Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Umm…” Shamus looked to GT who shook his head.

“No, ma’am. Don’t think so. It’ll probably have some impact on your actions if I understand the emerging situation.”

“What is it then? Problem?”

GT stepped forward, clearing his throat. When GT was uncomfortable, things weren’t good.

“Aww, shit, don’t tell me, GT.”

“Ma’am?”

“What’s wrong with the bird?”

“Umm…”

“Just give it to me, GT.”

“The tail rotor driveshaft hanger bearing is about shot. From the looks of it, it’s scored fairly deep in two places.”

“Shit.”

“We don’t have a replacement.”

“Not the fuck now… not now … what’s that mean?”

“Means we need to return home with minimal deviation and no side missions.”

“Anyway to fix it?”

“Sure. Find me the part.”

“And if we don’t?”

“The rotor might seize up and then we’d have… a serious navigation problem.”

“How come you’re only finding out about this now?”

“Downtime maintenance checklist.”

“Meaning?”

“It’s only a routine checklist factor on the H-92 at 600 hours of flight time.”

“I see.”

GT was angry. “Thing that pisses me off is that, usually, you can get at least near twice that amount in flight hours from that bearing based on the over engineering built in.”

“Huh,” said Major O’Malley.

Colonel Starkes closed her eyes for a few seconds.

“But not this time,” said GT.

“If we fly in it again, will we crash?”

“Not necessarily, ma’am,” said Shamus chiming in, “We stay low and know what we now know concerning the bearing deficiency, I’ll bring her down fast before we lose most flight control.”

“Oh, I see.”

“The landing might be a bit hard, if need be. Provided we’re not over water or too many houses or trees at the time.”

“Damn. A few minutes ago, we found new intel to help determine Connor MacMillen’s whereabouts,” suggested Colonel Starkes.

“Yeah… the map note… we heard,” said Shamus.

“Pittsburgh’s on the way home. That’s where he’s near… we think.”

“Makes some sense.”

“Is the bird airworthy for a few stops and overflights of Pittsburgh before we head home?”

“Well, now that we know the rotor bearing’s scored so bad, I’d say no, it’s not safe.”

“We can’t push it? You can’t work your magic, GT?”

“Wish I could, ma’am, but not this time. Maybe one quick stop at the most. In fact, we coulda went down anytime during our last few flight hours the way I see it. Another three to four hours of flight time back to DC is probably an acceptable risk, but no more than that, ma’am. No more than that.”

“That’s unacceptable,” said Colonel Starkes. She paced in front to the men, deep in thought and furious at the inconvenient timing of the mechanical failure. Frustrated, she glanced at Amanda standing near Nicole and the baby. Major O’Malley was deep in thought, struggling with finding a solution.

“GT?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I have a new priority assignment for you.”

“Okay?”

“Find the part you need, replace it. And transport me to Pittsburgh.”

“Ummm.”

“You have two days.”

“Impossible.”

“Comin’ from you that’s a laugh… by the way, that’s an order.”

“Ma’am? Yes, ma’am.” GT turned serious and he became pensive. He stared toward Scott and Shamus. Both raised eyebrows in commiseration.

Colonel Starkes sighed, letting her shoulders drop. She took a few steps to stand directly in front of GT. She lowered her voice.

“Simply work your magic, GT. Okay? Figure it out for me, dammit.”

“Umm…”

“Dismissed. Shamus, Scott, help him achieve the new mission objective.”

“Ma’am?”

Exasperated, the colonel’s voice rose in restrained fury. “Move it! You heard me. You three men are about to earn your keep and live up to that damn legend crap I kept hearing about before we picked you up. That is, if I have anything to say about it.” She abruptly turned and walked over to Amanda, Nicole and the major. “You three follow me.”

“Can’t we move any fuckin’ faster?” Phoenix sat in the passenger seat with his foot up on the dash in the third truck from the front line. “I’m tired of this shit.”

“Sir, I just heard on the radio that we will reach the West End Bridge within the hour,” said Titmouse.

They doggedly pursued their quarry from the Youngstown mill. Irritable after a boring and bumpy morning and slower-going afternoon, his patience was fading fast at having to move additional vehicles and debris off another bridge as the heat of the day wore on. Pittsburgh and its outlying communities certainly had a great deal more abandoned vehicles and debris blocking the easy access of their convoy. He began to wonder if keeping the damn trucks and quads were worth it, though, he knew, deep down that they were invaluable in today’s new age. At least for a few more years.

“Fuckin’ trucks,” he grumbled.

Several times throughout the day, his temper was evident. The advanced team was trying to remove a cargo van from their path. Both axles were busted and jammed into the concrete. Phoenix had walked over to the cargo van that was giving the advance team some trouble on the north side of Pittsburgh. Calmly explaining to the empty cargo van that it was in the way and needed to move, he pointed the Judge at the van and then placed five .410 shells into the windshield, fender and driver door, while the workers scrambled for cover. Satisfied, he reloaded and returned back to his pickup, waiting for the log-sups to clear the area.

“Fuckin’ vans.”

After the most recent incident, Phoenix settled into the passenger seat of the truck with Titmouse, the driver. Sinclair, on guard duty for the day, stood in the bed with his loaded shotgun, mindful of Phoenix’s wrath. Larry Reed approached to stand next to the passenger door, hands on the roof. Reports of Phoenix’s erratic behavior had reached him.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m bored outta my fuckin’ skull, that’s what’s going on!”

“Huh. We’re coming up on the West End Bridge now. There’s some more vehicles and debris we need to clear. You okay with that? Or want to find another way?”

“Screw this shit!”

“Yeah? Well, to keep you interested, Luke said to tell you they’re on the trail of this Connor MacMillen and getting closer by the minute.”

“They see ’im?”

“Not yet, but he’s confirmed their trail leads across the Liberty Bridge.”

“Where’s that? This place got more fuckin’ bridges than it does people.”

“It’s that one there, over to the left. See it?”

“Yeah.”

“If this is Connor MacMillen, then he and his men are now outside of downtown and heading away from our position. Luke’s ’bout ready to cross the Liberty Bridge.”

“Okay. And?”

“Once we cross this West End Bridge, we can loop around the other side of some tunnels and meet up with Luke and the Brigades and hunt them down from there.” Larry pointed again for reference at the bridge in the distance. Meanwhile, he studied his nephew closely, gauging his current volatility.

“How close is Luke to ’em?”

“Less than a mile or so, he thinks. He stressed that we need to be careful at this point. Don’t want to spook ’em going after ’em too hard.”

“Ahh, he’s a pussy sometimes. Make it happen, uncle.”

“Will do. How ’bout you try to stay a bit more calm, would ya please?”