by Paul Kirk
“Okay. You know...that is Cleveland's colors. Fuck me, what’s his army doing here? I wonder if he's with them?”
“They're hunting for us, probably,” said McLeod. His brow was furrowed deep in thought.
“Why's that, John?”
“Well, we know they were probably tracking us since before Youngstown,” added John, “I'm guessing we missed one or two of them damn trackers early on. So they're still comin'.”
"But an army? That large? Give me a headcount, Surf Boy." All three studied the bridge activity. The bridge was far enough away, in excess of a thousand yards as the crow flies, that the assessment took some time.
“I see well over 600 men and about 250 horses and about sixty pickups. And there's some bikes and quads skipping around, too. It’s them,” confirmed Marty, “What do you wanna do?”
Connor studied the activity on the bridge. Realizing the implications, his anger built. For a few seconds, he made an effort to clamp down hard on the emotion, but found this impossible. “They killed Amanda...right?” asked Connor. The seething anger on his face was unmistakable, scary. The sudden drop in voice tone made it clear a vicious and wild animal was seriously pissed off and mighty hungry.
“Mac?” asked Marty, concerned. This was the first glimpse of true anger he had seen in his travels. And, based on the grim fury locking Connor's jaw tight, he was planning on imputing some serious damage.
“You okay, Mac?” asked McLeod. Gently, he placed his hand onto Connor’s shoulder, but pulled it quickly back when met with a cold, killing stare. With effort, Connor regained control of the fury, returning the binoculars to his eyes. His deep breathing slowed. The transformation was fast, impressive.
“Wow. You’re mastering the fury and anger to harness it into purposeful action,” suggested John McLeod, in awe.
“Fuck you, John…and your psycho babble.”
“No offense.”
“Just shut the hell up and listen. Here's what we’re going to do. We’ll not jeopardize the team.”
“Copy that,” said Marty, waiting.
“We leave now and head on to my cache. I still think it’s worth it. We’ll have to make a much better effort to cover our tracks. Especially those damn horses, which is probably how they were able to track us. They figured out it’s us. Damn. We'll need to move more quickly.”
“Okay,” said John McLeod.
“Copy that, Mac.”
“Let’s move out.”
They crept off of the overlook and updated the team as they made their way up Grandview Avenue. Passing the second of three overlooks atop Mount Washington, Marty walked closer to Connor and matched his stride.
“I feel the same way, Mac.”
“And what way’s that?”
Marty refused to be intimidated. “I miss her, too.”
"Yeah." Connor rubbed his hands across his face and continued walking. “Fuck.”
Nearing the third overlook one hundred yards further down Grandview Avenue, Connor pulled the team to a stop. Gathering around, he decided they needed an update on the progress of Phoenix and his army. He issued orders with an intensity that all team members noticed.
“Marty, BB, scope that army and bridge out some more. Jason, Jude, own the horses. Figure out a few ways to reduce their footprints if possible.” He had an inspiration while thinking about the problem. “Hey, can we put tennis shoes on them? Maybe just the soles? You know, like horseshoes?”
“What? I dunno,” said Jason.
“Well, start thinking ‘bout it. Camouflage, dammit. We need to disappear fast or we might be screwed by our own horses.”
“Yes, sir.”
“BB, Marty? We need to know where those men are heading and if there are any choice targets that we might be able to take right now to slow 'em down.”
Marty's smile spread ear to ear at the suggestion; the glint in his eyes was unmistakable. “I might be able to help out on that point.” BB grinned at the comment.
John studied the bridge far off in the distance. “Mac? Taking potshots now might alert them to where we’re at, don’t you think?”
“No John, I don't think so. It could be anyone taking a shot at them...and from here, this is a serious long ball shot. They wouldn’t expect it.”
“It is a longshot. But, yeah, I could do it,” said Marty, “And I don’t do potshots, John.” Marty gently touched the barrel, smiling.
“No offense meant, Marty.”
“Oh, I am hoping they remember me some.”
Connor watched the transformation as Marty shifted into full sniper mode. “I’m sure not opposed to letting them feel it again, Surf Boy. Plus, I’d like it to sting real fuckin’ hard, if the timing’s right and you don’t mind doing me that favor.”
“Gotcha. Copy that, Mac."
"If you can figure out who that Phoenix bastard is take 'em out."
"It’d be my truest fuckin’ pleasure.” Marty crawled to the outward edge of the platform with BB right behind him. Unable to resist seeing for himself, Connor slid closer and took position to their right. All three settled onto the outlook avoiding the long, deep three-quarter inch crack skewing diagonally across the concrete. Ignoring any concerns about shooting platform stability, they slipped tight against the bottom of the safety rail. Marty readied his weapon and, based on the long range to targets, he extracted his laser range finder from his pack and handed it to BB. Then, he pulled out two small leather-wrapped rice bags roughly sewn into six-inch long tubes; he preferred to use them to help steady his long shots. Resting his weapon on the rice, he listened to BB's range measurements concerning the men bustling about on the West End Bridge. BB shifted to the spotting scope. Marty knew it was going to require some skillful shooting, at the edge of his established experience.
“I'll get 'im, Mac,” he said. Nearly satisfied with his sniper position, he took a final, wide-view scan of the city in general with his own binoculars. It was a technique taught in sniper training that he had always performed as instructed, to confirm the overall tactical shooting environment before reacquiring the targets on the West End Bridge. Hesitating, something bothered him on a subconscious level during his broad quick survey of the city. Deciding to glass the city one more time, he hoped to catch what might be amiss. Moving slower in his visual scan, he devoted effort to a closer inspection of the area near the Liberty Bridge. The area that they’d traversed during the last few hours. Grimacing, he did not like the movement near the bridge.
"Mac! BB!" whispered Marty, "Three o'clock. Men are sneaking across the bridge. The...ah, Liberty Bridge we just crossed."
"What?" Connor lifted binoculars to glass the bridge. "Shit!"
"I'm spotting on the West End Bridge, Surf Boy. I'll stay on it while you two figure that out." BB spent some time focusing on the trucks near the onramp to the bridge.
Near the downtown side of the Liberty Bridge onramp, men moved carefully, but were coming into focus. Though cautious, the movement of at least twenty or thirty men, massing at the base ramp near town was not hard to miss, though mostly hidden beneath the overpass. It looked as if they were assessing the bridge before crossing.
"They're Phoenix's men, too. I can tell," said Marty.
"He split his forces. Wow, how big an army does this guy have?"
"Dunno. Though I will say I did nick those bastards some in Cleveland." Angry satisfaction was evident on Marty’s face.
"Yeah, so I heard.”
“Fucked ‘em over hard is what I did.”
"Stay focused, Surf boy."
"Oh, I'm focused, sir."
Connor nodded, pointing toward the Liberty Bridge. “Several of those bastards on the Liberty Bridge will have to go down first off. They’re way too close for comfort. Head or chest. That is, if you can manage it."
"Copy that."
"Take at least three or four to slow 'em down. Wake ‘em up. Then go after the main cluster of Phoenix’s forces over on the other. I’m thinking Phoenix’s sti
ll most likely over there."
"Understood."
“You need me to help you and BB on this one?”
“No, this will be taking candy from a baby.”
"Wow. I can't believe that Cleveland army is comin' after us," said Connor. He was fast absorbing the fact that his team had been in some jeopardy, unknown to him, for quite some time. He would not make the same mistake again.
"Someone must have pissed them off or something," suggested Marty. His grim smile said clearly that he’d like such an event to occur again.
"Now who'd go and do a thing like that?" Connor placed a gentle hand onto Marty’s shoulder. They shared a moment of remembered pain.
"Someone who's gonna make 'em pay in more blood...for Amanda…and her…your…”
Connor lifted the binoculars again to his eyes, interrupting him. "Don't miss, Surf Boy."
"Yeah, I never do."
CHAPTER 7.19-A Map at the Mill
"I found Mac's message."
"Where?" asked Colonel Starkes. She and the major stopped eating chicken MREs.
Standing near the makeshift arrangement of steel plating where dinner was set, Amanda held a small white paper in her right hand. "It was hidden behind that red-lettered sign that was next to #1 Furnace."
"What are the details?" asked the major
"Mac and my team are making their way to Pittsburgh. He says that he missed hooking up with you, Hannah.”
“Uh, huh. Go on, Amanda,” said the colonel.
“He made a map. They left two days ago."
“Does the map include his final destination?” Colonel Starkes was elated, hopeful.
“No, just a place on a Brownville Road in Pittsburgh.”
“Pittsburgh?”
“The map says it’s at 910 Brownsville Road.”
“Why there? Do you know? Was this a secondary rendezvous?” asked the major.
Amanda lapsed into hard tears, her shoulders shaking deeply. Scott, speaking with Shamus while breaking pallets into firewood a few yards away, arrived at her side, daring the colonel to say a word about it. Gently, he wrapped an arm around her.
Colonel Starkes approached slowly, concerned. “Amanda? Talk to me, please.”
“Mac...he thinks I'm dead." Amanda’s tears flowed freely.
Scott smoothly took the small note from her and passed it to the colonel. Reading the note quickly, she flipped it over to study the crude map and agreed. Connor MacMillen did assume Amanda was dead. In fact, the note suggested no one was expected to find it. And, based on the content, it was, in a sense, more a testament to pain and loss. Bringing the major and Scott up to speed, she read the note aloud:
Snuff, if you’re reading this then I’m way beyond ecstatic. You’ve come this far. You’re a survivor. We left. Sorry for not waiting longer. I’d love to hear how you survived. Surf Boy told me a hailstorm of bullets was flying and that you went down hard. We waited 8 days, 3 past the rendezvous window. Perhaps the president is with you. Please give her my regards and tell her I apologize for missing the meet. Can’t say we didn’t try, huh? But, the team’s on the move now. I have my primary mission to consider. Know that I love you. Know that. Take care of our son. Or daughter. Here’s a map. It’s a trip to a little secret place where I plan to regroup and resupply. Get there if you can. We'll see you if you do. We’ll wait some there, if we can.
Colonel Starkes handed the map to Major O'Malley. "Major, see to our departure. Bring Nicole over here when you're done."
"Yes, ma'am." The major left immediately to speak with Shamus.
"Amanda?" asked Colonel Starkes.
Amanda's head was buried into Scott's shoulder. She was now crying uncontrollably.
"Amanda!" snapped Colonel Starkes. Her command voice had the desired effect. Amanda stared at her through bloodshot eyes, roughly wiping tears with her sleeve. Scott patted her gently on the shoulder and left, returning to Shamus, GT and the major talking animatedly at the helicopter.
"We'll get you back to him, Amanda. It's as much my mission as yours."
"I'm sorry. It's just that…"
"No apologies needed. Stay on task. What do you know about this new rendezvous point? This 910 Brownsville Road?"
"Not a damn thing that I can think of."
"Nothing? No reference point? Connor never talked about it?"
"No."
"A code?"
"I'll have to think about it some more."
"You up to it now?"
"I guess, yeah."
"Let's think this through. Maybe Nicole knows something."
"Okay," said Amanda.
"In the meantime, let's find you something more to eat."
"Thank you."
"If we figure this out now, we might continue our pursuit of Connor MacMillen today with the remainder of daylight still left," suggested Colonel Starkes.
"I see."
Amanda looked past the Colonel's shoulder, tracking the two big men moving toward Colonel Starkes with Scott in the lead. She knew the two men as Scott's friends, Shamus with the pointed goatee, and GT who wore thick black glasses and two full sleeves of tribal tattoos. GT was hastily wiping his hands on a gray rag and tucking it into his back pocket. From the main camp area, Major O'Malley returned with Nicole who had CJ in her arms.
"Ma'am?" asked Shamus. He stood before the colonel, waiting.
"Hey, Shamus. Guys. Can it wait? We got a pressing matter right now."
"Umm…" Shamus looked to GT who shook his head.
“No, ma'am. Don't think so. It’ll probably have some impact on your actions if I understand the emerging situation."
"What is it then? Problem?”
GT stepped forward, clearing his throat. When GT was uncomfortable, things weren’t good.
“Aww, shit, don't tell me, GT."
"Ma'am?"
"What's wrong with the bird?"
"Umm…"
"Just give it to me, GT."
"The tail rotor driveshaft hanger bearing is about shot. From the looks of it, it's scored fairly deep in two places."
"Shit."
"We don't have a replacement."
"Not the fuck now…not now...what's that mean?"
"Means we need to return home with minimal deviation and no side missions."
"Anyway to fix it?"
"Sure. Find me the part."
"And if we don't?"
"The rotor might seize up and then we'd have…a serious navigation problem."
"How come you're only finding out about this now?"
"Downtime maintenance checklist.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s only a routine checklist factor on the H-92 at 600 hours of flight time.”
“I see.”
GT was angry. “Thing that pisses me off is that, usually, you can get at least near twice that amount in flight hours from that bearing based on the over engineering built in.”
“Huh,” said Major O’Malley.
Colonel Starkes closed her eyes for a few seconds.
“But not this time," said GT.
"If we fly in it again, will we crash?"
"Not necessarily, ma'am," said Shamus chiming in, "We stay low and know what we now know concerning the bearing deficiency, I'll bring her down fast before we lose most flight control."
"Oh, I see."
"The landing might be a bit hard, if need be. Provided we're not over water or too many houses or trees at the time."
"Damn. A few minutes ago, we found new intel to help determine Connor MacMillen's whereabouts," suggested Colonel Starkes.
"Yeah…the map note…we heard," said Shamus.
"Pittsburgh's on the way home. That's where he's near…we think."
"Makes some sense."
"Is the bird airworthy for a few stops and overflights of Pittsburgh before we head home?"
"Well, now that we know the rotor bearing's scored so bad, I'd say no, it's not safe."
"We can't push it? You can't
work your magic, GT?"
"Wish I could, ma'am, but not this time. Maybe one quick stop at the most. In fact, we coulda went down anytime during our last few flight hours the way I see it. Another three to four hours of flight time back to DC is probably an acceptable risk, but no more than that, ma'am. No more than that."
"That's unacceptable," said Colonel Starkes. She paced in front to the men, deep in thought and furious at the inconvenient timing of the mechanical failure. Frustrated, she glanced at Amanda standing near Nicole and the baby. Major O'Malley was deep in thought, struggling with finding a solution.
"GT?"
"Yes, ma’am?"
"I have a new priority assignment for you.”
“Okay?”
“Find the part you need, replace it. And transport me to Pittsburgh.”
“Ummm.”
“You have two days."
"Impossible."
"Comin’ from you that’s a laugh...by the way, that's an order."
"Ma'am? Yes, ma'am." GT turned serious and he became pensive. He stared toward Scott and Shamus. Both raised eyebrows in commiseration.
Colonel Starkes sighed, letting her shoulders drop. She took a few steps to stand directly in front of GT. She lowered her voice.
"Simply work your magic, GT. Okay? Figure it out for me, dammit.”
“Umm…”
“Dismissed. Shamus, Scott, help him achieve the new mission objective.”
“Ma’am?”
Exasperated, the colonel's voice rose in restrained fury. “Move it! You heard me. You three men are about to earn your keep and live up to that damn legend crap I kept hearing about before we picked you up. That is, if I have anything to say about it." She abruptly turned and walked over to Amanda, Nicole and the major. "You three follow me."
CHAPTER 7.20-Restless
“Can’t we move any fuckin’ faster?” Phoenix sat in the passenger seat with his foot up on the dash in the third truck from the front line. "I'm tired of this shit."
"Sir, I just heard on the radio that we will reach the West End Bridge within the hour," said Titmouse.
They doggedly pursued their quarry from the Youngstown mill. Irritable after a boring and bumpy morning and slower-going afternoon, his patience was fading fast at having to move additional vehicles and debris off another bridge as the heat of the day wore on. Pittsburgh and its outlying communities certainly had a great deal more abandoned vehicles and debris blocking the easy access of their convoy. He began to wonder if keeping the damn trucks and quads were worth it, though, he knew, deep down that they were invaluable in today's new age. At least for a few more years.