Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “You see me complain’?”

  “Oh, no. And, I don’t think you ever would. But, I want to keep my new, future husband very happy. And I say, happiness now for Andy MacMillen is getting out there to do some fishing in Lower Turkeyfoot. Happiness is that same man bringing us back some food stock for the clan."

  "I see."

  "As clan leader, I’m sayin’ you need to take as many men as you feel adequate for the job, along with enough ale and whiskey for all of you to manage comfortably through the next few days. Although, you’ll hafta find most of your own food. Via fish, I imagine.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Andy walked toward the bench, bending down, as if to gently kiss. Swiftly he snatched Terry up off her feet into a full-bodied hug, sliding his wet face and hair into the crux of her neck.

  “You’re cold, and wet!”

  “I am most definitely not cold right now.”

  “Yeah, well, your face and hair is.”

  “Oh, my face, yeah, maybe my face.”

  They kissed and stayed that way for a moment, before Andy lowered her to the bench and gently held himself above her, brushing back the hair from her eyes. Terry slipped her hands from his shoulders and let them settle on his hard triceps.

  “I love you, T.”

  “I love you, Andy.”

  “You don’t have to worry about keepin’ me happy.”

  “Oh, but I will.”

  “I’ll work hard to make you happy, T.”

  “You won’t have to work at it most times, you know that.”

  “Well, I aim to please.”

  “That you do, buster.”

  “Shall I carry you off into those woods and show you?”

  “Hmm, as much as that sounds good, let’s eat, I’m starving.”

  “Hmm, yeah, me too. C’mon.” Andy stood, holding out his hand. Terry took it and was quickly raised, as if she weighed nothing more than a feather.

  "What’s for dessert?" Andy asked.

  Wrapping an arm around his waist, they walked toward the cottage, each happy for what the bright future seemed to hold. "I got a little something I'm cooking up."

  CHAPTER 10.2-A Hard Look at Perryopolis

  “I make four guards on the main gate towers. Their weapons are probably all full autos and the tower appears to be reinforced. The guards are relaxed—talking to each other, but they continue to scan the area while they talk. Over.”

  “Understood, Top. What’s your take, Surf Boy?” asked Connor.

  Marty had silently slipped into his current location and made himself comfortable in his sniper nest. He was on a slight elevation that permitted some viewing access into the town. There was little likelihood he would be discovered—his location was in the midst of a small but dense copse of trees, hidden from the gate tower view. He was amazed that the leaders in the little town of Perryopolis hadn’t removed this bunch of old oaks—they were the only substantial cover on the hillside for more than a thousand yards. But then again, he was 200 yards out from the gate. At the moment, he was scanning the gate towers and the visible buildings beyond. He discovered something unusual and adjusted his binoculars focus to be sure.

  The radio squawked again. “I repeat, Surf Boy, what’s your take? Do you copy?”

  Marty reached for the radio without losing sight of the town. “Sorry, Mac,” he said, “I copy. I've located two snipers—they’re sitting in second floor windows in town, one on each side of the main drag. They’re about fifty yards inside the gate. Over.”

  “Copy that, Surf Boy. Give me details, over.”

  “They have hunting rifles. I'd say a Marlin 30/30 on the left and a long gun, probably a Winchester, on the right, both on homemade tripods. Four guards in the gate towers, but nothing else. There's some civilian population moving around. Over.”

  “Copy that, Surf Boy.”

  “I think those snipers are there as reinforcements for the gate tower guards—they would have excellent coverage if there was a breach. Over.”

  “Do they have spotters? Over.”

  “Yeah,” answered Marty. He took a second to adjust the focus of his scope. “They’re a chatty bunch—clucking away like hens. They’re well placed though—set back from the open windows. Over.”

  “Do you have clear shots to everyone? Over.”

  “Sure,” said Marty. His position on the hillside was higher in elevation than any target he had. “I got elevation—it’d be a piece a cake. All I need is the green light and they’re history. Over.”

  “That’s good to hear, Surf Boy.” Marty was surprised to hear John McLeod’s voice over the radio. There were five radios operating at the moment, all tuned to channel three and set at a low volume. Marty had one, John McLeod had one, and there was one for each of three groups, one of which was headed by Connor. The three groups had taken hidden positions as close as possible to the gate towers. Route 51 disappeared over a hill to the north about 900 yards from the gate towers and McLeod and the rest of the team were beyond the hill, waiting for the order to move.

  “BB? Rabbit? You guys have anything to add? Over.”

  “This is BB. There’s an area to the left side of the gate that drops down in a steep creek bed. Beyond that, the other side’s stacked with hundreds of tires—they’re wrapped tight with thin cable—about fifteen feet high. There’s a high fence around a single-story warehouse. Over.”

  Connor turned to Captain Daubney. “Those gates are serious, captain.”

  “Yes they are, sir.”

  They had witnessed the gates opening twenty minutes ago when a group of three men exited, heavily armed. Edging toward Marty's sniper nest, they took easy aim and shot and killed a four-point white tail that had wandered into an area that they must have considered within range. Wasting little time, they had dragged the carcass down the hillside onto the road where they picked up the deer by tying its hooves around a stout branch. Two of the three men carried the deer and the third never stopped scanning the area, seeing everything in 360 degrees every ten seconds or so. He continued this process until they were inside and the gate was closed.

  It was serious—the gate. The double doors were each twenty feet high and eight feet wide, framed with angle iron and covered by a half-inch thick plate. According to Mickey who had taken three years of civil engineering prior to the Sickness, the doors weighed in excess of one ton each. Despite that, they had opened without the protest of squeaking hinges. The hinges were numerous and varied—it appeared as if whatever was available was applied to holding the massive weight. Tires were used to assist the opening of the gates—two twenty-inch tires, one on each side of each door. These served to relieve the stress from the overburdened hinges and lessened the energy needed to move the massive doors.

  If this wasn’t enough, inside the doors was a secondary gate made from three flatbed trailers. They measured forty feet long and eight feet wide. The bottom one sat on its wheels and moved by means that were hidden from view. A continuous steel apron that reached to within a couple inches of the ground protected the flatbed’s tires and void areas between. The flatbed carried two more flatbeds, one stacked atop another, but on their sides and reinforced with additional steel plate, mismatched to cover the entire bed and without any pattern in mind. The first gate was formidable, the second impenetrable.

  “They've created an excellent killing field, too,” said Connor. This was a walled-in community and the perimeter, at least the amount Connor analyzed, was cleared of all vegetation for about seventy-five yards. There was no easy way to sneak up on this place.

  “Colonel, those gates have seen some abuse. Look at those battle scars—there’s more dents and scorch marks than you’d think possible for that town to have survived. Yet Perryopolis has remained pretty prosperous despite all that,” said Captain Daubney.

  “Yes, it has, captain.”

  “I would assume that the southern gate is similar in strength.”r />
  “Yes, I would think so,” answered Connor, studying the structure with binoculars. “There’s plenty of activity within that enclosed town.”

  “I saw it, too, colonel,” he said, referring to the glimpse they got inside when the gates were opened briefly. “Whatcha thinkin’, sir?”

  “All the vegetation has been cleared around the perimeter of the fencing as well. I don't think it will be that easy to sneak up on this place.”

  “Yes, sir. And the cornfield to the east was just harvested.”

  “Yeah, this little town's fairly prosperous. All right, captain, let’s talk strategy. Surf Boy said that there’s guards manning the towers and there’s snipers beyond the walls in a position of support.”

  “Correct.”

  “Full time snipers on duty—probably at the south gate, too—means they’re pretty vigilant.”

  “I agree, colonel.”

  “What haven’t we seen, captain?”

  “Those gate guards or snipers shoulda caught a whiff of us if they'd been paying attention.”

  “I doubt it, captain. We took our positions before dawn and we’ve all been trained in the art of covert approach.”

  “True. If you’re asking what we’re missing, maybe we’re not missing anything.”

  “That’s possible, but not likely—you always miss something. I only hope whatever we’re missing is not a big part of the picture. When those doors opened, did you see how clean it was in there? There were people walking from place to place—like it was a sidewalk market.”

  “Yeah, I saw it. What else?”

  “I’m thinking about the man behind the mask. A leader who takes the precaution to keep two sniper nests at each gate inside his city to guard gates like that is someone who doesn’t like to leave anything to chance. He keeps the place clean and it appears to be organized—the town’s thriving and that’s very impressive in today’s world.”

  “What’s your point, sir?”

  “This is a town that’s continued to grow stronger since the Sickness.”

  “Okay,” said the captain. “What’s that mean to us?”

  “If we go any further, we’ll light up their defenses.”

  “How far would we make it with a frontal assault, sir?”

  “We’d have to wait for nightfall for any hope of success and we don’t have the time. It would be crazy to try an assault in the light of day—they'd be safe behind their fortifications while they picked us off one by one.”

  “I'd agree.”

  “See all that glass sprinkled around the cleared-out areas?” The rising sun highlighted the sparkling pieces of glass.

  “Yes, sir, I see it.”

  “That glass is there to deter anyone from crawling near the gate or side fencing.”

  “Yeah, a nice touch. That would put a damper on a silent assault. But they haven’t given any indication of discovering us, sir. They're kinda sloppy.”

  “It’s the boredom—they probably haven’t seen action in a long time. Boredom will slowly kill vigilance.”

  “Not my men, sir.”

  “Not mine either, captain, but I’m sure there are times when you have to be vigilant about keeping your men vigilant. Given enough time, day after day, hour after hour, any guard duty becomes a bit loose. Even our guys.”

  “Did you wanna go around the town, colonel?”

  “Possibly. It would place us off the highway and away from the main force of Phoenix’s army. I like that idea—but, it’d slow us down considerably in getting to the secondary rendezvous.”

  “How slow?”

  “I think we’d lose at least eight or more hours trying to avoid a confrontation with this town.”

  “Shit.”

  “I agree, captain.”

  “Mickey, you still awake?” asked Connor into the radio.

  “Yeah, Mac,” came the answer. He knew Connor was only teasing him.

  “BB, do you read?”

  “Loud and clear, Mac.”

  “Give me your impressions about how to engage. BB, you and Roger go first. Over.”

  “It’s no easy takedown, Mac. We don’t have a head count and their armory capabilities are unknown. I gotta recommend an end-around. Over.”

  “Negative on the end-around. We’d lose at least eight hours and we can’t afford that. Over.”

  “What about a night assault? Over.”

  “Negative on the night assault—it would put us under worse time constraints to the rendezvous. Over.”

  “I agree with BB that there’s more to this town than meets the eye,” chimed in Marty. “The place is well-fortified. Those snipers could learn a few things about focus and discipline, but they’re in place and would be a big factor in repelling an assault. There’s too many unknowns to try to waltz in and bully our way through. Is there an alternate route? Over.”

  “Perryopolis is a pinch point. The mountains serve as natural protection. It’s a pretty good place to defend if you got the right personnel. Over.”

  "Sir, Mickey here. The only way we could take this town is at night and very carefully."

  "I agree, Top," said Connor.

  “Do we have any options, Mac? Over,” asked BB.

  “We’re pressed for time and this limits our options. McLeod? Do you copy?”

  “Yeah, Mac, I’m here. Over.”

  “I don’t like it. I think we need to try to go in peacefully despite the serious defensive posture. We’ll hold the main force in reserve at the crest of the hill while we send a representative of the President of the United States on official business. I’d like you to be that representative, John. Over.”

  “I’m up for it, Mac. Over.”

  “I want you carrying a white flag. You can have a weapon, but it should be shouldered—non-threatening. We’ll try trading for peaceful passage. You can use those negotiation skills of yours, John. Over.”

  “Mac, that might be a suicide mission. Over.”

  “If McLeod takes a bullet, Surf Boy, I’ll destroy this town and everyone in it. They have to have some experience in negotiation—they’re sitting on the main road. Over.”

  “There’s twenty skeletons hanging from pikes on the road,” said Marty. “It maybe these guys shoot first and ask questions later. Over.”

  “That’s simply a scare tactic. Whoever’s hanging on those pikes probably tried to gain entrance to the town by force. Over.”

  “I understand, Mac, but it’s still risky. Over.”

  “McLeod, do you read?”

  “Yeah, Mac.”

  “You’re the guy in the crosshairs, John. I’m leaving it up to you. Over.”

  “I trust your judgment, Mac. What are we trading for our passage through the town? Over.”

  “We’re selling critical information. Over.”

  “What’s that? Over.”

  “This town might not exist tomorrow. They need to collect their valuables and disappear before Phoenix comes along. Over.”

  “When do I go, Mac? Over.”

  “I want you coming down that hill alone in exactly five minutes on horseback. Keep your horse at a slow walking pace so they have a long time assessing your attitude. Your attitude, by the way, should be non-threatening. BB, I want you targeting the guys at the gate and Surf Boy, you cover the snipers. Over.”

  “Copy that, Mac,” said Marty.

  “Understood, Mac,” said BB.

  “John, do you copy?”

  “Yeah, Mac, I read you loud and clear.”

  "Top, you serve as back up to BB in case there are any surprises."

  "Yes, sir. Copy."

  “I want everyone to understand that there is to be no deviation from my orders. We will not fire first. Is that understood?”

  They all agreed and waited for John McLeod to crest the hill.

  CHAPTER 10.3-Another Pretty Lady

  “There’s the riders!”

  “I see ‘em, major. Heading’ south after our team most likely. How far
are we out from the Route 51 intersection?” said Colonel Starkes.

  “I say ‘bout ten miles, ma'am,” said the major.

  Shamus nodded.

  “Continue your approach, Professor. Get as close as you can to those riders with stealth.”

  “That's my plan, ma’am.”

  Following the asphalt ribbon of Route 51 South had been uneventful after the RPG launched at them earlier. For several moments after the near fiasco at the Brownsville intersection, each team member had settled into their own thoughts beneath the steady pulse of engine and rotor. The intercom was silent. Nicole fed CJ a large piece of hardened cheese. She let him gnaw on it to keep him calm and was pleased that he had taken each helicopter flight in stride and with little fuss. Next to Nicole, Amanda absently rubbed her leg bandage and stared out the window. Eventually, the men in the cabin began small talk and many expressed a clear desire to land and engage after the RPG attack. However, each knew that this would be suicidal and against the primary mission of returning Nicole and CJ safely into Mt. Storm. Trained as hunter/killers with extensive experience, it was hard to let things slide. But, well disciplined, they kept restrained in an effort not to express the unreasonable suggestion of attacking Phoenix and his huge army with the scant number of men they had.

  Knowing her men and the probable reason for the continued absence of chatter, Colonel Starkes keyed the intercom. "Men, you will get your chance! I guarantee it."

  The men nodded. GT and Scott spoke for them all. "Yes, ma'am," said Scott.

  "We know, ma'am," said GT, "It's just that we are getting a bit tired of waiting."

  Major O'Malley interjected, “Approaching the eight mile mark, ma’am, they made us. They’re slowing and turning.”

  “Keep sharp, Professor.”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Wow!”

  “Major?”

  “I count 120 or so riders.”

  The colonel turned and faced front. She peered through the window. “That’s at least half Phoenix’s cavalry. Now we know why we came up so short on our count at McDonald’s.”

  “Professor?” Scott’s elevated voice expressed some concern on the intercom, interrupting the conversation.