Fire Zone. Don Pendleton

make independent decisions.

      “They won’t make it,” Bolan said. He rolled over the unconscious fire team leader, then hefted him up over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Bolan did not wait for the others but headed in the direction Buck had indicated earlier.

      He had hardly gone a dozen yards when he found a new wall of fire. Courage had less to do with his action than knowing this was his only chance to survive. Bolan put his head down and charged like a bull. He broke through the dancing flames and came out on the other side. If his luck had not held, he might have found himself in the midst of the raging fire rather than on scorched earth. Weaving through the blackened trees, he headed downhill with his burden and soon found the narrow but deep stream. He dropped his load into the middle of the water. Making sure the unconscious man’s head was propped above the surface, Bolan turned and started back to help the rest of the firefighters.

      He got only a few yards back uphill when he spotted four men stumbling along.

      “Where’s Buck?”

      The lead firefighter shook his head. He tried to grab Bolan’s arm to stop him, but the warrior was not to be deterred so easily. He broke the grip and ran back. The wall of voracious flame he had breached before was gone now, moving on with a speed that amazed him. He swiped at his goggles, removing a thin sheen of soot that had kept him from seeing Buck limping along. The firefighter’s right leg refused to bear his weight. If he kept hopping that way, he would never get to safety.

      In a flash, Bolan got to the firefighter’s side and slipped an arm around him to lend some support.

      “You’re some kind of madman,” Buck grated out. “Nobody’s paying you to look after me. Hell, they’re not even paying me that much. I’m a volunteer, like the rest of my team.”

      Bolan steered Buck off at an angle, goaded by the increasing heat at his back. They finally reached the creek and sloshed into it.

      “Where’re the others? Where are they?”

      “Get down into the water,” Bolan ordered. He shoved Buck to a sitting position. “They’re a bit farther upstream.”

      “You saved Lee? Lee Masterson?”

      Bolan immersed himself in the stream and felt every burn and blister on his body turn to ice as the water washed over him. He still had to use his respirator to breathe, but the fire now ran parallel to the stream.

      “We’re gonna make it,” Buck said. “You saved me.”

      “You’d have made it on your own.”

      “Don’t be so sure of that. I think my leg’s broken from a spill I took. If it turned into a compound break, there’s no way I could have made it to safety. Hell, I couldn’t have made it to the railroad tracks, much less here.”

      “Railroad?”

      “There’s one that runs parallel to the stream, a mile farther downhill,” Buck said. “But what good’re train tracks? They’ve cleared the regular traffic just to be on the safe side. I wish we could get supplies sent by train.” Buck closed his eyes and choked back his pain. Talking kept his mind off his injury. “Even then, the higher-ups don’t like to depend on trains. The heat can actually melt the tracks and warp the rails. Then we’d have a derailment as well as a fire to deal with.”

      “Clear the traffic? There was a train that came by recently?”

      Buck moaned softly as he clutched his leg.

      Bolan rummaged through the firefighter’s pack and found a morphine syringe. He expertly opened the ampule, then injected the drug directly into the injured leg.

      “Burns. Never had a shot like that before.”

      “You’ll get sleepy in a minute. What about the train?”

      “Tracks,” Buck said in a weak voice. “Don’t know the schedule but the boss said they had to get one out of the way ’fore we could move in equipment. Equipment. Need…” Buck drifted off to a troubled sleep, but the pain was bearable for him now, thanks to the narcotic.

      Bolan made sure Buck’s head would remain above the water, then yelled for the other firefighters. When he saw the bright yellow jacket with the orange stripes splashing downstream toward them, he knew Buck would be all right. The fire team leader had recovered and would provide needed guidance for the rest of his men.

      Bolan left before the fire team leader reached them to ask questions better left unanswered. He made his way in the direction Buck had indicated and saw the railroad tracks.

      This was how the mercenaries had gotten the heavy gold away from the area, with little risk they would be found out. Where did they ship it? Like a hunting dog on a scent, the Executioner went to the train tracks and began walking. His mission was just beginning.