"Дон Пендлтон. Doomsday Disciples ("Палач" #49) " - читать интересную книгу автора

one occasion, bringing home the helpless.
And another kind of legend attached itself to Bolan in the Asian
hellgrounds. The peasants of a war-torn land tagged him with another name to
compliment - and contradict - The Executioner label.
It translated: "Sergeant Mercy" - and it fit.
Few men could wear the dual label of soldier and humanitarian. Mack
Bolan wore them both, and wore them well. It was a measure of the man that
he discerned no contradiction in the varied aspects of his character.
When Bolan brought his war home from Asia, to confront another breed of
cannibal, the whole man arrived on a different kind of battlefield. His
enemy - the mafiosi - came to know an Executioner who struck without regard
to fear or favor, ravaging their ranks at will, leaving death and ruin in
his wake. At the same time, he showed another face to friends and allies,
soldiers of the same side fighting on behalf of Man the Builder.
The face of Sergeant Mercy, yeah.
Bolan recognized that while the battle front shifted and names and
faces changed, his war remained the same. Savage Man was still the enemy,
devouring and polluting everything he touched. The same universal goals
applied whether Bolan found enemies in Saigon or San Francisco.
It was the same war, and Bolan fought it with the same tactics he had
used in Asia. No quarter asked or given as he purged cannibals with
cleansing fire. Incredibly, against all the odds, he saw the "invincible"
Mafia tremble, crack and begin to crumble under the stunning blows.
War Everlasting, right.
Bolan was committed to the hellfire trail, and there was no turning
back.
Every time the cannibals were beaten back, Man the Civilizer gained
another foot of ground. Perhaps, if the enemy was trampled enough...
Bolan rose, scooping up his rifle and the Starlite scope, swiftly
retracing his steps to the rented sedan. Misty darkness hid the warrior as
he put the place behind him.
Minh, unknowingly, bought himself a stay of execution. A reprieve,
perhaps, but not a pardon.
There were debts to pay, and his bill was coming due.
And, if Bolan was too late for Amy, there would be no place on earth
where Minh could find a sanctuary from the Executioner.

11

Bolan parked his car on Downey Street, two blocks from the drop, and
prepared to go EVA. From his mobile arsenal, he chose an Ingram MAC-10
submachine gun with shoulder rigging. It would be invisible under his
overcoat, but easily accessible through a special slit pocket, providing him
with a devastating backup for the silent Brigadier. Extra clips for the
Ingram filled an inner pocket of his overcoat.
The streets of Haight-Ashbury were deserted, silent. Bolan moved along
the sidewalk, keeping one hand on the Ingram's pistol grip, rubber-soled
shoes muffling his footsteps. The hunter didn't plan to be taken by
surprise.
Blocks away, he heard sirens fading into distance and voices made eerie