Don Pendleton - Contagion Option

The second duffel had several canvas packaged blocks. Bolan slung the spares over his shoulder, then unwound one of the packages. It looked like a spiderweb, made out of thick putty, with an electronic device in the center. Bolan stuck the putty to the conning tower hatch and activated the center device. He stepped out of range, then pulled out a radio detonator.

The breaching charge, while explosive, wouldn’t disperse its detonation like a regular bomb. Instead, the putty would focus its force against the hull. No shrapnel would fly back toward Bolan, but the concussion could harm him. The detonation cord would explode more slowly than regular plastic explosive, acting more like a cutting torch, and would peel apart steel easily. Bolan thumbed the detonator to life. There was a soft woomp, and metal clattered on the hatch. Bolan plucked a concussion grenade from his harness and swung around to the opened hatch. He dropped the flash-bang through the hole and turned away. There were screams of panic as the men inside the control room recognized what had happened, but they were cut off by a fierce crack.

The Executioner dropped through the hatch, the P-90 in his fist.

Koreans clutched their burned eyes or their shattered eardrums, stunned by the force of the explosion. Bolan clubbed one of the submariners across the jaw with the stock of his weapon and dropped him to the deck. It took only a few moments for Bolan to knock out the remaining conscious crewmen. That would hold them until he could use the plastic cable ties in his harness to restrain them.

A hatch shifted and Bolan braced behind the doorjamb.

It opened partially, a gun muzzle poking through. Bolan was to the side, out of sight, but his P-90 was primed and ready to greet the newcomers.

A Korean sailor stepped through the hatch, talking to his partners. Bolan didn’t understand what he was saying, but he recognized the lilt of confusion in his voice. The Executioner speared him with a powerful kick and hurled him to the deck.

Panicked cries filled the air as Bolan lurched into view. The P-90 blazed to life, and its payload of 5.7 mm flesh-shredders made the hatchway into a no-man’s land of supersonic death. Bodies tumbled in a mad rush to escape the big soldier’s salvo, but the .50-round magazine had enough ammunition to give everyone who had been poised to retake the bridge a deadly kiss.

The opening burst lasted only three seconds, but the quartet of Koreans in the hatchway leaked from forty fatal wounds. Bolan changed the depleted magazine for a new one, and checked on the stunned sailor on the deck.

Bolan’s kick had caught him in the kidney, and as he’d bounced off a control panel, his forehead and nose had been split by unyielding metal and plastic. The Korean’s face was a bloody mask, and he was curled on the deck, insensate to his surroundings. The soldiers spared a moment to bind his wrists and ankles with cable ties, waiting for the next wave of defenders to show up.

“How’s it going, Jack?” Bolan asked over his headset.

“The carrier’s choppers are still fifteen minutes out. That’s all you’ve got to mop up the sub.”

“It’ll have to do,” Bolan told him.

The Executioner pulled another stun grenade, armed the bomb, and hurled it into the depths of the corridor beyond the bridge. It bounced, and he was rewarded with more cries of panic. Bolan turned away and let the stunner do its job, releasing a deafening and blinding thunderclap. In the confined quarters of the submarine, it was like being struck in the head with a sledgehammer. He rushed into the corridor and found three men lying on the deck. One clutched bloody ears, while the others clawed at their burning faces. Another tough sailor still stood. One of his ears leaked a slick of blood, but his eyes were clear, and the gun in his hand swung at Bolan.

The P-90 ripped him from crotch to throat, and the gunman collapsed. Bolan kicked the down sailors’ guns away from them. He’d taken the time to memorize the layout of the Koreans’ black market submarine, and knew what lay beyond the next hatch. It was where the submarine’s two levels were connected by a stairwell. Bolan reached into his bandolier and withdrew a fragmentation grenade. He thumbed out the cotter pin and held the detonator spoon in place.

With a push, the next hatchway opened. The juncture was empty as far as Bolan could see, but he guessed that defenders waited at the bottom of the steps. Bolan threw the fragger through the hatch and it bounced down the stairs, detonating violently before anyone could react. He surged through as the next hatch opened. Gunmen had been lying in wait, but the Executioner was ready for them, 5.7 mm slugs sizzling out his P-90’s muzzle at 800 rounds per minute. Two defenders collapsed through the joinway in bloody heaps as he reached the top of the stairs. Down on the next level, Bolan spotted a tangle of gory body parts at the bottom. A choking cough wafted up the steps, informing him that there wouldn’t be any immediate arrivals from that flank.

Bolan pulled another flash-bang and hurled it through the hatch.

One Korean leaped out to avoid being caught in its blast, and instead, he stopped a flesh-eating cloud of high-powered bullets. The dead sailor tumbled headfirst to the deck with boneless grace.

The stun grenade detonated and gave the Executioner a window of opportunity to hit the upper hatchway. He spotted one sailor, struggling to stay in the fight, but Bolan retired him with a point-blank burst. From what he’d read of the submarine’s stats, the vessel needed at least twenty men to run easily. Adding in shipboard security, Bolan had thirty enemies to take out. So far, he’d gone through almost half that number. With Grimaldi’s report about blasting a boarding crew with Dragon Slayer’s miniguns, he figured only about ten were left to oppose him. Bolan set up a grenade with a tripwire in the open hatchway, then turned back and went to the lower deck, heading for the engine room. He had another charge designated for the main boiler to scuttle the sub, allowing him to avoid being in the middle of an international incident. The North Koreans would turn the capture of their submarine into a global spectacle and demand the return of their sailors. At the very least, it would ramp up tensions between North Korea and the United States, and with the state of its nuclear program, such a loggerhead would turn into a lethal conflict for South Korea and perhaps even Japan.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, Bolan heard a resounding crash above. Charred flesh rained down the stairwell, informing him that his quick booby trap had done its job. Whoever was lying in wait for Bolan’s retreat had stumbled into the grenade’s tripwire. The soldier paused for a moment, waiting for further motion.

He was rewarded by a head poking out of a side hatch.

The Executioner swung up his P-90 in a lightning movement, high-powered 5.7 mm slugs smashing through the Asian’s face, destroying it in a cloud of blood and splintered bone. A muzzle poked around the hatch and Bolan backed up the steps. Sparks flashed on the metal below his feet, and Bolan crouched deeper, hammering out another burst that caught the enemy’s gun and plucked it from his hands.

Footsteps sounded as a man covered in bloody wounds lunged through the booby-trapped hatchway. The Korean spoke in an odd tone, unintelligible to Bolan, but the intent was clear. Armed with a handgun as a club, he lurched toward the big American, intent on killing the man who’d mutilated him. Bolan readjusted his aim, but the handgun butt knocked his barrel side.

The Executioner let go of the P-90 and grabbed the blood-slicked arm of the injured sailor. With a twist, he hauled the wounded man down and onto the steps with a sickening crack. Neck broken, the bloody Korean stopped thrashing and slid lifelessly to the lower deck. Bolan vaulted over the corpse, drawing his Desert Eagle.