Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“There’s fifteen men, sir, three sets of five, trying to hem us in and doing a pretty good job. Over.”

“Fade back, Green. Over.”

“They’re good, Black. There’s a team sitting out about seventy clicks and there’s a second team that nearly got us pinned. We can’t exit and fade. Can’t lock onto ’em. We can trace their movements only, but can’t get a full bead. Over.”

“Green, state your position for Team Blue. Team Blue, do you copy? Over.”

“Team Blue here. Over.”

“Blue, this is Team Green. We’re holed up on the southern edge of a convenience store on the corner of Brownsville and East Willock. Over.”

“Yeah, Green, Team Blue knows where you are. We can be there in a few minutes. Over.”

“Green and Blue, this is Black. Team Blue, go reinforce Team Green as best you can and call if you need additional reinforcements. I want constant radio contact. Is that clear? Over.”

“Copy that, Black. Team Blue out.”

“Team Green, notify Black of Team Blue’s arrival. Over.”

“Copy that, Black. Team Green out.”

Marty and BB made preparations quickly and left at a fast jog that would get them in position in a few minutes.

“Like old times, Surf Boy,” said BB as he checked his pockets again to confirm a third magazine.

“Yeah—like taking candy from a baby.”

“Let’s knock ’em outta their diapers.”

“Copy that, BB.”

It was ground they had already covered in the opposite direction. This time they were faster, slowing only when they approached Team Green’s position. “Green, this is Blue,” whispered Marty into his radio. “We’re in your neighborhood and setting up shop. Over.”

“Copy that. Hurry up, Blue—the bad guys are about to ring the doorbell. Over.”

“Twenty seconds, Green. Out.”

Though they hadn’t talked about it, Marty and BB headed for the same spot, one that both had recognized as a perfect sniper’s nest on their first trip. It was a partially repaired retaining wall, half old and half new. Construction of the wall had ceased, presumably when the manpower had succumbed to the effects of the Cuckoo Flu. The old section of the wall was made from loose stone and though it continued to stand, it bulged as if expelling its last breath. The new wall, made from concrete block, was sturdy and would likely last a long time—its unfinished status creating a natural staircase to the top of the wall. Team Blue used it now, scrambling quickly to the top and laying prone behind a pallet of unused block.

Marty used his sniper scope vision to scan the area while BB used spotting binoculars. Both were equipped with night vision. The front ranks of the main force were 700 yards away, but there were three men well ahead of the main force, running wildly up the center of the street. They were no more than 400 yards away.

“Let’s take out the front runners first, BB.”

“Agreed.” BB used the binoculars to gain a better vector on the approach of the three men. “Fucking amateurs,” he said without losing sight of the three. “They’re running right down the middle of the road. Surf Boy, there’s four cars bunched up about 200 yards out.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“I think they’ll run to the right side of those cars. Concentrate your field of fire right there. Take ’em left to right after they clear the car on my signal.”

“Copy that, BB. Ready for signal.” Marty settled his scope reticle ten yards to the right of the group of cars. He rested his finger lightly on the trigger and his breathing slowed.

“In five, Surf Boy.” There was a few seconds pause. “Target one, go.”

The bullet took the man in the chest and his momentum carried him an additional ten feet before he came to rest against the curb.

“Target two, go.”

The second man had barely noticed the stumble of the first when he crumpled to the ground.

“Target three, go.”

The third man had slowed in confusion and the sniper round pierced his chest, stopping and dropping him where he stood. The entire process had taken less than three seconds. The main force behind the three dead men appeared to catch their demise, or at least sensed a change. Many slowed to find better cover, diving into yards or behind vehicles.

“500 clicks. Elevation ten degrees. Wind nominal. Cluster near the gas station. Select targets at will.”

“Copy that.”

Three more shots in three more seconds produced three more dead men, slowing the others into a much more cautious approach. That is, except for one very large man who refused to seek cover and continued to run down the gentle slope of Brownsville Road toward the convenience store where Team Green had found cover.

“Got us a nut job, Surf Boy. 400 yards out, left of center. He’s passing the bus now. Elevation five degrees.”

“Copy that.”

The man ran hard and though the man had no targets, he fired randomly, letting loose one blood curdling scream after another. Marty pulled the trigger and had the satisfaction of watching the man’s massive neck explode in blood. The man fell immediately.

“Threat targets terminated and mass force has ceased progress,” said BB into his radio. “Team Green, do you copy?”

“Copy, Blue. Over.”

“Provide new coordinates for near target selection. Over.”

“Roger that. There’s a UPS truck sideways in a yard about eighty clicks out. Over.”

BB and Marty scanned the area until they spotted the UPS truck. There was plenty of trash and overgrowth to hide in but neither Marty nor BB saw any movement.

“UPS truck just scanned, Green. Nothing’s moving. Over.”

“They’re there, Blue. They’re the ones that got off a shot that nearly got Spence. Over.”

“We can’t sit here and wait, Green. Over.”

“Copy that, Blue. Suggestions? Over.”

“Start your exit. We’ll fire at anything that moves. Over.”

“Negative. These guys are good, Blue. They’re not moving. They’re waiting. Fire at the truck for ten seconds while we exit. We’ll back out onto Willock Road and then move onto Brownsville. Over.”

“Understood. What’s your plan? Over.”

“Light ’em up on my mark, Blue. Over.”

“Understood. We’re in position and holding for mark. Over.” BB continued to scan the UPS truck while Marty scoped the yard and house around the truck. They detected nothing and both wondered if Mickey was in a better position to see or if the men who had hidden there advanced unseen toward Team Green. There was only one clear way to find out.

“BB, check in front of the truck maybe twenty or thirty clicks. See if there’s any movement. Maybe that mound of trash.”

“Copy that.”

The radio came to life. “Team Blue, we’re bugging out when you start firing. Fire at will.”

Marty began to unload rounds into and around the truck, picking the areas most likely protecting a hidden man. BB unleashed his M4 in three-second bursts around the cars and debris twenty yards ahead of the truck.

“Damn!” said BB. One man rolled out onto the road from behind a car Marty had targeted.

“We’re on the move, Blue and clear. We’re on Brownsville. Want us to cover your exit? Over.”

“Both Green and Blue, move out,” said Captain Daubney. “Now!”

“We’re making tracks, Black.” BB helped Marty pack his ammunition and rice bag platform and they quickly made their way down the steps of the retaining wall.

“Team Green has got Blue in sight. We’re coming in, Black. Over.”

“We’re at the designated rendezvous waiting for your sorry asses. Over,” said Captain Daubney.

“Be there in fifteen, sir. Over.”

“The new commander suggests you make it in ten. Over.”