Hellfire Crusade

Bolan risked uprooting the M-60 and taking it down from the back. More shots sprayed dirt around the Jeep.

"Here!" Bolan balanced the gun on a smaller stone in front of Da

"I don't think you'll be able to control the gun without a mount," Bolan told Da

"I can keep their heads down," she said.

"You keep your heads down!" Bolan ordered them.

He put on the goggles he had retrieved from the Hog, then began to wind the burnoose around to completely cover his face.

"There's a dust devil building up." His voice was muffled. "And it's going to hit us at any moment. It's the only chance we've got."

"You can't go out there!" protested Da

But Bolan was gone. Da

The heavier particles had formed a low-lying fog rippling across the desert; the lighter dust was boiling up in a twisting mist. The sun was reduced to a molten disk obscured by the thick haze.

Burning-hot granules stung Bolan's skin as he worked his way around the side of the hillock. Some of the sand had penetrated inside his face mask. He could feel it crunching in his teeth. The droning sound was rising in pitch.

He caught only a glimpse of the hilltop between the blasts of wind. Loose stones and grit were being whipped up from the ridge like storm-tossed spray from a wave.

Bolan slipped over the shoulder of the hill. There was a little respite here from the weaker gusts, but it still felt as if the hot breath of hell was blowing over him as he clawed his way through the sand-filled gloom. The revolving currents of broiling air reached a roaring crescendo. Bolan was being pelted with flying gravel, but he paid little attention. He was more concerned with finding the border-patrol detail and taking them out. He had no misgivings about what these desert police would do to the three Americans if they were found.

Bolan did not like the odds, but with the mounting sandstorm he had the element of surprise.

He would strike first.

A lumpy outline just ahead turned out to be two camels crouching, their long necks stretched low on the ground, waiting for the chaotic storm to blow over them. The small bump beyond the animals was the first KDP patrolman. He turned to try to quiet his mount, when he saw the Executioner. His cry dissolved into the shrieking fury of the twister as Bolan's blade found its mark. The second target was crouching with his back to the wind. The Executioner's knife sank deep.

The fury was abating as the devilish column of dust began to drift away. Bolan had only moments left before his cover was literally blown. The KDP captain gave away his position by shouting an order to his comrades. He had found shelter in a small dip near the top of the ridge.

Bolan slid in beside him, stabbing hard with the knife.

It must have glanced off an ammunition belt or something the man was wearing under the shroud of his cloak.

The border cop twisted around, and with a bellow of rage, rushed Bolan.

The big warrior sidestepped and stuck his leg out, tripping his adversary. The man stumbled, impaling himself on Bolan's knife before he had a chance to recover.

The sky was clearing. The twister was moving rapidly northeast. Bolan saw the other three men huddled along the hilltop. He could not hope to reach them unseen.

One of the men glanced over to where the captain had sheltered, awaiting fresh orders, and realized something was terribly wrong. He was shouting a warning to his less vigilant companions when Bolan tossed the grenade. Two men took the full force of it, their mutilated bodies being flung back across the dirt.

The sixth man miraculously escaped unscathed. He jumped up, cursing the sheikh's enemies and started to charge down the hillside, loosing a mad volley from his rifle.

Da

Calmly she kept on firing. The big weapon bucked and shuddered, shredding the lower slope with looping arcs of white-hot death. The last patrolman was halfway down the incline before he was hit once, twice, three times. His knees buckled and he sprawled forward. The dead body skidded headfirst to the bottom. Bolan waved that he was all right. Then it was still, almost eerily quiet. The sudden storm had moved on. But the soldier knew the danger was not yet past.

14

"How much farther do we have to go?" asked Kevin.

His face looked ashen even beneath the pale mask of sandy grime. He had been shaken up by more than the rattling, bumpy ride.

Bolan checked the instruments. "Twelve miles, maybe less."

Each of them was riding alone with his or her own thoughts. That fracas with the police patrol had cost them more valuable time. Bolan was pushing the Hog as fast as he dared, taking his bearings whenever they crossed the higher ground.

They skirted the cracked, crystalline surfaces of the dried-out mineral beds, raced down a wadi, then churned through a patch of looser gravel.

As they climbed out of a dip, Da

Even at this distance three distinct columns of oily smoke were belching up from the direction of the airfield. Bolan nodded to indicate he'd spotted it, too, but said nothing.

He figured Zayoud's men had obviously struck their blow for the Crescent Revolution, but there was no point in alarming the others with speculations as to its outcome. Bolan wondered where Grimaldi was at that moment. The rest of the team involved could be counted on to play their parts, right on the button; it was up to him to stick to the schedule.

Still, the fighting around the airfield must be fierce.

Bolan pushed the pedal hard and the Hog hammered down the track.

The sand was softer here, pitted with pebbles. Other vehicles had come this way before, leaving twin sets of tire ruts to follow. Suddenly the left front end of the Hog sagged, and Bolan fought the wheel as he braked. The dust settled around them.

"We have a blown tire." Bolan jumped out onto the track. The rubber was torn open. "Kevin, grab the jack." Bolan loosened the spare wheel from its mounting. "See if you can find a couple of flat stones, Da

Da

She saw some larger stones that had been smoothed into flattened disks, half buried on the far side of a clear patch of sand. They looked suitable and Da

Fifteen feet away from the track the earth seemed to give way under her. The ground was dry, but Da

The sand, powdery fine, was sucking at her feet.

She stumbled to a halt, unable to make headway.

"Mack! Help me, I'm..." The thought froze in her throat. She was being inexorably dragged under.

"Don't struggle, Da

He dropped the wheel wrench; he had only started to loosen the first nut.

"Chip, can you drive?"

Kevin was staring wide-eyed at Da