by Paul Kirk
“Well, you are now under new and specific orders to call me Mike. Do you understand, private?”
“Is that private, first class?” she asked, playfully. She grinned and rose from the cot where she and CJ had rested for a late afternoon nap. The light sheet that covered her fell away from her body as she stood, revealing that she wore only a long T-shirt.
“That is correct,” answered the major, “private, first class. Absolutely.”
“Hmm,” she said huskily, “I’m okay with that.” She lifted the T-shirt off her body and tossed it to the floor. The supple upswell of her breasts nearly caused Major O’Malley to gasp. When she slid into his embrace, he slipped his hands onto her slim hips and pulled her to him.
“I would be happy to assist you in any way, major.”
“I’m on a tight timeline, private.”
“In that case, I suggest you let me handle this, major...Mike.”
CHAPTER 3.15-The Sikorsky H-92 Superhawk
“Mike, what kind of helicopter is that, anyway?”
Major O’Malley dressed near the stacked pallets in the storage area. He buttoned his pants and tightened his belt. CJ continued to sleep and the major lowered his voice considerately. This wasn’t easy for him—he felt like shouting at the top of his lungs. He tried to remember a happier time. “That's a Sikorsky H-92 Superhawk.”
“And those things on the sides—are those missiles or bombs?”
"Those are Hellfire missiles, Nicole. We can thank GT and Scott for strapping those on the bird. For sure, they had to do some retro-fitting, but they made it work.”
“What can they do?”
“Blow stuff up—very accurately. They’re laser guided.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means that we can guide them through a door and up someone’s ass if we want.”
“Do you think we’ll need them when we reach Cleveland?” she asked, approaching the major and pointing out his misaligned buttons. This quickly turned into an embrace with her encircling his broad chest and he sliding his hands to her firm, naked buttocks.
"I hope not."
“Be careful, Mike,” she whispered.
“I will. I gotta go, now. Give CJ a hug for me.”
CHAPTER 3.16-Getting Stitched Up
“That’s about the best I can do, Mr. McIntyre,” said Connor. Roger gently touched the fourteen stitches in his left forearm and the twenty-one across his chest. He was impressed by Connor’s skillful repair, but relieved that the medical attention was almost over. He swept the long reddish-brown hair from his eyes, watching Connor douse both wounds once more with whiskey before he wiped and covered each with small cloth bandages. As an added measure, Connor pulled white tape taken from a Ziploc bag buried deep in his backpack and deftly applied small strips.
“Please...call me Roger. That’s a very nice job,” he added, referring to Connor’s field dressing. Roger’s dark eyes studied Connor for a few seconds before he turned to check on his wife for the third time in as many minutes. Rhonda was covered in a threadbare blanket, resting on the couch. Roger stared directly at Connor and swallowed, gently wetting his busted lips. “Thanks again,” he said, nearly overcome with gratitude.
Connor was pleased with the behavior of this new stranger. Though he was pale and physically battered, he was nowhere near mentally beaten. He had refused a drink of whiskey, offered to help combat the pain of stitching his wounds. He chose instead to set his jaw in determination until the task was finished. Connor also liked the fact that Roger wasn’t a big talker. This was something he’d always associated with a man one might trust.
“Roger, you need to rest. And remember to keep an eye on those wounds—I’m afraid that the antibiotics I have are probably ineffective by now.”
“Okay.”
“You guys can take the master bedroom—there’s a serviceable blanket in there and the bed isn't too bad. Take Rhonda with you. Marty put a five-gallon bucket of water in there and Amanda left a soft dish towel with it so you and your wife can clean up a little.”
“I don’t know how to thank you guys.”
“No need. Keep in mind that Amanda will expect the towel back tomorrow. And don’t forget the water's not purified—it’s just for washing, okay?”
“Right...I don’t know if I can ever repay you,” said Roger, concerned with his debt.
“Roger, go on and clean up...help your wife...make her feel better. Let her know that it’s over. Keep telling her that it’s over.”
“But, there’s so much to say to you.”
“Not right now there’s not. Get some rest. We’ll eat dinner in about four hours. We’ll wake you if it seems right, but if not, we’ll let you sleep. You can eat in the morning—I’ll lay out a full spread for you at breakfast, I promise. But now, you need to be with your wife.”
“But—"
“No buts! I guessed you were a soldier by the way you handled yourself for the past few hours and the way you trained your son.”
“Yeah, I left in ninety-seven. I was an E-6. What about you?”
“Technically speaking, I’m still on active duty. My current rank is colonel.”
“Colonel? Really?”
“Yep. Full bird. And, as is my right, I’ve reactivated your military status and my orders are for you to tend to your wife and rest. We can talk more in the morning. Understood?”
“You can do that? Reactivate me?”
“I can,” answered Connor, matter-of-factly. “I did. You are hereby reactivated. At least for the evening.”
“Okay, sir.”
“My orders are for you to take care of your wife.”
“Yes, sir, colonel. Thank you.” Roger saluted.
“Go on. Dismissed,” said Connor, throwing the man an easy salute.
Roger retrieved Rhonda from the couch and they made their way to the back room. Marty entered the house, sat in a kitchen chair, and began removing his boots. He carefully tended his feet, switching socks as he did at the end of every day. While he put on his fresh socks, he watched Roger embrace his wife at the end of the hallway and enter the bedroom door. Clearly, she was still quite shaken, understandably so, despite the best efforts of Roger, Cody, and Amanda to calm her fears.
“That’s the last of the bodies, Mac. I put ‘em all down in that wooden shed in the back yard. It should keep the rats and animals at bay for a while.”
“Thanks, Marty. Sorry I wasn't able to help out—had to stitch Roger up before he bled to death.”
“Yeah, Mac, I figured as much. Cody’s out with Snuff, grabbing up some kindling for chow. He’s taken quite a shine to her.”
Connor nodded and Marty glanced to the back room.
“So, how’re they holding up, Mac?”
“They’re probably gonna sleep until tomorrow, but we’ll plan on having them at dinner, Surf Boy.” He was pleased with Marty’s angry look.
“Snuff wants that to stick, doesn’t she?”
“It fits, Marty.”
“Well, I admit that I’ve had a similar nickname before.”
“Go figure.”
“Yeah.”
"You a surfer?"
"No."
“Should be. Get comfortable, Surf Boy. Grab Cody and get a fire going.”
“Copy that.”
“I’m gonna go locate a couple a geese. I saw ‘em earlier near that pond across the street.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe I’ll grab some geese eggs for breakfast, if I can find ‘em. I’m taking Snuff with me, so you’re on guard duty.”
“Copy that, Mac.”
CHAPTER 3.17-Dropping Leaflets
“Ma’am, we’re in position and ready to start the drop,” said Shamus. His hand moved smoothly on the stick as he flew the helicopter a mere ten feet above the treetops.
“Okay, Shamus, let’s do it.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve figured out the dispersal rate at the current speed, height, and course direction.”
“Dispersal rate?” asked the colonel.
“Yes, colonel. For maximum leaflet distribution. About twenty-five sheets per hundred square yards. That doesn’t account for wind disruption and other variants beyond our control.”
“Excellent, Shamus. How about some more details?”
“Sure, colonel. You and the rest of the crew must maintain a steady dispersal flow rate of five hundred pages per minute of travel at our current speed. This will maximize coverage across Connor MacMillen’s projected travel route.”
“Okay, Shamus.”
“It’s about nine or ten sheets per second, ma’am.”
“Understood, Shamus. You know, I’m starting to love the fact that I brought you along on this trip.”
“It beats the hell outta fishing the Inner Harbor, ma’am.” The laugh that followed was contagious and it put a smile on the colonel’s face. Scott and GT smiled at his laugh, knowing Shamus was in his element. The colonel grabbed a ream of paper and removed the rubber band. There were seven other men on the ‘copter with her and they were in position, four on one side and three on the other. She nodded to the major and they began tossing the first sheets of paper twenty miles east of Toledo, Ohio.
CHAPTER 3.18-Poopin’ Green
“Did you kill that bear, Liam?” asked his nine-year-old sister. She touched the thick coarse fur, hesitant at what she might feel.
“Yeah, Shannon.”
“You shot it?” she asked. “Not Mommy or Uncle Andy or Uncle Ryan?”
“Yeah.”
“So, it’s your bear? Whattaya gonna do now? Are we gonna eat it? Are we gonna have bear for dinner?”
“No. C’mon, Shannon! Move outta the way. Can’t you see we’re working here?” The blunt tone surprised Shannon—her brother was rarely mean to her.
“Sorry,” she said. She wasn’t sure what was going on and she was happy for her Uncle Kevin’s support.
“Liam, give her a break—she didn’t do nothing.” Kevin had a soft spot for Shannon. Her innocent green eyes and angelic face made him do practically anything she asked. He hated to see her berated for anything, and refused to stand by and watch her take the heat when she didn’t do anything. He stretched his lanky frame, raising his hands to the hook, straining at the dead weight of the bear. Liam helped him by lifting a portion of the bear's weight and Kevin hooked the bear. He turned to the two MacMillen children. “She’s as excited to see this bear up close as you were shootin’ it.”
Kevin was surprised at Liam’s shrug of indifference. It wasn’t like the boy. He studied him, considering the abrupt way Liam had cut the bear from the plastic sheet. He was in a fierce mood and it became obvious to Kevin that Liam would be better off preparing the bear without Shannon’s interruptions.
“Shannon, sweetheart, go see if your mommy or Aunt Sandy needs any help, okay?”
“Okay, Uncle Kev.” She ran off, happy again.
Kevin considered Liam’s mood. “Okay, out with it, Liam. What gives?”
“Nothing.”
“C’mon, fathead. I’ve known you since you were pooping green in your pants and I’d like to think I can tell when something’s wrong with you. What’s up?”
Liam slashed the final pieces of plastic away from the hind legs of the bear and stabilized its extremities with a length of rope. He stared toward his mother. His Uncle Andy stood next to her and they were talking with several other clan members.
“Start talking, Liam, or I’ll ask your mom.”
“You better not!”
“Then, out with it! Now!” Kevin ignored his nephew’s withering stare. Liam spoke.
“Uncle Andy thinks my daddy’s not coming back. He wants my mom. He told me so.”
Kevin was stunned at the boy’s statement. He had seen the increasing affection between Terry and Andy during the past several months and he had considered that they might eventually take the next logical step. He was caught off guard at the speed of their progress—he had always considered Terry untouchable despite the recent flirtations. Present or not, Connor MacMillen was his lifetime friend and not one to mess with when it came to his woman. He touched the scar on the left side of his jaw, remembering a time long ago. “Aw, fuck me,” he said in exasperation.
For the first time in the past hour, Liam grinned. His Uncle Kevin never swore and the shock of hearing it immediately lightened Liam’s mood. He became serious again. “What do I do about that, Uncle Kevin?”
“Dammit.”
“My daddy’s alive—I know it. He’s coming back.”
Kevin took his corncob pipe from his breast pocket and packed it with precious tobacco. He lit the pipe with care and Liam sat down on a large rock next to the fire pit. When the pipe draw was perfect, Kevin said, “Liam, there’s probably not much you can do, you know? They've waited a reasonable amount of time. The more I think about it, I think they only waited this long outta respect for your daddy.”
“Uncle Kevin, my daddy will be back. He wouldn’t let no damn Sickness whoop his ass. It’s just taking him some time to get back. He’s coming all the way back from Australia.”
“Yeah, sure, you might be right, Liam. But even so...”
CHAPTER 3.19-A Quiet Moan
Amanda and Cody were still in the woods when Connor approached from the farmhouse. They had found a landscape cart in the detached garage of the house and they had brought it along, using it to carry the deadfall they found. They stopped what they were doing and turned at the sound of his approach.
“Mister Connor Mac?”
“Yeah, Cody.”
“How’s my mom?”
“She’s doing much better, Cody. She’ll need a day or two for some rest, but I think she’s gonna be fine.”
“What about dad?”
“He’s all stitched up. He’s taking care of your mom now—they’re in the back bedroom on the left. We should all make as little noise as possible. They both need their rest.”
“’Kay.”
“Cody, make sure you check in with Marty. You and him are on guard duty until Snuff and I return. We’re gonna hunt some goose for dinner.”
“Mister Connor Mac?”
“What?”
“Thanks for saving my mom and dad.”
“You’re welcome, son. I’m glad they’re okay.”
Cody slowly pulled off his right glove and took a few steps toward Connor. He held out his small hand and, without hesitation, Connor took it in his own and matched the boy’s steady grip. The boy had an intense blaze in his brown eyes.
“You didn’t have to help me, but you did. I owe you, Mister Connor Mac.” The boy’s voice was solemn.
“That’s nonsense, Cody. I expect you and your daddy would’ve done the same for someone in trouble—it’s what good people do, Sickness or no Sickness.”
Cody shyly kicked at some leaves at his feet. “Yeah,” he said, staring at the ground, “well, I’m not just saying about saving my family.”
“Oh?”
“No. I've thought a lot ‘bout what you did to me before you left to get Marty and Amanda.”
Connor glanced at Amanda who was clearly enjoying the conversation.
“How’d you know to do that with me, Mister Connor Mac? How’d you know I wouldn’t freeze up?”
Connor cleared his throat. “I learned it a long time ago, son.”
“Amanda told me you’re a colonel and used to train Special Forces.”
“Snuff talks too much, Cody.”
“Mister Connor Mac, please tell me. How’d you know my fear’d go away?”
Connor stared at the boy for a moment. Cody had survived much in his short life, even by today’s standards. He deserved nothing but the truth. “Well, I recognized that you were capable of the task at hand—you simply needed someone to point it out to you.”
“But...how’d you know that I wasn’t just some scared little kid?”
“You know, Cody,” answered Connor with exasperation, “you could
learn a lot from your daddy.”
“Huh?”
“He don’t ask so many damn questions.”
“Sorry, Mister Connor Mac,” said Cody, momentarily abashed.
“Right. Let’s get moving.”
“Wait, Mister Connor Mac,” persisted Cody. “Can’t you answer me that one question? I promise I won’t ask any more.”
“Sure, this is your last question. I believe that,” he said, rolling his eyes. Connor considered the boy’s inquisitive nature. Cody had a depth of character that would be fun to watch grow. He realized he owed the boy the courtesy of a proper response to his question. Connor recalled an eight-man assault team at a Pakistani cave. One of the eight was a promising young lieutenant named John Kocur. Cody reminded him of John.
He returned his attention to the boy. “It’s in your eyes, Cody. It's in the pain and intensity I heard in your voice when I was sneaking up on you. It’s in the reserve you held back. You were evaluating the hostage situation, despite your fear for your parents and yourself. It’s how your father taught you—he was trying to build a man out of a boy in a world that made it necessary to do that too soon.” Connor quieted after his words, thinking of the young men he had trained over the years. Amanda recognized Connor’s pensiveness.
“Cody,” she said, “go on to the house with your wood and talk to Marty. He’ll tell you what needs to be done.”
“Sure. Okay.” The boy pulled the wagon slowly so as not to lose anything from the heaped pile.
Amanda edged close to Connor and slowly embraced him, watching his eyes and waiting for his return. After a few moments, he nuzzled her hair and softly inhaled her scent.
“You’re a good man, Connor Mac. I’m so glad you found me.”
Connor gently kissed her neck and his hands slipped to her hips to pull her closer. His need was obvious and her need quickly matched his. Connor gently set her at arms length and smiled.
“C’mon, let’s kill us some geese—there’s nothing worse than eating deer jerky and weeds for dinner. Remind me to find some eggs for breakfast tomorrow. Tonight, you and me can finish this discussion.”