Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Surf Boy, they’ll be comin’ off that alley below and probably around the Kroger’s across the street. That’s what I’d do. They’ll try to surround and gain tactical advantage and position.”

“Agreed.”

“Yeah,” said BB.

Roger left his position at the edge of the KFC parking lot where he was hiding in a prone position. He had been studying the road to where the team had last spotted the unknown men. He approached the team. “I just saw at least one man slipping down that side road up ahead and to the right, sir.”

“Nobles Lane. Thanks, Rog.”

“Are they’re runnin’ like a true military op in your opinion, Roger?” asked Connor.

“I’d say yeah.”

“Surf Boy?

“Yeah, Mac. Sure looked like it. From what I saw,” said Marty.

“BB? Your thoughts?”

“I’d say the same. From the little I caught,” said BB, “How you wanna do this?”

Connor studied his team and smiled. “Well, we know we got a real team ahead of us. They’re dragging down nice and low—just like they’re trained.”

“Agreed,” said Marty.

“Yeah, they’re not out lookin’ for food. They’re on task. What you wanna do?” asked BB.

“Who are they?’ asked Connor, deep in thought.

“Yeah, it’d be nice to know that,” said Jackson. He stood at the edge of the KFC main entrance glancing both up and down the road, searching for movement. Jude was next to him and doing the same.

“Dunno,” said Roger. He headed back to his surveillance position.

“Could they be with Starkes?” asked Connor.

“The president? How?” asked McLeod.

“That bird overhead flew west, toward Route 51,” said Connor. “Could be they’re backtracking toward this location. Yeah, maybe to my map coordinates, to 915 Brownsville—timing’s ’bout right.”

“C’mon Mac! We don’t have enough data to make that assessment,” said McLeod.

“What’s your solution then, John?” asked Connor.

“We need more than skimpy data that’s for sure. A point man and a few men behind him that might be onto us isn’t much… could be anything.”

“Sure, John, But why now? Huh? I mean, a military team, right now ?”

“We don’t know what kinda team’s out there. Military or not. Don’t make the situation fit your conclusions, Mac. Could be something else entirely.”

“Could be. My guts screaming otherwise, John.”

“Surf Boy? BB? What you thinkin’?” asked Connor.

“Let’s assume they’re some kinda full-fledged ops. We slip left and right and scout just to see who’s comin’ for us.”

“Yep. I like it. BB, take the Kroger’s parking lot. Surf Boy take the alley. Let’s see who these men really are.”

“Got it,” said BB.

“Copy that,” said Marty.

“Do not shoot unless fired upon. Capture or fallback.”

“You sure, Mac?” asked Marty.

“I got my suspicions these are friendlies… channel six is primary… hold fire unless fired upon.”

“Understood,” said BB.

“Copy that, Mac.”

“Let’s get this place ready for a firefight, in case,” said Connor.

The team followed him into the KFC and devoted time to defensive positions and fortifying for assault. Tables were moved to the broken front windows and entrance and the wall between the front and back areas was assessed for sturdiness. Connor entered the roughed-up building to see the team settling. John McLeod followed close behind; the team sought an update.

“I think we got an experienced team up ahead. Not sure who they are, friend or foe. Keep sharp. BB and Surf Boy are takin’ care of any end arounds. Let’s see how this plays out. Roger is keeping an eye on things up the road. He’ll give me an update on any change.”

Connor continued. “Rhonda and Cody, hang tight behind that counter. Jason, John, load and prepare those horses near the backdoor for a serious bug-out for everyone in here. Jude? Jackson? You both stick with John on evac. If it goes bad, BB, Surf Boy and I’ll catch up at the junction of Route 51 up this road about three miles. We leave on my command. If we have to move in a hurry, shoot anything that moves on your way out, but only if I give the green light.”

The team acknowledged orders and continued preparations. BB’s voice came through on the handheld. “Got ’em! Two-man team. Both men armed and moving covertly. They know we’re here. Do you copy?”

Connor slid toward the front entrance of the KFC to respond. He lifted the radio to his lips, prepared to speak, but was interrupted.

“Roger that, BB. I’m live on my end, too,” said Marty, “three men—they’re in full gear, Mac. They’re fresh. Definitely military. Mac, do you copy?”

“I copy. Can you take ’em down, BB? Over.”

“Yeah. Fairly easy. Over.”

“Can you subdue only? Over.”

“Negative.”

“Roger that. Surf Boy? Do you copy?”

“I copy. They’re good, but I can probably fire a disabling shot in a few minutes. Over.”

“Roger that,” said Connor. He was thinking hard and evaluating options.

John listening nearby offered his opinion. “Call a truce, Mac. See what’s up.”

“A truce?”

“See who you’re dealing with.”

“A truce?”

“Okay, let’s not call it a truce. How ’bout an introduction. Like when you and I met.”

“Hmm,” said Connor. He grinned at the thought.

“These’re not regular guys here, Mac. You said so yourself. Dammit, I’m leaning toward your way of thinking on this.”

“Starkes people?”

“Those men are man hunters on a mission in full gear. How’s that happen right now? Huh?”

“I dunno—”

“I trust your instincts, Mac. Call it out now or we’re gonna have a helluva a firestorm.”

“Hold BB. Hold Surf Boy. Over.”

“Roger.”

“Roger. Copy that.”

Connor smiled at John and went to the busted door of the KFC. With little thought, he stepped over the overturned tables and walked twenty feet to stand in the center of the road. Calmly, he gazed down toward the intersection of Brownsville and Nobles Lane. His M4 was slung on his shoulder and his hands were empty. In clear view and with military hand signals and his weapons stowed, he slowly waved the unknown team ahead of them to come clean. Carefully, he conveyed hand signals to their command suggesting that the two teams they’d dispatched to surround him be placed on immediate hold. His sign language could be easily understood, if the men were military, and particularly if they were Special Forces. With little thought, he walked to the dusty Chevrolet Caprice nearby and slid against the door to wait. Facing the potential approach of this unknown team, he pulled his radio from his pocket and placed it on the roof in clear view. He yelled to John McLeod.

“Prepare for bug out, John. If I take a hit or we’re overwhelmed, get everyone to safety.”

“I got it, Mac… you’re a crazy son-of-a bitch.”

“Head on down to my place in the mountains.”

“I said I got it.”

The radio burst to life.

“Tangos on my side just froze. They’re talkin’ on a handheld. Over,” said Marty.

“Same here. Over,” said BB.

Connor smiled at the reports. Slowly, he grabbed his radio off the roof and double squelched. In fact, he relaxed further, leaning gently against the car.

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“Two men are approaching, seventy-five yards. Down the middle of the road. Unarmed.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah, I was going to code them into channel three to discuss a meet, but that’s no longer necessary. They’re in full military gear. I see men positioned behind them, stationary, locked and loaded. They’re moving around some to let me know they have a bead, if necessary.”