"Go!" she hollered again and her three remaining troops piled through the front door, their Uzis chattering diatribes of death. When the last of her men had made it through the door, Tanya followed with her own captured Uzi blazing from chest level.

Bolan was happy to let the kills continue.

He heard a second-story window being opened.

He ducked into the recess of the front door, his back pressed against the wall so that those above could not see him.

It wasn't much more than a fifteen-foot drop, and the first two made it with no problem. Someone from above tossed their Uzis to them, then they waved for the third person to follow. She did. But when she hit the ground, Bolan could hear her ankle snap with a crack. She muffled her scream so as not to warn the attackers inside, but it was obvious she would not be able to walk.

The two men exchanged looks, then glanced back at her. She was apparently pleading for them to take her with them, but the two men had already made up their minds. They could not make it with her dragging them down, nor could they risk leaving her behind to scream a warning.

But nor did they want to alert the troops inside where they were, so they could not shoot. So while the girl continued her whispered pleading, the taller man assured her that they would help. As his comrade soothed her, the second man drove the butt of his gun into the side of her head, crushing her skull.

It was not a blow meant to stun or knock out. It was meant to kill, and from the way she toppled backward like a bludgeoned steer, Bolan knew it had done its job. The men started to run.

"Hold it," Bolan said softly. The menace in his voice found their ears despite the loud carnage inside the house.

The two hardguys brought their Uzis up as they pivoted in a low crouch, but Bolan was already firing, stitching a row of wet red buttons across their chests.

He zigzagged another row from head to crotch for each, spinning them around before they collapsed.

Inside, it was a bloody mess, with weapons and shredded flesh splattered across the walls. Bolan was careful where he walked because the thick pools of blood made the floor slippery.

"This one's still alive," Thomas Morganslicht said, pointing at one sprawled man, his eyes half-open, blood foaming at his mouth. Rudi stepped carelessly over a few bodies and stood next to the man Thomas had pointed out. Then with a mighty cry he lifted his right leg knee high into the air and stomped down on the man's throat with his heavy boot. The body jerked a few times then remained still. Rudi looked over at Bolan and smiled.

"The rest are dead," Tanya proclaimed as she finished her tour. "That takes care of witnesses. Now let's load the weapons."

Bolan counted eight remaining of the Zwilling Horde, including himself. There were at least twenty-five dead among the Black Sunday group, so it had been a successful raid in terms of objectives. However, they had lost eight of their troops. There were more back at the camp, of course... enough for the big operation to come? Bolan would find that one out soon enough.

16

"Let's kill him now," Thomas Morganslicht said, collapsing onto his cot with a deep sigh.

"In time," Tanya answered. She walked over to the stove and poured herself a cup of thick German coffee.

"We don't need him anymore. We have the weapons we need for the day after tomorrow."

"No," she said, shaking her head and blowing steam from the coffee. "We go tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? That's too soon. Everything has been planned for the next day."

"No it hasn't. It never was. I told everyone the wrong day for security reasons."

Thomas jumped up from the cot and wagged his finger angrily at his sister. "But you should have told me! I'm in command here."

"Co-command, was she said icily.

He shrugged. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Yes, dear brother, I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes before you even mean it."

Thomas began pacing beside the cot. His voice was petulant but accepting, the way it always was when his sister outmaneuvered him. "Still, I should have been told."

She took a sip of coffee and smiled soothingly. "...Look, Thomas, when we decided to form this little group, we agreed that I would be in charge of security. Okay, I could have told you the truth, but then you'd have had to pretend to everyone else that we were going a day later. And we both know how hard it is for you to pretend. You were never good at it when we were children, nor are you any better at it now."

"Well, I..." he protested.

"There's no need to deny it. I'm glad you're that way. Your honesty and candor is what make our troops follow you so readily into battle. They trust you. That's why you're in charge of training them."

"Yes, yes, that's true."

"Of course it is." She widened her smile until he turned away, then she threw it away like old coffee grounds. As always, she had told him what he had wanted to hear, and that would satisfy him for the time being. Poor Thomas had always been a little weak in the brain. Though he was older by 86 seconds, she always looked upon him as her younger brother. Had it not been for her, he'd have flunked out of the university and be working in a Volkswagen factory somewhere. Some people were born to follow and some were born to lead. But Thomas had his uses. Men still did not like taking orders from a woman. So whenever possible, she gave the orders to Thomas and by the time he had passed them on to the men, he had convinced himself that he'd made them up. It worked quite well.

"Tomorrow we take the sergeant with us on the mission," continued Tanya. "After tonight's raid we are short of men. And we can use his military experience. Despite our own experience, he is still a professional and we are amateurs."

"Why would he help us?" bleated Thomas.

She laughed dryly. "We will offer him money. And after we're successful tomorrow, you and Rudi can kill him."

Thomas smiled. "And make him an example?"

"If you must."

"It's the only way to show the world that we mean business," seethed the brother.

His sister smiled. "After tomorrow, history will know us in all our crimson magnificence. Do what you will, Thomas, do what has to be done."

17

Rudi sat on the edge of his cot, the gnarled log balanced across his knees, his meaty hands wrapped around each end. He scowled across the room at Bolan, huge teeth glistening with saliva.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Bolan grinned.

Rudi tightened his grip on the log. "American humor," he sneered and spat on the dusty floor.

"Yeah, well, you don't exactly keep me in stitches, guy. Though I think you'd like to."

"Shut up!" spluttered Rudi, saliva spraying from his lips. He struggled to control his temper. It was what the twins would want him to do, but still it was so difficult at times, especially with this infuriating American. There was something about this man that made Rudi seriously nervous. Rudi had, to his knowledge, never been afraid of anything before in his life.

But with this American it was different. The U.S. Army sergeant goaded and pushed in such a way that Rudi wanted to crush him. Breaking his back would not be enough, he would have to use his thumbs to gouge out those taunting eyes, too. He hated those eyes. They were hard confident eyes that somehow drained Rudi of his own confidence. And that could not be tolerated. He would try to control his temper, for the sake of the twins, but there were limits beyond which even he could not be pushed.

"Enough talk," Rudi warned. "You talk too much, but say nothing."

"An American custom," Bolan nodded. "We call it small talk. It's supposed to make us good buddies."