Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“ Go ! Tell dad! Now, Jacob! Go!”

Jacob, ten years old last month, burst toward the stairs at end of the platform. Georgie tried to locate the helicopter, but found it difficult based on the distance. Eventually, he glimpsed a side view before the helicopter disappeared below a rolling ridge.

“Sergeant Evan! C’mere!” yelled Georgie, waving at the closest gate guard.

Evan acknowledged the persistent wave, jumping aside as Jacob nearly ran into him. Sensing an urgency, Evan quickened his pace, covering the final twenty yards.

“What you guys doing, Georgie?”

“A helicopter! There! Landing down in Masontown somewhere!”

“What? No kidding?” Evan lifted his binoculars to study the towns and sky far below the mountain pass. An actual helicopter would be an incredible discovery since activity near the mountain crest of Route 40 the past four years was mostly small groups of travellers or those looking to trade at Nemacolin. Nothing motorized had traveled the road for at least three years and nothing at all in the skies for four, maybe closer to five. The Harmon Toll Exchange and the Summit Military Garrison behind it had been well manned since only a few days after the Sickness. Upon Mark Harmon’s orders, the garrison was built fast, but sturdy after taking over the Historic Summit Hotel. Money and supplies at the time poured in for construction of the gate and garrison and, once done, stood formidable on the eastern mountain pass, ready since that first month. Though, truth be told, the tollgate saw little action over the past five years. Fewer and fewer newcomers sought the mountaintop. “Tell me about this ’copter, Georgie.”

“Okay.”

Evan waited. Hearing Jacob yelling loud for his father, Georgie glanced toward the garrison. Jacob had wasted no time covering the fifty yards to the main garrison quarters. His home for the past four years, he knew every nook and cranny since his father, Grant Bastin commanded the twenty-four men assigned there. Strategically, the mountain pass was a key pinch point for gaining access into the rural mountain towns that eventually led to the Nemacolin Resort about eight miles further down Route 40 heading toward Maryland. A similar tollgate and garrison was placed twenty miles east to manage any newcomers seeking entrance that way from Maryland.

“Um, the helicopter took a dive over that hill. See it? Those three big pines lined up next to that road, see it?”

“I see where you’re talking, Georgie, but there’s no helicopter.”

“We saw it, honest! We saw it, right there!”

“Okay. Okay, settle down. Let’s keep an eye on it.” Evan reached for his radio, holding it to his lips. Before speaking, he stared down at Georgie, assessing sincerity. Usually a very trustworthy child and not one to come off unhinged, Evan took stock.

“Evan here, over. Base do you copy?.”

“Base here. We copy. Over.”

“Georgie reports seeing a helicopter around Masontown. Over.”

“A helicopter? Can you confirm? Over.”

“Not yet, base. Working on it. Over.”

“Mitchell or Stanford catch anything? Over.”

“Standby. Over.”

“Roger. Base standing by.”

Evan switched to gate channel, seeking feedback from Mitchell and Stanford. Neither had seen the helicopter and, from this distance, it was highly unlikely they’d heard any of the telltale rotor sounds.

“Base, Sergeant Evan here. Confirm no sighting by gate. Georgie saw it only… you copy?”

“And Jacob! He saw it first!” said Georgie, insistent at the discovery.

“And I’m told Jacob saw it, base. Over.”

“Copy. Base has received a… report from Jacob confirming sighting. Stay sharp. Commander and three men are coming down to assist in visual reacquisition of target helicopter. Over.”

“Roger that.” Evan turned to Georgie, who was steadfastly studying the Masontown area. “Georgie, you make anything out before it disappeared?”

“It was big, green, shiny.”

“Not a little two-seater?”

“No.”

“Not like the thing those reporters used to fly when you were little, remember them?”

“No, bigger. Much bigger, but I only caught a glimpse of it.” Georgie was excited and disappointed at the same time.

“You did good, Georgie. Nice.”

Georgie brightened, turning to assess the valley below with renewed energy.

“Base, Evan. Do you copy?”

“This is base, over.”

“Georgie reports his glimpse was of a large green and shiny helicopter. Repeat, large green and shiny. Possibly military. Not a two-seater. Over.”

“Base copies. Commander enroute. Over.”

“Roger that.”

A large fit man with heavily muscled shoulders and a thick head of jet-black hair jogged down from the Summit Garrison with three equally large men beside him. All were dressed in polished uniforms of green and blue, neatly pressed. Jacob lagged a step behind, nipping at their heels, still talking animatedly. At the gate stair platform, the men climbed fast, walking single file across the narrow platform. Georgie kept focused on Masontown, ignoring the noise behind him. He’d hoped to catch another sighting of the helicopter. That is, until his father spoke.

“Son, no games here.” The voice was that of a stern commander, one used to facts, but with a tone of patience and tolerance. Georgie dropped from his toehold on the gate and faced his father, taking his eyes away from the binoculars. He noticed that all gate guards and two of the three men with his father were scanning the skies.

“No, sir. Jacob and I saw it.”

“Which direction was it traveling?”

“From the north. A bit northwest.”

“Fast?”

“Only caught a glimpse. Jacob saw more.”

All heads turned to Jacob, standing small, but excited behind them.

“Jacob?”

Desperately wanting to show more than speak, Jacob clamored up onto the wall, placing his toes into the small shooting slits cut into the steel. Comfortably able to see above the gate, he pointed toward Masontown.

“It was big, Daddy. Real big! Even from here!”

“Jacob!”

Jacob flinched at the power in his father’s voice, calming instantly. “I said slow down. Now, I’ll say it once more. Slow down and provide a clear report!”

“Yes, sir, daddy. The helicopter was shiny. One spin thingee on top. Had words on the side. Words in a circle, like this…” Jacob drew a large circle in the air with his hands.

“What they say?”

“I don’t know, daddy, sir.”

“Anything else?”

“Numbers. HMX-1. I think…”

“I see. Thank you, son. Anything else? You, Georgie?”

“No sir, that’s it.”

Commander Bastin studied the skies, smiling. “Seems we got a bit of excitement for a Tuesday. Evan, instruct base to send an update to the radio stringers to alert General Harmon.”

“Yes, sir.” Evan squeezed his way past the men, jogging toward the stairs. He was already on his radio.

“Should we send some men to check it out using a truck, sir?” asked Keenan McLoy, his second in command who stood by his side. His eyes remained glued to his binoculars, focused on the Masontown area below.

“Too far. Not sure we can waste the gas for a trip like that.”

“Sure, sir?”

“Well, no, I’m not sure. What do you recommend, major?”

“Then let’s send two squads out on horses. Fully armed and provisioned for three days travel. Tell them to make haste and drop riders line-of-sight to maintain radio com. Make it clear that they’re to ride hard to see how close they can get, but to be covert.”

“I agree. See to it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Major?”

“Sir?”

“If the radio link gets too thin, have the team stop progress at the final four men. I want them traveling together until they’ve made contact. Understood?”