Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“I’m not sure I like that word, John.”

“Nor do I, Rhonda, but we must show them that we desperately need their help as quickly as possible.”

Rhonda tried to find fault with John’s logic, but nodded in agreement.

“Top, I know you’d rather rage at those closed gates until you got what you wanted, but suppress the urge. This is a time for silence unless you’re asked a direct question and, even then, I’d ask that you defer to me, if you would.”

“I can do that, sir.”

“Good, Mickey, I know I can count on you. Okay, everyone. Let’s go.”

Nearing the gate, they heard widespread movement behind the chest-high metal plating placed atop the gate. Numerous individuals were manning the gate, presumably standing on a walkway on the far side of it. The gunfire and explosions near the base of the mountain had certainly heightened their surveillance. Visualizing the organized chaos behind that barrier, John was concerned that the added turmoil happening might jeopardize timely negotiations.

Continuing their steady walk, John realized the gate was constructed using tractor-trailer beds stacked atop each other and set perpendicular to the narrowest roadbed near the summit. The gate spanned the entire road width, anchored into the mountain rock on the left and situated all the way to the steep edge of the ravine on the right. The tractor-trailers were stacked three high and bulldozer buckets rested side-by-side across the base of the gate. John and his team stopped their advance at a screeching sound. Two small pieces of gate plating in the center and near the top had shifted from small openings. Weapons were slipped through and pointed in their direction. Upon further inspection, John discovered another twenty small holes cut into the plating interspersed at regular intervals. The two gate windows nearest the center were open. The movement of men behind the gate increased.

When McLeod and his small group stopped, they were only fifteen feet from the gate. John looked up into the face of a young man stationed where the two tractor-trailers met. His youth was apparent, no more than eighteen or nineteen, but his demeanor was unyielding. He sighted down the length of his M-4 at John McLeod’s chest.

“What do you want?”

“Get outta there, Surf Boy!” yelled Connor over the radio. Another explosion rocked Lick Hollow, destroying what had already been destroyed. Through his binoculars, Connor saw Marty and BB running up the hill. Another RPG exploded close enough to knock them both from their feet, but Connor was relieved to see them stand immediately and continue their run.

Daubney and Edgars waited at the edge of the highway, supine. Each man sent a massive volley of fire toward the blitzkrieg, but the enemy continued to scramble up the hill.

“Colonel, we need to move!” yelled Captain Daubney.

“I know that, captain. Take Edgars and ready those horses to fly. I’ll stay to provide cover. Go! That’s an order!”

The two sprinted the forty yards in a crouching run up the hill to their horses, zigzagging to present a more difficult target. They dodged behind abandoned cars and fallen trees as bullets rained down on them and were thankful to reach the horses unscathed.

The horses, hidden behind the wreckage of an eighteen-wheeler, were wild eyed and pulling violently at their tethers. They tried their best to calm the animals.

“We’re ready, colonel. Over.”

“We’re moving out now, captain.”

As their extensive training kicked into gear, Connor, Marty, and BB leapfrogged up the hill, providing cover to one another and keeping the enemy at bay. In this way, they made it to a minivan where they quickly reloaded.

“Go!” yelled Connor, remaining in his position to provide fire and hitting nearly everything at which he aimed. Marty and BB ran to the next point, a boulder at the side of the road large enough to provide temporary safety. They dived behind the boulder when the bullets became too thick and when they looked back, they saw Connor lying on the ground, unmoving.

Luke pushed hard in his run through the men and horses and met Kaiden at the cluster of cars, dead men and horses clogging this section in their charge up the mountain. An onslaught of accurate gunfire had slowed the cavalry for the moment. Finding it difficult to remain focused when there were so many bullets whining past his head, Luke knew that the end was near—they had pinned the enemy and he smelled blood.

“Who’s that brave asshole?” Luke asked. He grabbed the reins of Kaiden’s horse to garner his full attention. One of the enemy stood out among the others in their impressive fade up the mountain.

“Who?” asked Kaiden.

“The bastard shootin’ at us from behind the van while the other two slip away.”

“Yeah, I see ’im. Fuckin’ little bastards!” said Kaiden.

Luke barely glanced when the man beside Kaiden took a bullet to his neck. Staring at the van up ahead, he spotted the remaining enemy defender slide into position near the front bumper. The enemy fired another three-round burst. The calm and calculating effectiveness of the man showed in his incredible aim.

“That one’s something special, commander. See how he’s issuing orders. I think he’s more that just a back cover expert. He’s more of a King Rat. Yeah, that’s a King Rat. I got you now, mother fucker,” said Luke, lining up for an easy shot. He sighted and pulled the trigger, but his shot went wide, snapping into the fender only six inches from the man’s chest. “Shit!”

The two other enemy men converged with King Rat and began a standard military two-by-one run-and-cover, moving efficiently enough that Luke couldn’t draw a bead on King Rat. Luke dropped flat onto the ground when the men behind him sent a wild spray of bullets. Only when the men around him spread out and moved forward did Luke feel it was safe enough to regain his feet.

Looking up the hill to determine the status of his enemy under the voluminous firepower, he was impressed with their skillful coordination as a team and the way they found and used the obstacles at their disposal when seeking the next position to deliver a counteroffensive. It was as if their retreat were choreographed and Luke acknowledged their impressive ability to return fire while they retreated. The three rarely missed when they shot—especially King Rat.

Luke ducked again as a few men around him began to fire indiscriminately at the fleeing enemy. And again, he witnessed a man near him dropping hard from return fire. When a second man dropped with a round through his forehead, Luke hit the ground again, not wanting to be the third in the bullet grouping.

“Damn, them rats can shoot,” he mumbled. He moved forward ten yards and positioned himself behind a Chevy Impala. He settled his M-4 on the hood, made himself comfortable, and took careful aim. He anticipated the path of the King Rat. “Piece of cake.”

He steadied his aim, slowed his breathing, and shot King Rat, watching him drop.

“One rat down,” he said in satisfaction.

“Where are we, major?”

“We’re approaching a little town called Hopwood, ma’am. It’s at the base of the mountain that climbs to the Summit Hotel.”

“Ma’am!” yelled Shamus. His level of excitement was a bit unnerving. “Eleven o’clock!”

“What is it, professor?” she asked, unable to locate with her own binoculars what he saw without any.

“That’s Phoenix’s army dead ahead, colonel,” he said. Shamus held his position, unwilling to close the distance. He was painfully aware of possible RPGs.