War everlasting.
And his enemy was the same single enemy, unchanging.
His enemy was the heart of the Hydra, wherein resides pure evil.
In his Asian jungles he had cut a bloody swath through the arteries of that enemy, the ranks of Savage Man, mobs of cannibals who lived for the Hydra. And when his war had shifted to another front, application of the Bolan Effect to an urban combat zone had hugely stunned the Mafia, decimating family after family. Schooled in guerilla warfare, equipped with all the latest lethal hardware, Bolan astounded experts by pulling off a victory against syndicate forces that vastly, absurdly outnumbered him. In his wake, the mighty Mafia was shaken and dispirited, an easy mark for Hal Brognola and his federales.
As for Bolan's other global war, the John Phoenix campaign of justice by fire, there was only one word for it: blitzkrieg lightning war. Mobility and firepower were the methods.
Now Bolan faced dramatic new focus as his life term of Executioner brought him closer and closer to the single hellheart of Savage Man.
Perilous territory, full of horror. At first he would be forced to be a helpless witness to it.
And then he would strike at the heart.
Meanwhile there was no rest, no surcease. All around flowed more arteries of the enemy; on this day Mack Bolan's enemies were legion. But he had slaughtered thousands since the birthing of his war, and although a dozen more rose to take the place of every fallen savage, he had stood his ground and with grim determination fought against the tide. There was no question that he would prevail.
He had a tactic as powerful as any weapon. This weapon was one of perception and timing, not caliber or trajectory.
Once he had been an outlaw. Now, for a time at least, he was sanctioned in his work. The secret weapon was that Bolan was not a fixed object.
He did not sit like a landmark in one spot, waiting for the natural forces to find him and wear him down.
He would never become a testament to entropy, to the destructive power.
As a new day dawned, Bolan understood profoundly how much he was not like these tropical lands of the Far East, worn and worked on beyond recognition by time and war.
At the window in the refinery, Mack Bolan looked out and meditated on the gray mist rolling off the low surrounding hills, down toward the thicker trees of the flatlands.
Like the mist, he would prevail by adapting his form. He would roll over any obstacle in his path.
Like the mist, no jungle could stop him in his mission.
Mack Bolan would pursue Liu to the very end.
Liu's directors, cowering in fear even before the refinery battle broke out, were now locked in the same office where Bolan had first found them, gathered together without weapons but deep in the mire of their propositions and dirty deals of killing and staying alive: vicious vermin, chewing at each others vitals in the face of death instead of uniting in the face of attack.
They would stay there, under lock and key, until Nark, representing the CIA, blew the place sky high.
Bolan descended to the ground floor where Heath and the copilot were finishing mining the refinery. It was the last installation to be mined on the hardsite.
"Everything is wired up to one bravo, mama," said Heath. "That way when we leave, all it'll take is one turn of the handle."
"Have you done the vault yet?" asked Bolan. The door had to be blown. It was locked, and only Liu knew the combination.
"Thought we'd leave that to last," said Heath. "The vault's right next to the file room. Could damage the files."
"Not if we do it properly," said Bolan. "I promised the Meo the gold when the fighting was over. It's over."
They set out for the administration building. It was daylight, a cold, windy morning.
In the cloudy sky, birds of prey circled, waiting for the humans to leave so they could begin their feast.
"Colonel, when are we moving out?" asked Heath.
"Not before tonight," Bolan replied. "Nark says it'll take that long to transmit all the files. Why?"
"I was wondering. One of those helos on the LZ wouldn't take too much to fix. A Texas Ranger. Big enough to carry all of us. We'd save ourselves a walk."
"Try it," said Bolan. "If we can fly out, so much the better. Only put a guard on it when you're through. I wouldn't like Liu to lay his hands on it."
"You still think he's in the camp, sir?" asked the copilot.
"I'm certain of it," said Bolan. He pulled out the aerial on his radio. "Phoenix to Mr. Ly." Ly was leading the search for Liu.
"This is Ly, Colonel."
"Anything to report?" asked Bolan.
"Colonel, I tried to get you, but your radio did not answer," said Ly. "A prisoner told us he saw Liu near the administration building when the fighting started. I think he is mistaken. We searched everywhere, but we found nothing."
Blood rushed to Bolan's head. "Mr. Ly, you must try again. I want the whole area turned upside down. The admin building, the power house, the tool sheds, the warehouses. Everything must be searched all over, do you understand?"
"Colonel, we did that. He is not in the area. If he is in the camp as you say, he must be hiding in the other section, but we must wait for the ruins to cool down. It is very hot there."
"Mr. Ly, I insist. You must search the..."
The thunder of hooves interrupted him. From around a corner a group of Montagnard riders emerged going at full gallop. The first one rode Nark's horse. It was Liu. The pepeshas in their hands flickered as they bore down on the whites.
Bolan dived to the ground to avoid the tracers. A moment later shapes flew past and over him amid a cacophony of hoofbeats and gunfire. A hoof kicked his head, sending stars dancing before his eyes. By the time the stars cleared, the riders had gone.
Bolan ran to the radio lying on the ground. "Mr. Ly! Mr. Ly! Liu is escaping! Order the gates closed!'' But he was wasting his breath. The fall had broken the radio.
"Looks like someone else had the idea of switching uniforms," said Heath. "Did you notice one of them rode Nark's horse?"
Nark! Bolan raced for the administration building.
A crowd had gathered outside. He pushed his way through, his heart beating wildly at the thought of what he might find in the file room. He ran into the building and crossed the foyer where naked Montagnards were trying on uniforms left by Tiger. He descended the stairs two at a time, ran into the file room, and sighed with relief. Both were alive.
"Did you get him?" asked Nark, dabbing iodine on a gash in Stressner's scalp.
"They got away," said Bolan, panting. He looked at the open vault gleaming with yellow metal. "So that's where they were."
"We didn't even hear them," said Nark. "Our backs were turned and the radio was on."
"To be KO'd with a gold brick," said Stressner. "Who'll ever believe it?"
Bolan inspected the vault. It had a door that could be opened from the inside. The racks were filled with enough gold bars to set up the Montagnards for life.
From the stairway came the sound of feet, and Vang Ky appeared followed by Heath and the copilot. "They took the northern trail," the headman announced. "The gate guards took them for our men," he added by way of an excuse.
"To be expected," said Bolan.
"Must be heading for Burma," said Nark.
Bolan walked to where two backpack radio sets stood against a wall. They were Russian Z-l0s, among the communication equipment parachuted the previous night. No one was using them because the small sets were handier, but these had a superior range.
"What are you doing?" asked Nark, seeing Bolan strap one on.
"Going after Liu," said Bolan. "I'll leave you to blow up the place. I'll check in every hour on the hour, wherever you are."
"John, don't be foolish," said Nark, going up to him. "Why risk your life for one man? The mission is over,"
"No, Nark," Bolan replied. "Drug syndicates are like hydras. To destroy them you have to cut off all their heads. If I'm not at the rendezvous, leave without me. I'll make my way back somehow."