Read Online Survivalist - 20 - Firestorm by Jerry Ahern - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jerry Ahern
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ramming the 6906 into his belt for an instant as his hands found the locking mechanism, worked it-there were squeaking sounds-and unlocked the wall from its frame. Rourke drew the sliding accordion panel back just enough that he could pass through.
But he cautiously looked beyond the demountable wall first, because Freidrich Rausch had stopped talking.
Chapter Ten
Jason Darkwood sat up on the edge of his bed, wondering if he should lie down again. Would he make a more inviting target, lying back in his bed? More helpless? More easy prey for this man who killed people in the name of a doctrine at the mention of which sane men were disgusted, filled with revulsion?
But he could not lie back.
He sat there, instead, his left hand beside bis pillow, beneath his pillow both the Lancer 2418 A2 semi-automatic pistol and his knife. On a practical level, he took great comfort from the gun, a weapon with which he could shoot bullseyes all day long at twenty-five yards, a weapon he had carried in combat ever since his first days out of the Academy. Officers could purchase the issue pistol, if they wished, and he had very soon purchased his. His second paycheck, he suddenly remembered. The first one he owed most of to two friends who’d lent him money. By the third paycheck, he was mercifully at sea and there was no need to spend money for billeting or food.
There’d been times when money was tight in those early days, until he’d learned to manage it; but the gun had always stayed with him.
Yet, somehow, he took greater comfort from his knife. It was an identical duplicate, down to the metallurgy, of the Randall Smithsonian Bowie his ancestor had brought to Mid-Wake.
It had heritage.
And, it was personal.
It would be useless at twenty-five yards. But Freidrich Rausch would not come from twenty-five yards. Rausch would be close when and if Rausch came. Darkwood’s palms perspired. He waited.
When Sam Aldridge had said, “01 be back later, Jason; gonna check around some more,” Darkwood had been desirous of telling him, “Hey, Sam-don’t leave me alone here, huh? I’m spooked.” But, instead, he’d told his friend, Tm fine. Let me know how things are going, okay?”
And Sam Aldridge had gone.
Now Jason Darkwood waited alone in the darkness.
Chapter Eleven
John Rourke was beside the corridor wall, behind him a patient lounge. His hearing, always excellent despite his exposure over the years to so much gurifire without the benefit of hearing protection, enabled him now to almost pinpoint the origin of Rausch’s voice. This worried him. Why was Rausch being so careless?
A thought crossed John Rourke’s rnind, and the thought chilled him.
Cautiously, the pistol in his right fist, John Rourke reached out to touch his fingertips to the door handle. But, instead, he drew his hand back. Again, he thrust the pistol into his belt and took the Zippo from his pocket. The flashlight would have been easier to use but easier to spot from the other side of the doorway as well. Rourke shielded the lighter with his body to muffle any noise of striking flame, then dropped to a crouch beside the doorway, moving the lighter close to the handle. Leading out of the handle’s base were two thin pieces of wire. Turning the door handle would bridge the wires. Rourke’s lighter and his eyes followed the wires down to the base of the door, then along the base molding and along the wall. The wires ended at the wall outlet.
If he had opened the door without thinking, he would have electrocuted himself.
John Rourke felt a smile cross his face. Rausch had re-taught him a valuable lesson: And that was never to underestimate an enemy.
John Rourke unsheathed the LS-X knife and went to work on the wires.
Chapter Twelve
Jason Darkwood lay back in the bed, telling himself he had not heard a noise, that nothing was going to happen. There were two United States Marines on duty at the end of the hall and all of the connecting doors were blocked
But he cautiously looked beyond the demountable wall first, because Freidrich Rausch had stopped talking.
Chapter Ten
Jason Darkwood sat up on the edge of his bed, wondering if he should lie down again. Would he make a more inviting target, lying back in his bed? More helpless? More easy prey for this man who killed people in the name of a doctrine at the mention of which sane men were disgusted, filled with revulsion?
But he could not lie back.
He sat there, instead, his left hand beside bis pillow, beneath his pillow both the Lancer 2418 A2 semi-automatic pistol and his knife. On a practical level, he took great comfort from the gun, a weapon with which he could shoot bullseyes all day long at twenty-five yards, a weapon he had carried in combat ever since his first days out of the Academy. Officers could purchase the issue pistol, if they wished, and he had very soon purchased his. His second paycheck, he suddenly remembered. The first one he owed most of to two friends who’d lent him money. By the third paycheck, he was mercifully at sea and there was no need to spend money for billeting or food.
There’d been times when money was tight in those early days, until he’d learned to manage it; but the gun had always stayed with him.
Yet, somehow, he took greater comfort from his knife. It was an identical duplicate, down to the metallurgy, of the Randall Smithsonian Bowie his ancestor had brought to Mid-Wake.
It had heritage.
And, it was personal.
It would be useless at twenty-five yards. But Freidrich Rausch would not come from twenty-five yards. Rausch would be close when and if Rausch came. Darkwood’s palms perspired. He waited.
When Sam Aldridge had said, “01 be back later, Jason; gonna check around some more,” Darkwood had been desirous of telling him, “Hey, Sam-don’t leave me alone here, huh? I’m spooked.” But, instead, he’d told his friend, Tm fine. Let me know how things are going, okay?”
And Sam Aldridge had gone.
Now Jason Darkwood waited alone in the darkness.
Chapter Eleven
John Rourke was beside the corridor wall, behind him a patient lounge. His hearing, always excellent despite his exposure over the years to so much gurifire without the benefit of hearing protection, enabled him now to almost pinpoint the origin of Rausch’s voice. This worried him. Why was Rausch being so careless?
A thought crossed John Rourke’s rnind, and the thought chilled him.
Cautiously, the pistol in his right fist, John Rourke reached out to touch his fingertips to the door handle. But, instead, he drew his hand back. Again, he thrust the pistol into his belt and took the Zippo from his pocket. The flashlight would have been easier to use but easier to spot from the other side of the doorway as well. Rourke shielded the lighter with his body to muffle any noise of striking flame, then dropped to a crouch beside the doorway, moving the lighter close to the handle. Leading out of the handle’s base were two thin pieces of wire. Turning the door handle would bridge the wires. Rourke’s lighter and his eyes followed the wires down to the base of the door, then along the base molding and along the wall. The wires ended at the wall outlet.
If he had opened the door without thinking, he would have electrocuted himself.
John Rourke felt a smile cross his face. Rausch had re-taught him a valuable lesson: And that was never to underestimate an enemy.
John Rourke unsheathed the LS-X knife and went to work on the wires.
Chapter Twelve
Jason Darkwood lay back in the bed, telling himself he had not heard a noise, that nothing was going to happen. There were two United States Marines on duty at the end of the hall and all of the connecting doors were blocked
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