Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “Major McLoy, your commander is aware of our presence and objective, correct?" asked the colonel. She stared at the major and his team tucked in tight in the back of the helicopter bay. They were quickly approaching the garrison's defensible perimeter. Major McLoy clicked his intercom and nodded.

  "Yes, ma'am. I told him we're engaging the enemy and seeking your men running the mountain ahead of the assault."

  "Good, because we're damn close to that gate and I sure as hell don't want our asses shot off by friendly fire."

  "Yes, ma'am. My commander knows we're here."

  "Okay."

  The colonel studied the helicopter's progress as it cruised the ridge toward the garrison. Tall and dense trees blocked most visual assessment of the highway as they flew. Turning to face Shamus, she clicked her intercom. "Professor, drop us near the garrison. We need to backtrack on the ground and find our men.”

  “There’s no suitable landing area, ma’am.”

  “What about that meadow? Right there?” she asked. She leaned between Shamus and the major, pointing through the windshield.

  “That meadow's slope angle is way too steep, ma’am. And, it’s at the edge of the ravine. Colonel, the updraft is unpredictable—look at the grass—the wind’s blowing it all over the place! It’s way too dangerous...we’d send a blade into the dirt.”

  The large meadow was on a severe slope separated by the guardrail of the mountain highway. Kept well trimmed, its purpose served as a killing field for the garrison. The field faded for several hundred feet from the garrison to end at the sheer drop-off into the ravine. Huge boulders, remnants from the glacier age, were strewn haphazardly throughout making any landing attempt more difficult.

  "You can't do it?" asked the colonel.

  Careful analysis honed by years of combat experience told Shamus there was only one possible spot to land in the meadow and it was iffy at best. The edge of the ravine was just too close.

  “I’ve seen him do worse,” said Scott to GT. Purposefully, Scott made sure his intercom was engaged.

  “Up yours, Scotty!” yelled Shamus, “I'm not landing there. We’ll tip in the wind and dump!”

  “Professor, I wanna know if you see a better landing anywhere?”

  “Those tennis courts, maybe,” he said. “No, the poles are too close together...and the nets are still there. Shit.”

  “Dammit, professor, there’s no time to find another landing! I want us down there! Now! Our men are down there somewhere!”

  “I know that!” yelled Shamus, embarrassed after realizing he was speaking to the colonel.

  “Professor,” interrupted Major O’Malley gently, “you’re doing fine. Just consider this like any other problem. You're the best. That's why you're here. Consider it from all the angles.”

  The rest of the team heard the major’s calm words and prudently kept their mouths shut.

  “Professor,” said Scott, in a gentle voice that spoke of shared times, “you know you’ve done worse.”

  “Yeah, I’ve done worse, Scotty,” he answered, sighing. “But not with POTUS on board. Not with a couple women...and certainly not with a little kid who's a national treasure!”

  Shamus intently studied the meadow, his pilot’s trained eye seeking the secrets of the terrain and the hidden swales. He was not happy.

  “So, Professor, just don’t screw up,” suggested Major O’Malley. He settled comfortably into the copilot seat and crossed his arms. His calm tone spoke volumes about his faith in Shamus’ ability. “Gauge the odds, Professor. You know you're the best."

  "I hear that," said GT.

  "You have the final say,” said the major.

  The colonel kept her lips pressed tightly together. She wanted to order him to land, but knew it wasn’t the right time to assert any authority.

  Shamus looked at Major O’Malley in exasperation. “Right, major, piece of cake.”

  “For you, maybe,” answered the major. “Me, I’m scared shitless.”

  “C’mon, Professor,” said GT, “you know you can do this.”

  Shamus shifted the collector and sent a deft touch to the left pedal. The helicopter moved a bit lower and closer to the mountain highway for another perspective on the potential landing site.

  "It would have to be fuckin' perfect. Continuous feather adjustments for wind shear on landing. I dunno—"

  "You're the Professor, do it if it's doable," said the major.

  Looking left out of Shamus' side window, the colonel caught movement and focused on four horses rushing up the highway. They were spread out with a single rider ahead of two riders with a fourth rider bringing up the rear.

  "Horses and men at nine o'clock!" yelled the colonel. She grabbed her binoculars for a better view. She did not like this development. She saw two men strapped to horses.

  Hearing the colonel's declaration, Amanda pushed for space at the helicopter bay window and focused binoculars on the horses and men. Studying the tall man in the lead, she knew he was not somebody she had seen before. She shifted to the middle riders.

  “That’s Marty!” she yelled immediately. Marty was riding at a gentle trot and was taking some care to hold a man in the saddle in front of him. "He's holding someone across the saddle!"

  "Which horse?" asked the colonel.

  Desperately seeking to catch sight of Connor, Amanda focused on the other two horses. A man in a long brown duster rode beside Marty. He was slumped over, as if exhausted or injured. “That's BB’s there! The middle horses!" She scanned the remaining rider bringing up the rear. "That’s Captain Daubney! On the last horse. Someone's strapped behind him. I don’t see Mac!”

  “Professor, move us closer to those riders! Now!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The helicopter gained a few hundred feet of altitude and shifted closer.

  Checking once again to be sure, Amanda didn’t recognize the man in the lead and returned her focus to Marty and the unmoving man draped across Marty’s saddle. As the helicopter edged closer, the man’s profile became clear. “Mac!” she screamed.

  “Where, Amanda? Where?” asked Colonel Starkes, a note of panic in her voice.

  Amanda was too busy using her binoculars to answer. She tracked Marty's horse, never relinquishing sight of Connor, who remained unconscious despite the jostling motion of the horse’s gentle trot.

  “I don’t see him, Amanda,” said the colonel.

  “He’s laying across Marty’s horse,” Amanda answered despairingly.

  “Professor, set us down in that meadow, right now! That’s an order."

  "Yes, ma'am. Setting down."

  "We need to intercept and transport Colonel MacMillen to medical facilities.”

  Shamus was out of options—it was a direct order and he had to execute. He concentrated his expertise on the helicopter’s controls, hoping to survive the landing.

  “You got this, Professor,” said GT with a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I know you got this.”

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence,” said Shamus wryly. “Now, shut the fuck up.”

  “Major O’Malley,” said Colonel Starkes, “radio Commander Bastin. Find the best medical triage in this area—I don’t give a shit if we have to travel a hundred miles. Find it now!”

  "Yes, ma'am."

  “Umm, ma’am,” said Major McLoy, “when we get the wounded, I’ll direct you to Nemacolin. It's eight miles past the garrison. General Harmon’s got a full medical set up and a great doc there, a surgeon.

  “For severe injuries?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Better than anywhere I know of.”

  “Professor, put this bird on the ground, right now,” said the colonel.

  "I'd ask that you be quiet, ma'am, if you please," said Shamus.

  The helicopter settled swiftly into its final landing approach. The pulsing ridge wind slammed the helicopter almost sideways before leveling out with the fast and furious movement of Shamus' hands an
d feet.

  "Twenty seconds, ma'am. I'd advise you make a fast exit and keep your heads down real low if you want to keep 'em," said Shamus.

  Amanda continued to watch the lifeless body of Connor MacMillen in the saddle of Marty's horse. Tears streamed freely and her vision blurred. Nicole softly embraced Amanda.

  “He’s dead,” said Amanda. “It can’t be. He can’t be dead.”

  “C’mon, Amanda, that’s just not true, no way,” said Nicole.

  “We don’t know anything yet, Amanda!” snapped the colonel.

  “He’s dead,” Amanda insisted. She let her binoculars fall and buried her face in her hands.

  CHAPTER 11.23-Getting to Nemacolin Fast

  “We got us a ‘copter landing!” yelled Marty.

  “That’s for us, Surf Boy,” said Captain Daubney.

  “Yeah, Daubney—I kinda figured. We need the ride. C'mon BB, keep up, you wuss."

  "Fuck off, Surf Boy, I'm right on your ass."

  "Glad to see you still got a pair."

  "Piss off."

  The three horses picked up speed into a faster trot. Marty struggled to maintain the pace and keep Connor situated across the saddle. His iron grip of the bulletproof vest webbing against the saddle pommel had kept Connor steady so far.

  “C’mon!” said Daubney. “Let’s get them there now!”

  “I’m with ya!” yelled Marty, lowering his head and digging his heels into the horse's flanks for a bit more speed. He glanced at BB.

  "You look pale, bro!"

  "Fuck off, let's move it!" said BB. He tried to straighten some in the saddle though the pain in his hip made the effort monumental.

  The horses threaded themselves through a small opening in the guardrail, throwing small clods of dirt as they passed. They were seventy yards from the helicopter when it landed near the edge of the ravine and two men exited the bay doors facing them to set a perimeter. Three people came to the door edge after the two men were in place. Marty caught Amanda slipping in front of the large redheaded man and small woman and jump onto the ground. He yelled her name with pure elation, though the word was lost in the rotor roar. He was as close as he could come and reined in his horse safely away from the rotor wash.

  Colonel Hannah Starkes stepped from the bird with Major O'Malley behind her. They caught up to Amanda as they reached Marty. Looking angry, Colonel Starkes pointed at Marty and yelled. The power of her command carried over the rotor howl. “You! Transport that man on the bird right now! Major, help 'im out! Let's go! Amanda move the hell outta the way!”

  “Marty? Is he alive?” yelled Amanda, the look on her face dreading the answer.

  “Yeah, he’s alive—barely. Good to see you’re alive,” said Marty, dismounting. Major O’Malley shouldered his weapon to assist in carrying Connor onto the helicopter bay floor. Gently, Scott positioned Connor on the floor and immediately began cutting Connor’s clothes from his body to better assess the wounds. Amanda and Marty hovered until GT gently guided them out of the way toward the rear of the bay. The quarters were getting slightly cramped. GT jumped from the bay and walked toward the colonel.

  Seated and belted with CJ in her lap, Nicole simply stared at the unmoving figure on the floor with tears streaming down her face. "That's Connor Mac! Amanda? Amanda! How bad? Scott? How bad?"

  "Alive. He's alive, but hit bad," said Amanda. Shaking with both rage and fear, Amanda moved to Nicole and they both let Scott tend to the wounds.

  Knowing her orders were in place to treat Connor Mac, the colonel turned her attention toward Captain Daubney nearby. She took a few steps toward him as he helped BB toward the bird.

  “Colonel, it’s great to see you. This is BB.” Daubney’s smile was grim.

  “Captain, I’m glad you made it past that clusterfuck down there.

  “Yes, ma’am. We need some serious medical attention.”

  “I can see that." She turned to seek assistance and GT was there.

  "GT. Take care of this man. His name's BB. He's yours for the duration."

  "Yes, ma'am." GT slipped under BB's shoulder and guided him to the bay doors where he was gently helped into the compartment.

  Not bothering to watch them leave, the colonel grabbed Daubney's arm and pointed to the man that Lieutenants Daniels and McDonald were unloading from the rear of Daubney's horse.

  "He alive?"

  “Edgars, ma'am. Didn't make it. Burroughs took one, too. His body's with the team that ran up ahead to the gates."

  "Dammit!" said Colonel Starkes. “Okay—get your ass on that ‘copter and we’ll fly the hell outta here.”

  Both Starkes and Daubney hopped onboard after Lieutenants Daniels and McDonald loaded Edgar's body in the aft section beside the water rations. The two perimeter guards, Ren and Stimpy, climbed onboard.

  The colonel slapped on the headset and the others did the same as they settled. Marty took a moment to focus—he was having trouble thinking straight. His mind had locked onto the singular item of finding Connor medical attention to the exclusion of everything else. Now that proper medical attention was imminent, he felt himself out of sorts. Absently, he slipped a headset on and heard the chatter. He turned his attention to Hannah Starkes and keyed his intercom.

  “You’re the colonel?” he asked Starkes. “You’re the president?”

  “I am. And you must be Marty,” she answered, looking at him appreciatively. “Are you wounded, soldier?” she asked gently.

  “No, ma’am—I’m fine. It’s Mac I’m worried about. He lost a lotta blood, colonel.”

  "Give me a full account of his injuries. Right now."

  "Mac took one in the left leg and one in the left arm. The one in the arm might've nicked an artery—he’s lost a lot of blood. Plus, he took at least four or five to the vest. No penetration. A double and a triple maybe five minutes apart. Probably bruised or broke some ribs."

  "Scotty? You hear that?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "How's he doing?"

  "Needs some blood, for sure. I have him as stable as I can. A saline drip and clot agent is in place. Sterilized the wounds for now. But, we need to go!"

  “Major McLoy!”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  "You hear that?"

  "I did, ma'am."

  “Take the co-pilot’s seat. Direct the Professor to your best medical facilities.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She glanced out the bay doors; impressed that Shamus was able to hold the helicopter in the meadow at such a steep angle. The wind buffeted the rotors every so often nearly causing the front rotor edge to slam into the meadow before, once again, the rotor leveled out. Seeing the deft yet random touches Shamus applied to the collector while they sat on the ground reminded her again of the serious danger that Shamus was keeping in check. It was certainly time to go.

  “Move out, Professor!” she yelled, "I want to be airborne in less than five seconds. Make it happen!”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  The aircraft gyrated violently on liftoff and the rotors whined with additional speed. Gravity loosened its hold on the big bird and Shamus carefully maneuvered away from the steep slope until out of danger. Gaining altitude, he sped east, increasing the distance between Connor MacMillen and much of his blood.

  Staring at Major McLoy clambering into the copilot seat, Shamus turned very serious and picked the intercom off his ear and covered it with his hand for some privacy. He leaned into the ear of Major McLoy.

  “You better not screw this up son or you’ll answer to me this shit goes south.”

  “Head over that treeline, now.”

  “These people are unbelievably important.”

  “So shut up, Professor, and drive.”

  “That’s what I wanna hear,” said Shamus. He smiled, twisting the collector and the ‘copter sped toward the treeline.

  “Professor, I need an open channel to call my headquarters,” said McLoy.

  “Hold that blue butto
n down to talk and let it up when you want to hear. Frequency's set for your garrison. Both sides of the conversation can be heard by everyone with a headset, major.”

  “Understood,” he said, nodding in appreciation. He held down the suggested button. “This is Major McLoy to headquarters. Do you copy? Over.”

  After a few seconds delay, the major repeated his message.

  “This is Sergeant Williams,” came the answer. “Go ahead, major. Over.”

  “Willie, we're inbound with the president on Marine One. We’re carrying two wounded men, one very critical. We’re bypassing the garrison and heading to Nemacolin for immediate medical assistance. Over.”

  “Roger that, major. Over.”

  “Advise the commander of our intent. Alert Nemacolin to prepare for two wounded. One man has two gunshot wounds, one in the shoulder and the other in the hip. His wounds are serious, but stable and not yet life threatening. The other man is critical with a gunshot in the leg and one in the arm. The one in the arm may have nicked an artery—he’s lost a lot of blood, Willie. He is on an IV drip. Wounds are being tended to as best we can for now. Over.”

  “Understood, major. Will advise commander of plan to bypass the garrison. I’ll radio Nemacolin to expect you. Over.”

  “Let ‘em know we’ll be landing on the airstrip helipads, Willie. Over.”

  “Roger that, sir. Out.”

  In less than a minute, the sergeant’s voice returned to the radio. “Sergeant Williams to Major McLoy. Do you read, sir? Over.”

  “Yeah, Willie, I’m here. Over.”

  “Sir, Nemacolin is up to speed. They want an ETA. General Harmon wants a report on what’s happening down the hill. Over.”

  “The president’s ‘copter hit the enemy with a Hellfire missile at the base of the mountain. That stopped their main force from advancing. We saw the garrison unit scream down the hill to assist. I’d send additional men to secure the highway below the Hellfire strike—that army may organize again and decide to take another shot up the hill. Hold for ETA. Over.”

  “Roger that, major. Holding for ETA. Over.”

  Keenan raised an eyebrow toward Shamus in question.

  “How far away is this Nemacolin?” Shamus asked.