Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“His little bag a tricks,” said Shamus. He gestured toward GT as if in the presence of a master magician.

Ignoring Shamus, GT opened the case, appreciating the neat rows of egg-sized and powdery tablets. Green, red, and purple tablets were held tightly tucked in foam. There were several empty spaces of each color and only ten each remained. Pleased with his creations, he pulled out two test tubes from the side compartment, bringing both tubes and a green egg over to the major, and lieutenant. Taking his knife, he sliced off a few small slivers, slipping each into a test tube. He motioned for the major to hand him his small bottle of potential fuel. Before moving any further, GT held the liquid toward the sunlight, gently swishing the container. Holding it to his nose, he sniffed deeply, going so far as to dip his finger, tasting the fuel. Ritual complete, he poured a portion of the fuel atop the green sliver. He made a few small clicks with his tongue.

“I dunno yet. We got some degraded fuel here, Shamus.”

“How bad?”

“Hey, I noticed something,” said Major O’Malley, interrupting.

All turned to hear what he had to say.

“You’re callin’ him Shamus now and not Professor?”

“We’re on the ground, major,” said GT, distracted.

“I see. So it’s a flying tag.”

“I don’t want to give him a big head,” said GT. He smiled at the major and returned to his fuel evaluation.

“Screw you, GT,” said Shamus.

“Okay, anyway, what we got?” asked the major.

“Well, I can say we got some original JP-8-100+ based on color and other characteristics.”

“I’ve meant to ask about that on this little trip of ours,” said the major, “How can you tell so quick about the gas?”

Shamus laughed at the question, before waving at GT. “The stage is set, GT. Give the major a short lesson.”

“I can do that for sure. You see, major, JP-8 was developed in 1996 or so as a conversion fuel to replace JP-4.”

“Okay…”

“At the time, JP8-100+ was the next step in safely boosting octane rating. You know, the part that burns. Overall, and perhaps more important, JP8’s less volatile and less explosive in a crash. Good thing on occasion, isn’t it, Shamus?”

“I asked for a fuel lesson, not a history lesson,” said Shamus, growling the words through clenched teeth.

A wary looked was exchanged between the two. GT pressed on.

“Well, anyway, what they found is they could also stabilize JP8 better with certain additives like fuel-injector cleaners, corrosion inhibitors, anti-static, anti-oxidant, and metal chelating chemical compounds. Oh, and anti-icing was another additive, but that’s not much of a concern now.”

“I see. Well, no, I don’t.”

“Based on the color, smell of the anti-corrosive and the distinctive tangy taste of the anti-static compound, you can separate out the fuel types once you do it a few hundred times.”

“Wow. Okay.”

“What I’ve addressed with my special mix of boosting stabilizer is the thermal stability and octane rating of the fuel. Those are two critical factors that degrade quality so quick due to water and sun and why you sometimes end up with varnish and gummy gas or kerosene.”

“How long it take you to make what’s in that box?”

“Nearly three years and over 1500 hours of experimenting.”

“GT’s got his Ph.D. in chem,” interjected Shamus.

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“Yeah, so, major,” said Shamus, “let’s hope this works one last time for our little jaunt out into the countryside of the good old U.S. of A. That way, we don’t have to blame GT when we have to walk home if it doesn’t work.”

“Might be safer with you driving, anyway,” suggested GT. There was an experienced edge to his voice. The two friends squared off and stared at each other. Neither was pleased with the current path of the discussion.

“What’s going on, you two?” snapped the major. Each man flicked eyes to the major, and returned to staring.

“You started it, GT.”

“And I’ll finish it.”

“Like hell you would.”

“At ease! Both of you. You’re acting like assholes!” Both men turned to the major. “Might we move on?”

“Sorry,” said GT.

“Yeah, my fault,” said Shamus.

“No, it was mine, sorry dude.”

“Alright.”

Lieutenant Daniels cleared his throat next to them and handed off his container to GT. He had not seen this level of intensity and passion from GT and Shamus and had always considered them more or less civilians along for the ride, despite what he had heard. Their easygoing behavior up until this point had made that impression stick. However, the quick change in both men made him reevaluate their lethality.

GT performed the same ritual with the bottle of fuel handed to him by Daniels and slipped the liquid carefully into the second test tube. All four men examined the test tubes, waiting for something to happen.

“What’s it do?” asked Daniels.

“Give it time,” said GT.

At first, the fuel did nothing. Then, slowly the green sliver dissolved.

“A good sign. Took less than sixty seconds,” said GT. “Hmm, not a lot of water condensation; hasn’t thickened up like some of the shit gas we’ve found. Still has some inherent octane values.”

“Better than our last refuel batch?”

“Probably. We’ll see.”

“In the meantime, I’ll let the colonel know.”

Major O’Malley left the men and approached the colonel. “Ma’am?”

“What we got?”

“We got some JP8-100+ that GT’s hoping will work. Not much else in supplies.”

“Fuel gonna work?”

“Probably. GT’s still evaluating.”

“’Kay.”

“There’s sixteen dead in a backroom, some kinda hand-to-hand massacre.”

“Recent?”

“No—a few years ago, best guess.”

“Weapons?”

“Nope.”

“Anything?”

“A few good maps. Place is cleaned out pretty good. Whoever was here last, I’d say a few months ago, used the outbuilding over there. Probably four or five people based on the waste, sleeping arrangements and fire spot. Had a bit of a party. Some bottles of beer— Momma’s Ale .”

“How much fuel might we have for the bird?”

“If it’s good, enough for us to refuel, though that’s about it. Wouldn’t come back for what’s left.”

“Let’s hope. I want to return and scout Route 51 to find our guys.”

“Yes, ma’am. Me, too.”

“Of course.” Colonel Starkes smiled, motioning the major to lean toward her for a more confidential discussion.

“Now go pay some attention to that woman of yours. She’s had a real tough day today. She’s seen enough killing.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll be out here covering GT’s watch.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” The major left and could be seen huddling in the ’copter with Nicole. GT and Shamus strolled toward the colonel, each smiling.

“I take it you’re bringing good news?”

“Octane can be brought up to about ninety-three, maybe ninety-five… not perfect, mind you, but it beats walkin’,” said GT.

“It’ll do, ma’am. Might have a few sputters and smoke, but it should work until the next overhaul,” said Shamus.

GT was especially proud. He had attained an eighty-seven percent success rate using his fuel booster tablets over the course of their mission. Truth be told, he was running twenty-seven percent above the expected failure rate in acquiring suitable fuel for the Superhawk.

“Excellent, GT. You’ve exceeded expectations.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I aim to please.”

“We’ll have to watch for signs of gumming up the works if we load it before it’s optimized,” suggested Shamus.