Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Same here, Tina.”

She touched her husband on the sleeve. “I’ll have Russ bring in the food and drink for you and the men here.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Christina gave the commander a quick peck on the cheek and departed. Connor turned to the commander, his look turned quite serious. “Now then, commander, we have to get down to business. We can eat later, but now, there’s a lot to discuss.”

“Okay, Mac. Let’s talk.”

“Three gates to the heliport are busted open.”

“I see that, major.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They made another slow circle around the Masontown Heliport. Out several miles from the city proper, the heliport was nothing more than a large expanse of asphalt and concrete cut into a huge flat field that was fast returning to nature.

“Another spin, ma’am?” asked Shamus on the intercom.

“Yeah, Professor, and when you’re done take us to that small asphalt pad out past the fence. That vantage keeps us with a clear 360. Major, you and three men need to check it out in there. We’ll wait for your signal.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Colonel Starkes glanced around the cabin and clicked her intercom link. “Anyone see any signs we should be worried about?” The channel came alive with observations, none suggesting greater caution. “It’s a go, major.”

“Set us down, Professor,” said the major.

“Roger that, sir.”

“Ma’am, we’ll assess the main hanger first, and investigate those three smaller outbuildings. Scott, GT provide cover in position off the bird. Daniels, Ren, Stimpy you’re with me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Daniels for all three.

Major O’Malley focused on young Lieutenant McDonald. “Tim, I want you to scope the horizon and keep a sharp eye out.”

“Yes, sir.”

The major turned a serious expression toward Nicole. “Nicole?”

“Yeah?”

“You stay sharp, too.”

“Yes… major.”

Major O’Malley regarded CJ, resting in her arms. “CJ can sleep this one out.” He winked toward Nicole and smiled at Amanda.

“I’ll tell ’im when he wakes up, major.”

Nicole smiled at his obvious effort to include her. Beside her, Amanda softened her intensity for a second, staring at the sleeping CJ. Carefully, Shamus lowered the Superhawk onto the cracked asphalt pad. Nearby, what used to be a road led up to one of the only closed gates surrounding the complex. In many spots scattered around the heliport, the chest-high fence sections had collapsed.

“Tim?”

Near the back of the cabin, Tim McDonald stiffened slightly. He was, by far the youngest member of their unit, and still, after all this time, in awe that he’d been chosen for this mission. “Yes, ma’am!”

“I know you might be feeling a bit ignored lately.”

“No, ma’am!”

“Lemme finish.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

“I kept you back from the hunt for Colonel MacMillen because you’re the best sniper we got.”

Into the intercom, Scott coughed, GT following suit. The coughing continued as each stared at the young man, grinning.

“Ma’am?” asked Tim. With all the time spent with GT and Scott, it was clear Tim held both in high regard and, in no way, wanted to tick them off. They had shared some of their exploits with him during their down time at the Hall of Fame. If half was to be believed, he knew he was in the presence of well-seasoned experts in long-distance killing.

Colonel Starkes hid a smile. “I see, well, since we have an audience, let me clarify—Tim McDonald, you’re the best sniper that I’ve seen with my own eyes.” She smiled at Scott and GT who quietly nodded, before they unplugged from the comm and efficiently gathered up their equipment for guard duty. They exited the helicopter.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Tim McDonald.

“I want you to stay at Nicole’s side and keep track of the area behind us. Take out anyone coming near, no matter what. I don’t care who they are and I can’t afford to be civil at the moment. And, I don’t want to assume any hostiles are only inside the fence.”

“Understood, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

Tim shifted toward the center of the cabin, equipping his weapon. He moved with elegant grace in the tight compartment, keeping the long barrel away from those he was there to protect. The steely expression settling into his gray eyes suggested he would relish the chance to defend the helicopter and the people within. The firm set to his jaw erased most of the youthful appearance; and he used his scope to caress the treeline view 200 yards across a field of ground-hugging weeds.

“Amanda?”

“Ma’am?”

“I want you covering mid-range at our backs. You say you can shoot so I’m assigning that duty to you. I don’t want anything popping up outta the grass. I trust you’ll meet this need.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Think we’ll find gas or anything, Hannah?” asked Nicole.

“I dunno, Nicole. Let’s hope.”

“Our last stop was pretty lucky.”

“Oh, it certainly was that.” At the mention of the Superhawk repair in Coatesville, Colonel Starkes reached into her bag with some excitement. She extracted a can of Vienna sausage and reverently held it up for quick inspection. Catching the two women watching, she smiled.

“You want one, Nicole?”

“Yuck.”

“Your loss.”

“I’ll take one,” said Amanda.

“You like ’em?”

“No. Not at all—but Mac and my granddaddy both say to never to turn down edible food in a safe environment.”

“I see.”

“Besides, I need to keeping building up my strength.”

Colonel Starkes nodded and smiled. “I will say your recovery has been quite impressive.”

“Thank you, colonel.”

“Seeing you, gaining strength like you have, I know there’s something to be said for motivation healing the body and mind.”

“I’m motivated, ma’am. For sure. Let me have first shot at Phoenix and I’ll be all cured.”

“I’ll bet,” said Colonel Starkes. She laughed gently.

Waiting for the major’s go signal for the remainder of the team to exit the bird took some time. The heliport grounds were not very big, but big enough for nearly fifteen minutes to pass before they were given clearance. At the green light, Shamus powered up, lifting the helicopter and tracking to the spot near three large, metal containers that were pointed out by the major. Settling the skids, Shamus gently touched onto the concrete, as if laying down a baby to sleep. Directly in front of the cockpit, the faded word, Fuel was stenciled on the orange metal tank thirty feet away. Ren and Stimpy were dragging a black hose of some sort out of a large, adjacent shed. Major O’Malley and Lieutenant Daniels each carried a small bottle toward the helicopter now resting twenty yards away. Seeing their approach, Shamus powered down. He exited the helicopter and walked up to the two men.

“Whatta ya think?” asked Shamus as he neared.

“Took a sample from each of the two tanks. Couldn’t read the color-coding of either fuel tank, they’re so bleached out from the sun. So, you tell me, Professor. Smells like kerosene to me, so that’s good, I think.”

“Mine smells the same, but its got little flecks of black crap in it,” said Daniels.

Shamus raised his voice toward the helicopter to be heard.

“GT, your expertise is required.”

GT looked toward the colonel. “Ma’am?”

“You’re relieved. I’ll take over your position for now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” GT hopped into the bird, entering the rearmost section and unlocked a compartment. He pulled out a heavy container with the words: Poison. Fuel Boost/Stabilizer and carried the suitcase size box to the edge of the cabin door. Shamus walked to the cabin door and the major and lieutenant followed. Shamus touched the aluminum case, sliding his hand across.