Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “Alright.”

  “Radio out and tell both of ‘em to provide sit-rep status on the AO when feasible.”

  “AO?"

  "Sorry John. Area of Operation. Sometimes I forget you were a civilian."

  "Okay. Got it. Doing it now,” said McLeod.

  CHAPTER 6.4- Imminent threat

  “Big Eye, Surf Boy here, you copy?”

  “I copy, go,” said Connor.

  “The top floor, white-bricked, back section of the Hall of Fame is the CP for some well-organized military team, possibly POTUS, over,” whispered Marty across the radio. He swung his riflescope slowly to the left one more time before continuing.

  “Roger that assessment. Over.”

  “I see six men on the top floor of the glass pyramid structure entering and exiting an open door into the brick building. Well organized. Competent. Over.”

  “Continue with your read, Surf Boy. Over.”

  “Affirmative. And, if you can believe it, there’s a damn H-92 Superhawk on a circular platform next to the brick structure. A second floor causeway connects it. The Superhawk fits with what you suggested during strategy sessions. Has a definite payload, over.”

  “Yeah? I like it. What else, over?”

  “Well, I see the Presidential Seal on the side, big as day. We have Marine One over there. Over.”

  “Flight ready?”

  “It appears operational. And, what a pretty sight that ‘copter is, over.”

  “Roger that.”

  “The bird itself is under heavy guard by five armed men that I can spot. Over.”

  “Continue. What else? Over.”

  “Three snipers in place atop the main roof structure attached to the pyramid. They’re definitely scoping the tactical area below, including this warehouse. Over.”

  “Elevated surveillance?”

  “Affirmative. Snuff and I had some difficulty setting up—only with some serious luck. Over.”

  “Understood. Over.”

  “I have a small problem to report here, over.”

  “Go.”

  “I…ah, slipped on a piece of metal and went down…hard. On my right knee, over.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’ll live. Provided Snuff quits with the laughing. The problem is, I think I bruised the kneecap or meniscus, something like that, over.”

  “You mobile? Over.”

  “Some. Swollen pretty bad, dammit! But, don’t worry. I can do what it takes, over.”

  “Never in doubt, Surf Boy. Copy that.”

  “Just wanted you to know it might take a second or so off my one hundred yard dash, over.”

  “Understood. Would you suggest POTUS’s aggressive vigilance is elevated more than your typical experience? Over.”

  “Affirmative. I’d say there’s a lot more men on guard than necessary for any standard security protocol. Over.”

  “You think that’s POTUS waiting for us?”

  “Present assessment leans in that direction, yeah. Over.”

  “Understood. Anything else? Over.”

  The communication went silent for a moment. Both sides considered the tactical status.

  “Big Eye, it took an extra thirty minutes to settle in to our nest on the third floor here. We were delayed a half-hour! Don’t like it. The place over there’s too well guarded. Over.”

  “Glad you’re extra cautious, over.”

  “Not extra cautious…just had to use every trick I know not to get scoped by the roof snipers. They’re good. Excellent cross-coverage, overlapping. Don’t want a bullet in my back. Over.”

  “Roger that. Switch to Beta.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Connor switched to channel eleven as a standard precaution. In seconds, Marty picked up where he’d left off.

  “I dunno, this seems big. Over.”

  “Big? How so?”

  “There’s a hyper vigilance hitting’ my gut hard, over.”

  “Continue…extrapolate.”

  “Seems, to me, like that team in the Hall of Fame, damn, maybe it is POTUS, might be expecting something tonight, maybe even from this warehouse. Over.”

  “Go on.”

  “They’re alert ten-fold, Mac. Like they’re expecting some shit to go down.”

  “Go on. Speculate. Over.”

  “This can’t be the usual security level, too much manpower for such a limited team. Be too hard to maintain day-in and day-out, over.”

  “Like what? Again, speculate. Over.”

  “We’re gonna have to be extra careful here…I’m thinkin’ we might have to go in unarmed and advertised to see this POTUS. These guys have a nice, defensible set up. In fact, it’s a pretty sight if you don’t mind me saying. Over.”

  “Define tactical status in more detail…over.”

  “Lake to their backs. Open space killing ground out front…and mostly on both sides. Good visual fields ‘cept the hard angle directly beneath the building. The Superhawk’s on an actual raised platform, well guarded by five men from any direct ground attack. And through the windows, I see another five armed men making staggered, non-patterned rounds within the glass pyramid structure.”

  “You sure, five on active rounds inside? Over.”

  “Yeah, at least five and they’re good, too. Steady, staggered movements. Can’t hold a true bead on any one of them for more than a sec, over.”

  Marty clicked off. He enjoyed the radio, pleased to have it. Surprisingly, he experienced a certain calm when it rested in his hand; the radio was an extension of his prior military life.

  “Nice recon, Surf Boy. That’s why we pay you the big bucks. How’re the NVG by the way? Over.”

  “Hell yeah! I can see like its high noon. Over.”

  “Good. Save the batteries if you can, over.”

  “I will.”

  “You can thank the Aussie’s when they become a country again.”

  “Copy that. How’d you end up with ‘em?”

  “Long story. But, let me say, the Aussies were big on nighttime assaults hitting hard targets. I’ll fill you in. When can the team advance? Over.”

  The inquiry met no response. Connor and the team nearby waited, listening. After a few seconds, they heard a double squelch.

  “Someone’s near,” said McLeod, “and Marty's keeping quiet.”

  Connor rolled his eyes. Sometimes, McLeod was such a civilian. “You think?”

  Connor stood next to a small door of the old factory, housing a room full of printing presses and broken machinery. At this point, the team spread across the first floor covering all possible entry points. Watching them, a confidence built in the way they were settling into a fine, working unit. A whisper came across the radio.

  “Big Eye! This is Surf Boy. Something’s going on over there. There’s a team of …”

  “Say again, over.”

  Another double squelch. The wait was not long.

  “Sorry. Heard a noise nearby. I see movement on both west and east sides of target. Ground level. Very tight to the building. Tangos slippin’ in east from the lake. No count yet, over.”

  “Does POTUS snipers see ‘em? Over.”

  “Negative. Tangos are coming in real tight to the building. Making use of all sight angle restrictions. There are...five two-man teams. They just slipped past at ground level near the building spreading in different directions. They’re going after the Hall of Fame, over.”

  “Explain. Over.”

  “One team has an RPG. Over.”

  “No shit? Over.”

  “Yeah. Snuff says more of them are comin’ from further out. Comin’ in hot from a lit up Hilton that’s maybe a half-mile out. Over.”

  “Massing? Over.”

  “Not yet, but they’re real careful, hiding and keeping out of obvious sight angles. Over.”

  “Roger that. What else, over?”

  “Good timing in their infiltration techniques. They’re in tune with the guards inside the glass and on
the roof. Mostly outta sight and outta angle. The rooftop snipers are missing them from what we can tell. Seems like there’s a great deal of men sneaking in. Them bastards are staging…over.”

  “Full assault? Conjecture? Over.”

  “Yeah. They’re prepping for all out assault. Imminent threat. Looks like they’re setting up to take the whole damn shebang with some serious firepower. Hold.”

  “Understood, on hold.”

  Marty returned to the radio.

  “Snuff says now there’s already forty armed men on each side of the damn building. Over.”

  “Say again. Over.”

  “Yeah, forty armed men on each side of the building. Additional RPGs confirmed. Eight men have ‘em. The others have assault weapons. Damn, this is well coordinated! I think it’s going down well within the hour and if POTUS’s in there she’s fucked. Over.”

  “Alright. We’re coming up to the warehouse. Over.”

  “Negative. Repeat, negative. Men are now crossing the street in front of me preparing for a frontal. I think it's worse than what we’re seeing. You’ll never slip past the roof snipers or the enemy force. I recommend you hold for now. Over.”

  “Holding full team position. Surf Boy, report in on Charlie, tactical changes immediately. Over.”

  “Copy that. Over and out”

  Connor switched channels.

  “Big Eye to BB.”

  “BB, go ahead.”

  “Start your return to target. Full stealth. Best speed. Give me an update when you're within five minutes of our position. Over.”

  “Copy Big Eye. Coming in best speed and full stealth. Over and out.”

  CHAPTER 6.5-A Heads Up

  “What’s happening?” asked McLeod.

  Connor was deep in thought.

  “Not sure, John. Maybe the Cleveland bunch and Starkes aren’t as cozy as we thought. Or something like that.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “From what I can tell, the president is, in fact, the likely resident of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame at the moment. And, I’m guessing the president’s been waiting there for awhile, right?”

  “Yeah, at least a week or two, by my best guess.”

  “Mine too. And she’s set September eighth as a key date for my arrival, correct?”

  “Yeah?”

  “And this evening is September seventh.”

  “Yep.”

  “So, I'm thinking that Cleveland bunch is probably under a completely different command structure from President Starkes.”

  “Okay.”

  “They’re looking to breach, they probably overheard something might be going down tomorrow and wanted to…make a grab."

  “So they’re going to attack now?”

  “Seems like it. A nighttime incursion. It’s the only solution that makes any sense at this time from both a tactical and strategic standpoint. Okay, and well, because, maybe they want to seize what they can before September eighth hightails it outta here.”

  “I see.”

  “Kinda makes sense…and that Superhawk would certainly be an extremely attractive acquisition.”

  “So, what's your plan?”

  “Well, maybe we stir things up and, you know, give Starkes a heads up in there.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “What’s your advice, then?”

  “Can’t we gather more intel? Discuss it with the team to figure this out?”

  “No time on the team meet. But, good point on gathering more intel. Maybe we’ll wait another half-hour or so, tell Snuff and Surf Boy to see if they can secure a compliant captive to explain what’s going on.”

  “Can they do that?” asked McLeod.

  “I dunno. Let’s ask.”

  CHAPTER 6.6-Spider's Web

  “Andy!” whispered Terry.

  She was shocked at his abrasiveness toward this new man named Spider.

  “Hold on, Andy!” said Mark Harmon, “What the hell’s going on? Huh? Why you insulting Spider?”

  “Because I can—”

  “You don’t even know ‘im.”

  “I know ‘em well enough.”

  Taking the insult with an obvious jolt, Spider unsaddled and stood on the cracked asphalt, jaws clenching. He was a big man, six foot-four at least and 260 pounds. He took a few steps past the high weeds pushing their way up out of the blacktop cracks next to his horse; the men around him watched, interested. A few familiar faces glanced at Andy, confused, but excited at the turn of events.

  “You have something you wanna say, Cyclops?” asked Andy, pushing the abuse. His voice held an unrestrained anger. Ten feet away, he waited for a response.

  Bristling at this newest insult, Spider’s hand slid toward his hip holster.

  “They’re three good men watchin’ you, Bozo.”

  “So?”

  “They’ll pop out your other fuckin’ eye before you move another inch toward that Glock,” said Andy. Calmly, he added, “Just so we’re clear.”

  “What’re you doing, Andy?” whispered Terry, frantic to understand.

  “Shh…T. Just back me up and hang on a sec, please.”

  “Spider, get back on that horse!” said Mark.

  Mark was ignored.

  “What’s your problem, prick?” yelled Spider. His eyes never left Andy, taking a few more steps forward.

  “You’re my problem, Cy. Making sure you’re aware of it and hope to never see your ugly face again.”

  “Why’s that, you hillbilly prick?”

  Tracking Spider’s movement, Andy ignored the question, directing his next comment to Mark Harmon.

  “Mark, you know this guy’s got a rep in Iraq, right?”

  “What? Iraq?”

  “Yeah, man that goes by Spider. One-eyed with a scar across his face. Chin to ear.”

  “What about it? He lost his eye to an IED. No big deal.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  Spider interrupted.

  “Is that right? What’d you hear you little arrogant bastard?”

  “Huh. I'm an arrogant bastard? I heard that piss-ass eye of yours was removed by some twelve-year-old Iraqi snatch you lost sight of during a little playtime episode. Uh…please pardon the pun.” Unable to help himself, Andy laughed.

  “Some rumor. You make this shit up as you go? Or, are you always just an asshole?” Spider was clearly jostled by the comment.

  “Nah,” said Andy, “Just got a good memory for wayward predators. You know, the ones that try to impress little girls, in case I ever meet up with ‘im.”

  “Sure you do. Problem is, I never met you.”

  “So true. You never have...since you’re still breathing.”

  “Huh. But, I do know I’ll settle with you before all’s said and done,” said Spider. Satisfied he was back in some element of control, Spider returned to his horse, grabbing the saddle horn and reentering the saddle. He had regained his swagger. That is, until Andy laughed loudly.

  “Hooooold on a sec, Cy. There’s no escape this time, shit boy. We’re settlin’ right now...no bull." Andy turned to Mark, but chiefly kept sight of Spider. “Mark? Care to hold on for a second? There’s someone you might want to talk to ‘bout this piece of shit.”

  “What the hell’s going on, Andy?” asked Mark, unmistakably irritated. The power in his tone conveyed an immense anger.

  “Nothing. Nothing, but the fact that the man heading up your men right now is pure garbage through and through.” Andy’s eyes never strayed from Spider.

  “So, you know him? That’s it? You two got history? You know Spider?”

  “He don’t know shit,” said Spider. With emphasis, he spit onto the road toward Andy.

  “Nah, not me personally, like I said.”

  “Well you’re wrong, Andy. The men have taken to his leadership the past month. I trust him.”

  “That right?”

  “Damn right it is, you fuckin’ pussy,” yelled Spider, settling into his sa
ddle, smiling with conviction.

  “Spider’s shown good leadership,” suggested Mark.

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Andy, I don’t know what the fuck has got into you, but we’re best to leave now before things get loose,” suggested Mark, “T, no offense, and I do apologize for my profanity, but it seems like we’re not welcome here.”

  Ignoring the focused anger of Andy standing near, Terry took a step forward.

  “Mark, you’re always welcome here.”

  With hand signals, Mark prepped his team to leave. “Yeah, well, seems your boy’s not on enough of a tight leash,” said Mark.

  “Watch it, Mark,” said Andy. His eyes never strayed from Spider.

  “Watch it my ass! What the hell am I supposed to think about this, huh?” yelled Mark Harmon, “You come out here during my visit all pissed off starting a fight with my new man and you don’t know crap about him!"

  “Hmm.”

  “Let’s go before I get truly pissed off!” Mark turned his horse and the men gathered up to head back to Nemacolin Resort.

  “Hey Mark? Let me ask you a simple question before you head out, okay?”

  “Andy, speak clearly for once, dammit!” suggested Mark. His anger was now causing him to visibly shake.

  “Any men die the past month or so under, shall we say questionable circumstances?”

  Mark’s anger abruptly diminished. His expressions shifted through a fast myriad of emotion, first perplexed, then contemplative, until his anger returned. Seething, he turned in his saddle to study Spider; and several men on horseback did the same. Andy pressed his obvious advantage.

  “He’s a snake, Mark. Through and through. Very good at what he does, but deadly in his own way. And, he’ll do anything to take the easy ride to the top.”

  “Fuck you asshole,” said Spider, “Let’s get rid of this waste of life, Mark.”

  “No. Not me. Get rid of him before you come back to our clan, Mark. That’s all I ask. You and the rest of your men are always welcome. For real. C’mon, T, we’re done here.”

  Andy spat on the ground in disgust and turned, placing Terry in front of him facing the cottage. Taking a few steps toward the cottage, he made a subtle hand signal and, if need be, prepared to drop and cover Terry to the ground. The loud shotgun blast propelled Andy to action and he smothered Terry quickly, as he rolled atop her. His gun already out, he began to turn. However, the brutal return volley he expected from his clan in the nearby woods never came; he risked a quick glance at Mark Harmon and Spider.