cheek. "Now go get this bandaged."
He left quickly.
"Naturally I used his left hand so as not to jeopardize his fitness with a rifle for tomorrow's assault."
"How thoughtful."
She replaced the glass bell on the hurricane lamp and turned back to Bolan.
"Your sarcasm does not bother me, Sergeant. I have been very good to these men. I have slept with most of them at least once. Does that shock you?"
"No, it bores me."
She stood staring at Bolan for a full minute without moving. Her face was a fixed mask etched in ice.
Bolan returned her stare without blinking. He tried to penetrate the frosty exterior to understand what went on inside her head. From observation he had determined that both the twins were certifiably crazy.
Thomas Morganslicht was probably born that way, or at least acted as if he'd always been nuts. But Tanya Morganslicht seemed to have chosen craziness as a life-style. And that made her the more dangerous. Finally she broke off her stare, though Bolan figured she could have kept it up for hours had she wanted to. She buttoned the front of her blouse and walked to the door, pausing only to say. "You will need your rest for tomorrow." Then she closed the door behind her.
Bolan stretched out on the surviving cot he tried to formalize a plan to free the hostages, foil tomorrow's mission, and devastate the Zwilling Horde until they were nothing more than a smoking hole in the ground. Simple, sure. The situation was an arousing one for the Executioner.
Thomas Morganslicht had hated him from the start.
After his humiliating beating, Rudi Blau would probably try to kill him at first opportunity.
And now he had alienated Tanya Morganslicht until tonight his only ally. Yeah, things were heating up all right. And tomorrow they would boil over. The question was, who would be scalded most?
18
General Fordharn "Cruiser" Wilson tightened the belt of his bathrobe as he walked down the long staircase. It was barely 05.00 but the bright morning sun was already seeping through an early fog all over Germany. He loved these crisp, clear German mornings, remembering fondly how many of their sunrises he had witnessed when he was younger. A smile spread across his face and he shook his head like a proud father at the young man he used to be. Ah, well, never again. Not with these kinds of responsibilities.
He tightened his bathrobe again and wandered through the living room into the kitchen. He was surprised to find his houseguest up already, fully dressed, shaved, sipping freshly brewed coffee while he read the morning newspaper.
"Up early, aren't you, Mr. Grimaldi?"
Jack shrugged. "Not for me."
"I see," the general said. But he knew better. He had seen the concern and worry on this man's face ever since he had returned from Munich without the remarkable Colonel Phoenix.
The general was intrigued by the devotion this mysterious colonel seemed to inspire. Hell, he'd even found himself willing to follow the man's orders. The general too had inspired men to fierce loyalty, back when he was a commander in Korea. Despite heavy casualties and biting cold, his men had followed him into the hell jaws of battle after battle. That's where he'd picked up the nickname "Cruiser," because he and his men plowed through the enemy like a runaway battlecruiser. Medals, sure, and plenty of citations, but the one thing he had earned there that really mattered was his men's respect.
That was all that counted. Well, now it was time to let some of the younger men take over the fight.
"You read German?" General Wilson said, pointing at the local newspaper Grimaldi was leafing through.
"Nope, I just look at the pictures and wonder why the people in them look as dopey as the people in photos back home."
"Just guess it's the nature of newspapers to capture people at their worst."?
"Maybe so." Jack toyed absently with the spoon in his coffee cup.
"Look, Grimaldi," the general said, pouring himself a cup of coffee, "I don't know much about
He left quickly.
"Naturally I used his left hand so as not to jeopardize his fitness with a rifle for tomorrow's assault."
"How thoughtful."
She replaced the glass bell on the hurricane lamp and turned back to Bolan.
"Your sarcasm does not bother me, Sergeant. I have been very good to these men. I have slept with most of them at least once. Does that shock you?"
"No, it bores me."
She stood staring at Bolan for a full minute without moving. Her face was a fixed mask etched in ice.
Bolan returned her stare without blinking. He tried to penetrate the frosty exterior to understand what went on inside her head. From observation he had determined that both the twins were certifiably crazy.
Thomas Morganslicht was probably born that way, or at least acted as if he'd always been nuts. But Tanya Morganslicht seemed to have chosen craziness as a life-style. And that made her the more dangerous. Finally she broke off her stare, though Bolan figured she could have kept it up for hours had she wanted to. She buttoned the front of her blouse and walked to the door, pausing only to say. "You will need your rest for tomorrow." Then she closed the door behind her.
Bolan stretched out on the surviving cot he tried to formalize a plan to free the hostages, foil tomorrow's mission, and devastate the Zwilling Horde until they were nothing more than a smoking hole in the ground. Simple, sure. The situation was an arousing one for the Executioner.
Thomas Morganslicht had hated him from the start.
After his humiliating beating, Rudi Blau would probably try to kill him at first opportunity.
And now he had alienated Tanya Morganslicht until tonight his only ally. Yeah, things were heating up all right. And tomorrow they would boil over. The question was, who would be scalded most?
18
General Fordharn "Cruiser" Wilson tightened the belt of his bathrobe as he walked down the long staircase. It was barely 05.00 but the bright morning sun was already seeping through an early fog all over Germany. He loved these crisp, clear German mornings, remembering fondly how many of their sunrises he had witnessed when he was younger. A smile spread across his face and he shook his head like a proud father at the young man he used to be. Ah, well, never again. Not with these kinds of responsibilities.
He tightened his bathrobe again and wandered through the living room into the kitchen. He was surprised to find his houseguest up already, fully dressed, shaved, sipping freshly brewed coffee while he read the morning newspaper.
"Up early, aren't you, Mr. Grimaldi?"
Jack shrugged. "Not for me."
"I see," the general said. But he knew better. He had seen the concern and worry on this man's face ever since he had returned from Munich without the remarkable Colonel Phoenix.
The general was intrigued by the devotion this mysterious colonel seemed to inspire. Hell, he'd even found himself willing to follow the man's orders. The general too had inspired men to fierce loyalty, back when he was a commander in Korea. Despite heavy casualties and biting cold, his men had followed him into the hell jaws of battle after battle. That's where he'd picked up the nickname "Cruiser," because he and his men plowed through the enemy like a runaway battlecruiser. Medals, sure, and plenty of citations, but the one thing he had earned there that really mattered was his men's respect.
That was all that counted. Well, now it was time to let some of the younger men take over the fight.
"You read German?" General Wilson said, pointing at the local newspaper Grimaldi was leafing through.
"Nope, I just look at the pictures and wonder why the people in them look as dopey as the people in photos back home."
"Just guess it's the nature of newspapers to capture people at their worst."?
"Maybe so." Jack toyed absently with the spoon in his coffee cup.
"Look, Grimaldi," the general said, pouring himself a cup of coffee, "I don't know much about
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