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

bay lay directly ahead of him. Off to either flank, however, he had an
excellent view of the activities underway on the beach itself.
To his right he saw Lavagni emerge from the blind spot, moving quickly
in a low scamper along a line of rifle-toting gunners. The guys were flaked
out there like a landing party in an amphibious assault, awaiting the signal
to proceed inland. Then the other guy, obviously Lavagni's good right arm,
appeared on the other flank in a similar movement.
Bolan precisely understood what they were doing.
He final-checked the Thompson and made a quick calculation of the
firing angle which would be immediately available to him. He decided to set
his limits at thirty degrees of horizon, then fed this into his observations
of the enemy line.
They were spaced at ten or twelve feet. He would begin at dead center,
and immediately sweep five degrees to either side. This should bring down
the four or five closest threats.
His right flank was the most exposed, and the most vulnerable to an
effective return-fire from the more distant points. So his second pattern
would be sweeping out to fifteen degrees right, to at least minimize the
retort from that angle. Then, if everything was on the numbers, he'd try to
sweep some away from the left.
That was the battle plan. The entire fire mission should last no more
than a few seconds. It had to be quick and brutal and over with, before the
enemy fully realized that it was happening. If properly executed, the play
would mean, in actual numbers of those engaged, reducing the odds of the
firefight to about 10 to 1 at the very worst. With a good automatic weapon,
jungle cover, and the element of initiative in his favor, Bolan would ride
those odds any time.
He watched Lavagni reach the far end of the line, saw the revolver
lifting into the air, and heard the double report signaling the game to
commence.
And then the line was up and running in a ragged advance across the
white sands. Bolan's impression was of about twenty men to each flank, plus
two rising up from the blind spot.
He spotted them three strides into the soft stuff, then the heavy
chopper began its guttural doomsday report. The two guys directly ahead were
accorded the initial burst, each receiving a closely packed wreath of .45
caliber expanders in the chest. They went over backwards and out of view as
the chopper swung on and the horrible sounds of automated death swept across
the sands of paradise.
Bolan executed the fire mission to its planned parameters, no more and
no less, and it was all over in a matter of seconds. Then he withdrew, back
into the bosom of his home - the jungle, and left paradise to the company of
the friendly dead.
Fire Mission number three was next on tap.

* * *

Lavagni and Dragone met at the center and reformed their line, under
the cover of trees - minus eight gunners who had not made it that far.
"What do you figure the guy thinks he's doing, Tony?" Dragone asked.