Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “You okay, Sweetie?”

  Feeling warmth infuse her chest and arms, Gabriella leaned into the embrace, turning to better study the town everyone was so interested in. “Yeah, I’m good, Miss Rhonda. What’s going to happen?”

  “Um, that guy named Phoenix and those bad men are going to try to conquer that town. Colonel Mac and Commander Del Re left them a few surprises. You know, to make them think twice about it.”

  “I don’t like Phoenix. He’s a bad man.”

  “Oh, trust me little one, I know.”

  The huge explosion came, as Gabriella was ready to respond.

  “They went right for it, Mac!”

  “You doubted me?”

  “No, of course not,” said John McLeod. He simply shook his head at the easy predictability of human nature. The fact that the men would so carelessly assault the saloon of an unknown town devoid of people made him grin. “I would of never thought of doing that.”

  “Yeah, well, a few hard missions with tough-minded men can teach a great deal about priorities—and what we can and can’t control.”

  “Such as?”

  “Alcohol being one of them. Women the other. Pretty little valuables next. Especially portable ones.”

  “Damn.”

  “Surf Boy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How’s that leg of yours holding up?”

  “It’s fine! I keep tellin’ ya that!”

  “Good, just checking.”

  “My knee's perfectly fine! Since just after the mill, Mac!”

  “Like I said, just checking.”

  “Well, like I said before, you can stop checking.”

  “Okay. I’ll stop. For now.”

  “Good.”

  “And, since we’re sticking around a bit, I’d like for you to make your presence known.”

  Marty smiled at Connor and then turned to BB. Immediately, he reached into his pack for equipment he would need. “About time. Copy that.”

  “I figure they’ll bust most men through the town to the south gates and form up outside it to come back and assault it from there. If I was that commander, I’d want to know I had free reign to both gates before I decided to retaliate for the loss of men.”

  “Okay.”

  “Once they start to settle in on this side of the gates, probably on that little knob of a hill, try your best to take out any command structure.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Shouldn’t be too long a wait.”

  A few more explosions blew. Marty smiled after the next explosion. “I hear that.”

  Phoenix’s army poured out of the southern gate, forming on the expanse of highway and grass-filled knob beyond. Marty settled into position using his rice bags for support, BB slipping easily into the role of spotter. Like a long married couple, they settled into a rhythm and dance, discussing wind speed, trajectory angles, and range to target that only a sniper and a spotter could fathom. After a few moments of watching Phoenix’s army, Connor spoke. “Your time to shine, Surf Boy.” Immediately, shots rang out and Connor tracked the results.

  “Good selection.”

  “Appreciate that, sir," said BB. Marty was too busy to hear.”

  “Shake up that cavalry, BB.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Quietly and with precision, BB provided range and new targets. Shots rang out in quick succession and his confirmation to Marty after each made it clear he was on target.

  “He’s good,” said Mickey, watching.

  “Yeah, I see that,” said Captain Daubney, impressed.

  Connor broke the adulations. “We move now! Let’s go. We don’t wanna be around when Phoenix gets pissed and regroups.”

  “All move, now!” said Captain Daubney. His voice was strong, yet quiet. He was used to issuing orders in the heat of battle and when the enemy was close.

  Roger hustled the children and his wife tight into the group; they made for a fast escape southwest of town. Another explosion erupted from inside the gates, no one looking back. Connor and Daubney slipped ahead of the team, all making good progress through the wheat. Another explosion, mostly muffled by distance was ignored. They regained Route 51 emerging near an overpass. They were back on track toward Uniontown and the rendezvous.

  “Shit!” said Connor, glancing back at the chaos. Gauging distance, he caught a good portion of the army ignoring the burning town. Instead, that portion was pouring toward them, almost as if they suspected he and his team where trying to slip by during the confusion. “What the hell?”

  “They know we’re involved, sir. Trying to catch up fast,” said the captain.

  “I see that!”

  White trucks bullied through the maze of abandoned vehicles beyond the cleared kill zone. Frenzied men rushed ahead of the trucks pushing and dragging disabled cars and debris outta the way by sheer numbers. Cavalry patiently waited behind the trucks, obviously instructed to stay in reserve for the moment.

  “Damn, we stirred the beehive. We run full out. Top, you and Green Team take back cover for us, now!”

  A shot rang out and Jackson dropped, yelling, leg bursting with blood.

  “Jackie’s hit! Shot from over there. The left! 10:00!” yelled Mickey.

  “There's an advance team nearly past us, Mac! Shit!” said Captain Daubney.

  “Jackson, talk to me," asked Mickey.

  “Knee cap’s busted, fuck! Need help—Oh.” The grimace of pain pushed forth into his face despite Jackson’s best efforts. He tried to stand, wrapping a bandana around the knee. He winced as he hopped on one leg.

  A bullet whizzed past Connor’s ear, so close the air sliced with heat. He spoke calmly. “Captain, BB, assist Jackson.”

  BB ducked low, but not before a bullet grazed his left shoulder. “Yes, sir.” He ignored the slice to his deltoid, the pain minimal.

  “Everybody stay down for a second. Marty?”

  “Yeah, Mac?”

  “Find ‘em! Find them fuckers on the left, now! Roger, come here and bring Cody. Locate those shooters!”

  Roger and Cody slipped close to the main team, weapons ready. Tucking tight with Connor near the abandoned cars, they sought the enemy to their left.

  “Captain, locate. Locate! We hafta pass these shooters.”

  “Jason, Jude, get those horses outta harm’s way. We’re gonna need ‘em!”

  A shot punched the door near Renaldo and Gabriella, inches from the back of John McLeod’s head.

  “I see ‘im! Ten and nine o’clock. Behind that tractor,” said BB.

  Marty lined up his sniper rifle and sent each bullet carefully toward its target. In a fury as yet unseen, Jude threw his last and only grenade toward the tractor with all his strength. The grenade came up a bit short, but rolled into the wheat nearby. The explosion lit up the area with several enemy flinching from shrapnel in the aftermath. Roger spotted a prone figure not too far away from the explosion. Marty caught the same image and Roger saw the man crumple atop his weapon. Mickey and his men rushed into the fray, Edgars, Burroughs and Rice providing staggered cover fire; they slipped toward Phoenix's advance team using cars and guardrail as effective cover.

  “Go!” said Mickey, “Go, colonel! Go, captain! We got this.”

  The entire unit ran through the wreckage of cars and debris while Mickey and his team held back cover, defending their rear. The wave of the army in the distance rushing toward them was impressive.

  “Jason get those kids and Ronnie on the horses once we're fifty yards further out of range!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “It’s gonna be a real situation if we don’t slow them down, Mac.”

  “Tell me about it Surf Boy. Grab Jude. Take the eastern edge. BB, take the west with Roger. Keep everyone moving away up passed that underpass. Surf Boy, BB, I want you to take position there, if need be.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Yes, sir,” said BB.

  “Captain?” asked Jackson, weapon ready. He was sti
ll in pain, but the adrenaline rushing through his body made him more mobile than most.

  “Jackson, you’re with me. C’mon. Let’s set up a last little surprise a hundred yards after that underpass to slow that army down. Knowing these combat inexperienced pussies, they’ll think we’re gonna load up on the underpass and bring it down.”

  “Hoorah,” said Jackson, understanding the plan.

  “But, let’s give them a healthy surprise as if we did just that. Surf Boy, set some trip wires beneath that underpass with a few grenades, okay?"

  "Copy that."

  "They’ll think that’s all we have left. Now, I know the remainder of the C-4 not much—”

  “It’ll do, Mac. Just line me up besides,” suggested Captain Daubney, “Bastard’s hit Jackie.”

  "Let's take it to them, cap'n.”

  "Yes, sir." Captain Daubney was firing rounds at the army nearly a hundred yards away with an impressive accuracy. Connor considered the three enemy who tumbled off horses in quick succession.

  "Some good shootin', cap'n."

  "Just getting started, sir."

  Connor fired several rounds of his own into the mix. Not one shot missed. He was targeting the men working to move debris from the road. When opportunity presented itself, he took anyone near the white trucks.

  Jackson fired at the white trucks trying to take out the tires. Not being able to kneel in his favored firing position, he used the cars for rifle support as they faded south on Route 51. Connor took in the target selection of his team and smiled. Each man was spontaneously filling a need and complimenting the others in their efforts to slow the advance team and massive army Phoenix had brought to bear.

  "We move back fifty, now!"

  They ignored the bullets striking metal around them.

  CHAPTER 10.18-Learning Mode

  “So, you're part of Harmon’s Army, Keenan? Who’s he?”

  “General Mark Harmon runs Nemacolin Woodlands Resort, colonel.”

  “General? Self-made, I'm guessing. Nemacolin?”

  “Yeah, it’s a decent-sized five-star mountain resort with everything you’d expect.”

  “A five-star resort you say? Even now?”

  “Oh, yeah. Hah, you don’t believe me, I can see. But, even now, General Harmon’s managed to keep that place suitable for the bigger players in the area, like you, Madam President.”

  “It's Hannah for now, Keenan.”

  “Trust me, General Harmon will be excited that you’re real and here! Right, Evan?”

  "Yes, sir."

  Hannah held out her hand. “Sorry, I know we were introduced before, but who are you?”

  “Captain Evan Dawson, Madam President.” He tried his best not to be intimidated at meeting the President of the United States.

  “Ma’am. He’s my second,” said Keenan, "He's a man you'd want with you in a firefight, Hannah."

  “Captain, nice to meet you.”

  “Madam President—”

  "It's Hannah, please. What are your thoughts on all this, captain?”

  “A bit of a surprise, ma’am.”

  “How so? Please speak freely.”

  Captain Dawson looked to Keenan who nodded.

  “General Harmon’s gonna be excited to see you, that’s for sure. He likes all the…pomp and circumstance—”

  “He’s a good guy though, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Keenan, “He’s trying real hard to rebuild, you know? He’s a smart man and Commander Bastin’s loyal to him to a fault.”

  “Commander Bastin?”

  “My superior officer. Commander Grant A. Bastin. An excellent soldier as well. Spent time in the sandbox before the Sickness. Was awarded too many medals to count. I’d follow him anywhere.”

  “I see. Good to know.”

  “Commander was a major, Air Force before the Cuckoo Flu. We're in charge of the mountain pass on this side.”

  “Commander Bastin saw our bird today?”

  “No, not directly, one of his young sons did. They were playing games on the gates.”

  “Ah, I see. How strong and secure is that gate? You say it’s at the top of the mountain? Route 40? How many men?”

  Major O’Malley strolled toward them, Nicole at his elbow, CJ in his arms. Amanda trailed behind with Scott and GT, following. The group was becoming too large as everyone sought to hear what was going on.

  “Let’s move to the main office,” said Hannah Starkes.

  With the meal finished, she motioned all to follow her into the large hangar office. Once inside, she took position near a desk that held her map. All gathered, waiting.

  CHAPTER 10.19-Some Strange News

  “Andy, Kevin...what’d ya think?” asked Mark Harmon. The general was sitting at the head of a rectangular dining table large enough to hold thirty people. Jake and Pete, his personal security team, sat at either side of him. Places were set for only fifteen, creating an excess of space for each guest. Mark’s question was a thin attempt to be casual about the gifts he had presented to the men of the MacMillen clan—his smile belied his cavalier attitude.

  “What’d I think? Awesome, Mark! You’ve blown us all away with your generosity.”

  The general’s smile widened and he stood to shake the hands of the thankful men, one by one. He basked warmly in their thanks and each man took his turn in offering his appreciation. “Gentlemen, please find a seat—Cecilia has prepared a small meal for us after which we’ll retire to the den for cigars and cognac.” There were several sounds of whispered excitement at this news—what the general offered was the epitome of opulence.

  Andy approached the general. “Mark, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Andy. You’re hunting pheasant with me tomorrow, right?”

  “Sure—that’s the plan,” answered Andy. Kevin, Ryan, and Toby had found seats close to Andy and Mark and the rest settled in their chairs leaving four unnecessary place settings quickly cleared away by the wait staff.

  When the men were seated, a small team of servers fanned out around the table and distributed platters loaded with Stromboli and breaded mushrooms.

  “That smells wonderful!” said Ryan. He reached for a piece before the platter had touched the table.

  “I love Stromboli,” said JR.

  “Are those breaded mushrooms?” asked Toby.

  “Yes, they are,” answered Harmon. “Eat up, gentlemen.”

  The radio on Jake’s belt squelched and he stared at it, surprised by the interruption. He removed it from his belt with practiced ease as he stood smoothly and walked a few steps from the table, whispering a response into the device. Harmon’s eyes followed Jake's action in mild annoyance, but his attention returned to his guests and he thought no more about the interruption.

  “How’d you like the shotgun selections, Andy? Kevin? They told me I nailed it—did I?”

  “Oh, all day long, you nailed it, Mark!” answered Andy.

  “Mark...ah...Mark, I’m not sure how you knew, but...well, it was perfect,” said Kevin.

  “That’s all I hoped for, guys—that you selected a shotgun you wanted,” said Mark. He glanced toward his security detail. Jake was intensely speaking into Pete’s ear. Pete heard what he had to say and left without a word. Throughout that exchange, Jake never lost eye contact with Mark.

  “General, we have a report from Commander Bastin.”

  “Take it easy, Jake,” said the general, trying to calm the growing concern in Jake’s voice. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You know that helicopter that was spotted in Masontown earlier today?”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “Commander Bastin’s men went to locate it.”

  “Yeah, Jake, I know.”

  “They found ‘em.”

  “Was it a two-seater?”

  “Nope.” The men around the table silently stared at Mark and Jake, transfixed by their conversation.

  Mark br
ought them up to speed. “The toll gate spotted a helicopter earlier today. I made the assumption that it was a two-seater someone got up and running, but apparently that’s not the case. It wasn’t a small bird.”

  Jake listened intently to his radio and, based on what he heard, handed the device to Mark. Mark increased the volume so that everyone was able to hear. He spoke into the radio. “This is Harmon. Over.”

  “Commander Bastin here, sir. We have a priority one situation with radio relays in place. It’s a rush basis, sir. Over.”

  “What’s your news, commander? Over.”

  “Sir, Major McLoy and his scouting team’s located the ‘copter. They’ve reported in just now. Stand by. Over.”

  The men around the table began to talk with one another, but Andy hushed them quickly enough to hear Commander Bastin’s voice on the radio. “Major McLoy’s confirmed the helicopter is that of the President of the United States, sir. A Colonel Hannah Starkes claims to be the president. A very well trained protective detail and a couple civilian women accompany her. Over.”

  Mark Harmon was staring at the radio as if he didn’t believe its existence. “Commander, I want you to repeat what you said. Be very clear. Over.”

  “Yes, sir. The existence of the helicopter is confirmed. Call sign designation is Marine One. They were in Masontown for the purposes of refueling. Colonel Hannah Starkes claims to be President of the United States. She's in Masontown with a highly trained group of men—her protective detail—and two civilian women and one very small child accompany her. The president has just finished briefing Major McLoy on their mission plan. Over.”

  “Commander, what makes you think that her credentials are bona fide? Over.”

  “Sir, Major McLoy has confirmed her designation as Commander-in-Chief. He believes her to be the real deal. Over.”

  “Wow,” said Mark, absorbing the news and not bothering to speak into the radio. There was excitement in his eyes and his mind was moving a mile a minute. He was evaluating possibilities.