No time, no choice, Bolan realized
Sight, breathe deep, let it out. How many times had he dropped an enemy from a distance, an invisible shooter? So many killing fields, he briefly considered, since he was a Green Beret sniper in Southeast Asia.
Yesterday’s victories and spilled enemy blood to save innocent lives didn't mean a damn thing, he knew, and never guaranteed success in the present. Dwelling on the glory days—believing reputation and prior success would carry a man through the day’s trials—was best left for fools, wanna-bes and has-beens.
The future, Bolan thought, was now.
And in his hands.
Other titles available in this series:
Lethal Impact
Deadfall
Onslaught
Battle Force
Rampage
Takedown
Death’s Head
Hellground
Inferno
Ambush
Blood Strike
Killpoint
Vendetta
Stalk Line
Omega Game
Shock Tactic
Showdown
Precision Kill
Jungle Law
Dead Center
Tooth and Claw
Thermal Strike
Day of the Vulture
Flames of Wrath
High Aggression
Code of Bushido
Terror Spin
Judgment in Stone
Rage for Justice
Rebels and Hostiles
Ultimate Game
Blood Feud
Renegade Force
Retribution
Initiation
Cloud of Death
Termination Point
Hellfire Strike
Code of Conflict
Vengeance
Executive Action
Killsport
Conflagration
Storm Front
War Season
Evil Alliance
Scorched Earth
Deception
Destiny’s Hour
Power of the Lance
A Dying Evil
Deep Treachery
War Load
Sworn Enemies
Dark Truth
Breakaway
Blood and Sand
Caged
Sleepers
Strike and Retrieve
Age of War
Line of Control
Breached
Retaliation
Pressure Point
Silent Running
Stolen Arrows
Zero Option
Predator Paradise
Circle of Deception
Devil’s Bargain
Mack Bolan®
Don Pendleton
It is fatal to enter any war without the will to win.
—Douglas MacArthur,
1880–1964
However much enemy blood I need to spill, whatever degree of pain is required to inflict on the vipers and jackals, I will be part of this war, without limit, without consequences. There will be no concession. There will be no compromise.
—Mack Bolan
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
Jaric Muhdal was waiting for the miracle to happen.
Word of the alleged breakout had been written in Kurdish on a wadded note tossed into his lap five days ago by his Turk captor. Muhdal had been ordered to eat the missive once he’d read it. Or was it six days, a week since the encounter? And was this simply mental torture, taunting him with false hopes of escaping the hell on earth called Dyrik Prison? One last sadistic blow by his tormentors to break his spirit, and days, he believed, before he was marched out to the courtyard to be beheaded?