"David L. Robbins - Endworld 07 - Armageddon Run" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robbins David L)

a lean, blond man dressed in buckskins crawling up behind the stack of
asphalt sacks. Hickok. The gunman's pearl-handled Colt Python revolvers
were strapped around his narrow waist. He clutched a Navy Arms Henry
Carbine in his hands.

The big man glanced to his right, searching for another of his
companions, but there was no sign of the stocky Geronimo. If figured.
With his green shirt and pants, both constructed from the remains of an
old canvas tent, Geronimo would blend into the scenery.

"Move your butts!" one of the soldiers abruptly barked, goading on the
workers.

The afternoon sun was high in the sky, the early November weather
mild with the temperature hovering in the 60s, typical of northeastern
Wyoming for this time of the year.

The man with the muscles tensed, hoping the others in his party were
set in their assigned spots. Except for Hickok, Geronimo, and Bertha, the
rest of his group were strangers, and he felt uncomfortable about working
with the newcomers. Still, orders were orders. If it was necessary to join
forces with Lynx, Rudabaugh, and Orson, so be it. He had heard about
Lynx, about how deadly the genetic deviate could be, but Rudabaugh and
Orson were unknown quantities, and he disliked relying on them in
matters of life and death.

The nearest soldier was now only ten feet away.

The big man looked at the officer and the other two troopers standing
near the vehicles at the far end of the work detail. It would be up to the
diminutive Lynx to insure none of the soldiers escaped in those vehicles.
Lynx had better be as good as his reputation, or all of their plans would be
for naught.

Six feet separated him from the closest trooper. The soldier was facing
in the other direction, watching the laborers.

The man in the ditch placed his right index finger on the trigger of the
Commando.

Four feet. The soldier, backing toward him, took another step.

Now!

"Get down!" the big man shouted as he rose to his knees, not bothering
to wait and see if any of the prisoners complied with his command. He
angled the Commando upward and pulled the trigger, the stock bucking
against his shoulder as a burst ripped into the nearest soldier, the heavy
slugs catching the man at the neck and nearly decapitating him,
showering blood and flesh everywhere.