War Everlasting

He waited until he was nearly on top of them before maneuvering the sedan out of their path. The driver of the Jeep blinked first, however, and the soldier waited until he knew for certain which direction the driver would choose before heading in the opposite one. The Jeep rushed past him, and the driver kept his speed, powering down only a little as he swerved off the road and slowed so that he could turn. Bolan had a different plan, bringing his vehicle to a skidding halt and then going EVA.

From the arsenal in his pack he withdrew a Diehl DM-51 grenade and an FN-FNC assault rifle that was chambered for 5.56 mm ammo. With an effective firing range of nearly 400 meters and a muzzle velocity just shy of a thousand meters per second, it was a lethal tool in Mack Bolan’s hands.

Bolan lined up the sights on the careening Jeep as the driver tried to slow enough to make a turn without flipping the vehicle or tossing out its occupants. He figured the first, best option would be to disable the driver. The gamble paid off as he sighted on the windshield just as the nose of the Jeep swerved in his direction. Bolan stroked the trigger twice, delivering a 3-round burst in each instance. The first three rounds spider-webbed the windshield at the base, effectively blocking the view of the passenger, and the second burst made contact with the driver.

A red smear splashed across the windshield, and the vehicle immediately began to falter and shimmy. The passenger was undoubtedly leaning over the console attempting to keep the vehicle under control, but he had no idea where he was going, thanks to Bolan’s handiwork on the windshield. It had the desired effect, and the three men in back decided it was better to take their chances on foot than stay inside the Jeep bound for whatever crazy and unpredictable path the passenger managed to navigate.

Bolan swung the muzzle of the FNC into target acquisition before the trio had barely gotten boots on the ground. The first guy managed to stand, but that was all he had time for as the Executioner delivered a volley from his weapon that caused the man to stagger back, his body flailing under the impact of the high-velocity rounds. Another hardman managed to find cover, but not before Bolan winged him with a shot that tore a fleshy chunk from his arm.

The third guy reached cover behind a rock, but that position didn’t give him any advantage over Bolan. The gunner didn’t think his enemy could defend himself against three armed men, and he’d remained ignorant of the fact that Bolan had reduced their numbers by better than half. The gunner broke from the protection of the large outcropping and tore for higher ground that would give him the best advantage against Bolan. The Executioner sighted in on his enemy, leading him just enough to account for wind and speed before he triggered a 3-round burst. All three rounds connected. The impact drove him to the ground where he twitched a few times before going still.

Bolan swung the assault rifle toward the target he’d winged before, and noticed the Jeep was now stopped and the passenger had gone EVA. The guy was definitely toting some kind of high-powered rifle with a scope, probably a hunting piece. Be it 7 mm or .30-06, it didn’t make much difference—if he’d brought that kind of weapon to this game, then odds were good he knew how to use it with proficiency.

The Executioner intended to make sure he never got that chance.

Bolan broke from the cover of the sedan, concerned they might try to take out his transportation if they couldn’t get him directly. If the sniper decided to take out a tire or two, Bolan would be pinned down with no place to go. He had to get in close enough to make some noise and shake up his enemy, and he thought he knew exactly how to do that. The DM-51 grenades would come in handy for this play. He primed the first one as he charged toward the sniper on an intercept course.

The Executioner tossed the grenade at the large rock the sniper had rushed toward, then threw his body prone in the dust just as the wounded gunner shot at him. The soldier rolled to avoid the angry rounds that burned the air just inches above his head or slapped into the dirt where he’d lain a moment before. He got to one knee, steadied the FNC and triggered a sustained burst in the direction of the enemy gunner just as the grenade exploded. A volley of hot lead ripped holes in the gunman’s body, shredding vital organs. Bolan turned his attention to the sniper who had done exactly as predicted and headed in a different direction following the explosion. Unfortunately for the sniper, there wasn’t decent cover to be had nearby. He apparently felt the Jeep was his next best option.

The sudden screech of tires demanded Bolan’s full attention. Coming up the road at a roaring clip were three squad cars. Unalaska police. Bolan looked for the sniper, watching as the man managed to get to some brush—he would be invisible from that angle.

Not that it mattered; it was obvious that the cops were headed right toward Bolan.

The Executioner took off for his sedan even though he knew the effort was wasted. His chances of escape were grim, at best, a prediction that became fact as Bolan reached his car. The three squads ground to a halt with a squeal of tires, and a half-dozen armed officers emerged, the muzzles of their weapons pointed at him.

The soldier considered his options, then did the only thing he could—he let his weapon fall to the ground and raised his hands.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1779f2d8-9821-5251-8e26-d1272c317ef7)

The woman who pushed through the plate-glass door had neither height nor size on her side. Despite that, she somehow managed to carry an aura of authority.

Bolan sat in the chair of her office—he’d found it interesting that the officers brought him straight into this office instead of depositing him in a lockup—his hands cuffed behind him. The steel bracelets were tight, and they bit into his wrists. He’d thought about asking one of the officers to loosen them, then thought better of it. If he didn’t make any trouble for them, he might get cooperation. He would definitely need it if he planned to talk his way out of this one. The arrival of this woman with brass on her collar and a glint in her eye told Bolan immediately that she might give him the chance he sought.

She stopped just inside her office door, looked him in the eye, and grabbed his shoulder. She nudged him forward in the chair and reached behind him. A moment later, the cuffs eased off his wrists, and she loosened one while using the other, now no longer on his left wrist, to manacle him to the arm of the chair. Since the chair wasn’t bolted to the ground, it wouldn’t do her much good, but he decided not to point that out.

She took the keys and reattached them to the keeper on her police belt, then unbuckled the gun belt and slung it over a nearby coatrack before taking a seat behind her desk. She sighed, glanced over a few papers that the officers had left there with Bolan, then looked at him. Bolan pegged her in her mid-forties. She was an attractive woman, with long dark hair that she wore in a ponytail, and dark brown eyes that looked misty under the bright lights of the office.

“Your ID says your name is Mike Blansky,” she said.

“That’s right,” Bolan replied easily.

“Is that your real name or a cover?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she said. “Let’s try this. My real name is Brenda Shaffernik. I’m the deputy chief of the Unalaska DPS. Now it’s your turn.”

“The name’s Blansky,” Bolan replied. “Just like my ID says.”

“Okay, we’ll go with that, then. So why not tell me exactly what you were doing on Airport Beach Road shooting at a bunch of people?”

“Because they were shooting at me first.”

“Really? That’s all you’ve got?” Shaffernik shook her head and sat back, folding her arms. “You know, when they called me out of a conference with the mayor and director to tell me about this, I told them to bring you straight here. I thought maybe this might have something to do with what happened out in the Bering Sea yesterday.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, come off it!” Shaffernik slapped her hand on the desk. “If you’re not military, then you’re a government agent of some kind here to investigate the disappearance of a military aircraft.”

Bolan took a moment to consider her statement and then said, “All right, Shaffernik, I’ll give you the no-bull version. If you’re privy to what’s happened already, then there’s little chance the military will be able to keep this secret. I’m going to trust my instincts over how Wonderland would prefer this be handled. I’m here in a rather unofficial capacity.”

“Special military black ops or something?”

“I’m the ‘or something.’” Bolan pinned her with a cool gaze. “Frankly, I’m a freelancer here by special request of those who would prefer to remain anonymous.”

“Politicos?”

“Let’s just say they’re well above your pay grade.”

Shaffernik nodded with a knowing smile, and that cast a wicked aspect to her dark eyes. “Okay, sounds like you’re leveling with me now. That’s all I want. So how much can I know?”

“Well, maybe if you tell me what’s been happening around here, I can tell you something to help you maintain order.”

“Don’t need much help there,” Shaffernik said. “Keeping order here has never been a problem for me. The director and chief let me run the show. They’re more...politicians. And as such, they handle the politicking and leave the policing to me, although Chief Meltrieger is an experienced and decorated policeman with more than twenty-five years of experience and a hell of a fine cop. I respect him, and I’m honored to be working under him.”

“And I’m sure you can police this island with one arm tied behind your back under normal conditions,” Bolan stated. “Unfortunately, what happened to me today doesn’t qualify as normal. Now, what do you know about the men who attacked me?”

“Nothing, so far.”

“Locals?”

“No, not a single one of them. And before you ask, we had no luck finding your mystery guy with the rifle. This isn’t necessarily a big island, but a guy like that could ditch that thing in the bay and blend in with the locals in no time at all.”

“Maybe,” Bolan said.

“Were they professionals?”

“Depends on your definition of the word,” Bolan said. “They didn’t react like I would expect professional combatants to do. There were also other places they could have chosen to mount an assault like that.”

“Or certainly easier places.”

Bolan nodded at her, suddenly finding a bit more respect when he considered Shaffernik’s observations. He wasn’t dealing with an amateur here by any means.

“So let’s say a professional did send them,” Shaffernik replied. “How would they have known about you or your affiliation with the government? Especially if you’re the freelancer you claim to be.”

“I don’t know,” Bolan said. “But I’m guessing if someone’s smart enough and has the proper resources to bring down military assets, they’re smart enough to figure out I’m not one of the crowd. Which is where I’m going to need your help.”

“My help?”