Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Did they look okay? What I mean is, could you tell if anyone was hurt?”

“They were all fine—a little tired maybe, but fine. The two boys were healthy enough to run around town meeting up with our young ones. They were probably somewhere around ten or twelve. And the little girl was a cute little kid—maybe eight years old. She’s gonna break a lotta hearts. The woman’s name was Rhonda—she was sharp as a tack. Once we settled in and found some items to trade, everyone relaxed and Connor Mac told me a little bit about his plans.”

“He was heading south from here?” asked the colonel.

“Yeah. He had a meet with you, but was not sure it was feasible. He wasn’t sure if he could stay clear of the army on their ass. He said he was considering options. Wouldn’t tell me exactly where the meet was, but I figured it was Uniontown High School since they have a helipad for landing.”

“I see.”

“He said he might hafta make his way to Nemacolin. He left right before the fireworks started. I had hid out closer to the town to see what was what.”

“Fireworks? So he’s responsible for the dead men and horses outside the southern gate?”

“There’s dead men there?” asked the commander.

“Yes. Maybe ten bodies.”

“Yep. I guess Connor Mac stuck around long enough to watch the fireworks even though he said he didn’t have the time.”

“Give us the details, commander. I need to know what you know.”

“Of course, colonel. Let me refill your glass.”

“It’s Hannah, commander.”

“Right. And, please call me Del.”

“Okay, Del. And thank you. Now, please go on with your story. What did Connor MacMillen tell you while he was here?”

“How far back are they, Surf Boy? Over.”

“They’re about a mile back, maybe a little less. Over”

“We’re passing the Hopwood exit now—about a half mile ahead of you. Over.”

“Copy that. What’s next? Where you want me? Over.”

“We’re in position at the base of the mountain. We’ll wait for you there. Pull back—I repeat—pull back to our position and meet us there. We’re near the Wal-Mart, behind a banged up concrete truck. Over.”

“Understood. Phoenix’s army is just pushing through, Mac. It’s like they don’t even care that half their trucks aren’t intact. I’m not even sure they care we’re taking shots at ’em. Over.”

“Yeah—he’s figured out he needs to use his numbers to flush us out. It took him awhile, but he’s realized that he had the superior resources to annihilate us. I still think we can take him. He’s not using that cavalry anywhere near aggressive enough. It’s an amateur mistake on his part. They coulda been much more of a problem if the fucker used them right. But, hey, he’s played our game long enough, it’s time we played his game. Let’s show him we’re better at it. Over.”

“Understood, colonel. We can be there in five. What’s the plan? Over.”

“The plan is we run like hell up the mountain and hope there’s someone up there that can help us down here. Over.”

“Say again, colonel? I’m not sure I understood. Over.”

“We could squeak by on this mountain until tomorrow or we’ll take our last stand half way up this bitch. That’s what we’re faced with, Surf Boy. Over.”

Marty set his radio on the ground, thinking about what Connor had told him. He pulled his rifle to his cheek and removed a rider from his horse. The rider had been coming fast—the horse was in full stride and it was at least a hundred yards before the horse slowed, realizing there was no rider. Marty barely took a breath before he killed a man on a dirt bike. While the horse headed toward the woods at a slow trot, the dirt bike launched itself from the uneven ground, tossed the man and turned on its side in flight. The bike came down hard, throwing dirt and grass into the air, its spinning rear wheel unable to grab at the earth. It ultimately hiccoughed and stalled, but the rest of Phoenix’s army kept coming and Marty wondered whether he had enough ammunition to kill them all.

Mickey and the others continued their systematic killing, but despite their efforts, more horses and more trucks poured down highway 119. The pickup trucks pushed past the abandoned vehicles, brazen in their advance, metal on metal producing a screeching sound somehow worse than the gunfire and screams from the wounded. When two overly reckless trucks jammed in their tracks, men hustled to hook up winches to recover.

Marty reached for the radio. “What’s halfway up the mountain, Mac? Over.”

“Lick Hollow. A small, but very defensible position. It’s a pinch point, Surf Boy. There’s a small picnic area that curves back on the mountain. It gives you a solid sightline down the mountain with excellent cover. It’s an elevated position that can’t be flanked unless there’s some air support, which they don’t have. As a bonus, it’s above a natural funnel—we can pick them off as they come through and never expose ourselves while we’re doing it. As we take out their vehicles, it’ll make it more difficult for the rest of ’em to pass through all the debris. We could hold it with three or four men as long as we had enough ammunition. Over.”

“Sounds great, Mac. I should reach you in about five. Over and out.” They continued shooting and killing Phoenix’s minions with at least nine of every ten shots. Despite their success, it was past the time to hightail it to the mustering point Connor MacMillen had suggested.

“Are we forming up for a last stand, sir?” asked Mickey.

Marty considered the man, appreciating his energy and willingness to die, if necessary, for the people he considered his team. Mickey was ready for whatever his commanding officer had to tell him.

Marty found the big man’s eagerness contagious. “Why the hell you smiling, Top?”

“Hoorah!”

“Alright, Top, we’re about to have the hounds of hell come down on us and you’re smiling?”

Mickey shot his rifle again and risked a glance at Marty. “Permission to speak freely, sir!”

“Dammit, Top, you know you always have it!”

“Okay, sir, then how could you forget?”

“Forget what?”

“Weren’t you Recon at one point in your military career?”

“I am Recon, Mickey. What’re you trying to say?” Marty bristled at the man, but held himself in check.

“If you’re Recon, you’d remember: We , not them, are the hounds of war, trained for this, spilled blood for this, and ready to bleed some more.”

The men securing their weapons around Mickey and Marty smiled. Gathered around the pair, waiting for orders, they checked their weapons. Many of them hid their grins at the sergeant’s reminder.

Marty smiled and clapped Mickey on the back. “Okay, Top, message received, loud and clear.” He turned his attention to the men gathered around them. “Listen up! We’re running up that hill double time. We stop for nothing! Let’s move out!” The men kicked into a full trot toward the foothills of the mountain. The intensity in their pace suggested they were eager for the fight to come.

Mickey and Marty trotted easily alongside one another. “The colonel does have a long range plan, don’t he, sir? What you’ve told me so far doesn’t add up to much.”

“It don’t matter, Top. He’ll make it happen—he always does. I trust him with my life. You do the same. There’s no one I’d rather go into battle with.”

“Yes, sir, I agree.”

As they increased their pace, they became silent and it wasn’t long before they spotted the concrete truck. John McLeod stood near the truck waving his arms for their attention. When they reached cover, they risked a glance behind them and saw that the pursuing army hadn’t slowed.