Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“We have contact, ma’am! Phoenix is down there somewhere! I’d know those white trucks anywhere.”

The major was in the copilot seat. He turned in his seat to make eye contact with the colonel though he was heard clearly on the intercom.

“Oh, yeah, I see the bastard’s contingent,” said Colonel Starkes. She stared out the center of the windshield and ground her teeth in suppressed fury. She adjusted her headset, ensuring it was properly placed in front of her lips. “Damn nice calculations on the projected route of Phoenix’s army, Shamus.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“An excellent extrapolation, very nice.”

“Thanks.” Shamus smiled, “Made the most sense if they were to enter into Pittsburgh from Youngstown.”

“Where do you wanna drop the team, ma’am?” asked the major, “We can inflict some pure destruction on them.” Leaning closer to the windshield for a better view, his biceps bulged with the binoculars firmly held to his eyes. He stared hard at the long column of men and equipment snaking up a winding road to a ridgeline, south of Pittsburgh’s downtown. Based upon the elongated supply train, the huge army had crossed over a bridge from the west of the city, making their way onto a road paralleling the Ohio River.

“We won’t drop the men here, major. We can’t subject them to a firefight engaging an army that size.”

“Ma’am, we could drop our guys on top of that ridge, what’s it called? Mount Washington? And rain hellfire down on their heads.”

“No. We’ll drop our men further away, further south. But, I can see now that Phoenix and his entourage are definitely on the same trail as us, major.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But, we know more than they do—don’t we now?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll stick with the plan, major. Set the men up further south on that Brownsville Road indicated on Amanda’s map. We’re here to find Connor MacMillen, if he’s even here.”

“But…” said Major O’Malley. He was not willing to let Phoenix’s army off that easy.

Colonel Starkes turned her head to look into the back and spoke on the intercom.

“GT? How’s she holdin’ up?”

“All line pressure nominal. Oil pressure’s fine. No problems yet, ma’am.”

“Scott?”

“Ma’am?”

“The major had a good idea whether he realized it or not.”

“I did?”

“Scott, prepare one of those pretty ladies for me.”

“The Hellfire?”

“You see any other pretty ladies in this damn bird?”

Quickly, Scott glanced around the crowded helicopter. Several men smiled. He appreciated the natural beauty of Amanda, the grin on Nicole’s face and then studied the sultry eyes of Colonel Starkes before answering.

“No, ma’am. Guess not. Readying the Hellfire.”

“What the fuck?” said Phoenix. He had decided to walk up the steep hill beside his truck to the next obstacle in their path—a cluster of burnt vehicles stuck on the narrow road. Larry walked beside him and they refined logistics and strategy. They would be meeting up with Luke and his team shortly.

While discussing their link up with Luke and his men on top of the ridge, Phoenix thought he’d heard something motorized and large. He looked down toward the city to see the West End Bridge and the road on the south side that they had traveled. He studied the crumbling road snaking over to the Liberty Bridge. From there, the main army contingent took the weed-infested, two-lane blacktop that ran next to the Liberty Bridge and led up to the top of Mount Washington. This small road was to the left of the bridge and more of a direct shot to the tourist observation platforms up above. Luke and his team were already ahead and had followed the trail left by Connor’s team. They had travelled up McArdle Roadway on the right side of the bridge. The larger army contingent found travel on the small goat path more difficult than expected. While this road had looked promising according to his scouts’ initial survey, reaching the top with ease was going to take some doing. Frustrated at his overall progress since the delay at the West End Bridge, Phoenix was in no mood for surprises. He recognized the sound as it came closer.

“You hear that?” asked Phoenix.

“I hear it. You think it’s her?”

“Oh, I dunno, uncle, maybe it’s just a channel four news chopper.”

“They see us!” yelled Larry Reed.

“We’d be kinda hard to miss from the air, spread out and all, don’t you think?”

“What do you wanna do?”

Phoenix waved to a large man in the back of the pickup truck behind him. “Robbie! Robbie! Shoot that helicopter! Grab the RPG and take a shot. Take a shot!”

Robbie Kaufman was already scrambling in the bed of the truck. Frantically, he shifted around containers and popped open buckles to extract the RPG inside. Phoenix calmly scrutinized the sky over Pittsburgh. He sighed.

“Well, not much we can do, but hope the Bitch misses or picks the wrong portion of the convoy that don’t include us.”

“Shit.”

“The price to play, uncle. Instruct the men to hunker down, away from the vehicles!”

“Right.”

Larry was on the radio, issuing orders.

“Have the Fourth Brigade fire off RPGs if they can get the chance.”

“Alright.”

Larry Reed roared out radio commands, though many had already figured the helicopter coming in fast was not going to be friendly.

“If I were her, I’d use one of those precious Hellfires right now,” said Phoenix. He faded away from their pickup truck, the third in line, nearly to the top of the ridge. “She’s got any sense, she’ll fire off one of those priceless babies. If for nothing else than to prove that she’s pissed.”

Phoenix moved with some urgency, and ducked into the nearby woods to crouch behind a large city electrical box. Larry Reed followed.

“This might work, uncle,” said Phoenix. He ducked down and studied the angles and distance from several projected attack points. He calculated that he would not be hiding there long. His mind generated percentages suggesting he had less than a twenty percent chance of surviving a well-placed Hellfire shot at the front of his convoy. The direct hit slamming into the first and second vehicles came as no surprise. He was stunned by the awesome power of the explosion and the expansive radius that annihilated the men and trucks at the head of the column. He kept low while metal, dirt and chunks of debris slammed into the electrical box. He was pleased that he’d chosen well and knew many of his men were not so fortunate. His uncle was still tucked low beside him.

“You know, uncle, I’m gonna seriously kill that fuckin’ woman. Slow.”

“We made it here in one piece. My secret cache at 910 Brownsville Road awaits.”

“This whole area’s burned to the ground, Mac,” said Marty. He looked around. An impressive fire of some capacity had destroyed many of the homes and buildings in the immediate area, leaving nothing but burnt-out shells and skeletal remnants of charcoaled timber.

“Hmm—my cache still waits regardless.”

“Where? How come you’re still smiling?” asked Roger. His own analysis of the swath of destruction showed nothing but a set of weed and moss-covered concrete steps where Connor was pointing.

“Follow me lads to the land of temporary riches. Jason, keep the horses here at the base of the steps and stay sharp.”

“Yes, sir.”

“John, keep your boy company. Eyes open.”

“Will do.”

Connor stepped atop the weeds crowding the concrete steps that led to nothing but an open and flat area above. A few roof joists suggested a house had once stood there, but everything else was mostly unidentifiable.