War Drums

“Go around that way,” Bolan said. “I’m taking the rear of the truck.”

He moved out quickly, conscious of the helicopter engine winding down now that it was on the ground. He used the smoke as an effective shield, hiding his movements until he was able to determine he was well clear of the demolished truck. As the smoke began to thin out, Bolan moved forward, seeking his targets, and in a few seconds when the hot breeze dispersed the smoke he saw one of two figures turning in his direction, registering Bolan’s presence. The man tried to gain target acquisition, but the Executioner took a swift two-step to one side, crouching slightly as he brought his AK in line, finger already pressuring the light trigger. The assault rifle jacked out its deadly fire, and the other man shuddered as the 7.62 mm slugs struck him in the chest. He fell back, making an attempt to push to his feet. Bolan cut him down with a second burst that ripped into his left side, shattering ribs and spinning the man facedown into the bloody sand.

More autofire caught Bolan’s attention. It came from the area Sharif would have been approaching. Bolan sprinted around the wrecked truck, eyes searching for the Bedouin. He spotted him moments later. The man was bending over his downed target, taking the man’s weapon from him and removing the magazine. He glanced up at Bolan’s approach.

“These are not fighters,” he said. “Any Bedu child would defeat these idiots.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Ali.” Bolan glanced at the helicopter. “Could you guide us to your camp from the air?”

“You can fly this thing?”

“I’m no ace, but I can make it stay in the air.”

Sharif grinned and said dryly, “Then, indeed, Cooper, we will take your Western magic carpet.”

Telling himself he would have to buy Jack Grimaldi a drink, in fact a couple of drinks for the flying instructions he had given, Bolan settled in the pilot’s seat and went through the routine of adjusting the controls, boosting the idling power up to speed. He watched the instrument panel. His takeoff was steady, with only a little side slipping as he worked the controls.

“One thing about the desert,” Sharif said. “At least there are no tall buildings in the way.”

Bolan wasn’t sure whether he was making a joke or passing a genuine comment. He closed his mind to Sharif’s muttering and concentrated on getting the chopper on an even keel.

“So which way do we go?”

“Toward those hills,” Sharif said.

Bolan’s handling of the helicopter settled down within a few minutes. His confidence grew, familiarity allowing him to keep the aircraft on an even keel and maintain height and speed. He promised himself an intensive refresher course once he returned to Stony Man and got Grimaldi on his own. Even Sharif relaxed, ceasing to grip the frame of the seat so tightly. He began to scan the terrain below. Some minutes into the flight he leaned to peer through the side canopy.

“We are being tracked, Cooper. It looks like one of the trucks from the camp.”

Bolan took a look. He could clearly see the vehicle following them. The configuration of the truck matched that of the ones at the camp.

“How far before we reach your people, Ali?”

“Less than an hour.”

“We need to deal with that truck. I’m not going to risk leading it right into your camp.”

“Then send a missile. Like the one that hit our truck.”

Bolan checked the missile configuration. The readout told him the pod was empty. “No more missiles, Ali.”

“Can you fly this machine lower? Close enough to bring the machine gun back there into range?”

“Just make sure you use the harness. I’d hate to lose you now.”

Sharif clamped a strong hand on Bolan’s shoulder as he clambered out of his seat. “I have faith in you, my friend.”

“And put the headset on so I can talk to you.”

While Sharif made his way through to the cabin section Bolan pulled on the pilot’s headset. He began to maneuver the helicopter in a wide circle, intending to come up on the truck’s rear, at the same time losing some height.

“Cooper? Do you hear me?”

“Ali, you don’t have to shout. That microphone is sensitive.”

Sharif lowered his voice. “Is that better? Good. I am ready. The machine gun is loaded and also ready.”

Bolan leveled off behind the truck. The driver had anticipated what Bolan intended and had started to swing the truck, removing it from a direct line of travel. The soldier heard the door-mounted machine gun as Sharif fired a test burst. His volley fell well short. His second was better, still off target, but closer.

“Can you not keep this machine steady?” Sharif yelled into the headset.

Bolan settled the controls and managed to hold the chopper on a smooth line. This time Sharif managed to lay down a burst that tore at the truck’s rear body section. Even Bolan saw the debris that flew out from the damaged area.

“Steady enough for you, Ali?”

All he received was a flow of what he took to be Bedouin curses. Then the machine gun crackled again.

The line of slugs hammered the truck cab and the vehicle swerved. Sharif then hit it with an even longer burst that punctured the driver’s door and window and blew out the windshield from inside the cab. Sharif’s final volley sent slugs through the hood into the engine and it began to die.

In the same space of time someone opened up from the canvas-topped rear of the truck, a stuttering volley from a lighter SMG. The moment he heard the clatter of shots Bolan banked the chopper away, but not before he heard the metallic clang and ping of bullets striking somewhere along the helicopter’s fuselage. As the chopper pulled up and away, the truck lurched to a jerky stop.

“Cooper? Did I hear bullets hit us?” Sharif’s tone was urgent over the headset.

“I think so, Ali. You’d better come up front and strap yourself in.”

By the time Sharif strapped himself into the co-pilot’s seat Bolan had the helicopter back on track. He had already become aware of a slight, irregular beat to the sound of the engine. Adjusting the power he coaxed the aircraft along, keeping the helicopter at a lower altitude than before.

“Is this bad, Cooper?”

“I’d be happier without it.”

“Will we reach my camp?”

Bolan smiled. “Time will tell, Ali.”

CHAPTER NINE

The helicopter quit on Bolan just as night started to spread across the desert. He had been aware of the increasingly uneven sound from the engine and discovered that power was reducing. He tried to compensate but it made no difference.

“Looks like we get to walk the rest of the way,” was his only comment on the situation.

“Then it is providential I know how to reach the camp,” Sharif said.

Bolan took the Lynx down. Before he and Sharif left the aircraft, Bolan ripped out the wiring from beneath the control panel and did the same after he had raised the engine cover. Disabling the machine would reduce its use against Bolan and the Bedouin.

“Perhaps one day we will come back and salvage what we can,” Sharif mused. “The Bedu are the best traders in the area.”

He led the way into the dusk, sure of his path, walking steadily without pause. Bolan followed, making frequent checks on their back trail. It was almost 8:00 p.m. by Bolan’s watch when Sharif signaled for him to halt. Bolan joined him and they looked down a long, sandy slope to where a small camp had been set up around a well.