"Bolan, Mack - Stony Man 30 - Virtual Peril" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bolan Mack)

per body, punching the dead man backward.
"Shit!" Wamicke said in a strangled whisper.
Wheeling, Conrad saw the man stumble to the side and
raise a hand to his throat. Bright blood covered the chief's
forearm.
Wamicke tried to say something else, but he was drown-
ing in his own blood. He went to his knees, and the light
dimmed in his eyes. Death took him before he hit the deck.
Conrad kicked the spent magazine free of the 9 mm pis-
tol, plucked another from his webbing and shoved it home.
Then he seized the chiefs body and ran for the trawler's
starboard side. The rest of the team had already made the
evac. The slippery deck eased towing the corpse. Two
rounds hit Conrad in the back, were stopped by the Kevlar
body armor but still staggered him. The harsh Korean voice
cracked out again, and the gunfire died away as the North
Korean soldiers rushed his position.
Conrad slid Wamicke's body under the railing and over
the side, then grabbed his flippers and the LAR V in his
free hand. Spinning, he brought up the SIG-Sauer and emp-
tied the clip at the nearest enemies. Five men stumbled and
fell, tangling up the men behind them.
The SEAL team leader sprinted toward the starboard rail-
ing and hurled himself over the side. He released the flip-
pers and rebreather, intending to retrieve them when and if

he could. Below him, Wamicke's body was already sinking
into the depths, and he concentrated on it, not wanting to
lose visual reference. In the dark water, the corpse would
be almost impossible to find. The other SEALs were swim-
ming away from the trawler.
He tapped the transmit button on his headset. "Two."
"Go, Leader."
Hitting the water hard and slightly off balance, Conrad
went under immediately. He twisted and stroked, coming
back to the surface in heartbeats. Water drained from the
pencil-thin microphone looped at the side of his mouth.
"Blow it, Two."
He glanced up at the trawler as the explosives on board
went off with a rolling, thunderous series of roars. Orange-
and-yellow flames spread in sheets, venting clouds of
smoke that looked gray against the coal black sky.
The North Korean soldiers lining the starboard rail were
blown away, ripped to shreds by the antipersonnel bombs
that had been set to clear the decks. The demolitions crew
had taken their target by the numbers.
As he tuckedaway his pistol and dived for the rebreather
and Wamicke's body, Conrad thought his team might just
make it out of the situation with most of them alive. But
when he surfaced, Warnicke's bloodstained shirt knotted in