Fire Zone. Don Pendleton

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      â€œMy car,” Bolan said.

      â€œBuck, get this guy out of here. We don’t have time to worry about civilians. We gotta clear as much brush as we can to slow the advance, and we’re running out of time.”

      The one who had spoken initially reached out and took Bolan’s arm.

      â€œYou heard the man. We go. You stay out of the fire, and I get to come back and do my job.” The bitterness in Buck’s voice told the story. He was a dedicated firefighter, and Bolan took him away from his job.

      â€œPoint me in the right direction. I can find my way out.”

      This easy way out appealed to Buck. He rubbed his lips with a gloved hand, made a face, then inclined his head toward the far side of the clearing.

      â€œI’ll get you on a trail leading downhill to the command station. Masterson only told me to get you out of danger. He didn’t say anything about nursemaiding you all the way into Boise.” He pointed and started walking clumsily as he fumbled with the dangling respirator.

      â€œYou want to stay in your rig?”

      â€œTakes forever to get it on and take it off. Just don’t go too fast for me to keep up.”

      Bolan and Buck walked side-by-side toward the far edge of the clearing. Bolan turned around once to see the towering flames a quarter mile behind. The fire spread faster as it found more dried underbrush. The treetops were exploding with a sound like distant bombs.

      â€œThe crowns of the trees are catching fire,” Buck said, obviously worried. “That’s bad. The fire spreads faster jumping from treetop to treetop than when it burns along the ground.”

      â€œYou see anybody in the area?” the Executioner asked.

      Buck stopped and stared at him. Bolan was sure the firefighter saw the butt of the Desert Eagle in its shoulder holster under his left armpit but said nothing about it.

      â€œJust other firefighters. Two of us have already gotten caught by it.” He saw Bolan’s expression and explained. “The fire. It’s like some wild, uncontrollable beast. Two friends of mine were treated for smoke inhalation and are on the way to the hospital. More of us will join them before it’s over, since this fire covers such a wide area.”

      â€œArson,” Bolan said. “I caught two of the firebugs, but they got away.”

      â€œYou a cop? FBI?”

      Bolan had no problem verifying that if it helped him find out more from the firefighter. Stony Man Farm specialized in counterterrorism, and setting such fires counted as terrorism, but the mercenaries he had already brought down only used the forest fires to cover their tracks. Gold theft was their primary mission in spite of the havoc they created.

      â€œHomeland Security,” he said, which was close enough to the truth to be believable.

      â€œYou’re doing a piss-poor job of policing the borders,” the firefighter said unexpectedly.

      â€œOne job at a time.”

      â€œYeah, look, keep going in this direction. You’ll reach a creek. Follow that downstream until you see our base camp. There’s a couple hundred people there, so it’s hard to miss.”

      Buck started back to his crew to fight the fire, but his radio crackled and the frightened voice sounding from it caused him to grab it frantically.

      â€œCome in, Masterson. Repeat. Repeat. What’s your report?”

      â€œYour team got caught and is surrounded by the fire,” Bolan said. He had experience enough to decipher almost any message coming through intense static and dropping words.

      â€œGo, get out of here,” the firefighter said. He worked at the walkie-talkie but got no response.

      â€œI can help. You can’t do anything by yourself.”

      â€œI can get to them. We have to evac now.”

      â€œIt’ll be with casualties,” Bolan said. He had a mission to complete, but he wasn’t going to let Buck try to save the others in his crew alone. That would only add one more death to the impressive list of destruction the gold thieves had already racked up.

      â€œThey’ll chew my ass good for this, but you’re right. I need help, and I don’t care if you’re only a civilian. Come on!”

      Two of them doubled the chance of rescuing the trapped firefighters.

      â€œI’ll need some equipment in your camp,” Bolan pointed out. He did not give the firefighter a chance to argue. Seconds mattered. They retraced their steps, but Buck did not slow when they came to the stacks of equipment. He plunged on toward the wall of smoke masking the edge of the fire zone.

      Bolan scooped up a respirator and goggles. The rest of the equipment—fire-retardant jacket, boots and equipment for clearing brush—was meant for the firefighters who would remain close to the blaze for a long time. He wanted only to rescue the men trapped so he joined Buck and immediately regretted not putting on a jacket or a fire helmet. Tiny sparks landed on his arms and in his hair, burning holes and causing distracting pain. But he had put up with worse in his day. He began squashing the tiny fires in his clothing as if swatting mosquitos.

      â€œIt moved fast this way. We never saw it coming because the copter pilot said it was following a dirt road, not coming downhill toward us.”

      â€œThe wind changed direction,” Bolan said. He adjusted the face mask and respirator before plunging through the wall of fire. The fierce flames clawed at him like some wild animal, but he burst through and came out in a curiously empty area already burned clean of vegetation. Two of the firefighters were flat on the ground and not moving. Another sat, clutching his leg and uttering curses mostly about the fire. The other two worked to make contact using their walkie-talkies.

      â€œThe stream,” Bolan shouted, making himself heard over the roar of the fire. “Where is it?”

      â€œWe’ve got fire-resistant blankets. We can weather it. We’re only on the edge.” Buck did not sound confident. One of the unconscious men was the fire team leader, and there did not seem to be anyone left willing to make independent decisions.

      â€œThey 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

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