fire?

Then, moments later, he saw a pair of legs drop into view beneath the transporter, and soon yet another enemy gunman had joined the others, who continued to fire at the Army Rangers on either side of the road.

Bolan was mystified by what he was watching. It was as if the missile aboard the transporter had sprung a leak, only instead of fluid it was armed men that were dripping to the ground. It made no sense, and yet as Bolan watched, still another Korean soldier lowered himself to the ground. Bolan knew that he was the only one who could see what was happening, and, given his vantage point, for the moment he was the only one that could do anything about it.

Rising to his knees, Bolan reached for his munitions belt and unfastened the stun grenade. He waited out another round of gunfire aimed his way, then twigged the pin and stood long enough to heave the grenade at the missile transporter. The projectile landed just short of the rolling behemoth, then rolled beneath the elevated chassis.

Even before the grenade discharged, Bolan was circling the jeep and clawing at his belt for the tear-gas canister. He activated the second grenade, then bowled it beneath the transporter before stepping back and yanking the slain driver out from behind the jeep’s steering wheel. He took the man’s place and quickly turned over the engine.

“Hold your fire!” he shouted to the Rangers as he put the jeep into gear. He had to pull ahead a good twenty yards before he could turn the vehicle and aim its headlights back at the missile transporter. Once he’d managed it, Bolan saw, to his amazement, at least a dozen uniformed Korean soldiers evacuating the underside of the larger vehicle, hacking and wheezing. Some were armed and quickly fell to Ranger gunfire, but the others were quick to put their hands atop their heads in surrender. Some of the gas wafted up from beneath the transporter, and soon the Rangers in the trees were practically falling to the ground in their haste to escape the stinging cloud. When the breeze shifted, carrying the tear gas Bolan’s way, he was forced to shift into neutral and abandon the jeep. Coughing, eyes stinging, he staggered toward the side of the road. Cook stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to cover. The fight had gone out of the Koreans, however, and neither Cook nor Bolan had to concern themselves about being shot at any further.

“Quick thinking,” Cook said once he was sure the coast was clear. “You saved our bacon.”

Bolan ignored the tribute. “This is surreal,” he wheezed, blinking the tears from his eyes.

“No shit,” Cook said. “I still can’t figure it out.”

As the tear gas began to dissipate in the breeze, the Rangers cautiously emerged from cover and approached the surviving Koreans, ordering them to drop to their knees and to keep their hands on their heads. As the prisoners were being surrounded and quickly stripped of their weapons, Cook and Bolan helped a few other commandos check on casualties. In all, nine Koreans had been slain along with three Americans. Two Rangers were wounded, neither severely.

One of the Koreans was already willing to barter for preferential treatment. Coughing, he babbled at the Rangers, asking if any of them understood Korean. One of Cook’s men grabbed the soldier by the collar and dragged him away from the others. After a quick interrogation, the commando tracked Cook down and divulged the reason why the Koreans had nearly managed to wrangle out of the ambush.

“The missile’s a dummy,” he reported. “Apparently it’s one of the ones they put on parade in Pyongyang during military rallies. It’s hollow inside, which is where everybody was hiding when we first hit them.”