Moments later, an adversary appeared
But it wasnât a member of the Lashkar Jihad or the United Islamic Front. It wasnât even human. Instead, Bolan found himself staring at a roiling, slow-moving cloud the color of pea soup. His mind flashed on the briefing papers heâd read on the way to Samarinda: an entire work crew killed in seconds by mingling pesticide vapors.
Trapped, all Bolan could do was watch as the cloud spilled over the side of the precipice and drifted down toward him. It looked almost alive, like some deadly creature on its way to claim a hapless prey that had fallen into its web.
Already he could smell the noxious fumes and his eyes were starting to burn, as well.
This is it, he thought. At long last, his number had come up.
Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival.
âWinston Churchill
Those who promote terror against their fellow citizens sink as low as men can get. I will risk everything and stop at nothing to put these terrorists out of business. Our survival depends on it.
âMack Bolan
INDONESIA
âOkay, I think Iâve got the hang of it,â Mack Bolan said, speaking through the condensor microphone duct-taped to the inside of his gas mask.
âIt gets easier once youâve done it awhile,â Abdul Salim told him. As they both took off their masks, Salim, a decorated major whoâd come up through the ranks of Indonesiaâs Royal Marine Commandos, added, âThe biggest thing to remember is not to hyperventilate.â
Bolan nodded. The truth was, although this particular mask was new to him, heâd worn similar protective gear on several occasions over the past few years. It was a sign of the times, a concession to the ever-increasing chance of biochemical attacks in the grim, unending war against global terrorism. Bolan missed the days when he could feel secure going into battle shielded only by the thin layer of Kevlar armor beneath his blacksuit. This day heâd even had to forgo the blacksuit in favor of a bulky, mud-colored HAZMAT suit. Heâd been issued an armored vest, but it wasnât made of Kevlar and, in comparison, felt as heavy as chain mail.
Major Salim was similarly attired. The two men were seated in the rear of a dust-covered white minibus making its way up a narrow, winding, two-lane mountain road seventeen miles north of Samarinda, capital city of Indonesiaâs East Kalimantan Province on the island of Borneo. The bus was following its usual itinerary, a scenic route that led to a hilltop textile center long popular with the tourist crowd.
Those aboard the bus that day, however, were not tourists, and their ultimate destination was not the textile center, but rather a nearby storage facility managedâor mismanaged as many contendedâby the Indonesian Ministry of Agriculture. The other eleven men in the vehicle were members of KOPASSUS, an elite army commando unit that had seen extensive duty of late battling the rise of Islamic extremism throughout the countryâs sprawling chain of islands. They, too, carried gas masks and were suited up in full HAZMAT gear. When Bolan first rendezvoused with the force at a private hangar at Samarindaâs small regional airport, the men had also been issued 10-shot, .45 ACP Heckler & Koch carbines, one of the few such weapons equipped with a trigger guard large enough to accommodate their thick protective gloves. Rounding out their gear, each soldier also carried a belt pack containing ammo clips, three flash-bang grenades and a first-aid kit loaded with ampules and various syringes for use in the event their suits were compromised during the impending raid.