Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Yeah, Andy, he did. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Not at all. In fact, that’s great. T’s gonna get a kick outta that.”

“Why?” asked Brad, puzzled.

“She thinks Mark’s put this huntin’ party together so that we can shoot the food we’ll be eating for the wedding dinner.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“If we kill our own food, it saves him the cost of providing the meal.”

“Terry said that?”

“Yeah,” said Andy, chuckling.

Brad smiled and turned toward Ryan. He gently propelled Ryan through the door while whispering. The two men laughed and stopped just inside the door. They glanced back at Andy and Kevin, smiling at their secret.

“What gives, Ry?” asked Andy.

“Nothin, bro.”

“Brad, what’s going on?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, Andy,” answered Brad. Ryan snickered at the comment.

“But you can share it with Ryan?”

“He’s not a groom and guest of honor.”

“I don’t understand,” said Andy. Ryan took some pity on his brother, recognizing Andy was becoming irritated with the secrecy.

“Bro, let me say that the pheasant we’re gonna hunt is only a small contribution to the reception dinner.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Andy.

“That’s all that will be said on the matter, Andy,” said Brad. “You don’t want me to lose my job, do you?” Brad impatiently waved the rest of the men into the room and toward a table stacked high with boxes of ammunition. There was another table beyond that that held a broad assortment of over/under shotguns. The skylights provided enough of the evening light to make the blued metal twinkle. The shotguns with wood stocks shined with a perfect luster that captivated the eye. Nearby candles lent a taste of motion and deeper beauty to the inanimate weapons.

“Wow,” said Cameron. Reed whistled appreciatively. The rest of the men stared silently at the table of weapons. Reed took the initiative to touch an older Remington with a beautiful pearl inlay. The weapon was flawlessly restored.

“Twelve shotguns to choose from here,” said Brad. “Each has been test fired for accuracy. Each was taken apart and painstakingly cleaned, piece-by-piece. And, each one of you is to select one of these shotguns as a gift—to use on the hunt over the next couple days. When you’re done, you keep the gun as your own. This is a gift from General Mark Harmon.”

“Brad, I… I don’t know what to say,” said Andy.

“Kevin,” said Brad, “you have first selection. Andy, you’re next. Then Ryan and Toby is fourth—he’s Kevin’s Best Man. After that, Andy, you choose the order of the rest of your men.”

“This is incredible, Brad!” said Kevin.

“You mean, we can keep whatever one we want?” asked JR, unable to believe the generosity shown by Mark Harmon. JR had been shopping for another shotgun for about six months, but was unable to locate a weapon that was a comfortable fit for him and affordable. This solved his problem nicely and at no cost. He would gladly take any of the twelve shotguns on the table—they were all beautiful weapons.

The volume in the room increased with everyone talking at once, thanking Brad and discussing with each other what they would pick when it was their turn.

“Okay, guys,” yelled Andy. “Let’s calm down a bit. Brad, tell Mark thanks from all of us. He shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”

“Tell him yourself, Andy—he’ll be waiting for us in the dining hall. Once there, we’ll have a quick meal, maybe a couple glasses of good whiskey, and an early start tomorrow morning.”

“This is very impressive, Brad.”

“I thought so too, Andy. I hadn’t considered Mark’s high regard of you guys. Kevin? How ’bout you start the ball rolling with your pick?”

Kevin grinned at the men before moving along the table. He wanted to complete a closer examination of each gun before making his selection. However, after only minimal deliberation, he settled on an old Beretta twelve-gauge with a hunting scene etched into the walnut stock. Reverently, he lifted the gun from the table, gently running his hand down the length of the barrel. He cracked the barrel open and moved aside. “This one’s mine,” he said.

“My turn, I guess,” said Andy, approaching the table. “That Weatherby’s probably my choice.”

A few moans escaped from the remaining men—they all knew shotguns and many had their eyes set on the Weatherby. Andy carefully lifted the gun, examining the flawless walnut brown stock with a beautiful pearl and gold inlay. The twenty-gauge shotgun was at least eighty years old yet had no blemishes as far as Andy noticed. This gun had experienced tender loving care throughout its lifetime and Andy made a mental note to ask Mark where he had found it.

“Mark told me you’d pick that one,” said Brad.

“It’s a beautiful weapon, Brad. Did Mark guess what Kevin would pick?”

“Yeah—he nailed that too.”

“He knew?” asked Kevin.

“Yeah, he did. He spent some time on you three—Kev, Andy, and Ryan—and thought he could guess each of your picks. He even had a guess for Toby, but he didn’t sound very sure of himself there.”

“Which one did he say I would pick,” asked Ryan who was next in line.

“Why don’t you pick it first and I’ll let you know if Mark was right.”

“We’re good to go, ma’am.”

“Excellent. It’s about time. I hate waiting on this octane boost refinement process. Takes so damn long.” Colonel Starkes stood in the center of the heliport office headquarters, sifting though papers scattered about the floor. She picked up a crumbled, yellowed paper displaying an itinerary for an EMS transport. She looked up when the major continued the discussion.

“Yeah, but waiting for this is better than the alternative. We’d be screwed without it.”

“For sure. Thanks, major.”

“No problem.”

“Don’t let GT know how damn proud I am of him just yet.”

“Ah, he knows already, ma’am. No big deal for him.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right, but just the same.”

“I’ll keep it to myself. Hey, next subject. We’re still targeting a return to that town, Perryopolis, correct?”

“Yeah, Perryopolis is the only signs of civilized life on Route 51 since we caught sight of Phoenix. We have some time to spare. Maybe they can help us out. That is, unless you and Shamus think our guys didn’t pass that way and are somewhere else.”

“No, ma’am, Route 51 would be the best direct route for the meet at the Uniontown hospital.”

Colonel Starkes held her index finger to her lips, gently tapping in thought. “Hey, what about your thoughts on Captain Daubney’s hook up with the colonel? You still think it took place?”

“Sure. It must have. I have faith in the captain to carry out a successful search. Besides, Seal Team Six never fails so Daubney won’t let that happen. Obviously, none of the other are slouches either. None of them, ma’am, none of them have ever let me down. I’m certain that if they can be found then they found them. Despite Phoenix’s army being in the area.”

“I love the confidence, major. But, they could all be dead and we’re chasing ghosts.”

“No, ma’am. Too many positive variables support their progress.”

“Okay, I’ll admit I’m lacking confidence in that right now, major. I need some perspective and reassurance. Give me your take before we head out.”

“Sure, no problem, ma’am. We’ve seen Colonel MacMillen’s military record, correct?”

“Go on.”

“The guy does not die. No way. Consider all those missions. All successes. In fact, I’d say that Colonel MacMillen shines when the shit comes down.”