Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “Why's that?”

  “Well, he seemed genuinely shocked that I anticipated his entrance point onto the ambush scene. Shows he hasn't had much of a challenge lately. But, he wasn’t afraid to show his surprise. You know, that suggests a willingness to gather fresh intel and consider new perspectives, a characteristic that’s essential to all successful soldiers.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well, I caught no smells coming off him. That’s pretty remarkable if he was tracking us for six hours in that heat. And remember, I was only fully aware of his presence for half that time. So, he was pretty savvy in the woods. And, I liked how he managed the ambush from his perspective.”

  “He managed the ambush?”

  “Sure. When he came in, he was obviously unhappy about it. He realized immediately it was an incredible tactical mistake by Dave. He felt stuck with Dave’s decision, but he took his time evaluating his personal options.”

  “Marty did?”

  “Yeah, it's what saved him from that bullet of yours and probably saved the remaining group. I liked that. He recognized the controller of the pack at the time—me.”

  “You gained all that from a few minutes near him?”

  “You forget, Snuff, if there’s one thing I know, it’s men in combat situations.”

  “Okay, so you’re saying this Marty might just show up and say ‘Hey, Connor Mac, can I join your little crew? Please? Oh, and can I help you back to Pittsburgh for some unknown reason?’ Is that it?”

  “I think it’s a very real possibility.”

  “Wow,” she said.

  “But, I need to set him up to see if we can trust him.”

  She dug into her pack, removing a small hairbrush and running it roughly through her long hair. Connor took this as a good sign. He’d seen this behavior from her before. She was likely wrapping her mind around his thoughts, looking to shoot holes in his logic. He waited; content to watch the light shimmer into the deep blackness of her hair. When she put the brush away and lit another cigarette, he pretended to be deep in thought, staring out at the subdivision. “So what’s your plan?” she asked. “How ya gonna set him up?”

  “Well, for now, let’s do some sub-hunting. I’ll explain later. But, I’m thinking that he doesn’t know you. You might make a good test of his character.”

  “What? You wanna use me as bait!”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. “No, I want to test what that man does with a ‘defenseless’ woman struggling to survive on her own.”

  “You want to use me as fucking bait. I can’t believe it,” she said, shaking her head in dismay.

  Connor decided to try another approach. “Okay, never mind. I guess we can just track him down and say ‘surprise.’ And see if he wants to join up. But, then we’ll never know what the man’s truly like. You know?”

  “Bait. I can’t fucking believe you’d use me as bait,” mumbled Amanda.

  “Forget it. We’ll just disappear tomorrow. Forget I said anything.” He gathered his gear and started through the soy field. Amanda followed and for several minutes they moved cautiously. They came to a break in the soy, suggesting an old access road. Connor began detailing potential assault plans in his mind for entering the subdivision.

  “We’ll head into the subdivision by this route. It’s probably the least common entry and it has the best advantage of concealing cover,” said Connor.

  Amanda was lost in thought and Connor studied her face for signs of acknowledgement. But she wasn’t thinking about the sub-hunting—she was thinking about being used as bait. “Okay,” said Amanda. “I’ll do it. But, I just better not get killed by that asshole.”

  “Thanks, Amanda.”

  “Screw you, Mac. I’m still a little pissed about you tossing me out there as bait.”

  Connor kept his mouth shut, not pushing his luck and began walking soundlessly along the access road toward potential treasure.

  CHAPTER 1.15-Casting a Narrow Net

  Colonel Starkes slept with her head against the small side window of the helicopter. Waking with a start when the helicopter banked sharply, her head snapped rather hard against the window. Unbelievably, she’d fallen asleep while the helicopter flew onward in their night flight across Indiana. She grinned in the cabin darkness. It was true, she thought, that a good soldier learned to sleep anywhere. Granted, she considered herself among the best, but sleep on a ‘copter was not something she’d ever achieved. She felt proud of this small, strange accomplishment, the thought dredging up images of her father who’d died nine years ago. She would’ve liked to have told him of her nap, knowing he would’ve laughed in understanding.

  “Hey, Dad…” she whispered to herself.

  Though trained mostly to be a military lab rat with a specialization in epidemiology, she had insisted on obtaining true combat experience. And it was one of the best decisions she’d ever made for several reasons. Nothing else would’ve satisfied her Master Chief father, a decorated Vietnam vet. Not her advanced degrees, not her impressive understanding of the blossoming field of genetics. Nothing. Nothing, but down-on-the-ground-in-your-face-combat would command such respect.

  "I took a nap on a bird," she thought.

  The grin on her face disappeared, thinking of the men she’d lost under her command during a particular raid of a terrorist bunker in Iraq, courtesy of Desert Storm. Often, this particular mission came back to brutally remind her of the weight she carried when in charge of an operation. On that assignment, the bunker was supposed to be lightly guarded while scientists inside tinkered with their biological weapons-grade concoctions. Intel was scant on the activities inside the bunker, and afterwards, grossly inadequate. She’d lost two men that day, though the mission objective was completed with much success. Post-conflict briefings showed a kill ratio of fifteen to one. She remembered—

  “Colonel?”

  “Yes, major?”

  “Ma’am, infrared has located a group of people on a farm about a mile back. Estimates are thirty-five to forty individuals, but there may be more. Their evasive maneuvers suggest a highly coordinated action and an elevated defensive preparation.”

  “Anything else, major?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’d suggest that such a well coordinated defensive response implies a broadened military assessment of the tactical environment.”

  “Why is that important to us right now, major?”

  “Topographical study of terrain southwest of Fort Wayne, overlaid with a roads and rivers map of 2010 shows the tactical response is based on defensive measures in reference to SR 14 and CR 68.”

  “Nice move applying the overlay.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  "Major, switch to private channel. Our ears only."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  “I’ve been napping.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “You’ve conducted only one flyby?”

  “Correct.”

  Chomping at the bit, Major O’Malley was ready for some action. Perhaps, the colonel thought, he was antsy for something to do after the recon and acquisition of Nicole and CJ and the boring time spent since the success of the mission. Idly, she wondered if his testosterone levels were running high after exposure to Nicole. It was easy to see the beautiful woman had made quite an impression on the major, as well as the rest of the unit. On the other hand, maybe, he was just searching for a way to let off some steam.

  “Is this another fishing expedition, major?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Why the sudden interest? We've received nothing from the twenty-five men and women in Boulder, nothing from the dozen people in Lincoln, Nebraska, and nothing from the twenty in Springfield.”

  “Well—”

  “Are these fishing expeditions your proposed solution for locating Colonel MacMillen?”

  Colonel Starkes was frustrated. She considered the daunting task of locating one man who had a twelve-month head start in a
n area as large as the continental United States. While it was true that Nicole had provided important guidance on habits, general direction, and possible goals, her knowledge did nothing more than downgrade the task from impossible to improbable. When she thought out her options, the colonel began to consider posting a large net of men west and south of Pittsburgh. It might be her only chance of finding him.

  She needed to research why Connor MacMillen found it necessary to return to the Pittsburgh area. What was so damn interesting there? He had somehow crossed an expansive ocean from Australia to return to his homeland and he had undertaken the equally difficult task of crossing the country. She decided to assign Jimmy the task of finding out more about what tied Connor MacMillen to that part of the United States.

  Major O’Malley had wrongfully perceived Colonel Starkes’ silence as disapproval and had racked his brain to clarify his thoughts to his commanding officer. “Shamus pointed out that the maximum window of travel based on the parameters you set forth places Connor MacMillen within a seventy-five mile radius of this general area, ma’am. Like you suggested, colonel, he developed his estimated location by assuming limited weather aberrations, avoidance of nuclear hotspots, preference for travel near highways and large bodies of water, and walking as the only form of travel.”

  “I guess if Shamus said it, it must be true,” replied Colonel Starkes in a teasing fashion. She knew that the major's relationship with Shamus was fast becoming one of an older brother mentoring a younger one.

  Sensing the mild taunt, Major O’Malley squared his shoulders. “I trust his judgment, colonel. He’s thinking of nothing else since you first presented this scenario. That, and flying this bird, I guess. He says it reminds him of when he taught at MIT—he and some of his students completed an important probabilities study during his tenure there. He’s applied the results of that study to this specific problem.”

  “Right. I forgot. Shamus was a professor at MIT. What hasn’t that man done?" said Colonel Starkes.

  She glanced at their pilot with newfound respect, making a mental note to better explore this aspect of his career in the future. The dossier had glossed over these facts when she viewed them back at Mt. Storm.

  “So, lemme get this straight. You and Shamus think another fishing expedition is in order? Even though these fishing expeditions have resulted in nothing that we can use in finding Connor MacMillen?”

  "And the possible military presence may indicate a number of potential recruits.”

  “I’m not sure that I’m as optimistic as you, major, but proceed with your plans to contact the local leaders. Major?”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Don’t lose sight of our primary objective. We've located Nicole and her child. Our primary objective at this point remains CJ’s safety. Do you understand?”

  "Yes, ma'am. Of course."

  “Okay, major. Instruct Shamus to set this bird down away from hostile infiltration. You and five men of your choosing can contact the leader of this small community—the rest of the men will remain with the helicopter. You have six hours to complete your mission. If you’re not back by that time, we’ll leave without you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Understood.”

  Nicole stared out the window, enjoying the helicopter ride immensely. She had always wanted to do this, but gave up hope after the Sickness had effectively grounded all air traffic. She glanced at Major O’Malley who was trying his best not to stare at her. She covered her mouth to hide her smile—she was pleased with his attention. He was easy on the eyes and it was clear to her that he felt an attraction. She wondered if he had someone back at Camp David.

  CHAPTER 1.16-Brown Two-story with Green Trim

  “Which one?” asked Amanda.

  “The brown two-story with the green trim. See that 'tot finder' sticker in the upper left window?”

  “Okay, I see it.”

  “I thought I heard something. Maybe a voice.”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” said Amanda.

  They were well hidden near a batch of weeds and rock that used to be rear-wall landscaping before returning to nature.

  “It’s your sub-hunting trip. Your mission. You call it from here, Snuff.”

  She scanned the surroundings carefully with her binoculars for a few moments and made a decision. "We go, but we avoid that house. There’s a white house with red trim at the end of that road. That one is promising. Let’s keep that as our target. We’ll move another fifty yards and determine if it’s still a good target.”

  “Point of egress?”

  “We use the cover of the neighboring house, swing set, deck, and back deck to avoid any surveillance.”

  “Not bad, Snuff. But you're not considering tripwires and other warning devices. Check there again,” said Connor, pointing toward the house.

  “Where?”

  “Near the swing set.”

  Amanda lifted her binoculars and studied the area. “Damn,” she said. There was a spider web of barely perceptible fishing line through all of the back yards for eight consecutive properties. It appeared that all the fishing lines tracked to the house from where Connor thought he heard something.

  “I don’t know how long ago those warning devices were installed, but I’d say we have to assume likely hostiles. What’s your next move, Snuff?” When, after sixty seconds, Amanda hadn’t answered Connor’s question, he prompted her. “What about it, Snuff?”

  “Hold on,” she said, scanning the area with her binoculars. “I’m thinking.”

  “You don’t have that fucking luxury!” whispered Connor. “Let's say you have possible hostiles—you have to make a decision. What are your orders?”

  “Regroup at earlier mustering area using all possible stealth. We’ll consider a new approach from there.”

  “Understood.”

  They faded across the field to the access road and the small wooded area from which they had approached. The woods provided excellent cover without limiting their view of the target house. When they were safely within the trees, Amanda used her binoculars to study the area.

  “Was that the best choice I had, Mac?”

  “Yeah, definitely. It was time to regroup and make a new plan.”

  “I thought you’d want to address the hostiles first.”

  “Why do that, Snuff?”

  “To get rid of them so we could explore safely without worrying about them.”

  “Wrong,” said Connor. “Absolutely wrong. Never assume you’ve made an area safe. That’s a fortress mentality.”

  “'Fortress mentality’? That’s one I haven’t heard yet. What’s it mean, Mac?”

  “A soldier can become accustomed to an area where he hasn’t died. Surviving a prolonged siege in a fortress or remaining as part of a group in a bunker that’s survived multiple assaults fosters complacency. And complacency is a soldier’s worst enemy. He begins to feel as if nothing bad can happen to him if he stays in that safe haven. Once he lets his guard down, it’s only a matter of time until he ends up with his throat cut.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” said Amanda.

  “Do you plan on returning to your target house?” asked Connor.

  “If we can do it safely, yes.”

  “Egress?” he asked.

  She laid out her plan for him. He suggested some minor adjustments, but was pleased with her thought process. They began a cautious approach further east of the target house. Connor nodded and followed. The view had its advantages.

  CHAPTER 1.17-Finding the Way

  Standing on soft ground, devoid of vegetation, Marty studied the footprints in the soft mud, struggling to comprehend the meaning. The area had served as a reconnaissance base for surveillance of a soybean field, and, more likely, the subdivision beyond. There were two sets of footprints—one was probably a size eleven, but the other was only a size six at best. He walked around the muddy area, viewing it from different perspectives, but nothing shook his conviction that he was on
the wrong trail. A man and a boy or a man and, more likely, a woman made these tracks—no way it was Connor and Snuff.

  The muddy area resulted from a natural spring. It was running now and Marty had the distinct impression that it never stopped running. The two people belonging to the footprints had likely stopped for fresh water. He crouched to drink from the spring and while he filled his canteen, he wondered where he had lost Connor’s trail. The last place he had been confident in his tracking skills was at the intersection where he discovered the cigarette butts arranged in a makeshift arrow.

  Several trail indicators emerged since, but they were all faint—a crushed berry, a broken twig, or maybe a flattened portion of weeds. This was the first time Marty had viable footprints—it hadn’t rained for several days and the ground was hard packed. He needed to backtrack to find out where he'd made his mistake.

  Disappointed, he'd hoped to locate Connor and Snuff within the next twenty-four hours, but this would set him back another day, if not more. He considered returning to the highway to retrace his steps and shook his head in disgust. It might be a very long day.

  CHAPTER 1.18-A Perimeter Breached

  It was dark and the major was having difficulty seeing the captain from three feet away. It was three o'clock in the morning.

  “Captain?” whispered Major O’Malley.

  “Yes, major?”

  “What can you make out?”

  “I make seven armed hostiles on perimeter. Four more are armed and directly outside the house. It's a safe assumption they all have ammunition for their weapons. They're completing excellent overlapping security routes. There's a strong sense of military precision and a highly elevated vigilance. It’s unknown how many are inside.”

  “What’s your recommendation for an assault?” asked Major O’Malley.

  “I’d like a confirmation of our mission objective, sir.”

  “This mission is simply for info purposes only, captain. We want these men alive. Captured, if necessary. You’re to use live fire only if directly threatened.”