Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Point of egress?”

“We use the cover of the neighboring house, swing set, deck, and back deck to avoid any surveillance.”

“Not bad, Snuff. But you’re not considering tripwires and other warning devices. Check there again,” said Connor, pointing toward the house.

“Where?”

“Near the swing set.”

Amanda lifted her binoculars and studied the area. “Damn,” she said. There was a spider web of barely perceptible fishing line through all of the back yards for eight consecutive properties. It appeared that all the fishing lines tracked to the house from where Connor thought he heard something.

“I don’t know how long ago those warning devices were installed, but I’d say we have to assume likely hostiles. What’s your next move, Snuff?” When, after sixty seconds, Amanda hadn’t answered Connor’s question, he prompted her. “What about it, Snuff?”

“Hold on,” she said, scanning the area with her binoculars. “I’m thinking.”

“You don’t have that fucking luxury!” whispered Connor. “Let’s say you have possible hostiles—you have to make a decision. What are your orders?”

“Regroup at earlier mustering area using all possible stealth. We’ll consider a new approach from there.”

“Understood.”

They faded across the field to the access road and the small wooded area from which they had approached. The woods provided excellent cover without limiting their view of the target house. When they were safely within the trees, Amanda used her binoculars to study the area.

“Was that the best choice I had, Mac?”

“Yeah, definitely. It was time to regroup and make a new plan.”

“I thought you’d want to address the hostiles first.”

“Why do that, Snuff?”

“To get rid of them so we could explore safely without worrying about them.”

“Wrong,” said Connor. “Absolutely wrong. Never assume you’ve made an area safe. That’s a fortress mentality.”

“‘Fortress mentality’? That’s one I haven’t heard yet. What’s it mean, Mac?”

“A soldier can become accustomed to an area where he hasn’t died. Surviving a prolonged siege in a fortress or remaining as part of a group in a bunker that’s survived multiple assaults fosters complacency. And complacency is a soldier’s worst enemy. He begins to feel as if nothing bad can happen to him if he stays in that safe haven. Once he lets his guard down, it’s only a matter of time until he ends up with his throat cut.”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Amanda.

“Do you plan on returning to your target house?” asked Connor.

“If we can do it safely, yes.”

“Egress?” he asked.

She laid out her plan for him. He suggested some minor adjustments, but was pleased with her thought process. They began a cautious approach further east of the target house. Connor nodded and followed. The view had its advantages.

Standing on soft ground, devoid of vegetation, Marty studied the footprints in the soft mud, struggling to comprehend the meaning. The area had served as a reconnaissance base for surveillance of a soybean field, and, more likely, the subdivision beyond. There were two sets of footprints—one was probably a size eleven, but the other was only a size six at best. He walked around the muddy area, viewing it from different perspectives, but nothing shook his conviction that he was on the wrong trail. A man and a boy or a man and, more likely, a woman made these tracks—no way it was Connor and Snuff.

The muddy area resulted from a natural spring. It was running now and Marty had the distinct impression that it never stopped running. The two people belonging to the footprints had likely stopped for fresh water. He crouched to drink from the spring and while he filled his canteen, he wondered where he had lost Connor’s trail. The last place he had been confident in his tracking skills was at the intersection where he discovered the cigarette butts arranged in a makeshift arrow.

Several trail indicators emerged since, but they were all faint—a crushed berry, a broken twig, or maybe a flattened portion of weeds. This was the first time Marty had viable footprints—it hadn’t rained for several days and the ground was hard packed. He needed to backtrack to find out where he’d made his mistake.

Disappointed, he’d hoped to locate Connor and Snuff within the next twenty-four hours, but this would set him back another day, if not more. He considered returning to the highway to retrace his steps and shook his head in disgust. It might be a very long day.

It was dark and the major was having difficulty seeing the captain from three feet away. It was three o’clock in the morning.

“Captain?” whispered Major O’Malley.

“Yes, major?”

“What can you make out?”

“I make seven armed hostiles on perimeter. Four more are armed and directly outside the house. It’s a safe assumption they all have ammunition for their weapons. They’re completing excellent overlapping security routes. There’s a strong sense of military precision and a highly elevated vigilance. It’s unknown how many are inside.”

“What’s your recommendation for an assault?” asked Major O’Malley.

“I’d like a confirmation of our mission objective, sir.”

“This mission is simply for info purposes only, captain. We want these men alive. Captured, if necessary. You’re to use live fire only if directly threatened.”

“Yes sir, it’s what I’ve kept in mind while forming a plan. I think we should try and breach the perimeter guard undetected and then disable all four guards on the house. At that point, we can gain entry by the rear door. We’ll send a two-man team to recon. They’ll withdraw and provide us best assessment. We’ll re-enter with a full team to disarm or disable. Flash-bangs would make this easier but we’re seeking a silent takedown, so no go. I’d like not to bring attention from outside in the takedown. The leader’s likely in the upstairs room above the front porch. There’s a lot of movement in that room—it’d be my guess that’s the primary command post.”

“Agreed, captain. Good work. Keep in mind that they’re revved up from our fly-by. You’ll need to treat this with the utmost caution.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Proceed.”

“Snuff, this place is trashed. There’s nothing here worth a crap.”

“Don’t be so sure, Mac.” Amanda was keenly interested in this particular house. They climbed to the second floor and entered the master bedroom. Immediately, she was intrigued with the large walk-in closet, but suspended her investigation, sensing Connor’s unease. “Are you okay, Mac?”

“Shh. Lower your voice. I’m fine—I just… there’s something going on. My senses are tingling.”

He stared through the bedroom window, far enough away from it to be unseen from the ground. The house across the street had attracted his attention. It had a crumbling blue stucco façade with green trim and its yard sported a well-worn path in the grass indicative of recent activity. That, combined with the tripwires and the voices he had heard, left him uneasy. He sensed Amanda’s gaze and he relaxed his iron grip on the binoculars.

“I’ll understand if you want to leave, Mac.” Amanda failed at keeping the disappointment from her voice, but she had learned to trust Connor’s instincts.

“No, Snuff, we don’t have to leave just yet. Go ahead and play, but do it quietly. I think there’s a lot more to this subdivision than meets the eye.”

“Like what?”