"Дон Пендлтон. Caribbean Kill ("Палач" #10) " - читать интересную книгу автора

"An hour from when?" Lavagni wanted to know.
"Well... about fifty-five minutes from right now." Dragone heaved to
his feet and motioned to a man in bathing trunks who was standing just
down-range. "Bring that radio, Kelly," he growled.
The man hurried over with a small transistorized two-way radio and
thrust it toward the chief gunner.
"Lavagni was saying, "Tell Latigo..." and Dragone was reaching for the
radio when suddenly it took flight, propelled with a screech from Kelly's
hand by a sizzling lump of hot metal.
Another sizzler came in a heartbeat ahead of any possible reaction,
this one squarely between the startled Kelly's eyes, and the man in the
swimsuit toppled over and slid toward the water without a sound.
The other two found themselves lying shoulder to shoulder on the sand,
their weapons up and searching for a target.
"Where'd it come from?" Lavagni puffed.
"It just came," the crewchief replied in a taut voice. "He got Kelly."
"Fuck Kelly, where's that sonuvabitch at!"
"I don't see a goddam thing, Tony. I didn't even hear nothing."
"Bastard! He's using his silencer."
Silencer or not, the line of gun soldiers flanking the two men had
become aware of the drama at their center, and all were sprawled in the sand
and anxiously watching for some sign of the enemy.
Dragone said, "I guess he ain't making for no sugar farm, Tony."
"He shot up the damn radio, didn't he."
"Yeh."
Lavagni was building toward a huge rage. "Dammit, we just can't lay
here. Listen. Now listen close! Work your way along your side of the line,
but dammit keep yourself down! Tell your boys we move on my signal. I'll
take this side and clue everybody in on the action. When I get to the far
end I'll fire two shots. That's the signal to move it . Tell each boy this,
he's to stay in sight of the man next to him, I mean looldn' toward the
center. That's important, so tell 'em. Dammit!"

* * *

Bolan's angle of vision onto the beach had given him a limited choice
of targets. It had been like looking through a twenty-yard length of
two-foot diameter pipeline and seeing clearly only those objects which
happened to pass by the far end. Another foot or two to the right and he
could as easily have taken out Lavagni himself, instead of settling for an
anonymous soldier and a radio. Just the same, the message had been sent and
received, and this had been the primary consideration.
He wanted those guys to get the taste of sand in their mouths and a
fresh vision of death in their consciousness. And he'd wanted them to eat
sand long enough to allow him a chance to advance to the next firing line.
That objective had been accomplished also, and now he was lying at the
very edge of the forest, in a prone firing position and with good cover
behind the rotting remains of a fallen tree. The terrain dropped away
sharply just beyond that point, with the beach sloping abruptly to meet the
water. From his ground-level point of view, only the glassy surface of the