Free The Libya Connection by Don Pendleton Page A

crowded around an unmarked desert vehicle that matched the truck already destroyed.
    Five soldiers stood around the vehicle. The Africans were heatedly debating among themselves in their own tongue.
    The Executioner did not hesitate. He stepped clear of the wall. He remained in shadow. "Live free or die," he called out to toll their fate. He triggered a chattering blast from the Largo-Star.
    The debate stopped and the soldiers went diving in all directions. Four of them moved under their own power, two dodging behind the truck, one making for the nearest building doorway, the other hitting the ground with rifle blazing in response to Bolan's fire.
    The fifth guard did a brief crazy dance as a stream of screaming slugs stitched him from right to left like the heavy metal scythe of Time itself.
    Bolan bent his knees into a low, low crouch and moved to the right. He heard bullets whisper near his ear; heard the ricochets of lead whine off the baked mud wall behind him.
    Bolan triggered another short burst from the chopper in his hands. Geysers of dirt erupted in a line across the ground from right to left. Then geysers of blood spurted up as the line of bullets skewered the running target's life and set it up to roast in hell.
    This was a major engagement.
    The other running man was almost making the safety of the nearest building when another stutter of the machine gun checked the run into a sideways kick. Another hit in a festival of death lapping up losers in the flaming game of mankind's survival.
    Bolan slapped a fresh clip into the weapon. He advanced toward the truck, remaining all the time in the shadows along the walls of the village huts.
    There remained but two troopers in retreat behind the personnel carrier parked at the intersection. They both leaned out from opposite ends of the truck and fired simultaneous rounds down the length of the street. They had no idea where Bolan was. He continued advancing.
    He was some seventy paces from a point where he estimated he would have a clear shot at both men — when a loud report sounded from the opposite side of the intersection.
    A Galil, Bolan knew.
    He saw the soldier on the far end of the truck tumble out into unprotected view. The soldier did not need protection now. Most of his back was blown out from an exit wound.
    The other soldier ducked out to seek new cover in front of the vehicle.
    When the merc terrorist was in his sights, the Executioner offered him his worth, a shower of hot lead and a free ticket to hell.
    Then the merc, Hohlstrom, emerged from the front door of Fahima's and Bushir's inn. Hohlstrom held his Galil assault rifle at port arms. Bolan saw that the other man appeared every bit as aware of the danger around them as did Bolan himself.
    Bolan approached the Swede. The two men were alone in the darkness.
    "That's one I owe you, man," said Bolan.
    The burly merc gave an easy shrug.
    "Forget it. We need to have a few words in private, Colonel."
    Bolan felt a spinal shiver.
    "You must have me confused with someone else."
    "I don't think I do, Colonel Phoenix."
    Bolan's fists wrapped tighter around the Galil. He could see that Hohlstrom did not miss the response.
    Hohlstrom's free hand was on his holstered side arm.
    "Explain, guy."
    "Steady," said the Swede. "I know who you are and why you're here. And you don't stand a chance in hell of living another thirty minutes."

12
    The tableau held for taut seconds between Mack Bolan and Hohlstrom, the Swedish merc. The two men stood there eyeballing each other in the shadows of Bishabia.
    The Huey choppers in the nearby villa were scheduled to take off within five minutes. They were Mack Bolan's last chance to reach Eve.
    Hohlstrom knew Bolan's true identity. He knew that Bolan was not Rideout, professional merc.
    "You're the Israeli agent," said Bolan. "Let's have it one piece at a time while we're moving." The muzzle of his rifle hovered menacingly as they entered the inn. Hohlstrom kept pace as the two men