Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “I know the spot. Tell me about weapon strength of the enemy force.”

  “From what we know, they have at least two fifty calibers mounted on pickups. The pickups are lightly armored. They're using RPGs, but I’m not sure how many of those they have left. They have a shitload of cavalry, still close to 20y mounted for sure, a few quads and bikes. And all the foot soldiers I saw were armed with M-4's and sidearms, sir.”

  “Commander,” said John McLeod, “Jackson here is wounded, sir—do you have a medic on hand?”

  “Yes, we do, major.” He spoke briefly into his radio and a young man came out from the gate. “Take this man to triage and tend to his horse.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said leading the horse quickly into the garrison.

  The commander turned to Rhonda nearby and attempted to soften his stern expression. "Ma’am, can you take the children into the garrison? Someone will meet you inside the gate and they’ll take care of whatever you need.”

  "Rice, go with them," said John McLeod.

  "Yes, sir."

  Rhonda nodded her consent and, without a word, led Gabby, Renaldo, and Cody into the garrison. They had to stand aside for twenty more horsemen exiting.

  “I'm sending them boys down. Would you prefer to join them, major?” prompted the commander.

  "Well, I think I'd like to—"

  “Sir, I request permission to join in your assault,” said Mickey.

  Both the commander and John turned to face Mickey.

  “That’s fine by me, Top, if it’s okay with your major,” said Commander Bastin.

  “Yes, of course, Mickey, go ahead.”

  The commander began issuing orders with his trademark fury and loud, booming voice. There were thirty men on horseback and another three in the Range Rover. Another SUV pulled near, waiting for orders. “Top, we can spare some ammo.”

  “I could use a few clips, sir.”

  “There’s plenty in the back of the Rover. Help yourself, Top.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The commander caught the attention of Captain Goldman mounted and waiting nearby for final orders.

  "Captain Goldman, see to it that Top has a mount for the ride back down the mountain."

  "Yes, sir." The captain pointed to a private and made it clear to give up his mount to Mickey.

  The commander turned to John McLeod. “Major, tell me again where the men are located and how many there are?”

  “Five men, sir. Connor Mac, Marty, BB, Daubney and Edgars. They're set up in Lick Hollow.”

  “Okay. Thanks."

  "Sure.”

  “Listen up, everyone!” yelled the commander. “We have an enemy army approaching the garrison. Well armed. Mostly cavalry. Two fifty cals are mounted on pickups and some RPGs are flying so keep your heads in the game. Our current objective is to provide assistance to five friendlies folded in at Lick Hollow and trying to hold 'em off. They most likely need our help. Let’s go! Captain Goldman, you and your men have point. Keep Top close during final assault and recovery. Go!”

  “Yes, sir,” said the captain, saluting quickly and turning his mount to lead the charge downhill. He spoke into his radio, prepping his men.

  The commander turned to John McLeod.

  “Major McLeod, I'd like you to go into the garrison and find Colonel Truesdell. You need to tell him what you’ve told me. Excuse me for a second.” Colonel Bastin spoke into the radio, issuing commands, the ferocious tone left no room for discussion. Listening to the response, what he heard on the radio obviously surprised him. He turned to John McLeod, amazed at the new information. “Now, I’m told we have us a military helicopter coming into the mix down there. Starkes and McLoy are down there! It seems the president of the good ol’ United States is actively engaged in a firefight to extract Connor Mac. Well, shit, don’t that beat all…Sergeant McCann, you’re with me."

  "Yes, sir."

  The commander radioed to Captain Goldman.

  "Captain, I want a sit rep every five minutes. You're not moving fast enough! I can still see your sorry ass!”

  "Moving faster, sir!"

  As the commander and McLeod looked on, the heavy pounding of cavalry hooves on asphalt echoed.

  CHAPTER 11.18-Ducking Low

  “Uncle, take cover!” yelled Phoenix. The helicopter edged around due south of their position on the mountain road and Phoenix realized the bitch colonel was about to fire another Hellfire missile at them. Exiting the truck, his self-preservation kicked in and he ran for his life. He had made it fifty yards down the mountain highway when a massive explosion pushed him violently forward.

  He rolled into several men after the Hellfire hit. Rising quickly, he ignored the flaring pain in his foot. Larry Reed tumbled to a stop next to him and Phoenix quickly grabbed the older man by the shirt and pulled him to his feet.

  “Where were our RPGs?” he screamed at his uncle, spittle flying from his mouth. “Where the fuck were the men who were supposed to protect us from that shit?” he yelled, pointing up the hill where the road had disappeared.

  Larry Reed struggled in his nephew’s grip, stunned by Phoenix’s incredible fury. “They were pursuing your Rat Pack, Phoenix! They were under your orders!” he yelled back, nearly matching Phoenix’s anger.

  Phoenix let his uncle go and concentrated on the sound of the helicopter’s rotors. He looked into the sky and saw the bird maintaining its position south of the road. He recognized the flashes from the port and starboard sides of the helicopter as long-range rifle fire. He re-commenced his run down the hill.

  His men were following his example, running hard down the hill, and Phoenix watched several drop from fatal wounds. His fury added to his speed, but the pain in his foot was too much and he tripped forward, sliding face-first over twenty feet on his hands and chest. A young soldier stopped to check on him and fell over Phoenix, his neck spurting blood. Phoenix pushed the man’s legs from him, but remained still for a moment. When he determined it was safe to stand, he watched in horror as more of his men succumbed to the uncanny accuracy of the rifles shooting from the helicopter.

  Phoenix took cover behind an RV and had a brief moment of satisfaction when a few RPGs launched toward the helicopter. Picking road grit from his bleeding hands, he was disappointed to see the RPGs land well short of the mark. Larry Reed caught up to him. “We need to pull back now and regroup, Phoenix.”

  “No! Attack! Send your fucking men up that hill right now, uncle! I want that fucking bird shot outta the sky. Now!”

  He limped slowly back up the hill, ignoring the broken men and horses. His eyes were focused on the area where he last saw his enemy.

  CHAPTER 11.19-Collapsing in a Clump

  Marty dove to the ground as the bright yellow fireball swallowed the highway curve four hundred yards below him. What he had seen through his scope told him that he would die shortly. How could he possibly avoid the flaming death coming his way?

  He ducked low behind the rock he used as a shooting platform and tucked into a fetal position, his hands interlocked behind his head with his wrists covering his ears. As trained, his mouth was opened to lessen any explosive percussion on his eardrums. Bracing, the heat came in a rumbling wave, singeing the hair on his exposed skin and giving him the feeling his body had caught fire. The intensity was only there for a few seconds and then it was gone, leaving warmth and the awareness that he was still alive. His first thought was of his rifle.

  He had dropped it when reacting to the explosion. Straightening, he retrieved his rifle nearby, and brushed the dirt from the barrel, checking the weapon closely for any damage.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked Captain Daubney who was recovering in his spot tucked behind a vehicle twenty feet away. Like Marty, he too, checked his weapon for damage.

  “That, my man, was a Hellfire. A Hellfire!” Captain Daubney yelled, his zeal at being alive well accounted for.

  Both men looked down the hill where their enemy once was. Th
e advancing force had used the curve in the road to hide from Marty’s accurate sniper fire. The enemy cluster wasn’t there—nor was most of the road. Faint screams of pain echoed after the Hellfire and Marty wondered if the screams were faint due to distance or if his hearing was still impaired from the blast.

  A silence crept in immediately after the explosion. The cries of pain and dying men faded. The burning gasoline from vehicles bled off and the screeching metal and high-flung road debris settled. For several seconds, the eerie quiet was almost complete. Marty caught the sound of a few small rocks tumbling down the hill, loosened by the explosion. Ecstatic, he realized his ability to hear drew his eyes to the motion. “Damn!” he said.

  “Yeah,” said Captain Daubney. “The colonel returns.”

  The devastation from the single Hellfire weapon was incredible. The road was passable, but only without vehicles—there was too much debris to pass with a truck or quad, though any horses and dirt bikes could still make it.

  The enemy continued advancing on their position and were much closer than Marty had realized and, as he tried to keep track of them all, two dozen rose to their feet and raced uphill, firing while they came.

  “We gotta haul ass now, Marty,” said Daubney, “Let’s go!”

  “Let’s pick some of ‘em off. I want the guy that shot Mac. I want ‘im”

  “There’s too many—we need to move! Now!”

  “Okay, okay. Go!” yelled Marty. He knew that reaching their horses behind the van uphill would be a challenge. He turned and sprinted and though Daubney was running twenty feet ahead of him, he quickly passed the man.

  He focused on the men in front of him. BB labored up the hill under the weight of Connor MacMillen and Lieutenant Edgars turned at intervals to provide return fire. As Marty watched, all three collapsed to the ground, apparently hit by enemy fire.

  “No!” yelled Marty, running hard. It was forty more yards to BB, Mac and Edgars and Marty felt like he was running up a down escalator.

  CHAPTER 11.20-Converge

  Captain Johnny Goldman and Lieutenant Phil Carpenter sprinted the thirty-man Summit cavalry unit down the mountain highway with the two SUVs in reserve. First Sergeant Mickey McGuire was already several horse lengths ahead, intent on returning to the battle and assisting his men. As the cavalry unit came around one of the many curves in the mountain road, a helicopter hovered in the distance. Mickey McGuire yelled behind him and his drill instructor voice carried above the rumble of hooves and helicopter.

  "That's Colonel Starkes, captain! That's my unit! That's our Superhawk!"

  Captain Goldman tried to make sense of the scene when an air-to-ground-missile was unleashed and, a few seconds later, a yellow fireball blotted out the road below. Yanking violently on his reins, his horse skidded to a stop, prancing in place and snorting displeasure. Lieutenant Carpenter reacted more slowly, passing the captain by fifteen feet before he was able to stop. The entire unit halted, waiting for orders. Lieutenant Carpenter quickly rejoined Captain Goldman and both used binoculars to assess the fracas a quarter-mile further down the mountain. Mickey hesitated ahead of them to assess the destruction.

  “Looks like a Sidewinder, sir," said Lieutenant Carpenter.

  "No, more like a Hellfire if memory serves," said Captain Goldman, "Let's move! Let's move now!" The captain waved the men forward and the unit took off down the mountain, resuming the frantic pace. Impatient, the captain spurred his horse for more speed, anxious to engage. Mickey was already further ahead.

  CHAPTER 11.21-Bullet Wound Evaluation

  “No! Mac! No, BB! Shit, fuck! Edgars!”

  Marty scrambled to the fallen forms of Connor and BB. BB was conscious, but Connor was not. Marty glanced at Edgars about fifteen feet up the road, blood pooling around the man’s head. He knew it was a fatal wound. Captain Daubney reached Edgars’ body and checked for vital signs. Furious, Daubney began firing—Marty knew he was angry at losing a man, but did admire the captain’s self-control in deliberately selecting and eliminating approaching targets.

  “Took a few¸ Surf Boy!” said BB, grimacing.

  Marty turned and focused on BB, who was having difficulty deciding on whether to place his right hand on his left shoulder or left hip. Blood seeped from both bullet wounds, but not terribly so.

  “How bad, BB?”

  “Shit! Left hip, not sure how bad. Left shoulder. Missed my lung, hit some shit, though. Can’t move it much. Oh, ouch…how’s Mac?”

  Marty glanced at the advancing enemy, but returned his focus to Connor.

  “I'll check. Can you provide cover?” yelled Marty over the incessant gunfire.

  “Yeah, go, Surf Boy,” BB answered. He shifted into a better position and fired, one-handed, at the enemy, not very accurately, but effectively enough to keep them at bay. Uphill, Daubney dragged Edgars’ body behind the van and continued swapping out magazines in his decimation of the enemy.

  Marty ran his hands over Connor, checking for injury. He found three small holes, center mass and ripping Connor's shirt open, he found three bullets lodged in his vest.

  "Fuck, man—"

  "How’s Mac?” asked BB. He was having some trouble reloading, but did manage to slam a fresh magazine home. He continued to fire while waiting for an answer.

  “He has strong pulse for now. Took three rounds in his vest—that’s what knocked him out again.”

  "Yeah? What else?"

  "Hold on!"

  Marty fired off a full clip at the enemy trying to sneak toward their position while using the guardrail as cover. BB concentrated on the men using the cover of several cars fifty yards downhill. Into the brief lull, Marty continued his triage assessment.

  "Mac took one to the left thigh. Shit, it's close to an artery."

  "Damn!" said BB.

  "Blood's minimal. He took another in his left triceps—this one's serious, BB."

  Blood poured forth freely from Connor's left triceps and Marty applied the last of his field dressing—a folded Kotex—to stop the flow.

  “BB, can you move?” he yelled.

  “I got one good leg, so fuck yeah!”

  “Good. I’m taking Mac behind the van—Daubney'll cover us. Can you make it, BB?”

  “I’ll crawl if I have to, Surf Boy.”

  "Do it."

  Marty pulled at Connor’s collar, trying his best to stay low and drag him to safety. Daubney provided a great job with cover fire—the enemy was retreating. Wait a minute...how many rounds did the captain have? Marty was close enough to the van to hear the report of the captain’s weapon—there was no way he was providing that much cover fire on his own.

  Marty tugged Connor behind the van and risked a glance around him. BB hopped his way along and fired downrange. On the other side of the road stood First Sergeant Mickey McGuire. He fired short bursts at the enemy, changing targets every few seconds. Further up the hill was a cavalry unit and Marty knew that McLeod’s trek to the garrison had been successful. The cavalry had dismounted and was concentrating fire on the enemy below.

  BB and Marty hobbled away from the van up the slight grade to the three horses ten feet away. Marty lifted Connor onto the saddle of a horse and then helped BB into the saddle of the other. Holding the horse reins and jumping on behind Connor, Marty saw Daubney quickly strap Edgar's body on the horse haunches before he then launched into the saddle.

  “Now’s the time we best vacate the area,” said Captain Daubney. His anger at Lieutenant Edgar's death had him teetering on the verge of ignoring the route to safety and turning to seek his revenge.

  "I hear that," said BB.

  They were ready to speed away when five mounted men reined in their horses in front of Marty. They all dismounted and three of them took positions behind the van and began firing at the enemy. The fourth man held onto the horses and the fifth addressed Marty. “Sir, I’m Captain Goldman from the Summit Garrison. How can we help?”

  “Perfect timing, captain, I’m Captain M
cCullough—you can help me move these guys up the hill. Those two took some hits. You have medical facilities at the garrison?”

  “Sure, but there’s better at Nemacolin a few miles further in.”

  “Connor Mac and BB are gonna need the Nemacolin facilities, take us to it. And I do mean now.”

  “Did you say ‘Connor Mac’? Is that Colonel MacMillen, captain?”

  “Yeah. Do you know him?”

  “No, not directly. But people talk about him. Commander Bastin's gonna be so pissed that Mac's hit!”

  “Not as much as Mac when he comes outta it,” said Marty.

  Captain Daubney nodded and interrupted. “Lead us on, Captain Goldman. And, like my friend here said, we do mean now."

  "Let's go." Captain Goldman turned to his men, "I'm taking these men up to the garrison. Lieutenant, you're in charge of keeping those assholes off our mountain!"

  "Yes, sir!" said Lieutenant Phil Carpenter.

  Captain Daubney turned to the garrison captain. "You have communication to the top of the hill, captain?”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered, pulling a radio from his belt.

  “Call ‘em. Tell ‘em to expect Colonel Connor Mac and Captain BB. The colonel's probably got broken ribs, a bullet wound in his left thigh, and a more serious bullet wound in his left triceps. He's unconscious and took three to his vest. The captain has two bullet wounds, left hip and left shoulder. He remains conscious and fight capable."

  Captain Goldman yelled into the radio as they raced up the mountain.

  CHAPTER 11.22-The Professor Hesitates