Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  When McLeod and his small group stopped, they were only fifteen feet from the gate. John looked up into the face of a young man stationed where the two tractor-trailers met. His youth was apparent, no more than eighteen or nineteen, but his demeanor was unyielding. He sighted down the length of his M-4 at John McLeod’s chest.

  “What do you want?”

  CHAPTER 11.13-King Rat

  “Get outta there, Surf Boy!” yelled Connor over the radio. Another explosion rocked Lick Hollow, destroying what had already been destroyed. Through his binoculars, Connor saw Marty and BB running up the hill. Another RPG exploded close enough to knock them both from their feet, but Connor was relieved to see them stand immediately and continue their run.

  Daubney and Edgars waited at the edge of the highway, supine. Each man sent a massive volley of fire toward the blitzkrieg, but the enemy continued to scramble up the hill.

  “Colonel, we need to move!” yelled Captain Daubney.

  “I know that, captain. Take Edgars and ready those horses to fly. I’ll stay to provide cover. Go! That’s an order!”

  The two sprinted the forty yards in a crouching run up the hill to their horses, zigzagging to present a more difficult target. They dodged behind abandoned cars and fallen trees as bullets rained down on them and were thankful to reach the horses unscathed.

  The horses, hidden behind the wreckage of an eighteen-wheeler, were wild eyed and pulling violently at their tethers. They tried their best to calm the animals.

  “We’re ready, colonel. Over.”

  “We’re moving out now, captain.”

  As their extensive training kicked into gear, Connor, Marty, and BB leapfrogged up the hill, providing cover to one another and keeping the enemy at bay. In this way, they made it to a minivan where they quickly reloaded.

  “Go!” yelled Connor, remaining in his position to provide fire and hitting nearly everything at which he aimed. Marty and BB ran to the next point, a boulder at the side of the road large enough to provide temporary safety. They dived behind the boulder when the bullets became too thick and when they looked back, they saw Connor lying on the ground, unmoving.

  CHAPTER 11.14-Luke Makes a Mark

  Luke pushed hard in his run through the men and horses and met Kaiden at the cluster of cars, dead men and horses clogging this section in their charge up the mountain. An onslaught of accurate gunfire had slowed the cavalry for the moment. Finding it difficult to remain focused when there were so many bullets whining past his head, Luke knew that the end was near—they had pinned the enemy and he smelled blood.

  “Who’s that brave asshole?” Luke asked. He grabbed the reins of Kaiden's horse to garner his full attention. One of the enemy stood out among the others in their impressive fade up the mountain.

  "Who?" asked Kaiden.

  "The bastard shootin' at us from behind the van while the other two slip away."

  "Yeah, I see 'im. Fuckin' little bastards!" said Kaiden.

  Luke barely glanced when the man beside Kaiden took a bullet to his neck. Staring at the van up ahead, he spotted the remaining enemy defender slide into position near the front bumper. The enemy fired another three-round burst. The calm and calculating effectiveness of the man showed in his incredible aim.

  "That one's something special, commander. See how he's issuing orders. I think he's more that just a back cover expert. He's more of a King Rat. Yeah, that's a King Rat. I got you now, mother fucker,” said Luke, lining up for an easy shot. He sighted and pulled the trigger, but his shot went wide, snapping into the fender only six inches from the man’s chest. “Shit!”

  The two other enemy men converged with King Rat and began a standard military two-by-one run-and-cover, moving efficiently enough that Luke couldn’t draw a bead on King Rat. Luke dropped flat onto the ground when the men behind him sent a wild spray of bullets. Only when the men around him spread out and moved forward did Luke feel it was safe enough to regain his feet.

  Looking up the hill to determine the status of his enemy under the voluminous firepower, he was impressed with their skillful coordination as a team and the way they found and used the obstacles at their disposal when seeking the next position to deliver a counteroffensive. It was as if their retreat were choreographed and Luke acknowledged their impressive ability to return fire while they retreated. The three rarely missed when they shot—especially King Rat.

  Luke ducked again as a few men around him began to fire indiscriminately at the fleeing enemy. And again, he witnessed a man near him dropping hard from return fire. When a second man dropped with a round through his forehead, Luke hit the ground again, not wanting to be the third in the bullet grouping.

  “Damn, them rats can shoot,” he mumbled. He moved forward ten yards and positioned himself behind a Chevy Impala. He settled his M-4 on the hood, made himself comfortable, and took careful aim. He anticipated the path of the King Rat. “Piece of cake.”

  He steadied his aim, slowed his breathing, and shot King Rat, watching him drop.

  “One rat down,” he said in satisfaction.

  CHAPTER 11.15-Hellfire in Hopwood

  “Where are we, major?”

  “We’re approaching a little town called Hopwood, ma’am. It’s at the base of the mountain that climbs to the Summit Hotel.”

  “Ma’am!” yelled Shamus. His level of excitement was a bit unnerving. “Eleven o’clock!”

  “What is it, professor?” she asked, unable to locate with her own binoculars what he saw without any.

  “That’s Phoenix’s army dead ahead, colonel,” he said. Shamus held his position, unwilling to close the distance. He was painfully aware of possible RPGs.

  “I see ‘em, Professor,” said the colonel, studying the situation. She released her harness and shifted between Major O’Malley and Shamus, gaining a better view. She saw the huge army rushing up the highway, but couldn’t determine if there were any friendlies in the area. “What’s going on up there?” she asked.

  “It’s a firefight, ma’am,” said Major O’Malley, studying the situation through his own binoculars. “I see the destruction from several RPGs and there’s steady fire, probably from a fifty caliber—there might be two of them. Their fire is concentrated on that outcropping. My guess is that’s where our men are.”

  “Professor!” yelled the colonel. “Advance to a position directly south of the enemy’s front line. Stay outta range of those RPGs. Scott! I want that last Hellfire ready!”

  “I’m on it, ma’am,” said Scott.

  “Understood, colonel,” answered Shamus dipping the rotors and completing the task in less than ten seconds.

  “Tim! Man the port door! GT and Amanda, you’re on starboard! Safety harnesses on everyone! Ready target selection on my call! GT! Open the doors—men, let’s light them up!”

  The intercom came alive in agreement.

  “Anyone have any idea who they’re going after? Is there any sighting of who they’re attacking? Anyone?”

  “I’m not sure yet, ma’am,” answered Major O’Malley. He was looking for an indication of who the enemy army’s target might be, but he hadn’t spotted any movement.

  “Major O’Malley, I’m sure we have men down there and I’m reasonably sure that firepower is focused on them. We need to find them immediately and determine how best to help them.”

  The major caught movement farther up the mountain road, away from the main battle. He focused his binoculars and spotted a dozen horses carrying men and two vehicles that had at least two men each. The group was rushing down the mountain, toward the fighting, at a reckless speed. They dodged cars, potholes, and other debris in their haste to their destination. “Ma’am?” said Major O’Malley. “Focus your binoculars up the roadway—there’s a group coming down to the fight.”

  “Those’re my men, colonel!” yelled Major McLoy. He stared hard out the bay doors at his unit.

  “You sure?” asked the colonel.

  “Yes, ma’am! That’s Com
mander Bastin’s group. They’re coming down to fight, ma’am. Someone musta made it to the Summit for help!”

  The colonel saw Phoenix’s army advancing quickly and gauged their distance from Bastin's men coming from the opposite direction. She figured her team had to be somewhere in between, but she couldn’t see where.

  “Major McLoy, your commander’s gonna need help slowing this army down. Scott, send the lady now! Best shot available.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” He coordinated with Shamus over the radio and, within seconds, the Hellfire was on its way toward a curve in the road where the enemy was advancing past unmoving vehicles and continuing the onslaught of fifty caliber rounds.

  When the Hellfire hit, the entire portion of the road disappeared beneath a massive fireball. The Superhawk skimmed low over the curve, responding immediately to the Professor’s lightest touch.

  Guns blazed from each door. Lieutenant McDonald’s sniper rounds punctuated the rapid fire of the M-4’s. Amanda’s thirty-aught-six fired smoothly to complement the massive amount of bullets sent into the fray. When the smoke cleared, there were numerous trucks out of commission, including the ones that had carried the fifty calibers. Three of the trucks were rolling down the steep ravine out of control and there were bodies of horses and men that hadn’t withstood the effects of the blast.

  Colonel Starkes focused on the area hit by the Hellfire. “Nicely executed, Scott.”

  “An awesome shot, Scotty,” said Shamus despite being in the midst of lifting the Superhawk away from the area in a difficult maneuver.

  “Professor, keep us outta range of the RPGs.”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s the plan. I’ll maintain a stationary platform with random horizontal and vertical variance every five seconds. Left, right, up, down—I’ll call ‘em out to let you guys know.”

  “Okay, Professor. Tim, GT, Scott, Amanda, and anyone else who wants to join in—start pickin’ off stragglers,” said the colonel.

  “Shifting to long-range weapons now,” said GT.

  Scott smiled at Tim McDonald. “We’ll help you out, Lieutenant. Let us show you how we roll.”

  “Moving left and up five degrees,” said Shamus and, a heartbeat later, the ‘copter moved to the new position. Lieutenant McDonald was the first to fire after he waited for Shamus to steady the bird. He fired four quick rounds, three of them finding their mark. GT settled next to Lieutenant McDonald and both fired four rounds apiece before waiting for Shamus' next change in direction.

  The colonel was watching Amanda and Scott on the starboard side. Scott had tucked in near Amanda who was firing a round every four seconds whether Shamus was in an evasive maneuver or not.

  “Amanda? Are you in range with that rifle?” asked the colonel over the intercom. Concentrating hard, Amanda ignored her.

  “I don't think she's missed yet, ma’am,” offered Scott who was watching Amanda’s accuracy through his binoculars as he took position with his sniper rifle to begin selecting targets.

  “Moving down and right ten degrees,” said Shamus.

  Amanda continued to shoot.

  “She’s pushing the weapon's envelope, colonel,” said Scott, still watching and amazed, “but she keeps knocking ‘em down.” Impressed, he couldn’t stop tracking the performance of this young woman. She was shooting nearly as well, perhaps better, than many seasoned snipers. To accomplish what she was doing, she had to be almost out of the top of her scope in elevation just to hope to reach the intended targets. Plus, she had to have tremendous confidence in her weapon that went with an immense confidence in her own ability. The distance to the targets was at the extreme range of her weapon's capabilities. The evasive maneuvers, while necessary, added to the improbability of the success of each shot.

  Still, Amanda hit what she aimed, though not all were killshots. The available targets disappeared—the enemy soldiers were either dead or had found sufficient cover.

  “Amanda,” said the colonel, “do you ever miss?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she answered, smiling, “I missed my first two shots settin’ a range.”

  CHAPTER 11.16-The Bullets Thicken

  “Mac!” yelled Marty, sliding to a stop near the unmoving figure. Despite his slide, he continued to fire at the enemy. Marty’s mind registered the sound of a helicopter in the air, but he was too focused to lift his eyes.

  He pulled at Connor’s shoulder. “Ummmph,” mumbled Connor. Marty pulled harder and turned Connor on his back. He was relieved to hear life from his commanding officer and whatever adrenaline he had left kicked in.

  “Where you hit, Mac?” he asked, searching Connor’s body for wounds and finding none. At Marty’s jostling, Connor grunted and inhaled a huge breath. He regained consciousness for a moment, eyes red-rimmed and unfocused. Marty dragged him in a rather brutal fashion the few remaining yards to the shelter of an old Ford Bronco. He used the front fender as cover and he let loose a full magazine at several men gaining ground against them. He ducked down to reload with the vision of the satisfied look of a man whose face reminded him of a wolf. Wolf was now using the hood of a Chevy as a shooting platform and his lupine smile infuriated Marty. Somehow he knew that Wolf, that lupine-looking bastard, was responsible for Connor’s current condition.

  “Surf Boy,” said Connor in a cracked voice.

  “Mac?” Marty had tried to weigh his options, but Connor’s voice pushed everything else out of his mind.

  “I took shots ...in the back. My ribs...they hurt.”

  “You know, Mac, I’m a little busy here. When you’re done crying about your ribs, maybe you can give me a hand.”

  Connor tried to laugh. “Ahh...can’t breathe. ‘Kay...hold on.” He tried to lift himself to his elbows and raise his weapon, but it was apparent he could barely move.

  Captain Daubney, BB and Edgars had slipped back down the road to assist Marty, firing as they came at the steady onslaught of men gaining on them.

  “BB, take Mac!” yelled Captain Daubney. “Marty and I’ll hang here. Edgars, provide covering fire for Mac and BB. Go! Move!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  BB picked up Mac in a fireman’s carry and Edgars matched his pace while running backward, firing short and accurate bursts at the enemy. Captain Daubney focused his fire on a group of men trying to flank them from behind the guardrail.

  In the meantime, Marty waited patiently for Wolf to show his ugly face. He wanted one chance to see the hairy head pop up from behind the Chevy. Just one chance, he thought, and I’ll blow that asshole’s head off.

  Marty saw him appear, but forced himself to slow his breathing and take his time. He wanted this man’s head to explode like the fresh watermelons they used for practice in boot camp. Wolf had lifted his head above the hood of the Chevy to take stock of what was happening. He was speaking into a radio and, through his scope, Marty saw him as if he were only a few feet away. Now was the time—if Marty wanted to kill this guy, he had to do it now.

  He exhaled slowly and increased the tension on the trigger. His crosshairs were centered on Wolf’s nose when a yellow fireball lit up the highway and shook the ground. Marty's ears deafened and his shot at the Wolf was gone.

  CHAPTER 11.17-Colonel Bastin

  “I need to speak to your commanding officer immediately,” said John McLeod.

  “Who are you?” asked the young man, his weapon unwavering.

  “I’m Major John McLeod and I’m here on behalf of Colonel Connor MacMillen. He needs your help—him and his men are about a mile and a half down the hill and they’re taking heavy fire.”

  “Wait here,” said the man. He lowered his weapon and spoke to someone on the other side of the gate. By the time he turned to face John McLeod’s party, the gates began to open with a protesting squeak.

  John McLeod turned to look down hill and saw Lieutenant Rice approaching. "Lieutenant, come up slow and join us!"

  Rice nodded and started up the middle of the road. He held his weapon neutral and moved s
lowly so the gate could assess his approach.

  McLeod's small group took a few steps back as the gate opened. Ten horses ridden by armed men exited and surrounded the group in a loose circle. Two others road out to Rice and warily followed him as he approached the group. A Range Rover came out of the gates after the horsemen were in position and came to a stop. The front passenger door opened and a tall man with a look of irritation walked to within a few feet of John McLeod.

  “Commander Grant Bastin,” said the man as a way of gruffly introducing himself. “Are you in charge?” he asked, offering McLeod his hand.

  John shook. “I am. Major John McLeod, commander. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, it’s a true pleasure, major. What's going on down the hill? Fill me in.”

  “Oh, right,” said McLeod, gathering his thoughts. “There’s an enemy force of at least 500 men, last rough count, attacking my group of five soldiers, one of whom is Colonel Connor MacMillen.”

  “Mac’s down there?” the commander asked. The intensity of the commander’s stare was unnerving—even more so for John McLeod who thought of himself a person beyond such intimidation.

  “You know Connor Mac?” asked John.

  “I asked if Mac’s down there, major.”

  “Yes, sir, he is. He’s with the others—there’s five of them and they held back to give us time to reach the gate.”

  “What type of enemy force and weapon strengths are we talking about, major?”

  “You should speak with my sergeant for that information, sir. Sergeant Mickey McGuire, this is Commander Grant Bastin.”

  "Sir!"

  “Top, good to meet you. Now tell me about the enemy force.”

  “It’s a large force, sir, at least 500 or so strong, after we rigged and explosion at the base of the mountain that trimmed them down some. And we bottlenecked 'em pretty at a curve down there. I'm sure we took out a bunch more since they couldn’t fit more than twenty men up the road at a time and we were pickin’ ‘em off as they came around the curve just below that Lick Hollow picnic area. That's where the colonel is. I don’t know how long he can hold them off, sir.”