The gully was slippery as well as steep; it would have been impossible to go slowly even if they wanted to.
They tumbled, slid and skated down the moss-covered rock bed of the rivulet that ran between its banks until they could see the sunlit waters of the fjord through the thorny branches below them.
It was then that they heard the assault-rifle fire for the second time one very long burst and then, immediate afterward, a much shorter one. This was followed by an irregular series of lighter shots punctuating the distant reports of the Russian guns.
"Used up all the rounds in the G-11," Bolan muttered. They counted the automatic-pistol shots. Four bursts of three, five single shots, a final triple blast.
And then, shocking in its impact, a savage, cracking detonation that sent echoes clattering from side to side of the ravine and startled flocks of seabirds squawking from the rocks above.
Gunnar Bjornstrom had bowed out the way he wanted it.
The Executioner put an arm around the sobbing woman's shoulders. "Keep going," he said. "He trusted us to take advantage of his courage. If we don't get the hell out of here and carry on the fight we're letting him down."
The raft was in the middle of a fleet of blue-and-white fishing boats, the bus was on its way back to the bridge at the head of the fjord and the helicopter after a couple of impotent passes over the ravine had flown back toward the pithead when the first spasm shivered the calm surface of the water.
A mushroom of smoke and dust bellied out from the cliff above the cave mouths, and a huge explosion rolled across the fjord. Before the reverberations of the blast had died away, it was followed by the rumbling roar of thousands of tons of rock collapsing into the water.
The boats rocked crazily as shock waves raced across the surface. One after the other, Bolan sensed rather than heard the muffled minor blasts that would wreck the installations of the secret base now sealed off forever behind the rockfall barring the entrance.
And then, silhouetted against the clear northern sky, the gantry carrying the pithead wheel folded inward and collapsed as a gigantic tongue of flame smashed through the elevator and the shaft erupted in thunderous fury.
When the last rumble had died away and the fishing boats had scattered to take a closer look at the landslide that had tumbled into their fjord, Bolan smiled wearily.
"At least they'll be safe for quite some time from Soviet submarines," he said.
Erika smiled at him, the wide mouth tempting. "And now?" she inquired. "I think you said you were on vacation? I'd be happy, very happy to act as your guide and point out some of the more... positive... pleasures of this country."
Regretfully, he shook his head. The past few days had made the point vacations were not for him. Not yet. Not while animal man ran wild.
"There will be other bases," he said. "Other submarines. Other fishermen who have the right to live their lives free of fear."
She nodded. There were tears in her eyes. Then she said, "Another time... maybe?"
"Maybe," the Executioner said.