Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Spewed their contents right to that cluster of businesses there. Took out that massive warehouse probably in the first hour.”

“Wow.”

Beyond the businesses, scattered debris gave way a few miles later to a mile or so of rusted cars in numerous car lots on a path to an apparent explosion, likely started by the hundreds of large propane storage tanks at a particular storage facility. From there, more desolation became evident, especially flying over the rusting pipes and catwalks of an old refinery of some sort.

“Wow, what’d you think was in there?”

“I dunno, but whatever those chemicals were, they certainly stripped this area of any life,” said GT.

“It’s like a bomb went off, only yesterday,” said Amanda.

“No, many ‘bombs’ went off here quite awhile ago. Mostly chemical,” said Scott.

“Those poor people,” said Nicole.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Nicole, those poor people you speak of were probably dead long before this hit,” said Colonel Starkes.

Monroeville faded past and they made their way across the city to the southern side.

“Give us a quick tour, Shamus.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Now more familiar with the area, Shamus flew the helicopter in a slow, arcing circle around Pittsburgh. Anticipating the colonel’s intent, he ended up near Mt. Washington to visually assess their most recent engagement with Phoenix.

“We got three pickups with that Hellfire launch, ma’am.”

“I see that, Scott.”

Three white trucks, what was left of them, lay broken near the top of the winding road Phoenix had used to pursue his prey.

“I hope we got the bastard—”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And, major?”

“Ma’am?”

“If we missed ’im, he’s all yours at some point. I took my first shot at ’im.”

“Understood.”

“I’d like a shot first, if you don’t mind, major. Kinda owe the bastard, don’t ya think?”

Hearing the intensity in the female voice, Major O’Malley turned to study Amanda. Resting against the left side window with a firm set to her jaw, she had fierce determination in her eyes. Deciding she had some justification, he smiled.

“Amanda, I’ve got a serious score to settle. That prick nearly caught us with our pants down.”

“Yeah, well—”

“ And , I’ll tell you what else.”

“What?”

“When the time comes, I’ll flip you for it, that fair?”

Amanda smiled.

“As long as you don’t cheat, yeah.”

“Good enough.”

Amanda returned to viewing the scene below. Cruising up and over the ridge, just above the tree line, they traversed Mt. Washington and into Allentown and Mt. Oliver. In minutes, they were flying over Carrick, following the path of Brownsville Road to the designated rendezvous.

“Ma’am?”

“Go, major.”

“There’s a recent explosion that blew up Brownsville Road right there. See?”

“Yep, it’s still smoldering. What happened, you think?”

Scott concentrated on the destruction as the helicopter slowed for a better view. As the crater became visible from the left side of the helicopter, GT grunted at the view.

“That’s a C-4 dispersal, don’t ya think Scotty?”

“Ah, yeah, that’s what I’m thinkin’. Pound, maybe a pound and a half.”

“A pound would do it.”

“You said C4?” asked the colonel.

“Yep. Yes, ma’am.”

“Our team? Daubney and Mickey?”

“Probably,” suggested Scott. GT nodded.

“To what end?” asked the major. He turned to face GT and Scott directly.

“To blow shit up, sir. Aside from that, we don’t know.”

“I like that: ‘To blow up shit, sir.’ Funny. Shamus, where we at?”

“Comin’ up on five clicks out from the Route 51 and Brownsville Road intersection. Hold on! I see activity at the rendezvous.”

“They made it?” asked Nicole, hopeful.

Amanda stiffened, trying to peer upfront. She grabbed for her binoculars. Major O’Malley spun forward in the co-pilot seat, scanning the area. For a few seconds he was silent.

“Damn!”

“Major?”

“Ma’am, there’s at least 500 men and hundreds of horses there. Trucks all over. Some bikes and quads. Shamus, back us off for a moment.”

“Roger that.”

Shamus banked north, easing backwards toward the city and into a slow circle.

“That is definitely Phoenix’s army!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Dammit!”

“Orders?”

“Let’s do some recon, Shamus, keep us about two miles out and run a circle around that camp. Major, you track trucks. Scott, you got horses. GT, you count men. Ren, Stimpy check for our men in particular. Daniels, Tim and the rest of you gather up what visual assessments you can. I’ll search for Phoenix. We need to develop an overall lay of the camp and try to figure out where they’re heading.”

All agreed and Shamus flipped a switch to baffle the engine for optimum quiet mode, banking into a tighter turn. At about the two-mile mark, each to his duties, they all assessed the scene. There was a bustle of activity below and, after nearly one complete circuit of the camp at the junction of Route 51 and Brownsville Road, the Superhawk eased in a bit closer to assess the southern route of Brownsville Road.

“Well, that’s a good sign?”

“What do ya mean, ma’am? What’s a good sign?”

“Look it there, major. They’re men on horseback pushing south past the rendezvous.”

“So?”

“So that’s good news, because it means Phoenix and his army is still on the hunt.”

“Good point. I see,” said Major O’Malley, “There’s at least a hundred or so horsemen already five, maybe ten miles south.”

“Good. Means there’s probably some spacing between our men and Phoenix’s main force.”

“Yes, ma’am. In fact, I’ll wager that explosion had something to do with slowing down that army.”

“Agreed.”

“What do you want to do now, ma’am? Send in another pretty lady?” asked Scott.

Colonel Starkes smiled at the reference to their last Hellfire launch. She noted how he gently stroked the laser controls for the remaining payload.

“Yeah,” growled Amanda, “Do it.”

The fury in her voice gave Colonel Starkes some pause. “No, Scott, not yet. I think we’ll save the last two for later. Shamus, take us a bit closer, but be prepared to bug out.”

“Always, ma’am. Roger that.”

Cruising a bit closer, they saw a nexus of activity clustered around a McDonald’s restaurant on the corner.

“Makes sense to coordinate from there… Shamus, take us on a path to take out that McDonald’s, Scott, ready the….”

“Shit! RPG!” yelled Shamus and Major O’Malley at once.

Shamus banked hard, dropping the helicopter nearly to the asphalt. Plummeting sideways behind a shopping center, spinning and guiding the bird precariously between numerous power lines and telephone poles, he feathered the stick with finesse. The passengers banged and bumped around inside, despite their harnesses; and the swift change in altitude and direction sent a few unsecured pieces of equipment sprawling. Almost immediately, an explosion took out the building they had slipped behind. Shamus pulled back up on the collector to regain altitude, fading away from the camp.

“Professor! Another RPG is launching at three o’clock, 900 meters,” said Scott, calmly. He had reverted to using Shamus’ old military tag.

Scott stared out at a man in the distance, standing on a tailgate, lining up on the helicopter.

“Bug out, Professor,” said GT, “Seven o’clock. An RPG in that pickup.” He remained decidedly calm and confident in Shamus’ abilities.