It took just seconds for Bolan's five grenades to unleash their hellfire. At least half a dozen VC died as the Executioner canceled their tabs.
That left quite a few of them alive. Some of them spotted Bolan.
Bolan flicked the M-16 to full-auto as the cooking muzzle tracked an arc of death. Bolan cut down three more of the enemy in a figure eight of blistering lead. They never knew what hit them. The 5.56mm slugs ripped through flesh, splattering brains, pulverizing hearts. Vietcong did weird death dances in the flickering firelight, before sprawling immobile into the dark shadows.
Bullets whizzed all around Bolan, singing angry songs near him.
From his position atop the wall he cast a glance toward the tree line where waist-high elephant grass bordered the jungle.
Jill had already vanished into the night.
Even if he never left this clearing, Jill would have a chance, he thought.
And that was all you could ask for in the jungle.
The M-16's muzzle spit its last round, planting a death kiss on the forehead of a Cong who had peeled off some rounds at Bolan from half-assed cover.
Bolan slung the rifle over his shoulder and grabbed for his holstered .45. But his weight suddenly became too much for the section of roof on which he perched.
With a rumble, it caved in.
Bolan fell with it.
As he dropped, he twisted his body in an instinctive reflex. His back scraped the top of the wall, but he fell outside the building.
He hit the ground, rolling, and came up ready to dive toward the back corner of the bombed-out arms depot.
Too far away.
His body would be butchered by VC slugs before he could cross the clearing.
'Hit the dirt!' a female voice yelled at him from somewhere beyond the flickering blaze.
Bolan hit the dirt, his .45 and eyes panning the night for targets.
He saw Jill come around the corner of the old munitions building with one of the fallen sentries' AK-47s. She held the rifle awkwardly, but there was nothing clumsy about the chattering stream of hot lead that erupted from its muzzle.
Bolan stayed prone under the line of fire and let the slugs chew up the careless enemy. Several went into stumbling death slides, blood spurting.
Bolan triggered his .45, adding to the carnage.
Jill reached his side and crouched there.
Their combined firepower, the lady journalist with her confiscated AK and marksman Bolan with the .45, was withering.
The smattering of answering fire from the darkness stuttered into nothing.
The jungle line was only a few meters away.
Bolan seized the lull, leathered his side arm and grabbed the lady's wrist, guiding her along with him as he withdrew for the tree line.
They plunged into the dark jungle undergrowth needless of the branches and vines whipping at them like hungry things.
Jill let out a ragged breath from time to time, but Bolan urged her on. They could not afford to face more VC who might be in the vicinity.
Within moments, sounds of pursuit rustled in the distance behind them.
'Where did you learn to fire an assault rifle like that?' Bolan asked the woman.
'Back there,' came the grim reply.
There was no trail through this part of the jungle, but they were heading in the general direction of the road from Three Click Fork.
Or so Bolan hoped.
His instincts proved right.
They stumbled out onto the rough surface of the road forty minutes later.
They would be better targets at the moment, if the VC managed to close in on them from behind, but they could move faster on the road.
The VC had not yet reached the road.
A shadow moved in front of them.
Bolan spun Jill away from him, splitting them up to make them harder targets. He brought up the reloaded M-16 and tracked the rifle on the moving spot.
His finger froze on the trigger a fraction of a second before sending a bullet into the night.
He heard the cry of a child.
A little boy, no more than four or five years old, stumbled into the road, tears running down his cheeks. His clothes were in tatters. There was blood on his face from a gash in his scalp.
He was alone.
Jill crouched on the other side of the road, her AK-47 up and ready. She saw the child, too, and moved back into the center of the road to join Bolan. He was already advancing toward the boy, more wary than ever of an enemy trap.
The child saw the two adults approaching and turned to run away.
Bolan caught the child's arm and stopped him.
Two still forms on the road nearby caught Bolan's attention. He took a closer look: the child's parents. Dead. Slaughtered.
'From that burned-out village, more than likely,' Bolan grunted under his breath. 'The VC caught them on their way out. This is no place for the little guy. Not tonight.'
The soldier gathered the child up in his free arm and glanced at Jill.
She looked as if she needed to catch her breath, dangerous though the delay might be.
There was still no sign of Charlie.
Bolan let himself start to hope they might successfully escape.
'Take a minute,' he told the woman. He looked at the boy and saw the terror on that young face. 'It's okay, son. You'll be all right now.' He patted the child.
The boy didn't understand the words, but Bolan's gestures reassured him. He stopped crying.
Jill watched the care and compassion with which Mack Bolan handled the Vietnamese youngster.
'Thank you,' she said abruptly. 'After everything I said to you earlier tonight, I don't know why you put your life on the line to save me.'
'Orders,' he said gruffly, grinning.
'I'm not so sure. I'm not sure about a lot of things I used to be very sure about.'
'Like who the savages are?'
She grimaced.
'I think I was just introduced to them. What I saw… the atrocities they committed… that's what this war is all about, isn't it?'
'The families in that village were feeding us intel on VC movements,' Bolan told her. 'This war is about a lot of things, Jill. Some good, some bad, and all of it matters. I've learned a few things, too. I didn't figure anybody who felt like you do about this war could care enough to fight the way you just did. You are some lady, lady.'
She met his eyes.
'I decided we were on the same side after all, soldier.'
Bolan nodded.
Yeah, they were on the same side.
The side of humanity.
Bullets cracked past them.
The range was bad and so was the light, but the pursuing VC were peppering the night blindly from way back in the jungle as they closed in.
