Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“I see ’em, Professor,” said the colonel, studying the situation. She released her harness and shifted between Major O’Malley and Shamus, gaining a better view. She saw the huge army rushing up the highway, but couldn’t determine if there were any friendlies in the area. “What’s going on up there?” she asked.

“It’s a firefight, ma’am,” said Major O’Malley, studying the situation through his own binoculars. “I see the destruction from several RPGs and there’s steady fire, probably from a fifty caliber—there might be two of them. Their fire is concentrated on that outcropping. My guess is that’s where our men are.”

“Professor!” yelled the colonel. “Advance to a position directly south of the enemy’s front line. Stay outta range of those RPGs. Scott! I want that last Hellfire ready!”

“I’m on it, ma’am,” said Scott.

“Understood, colonel,” answered Shamus dipping the rotors and completing the task in less than ten seconds.

“Tim! Man the port door! GT and Amanda, you’re on starboard! Safety harnesses on everyone! Ready target selection on my call! GT! Open the doors—men, let’s light them up!”

The intercom came alive in agreement.

“Anyone have any idea who they’re going after? Is there any sighting of who they’re attacking? Anyone?”

“I’m not sure yet, ma’am,” answered Major O’Malley. He was looking for an indication of who the enemy army’s target might be, but he hadn’t spotted any movement.

“Major O’Malley, I’m sure we have men down there and I’m reasonably sure that firepower is focused on them. We need to find them immediately and determine how best to help them.”

The major caught movement farther up the mountain road, away from the main battle. He focused his binoculars and spotted a dozen horses carrying men and two vehicles that had at least two men each. The group was rushing down the mountain, toward the fighting, at a reckless speed. They dodged cars, potholes, and other debris in their haste to their destination. “Ma’am?” said Major O’Malley. “Focus your binoculars up the roadway—there’s a group coming down to the fight.”

“Those’re my men, colonel!” yelled Major McLoy. He stared hard out the bay doors at his unit.

“You sure?” asked the colonel.

“Yes, ma’am! That’s Commander Bastin’s group. They’re coming down to fight, ma’am. Someone musta made it to the Summit for help!”

The colonel saw Phoenix’s army advancing quickly and gauged their distance from Bastin’s men coming from the opposite direction. She figured her team had to be somewhere in between, but she couldn’t see where.

“Major McLoy, your commander’s gonna need help slowing this army down. Scott, send the lady now! Best shot available.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He coordinated with Shamus over the radio and, within seconds, the Hellfire was on its way toward a curve in the road where the enemy was advancing past unmoving vehicles and continuing the onslaught of fifty caliber rounds.

When the Hellfire hit, the entire portion of the road disappeared beneath a massive fireball. The Superhawk skimmed low over the curve, responding immediately to the Professor’s lightest touch.

Guns blazed from each door. Lieutenant McDonald’s sniper rounds punctuated the rapid fire of the M-4’s. Amanda’s thirty-aught-six fired smoothly to complement the massive amount of bullets sent into the fray. When the smoke cleared, there were numerous trucks out of commission, including the ones that had carried the fifty calibers. Three of the trucks were rolling down the steep ravine out of control and there were bodies of horses and men that hadn’t withstood the effects of the blast.

Colonel Starkes focused on the area hit by the Hellfire. “Nicely executed, Scott.”

“An awesome shot, Scotty,” said Shamus despite being in the midst of lifting the Superhawk away from the area in a difficult maneuver.

“Professor, keep us outta range of the RPGs.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s the plan. I’ll maintain a stationary platform with random horizontal and vertical variance every five seconds. Left, right, up, down—I’ll call ’em out to let you guys know.”

“Okay, Professor. Tim, GT, Scott, Amanda, and anyone else who wants to join in—start pickin’ off stragglers,” said the colonel.

“Shifting to long-range weapons now,” said GT.

Scott smiled at Tim McDonald. “We’ll help you out, Lieutenant. Let us show you how we roll.”

“Moving left and up five degrees,” said Shamus and, a heartbeat later, the ’copter moved to the new position. Lieutenant McDonald was the first to fire after he waited for Shamus to steady the bird. He fired four quick rounds, three of them finding their mark. GT settled next to Lieutenant McDonald and both fired four rounds apiece before waiting for Shamus’ next change in direction.

The colonel was watching Amanda and Scott on the starboard side. Scott had tucked in near Amanda who was firing a round every four seconds whether Shamus was in an evasive maneuver or not.

“Amanda? Are you in range with that rifle?” asked the colonel over the intercom. Concentrating hard, Amanda ignored her.

“I don’t think she’s missed yet, ma’am,” offered Scott who was watching Amanda’s accuracy through his binoculars as he took position with his sniper rifle to begin selecting targets.

“Moving down and right ten degrees,” said Shamus.

Amanda continued to shoot.

“She’s pushing the weapon’s envelope, colonel,” said Scott, still watching and amazed, “but she keeps knocking ’em down.” Impressed, he couldn’t stop tracking the performance of this young woman. She was shooting nearly as well, perhaps better, than many seasoned snipers. To accomplish what she was doing, she had to be almost out of the top of her scope in elevation just to hope to reach the intended targets. Plus, she had to have tremendous confidence in her weapon that went with an immense confidence in her own ability. The distance to the targets was at the extreme range of her weapon’s capabilities. The evasive maneuvers, while necessary, added to the improbability of the success of each shot.

Still, Amanda hit what she aimed, though not all were killshots. The available targets disappeared—the enemy soldiers were either dead or had found sufficient cover.

“Amanda,” said the colonel, “do you ever miss?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she answered, smiling, “I missed my first two shots settin’ a range.”

“Mac!” yelled Marty, sliding to a stop near the unmoving figure. Despite his slide, he continued to fire at the enemy. Marty’s mind registered the sound of a helicopter in the air, but he was too focused to lift his eyes.

He pulled at Connor’s shoulder. “Ummmph,” mumbled Connor. Marty pulled harder and turned Connor on his back. He was relieved to hear life from his commanding officer and whatever adrenaline he had left kicked in.

“Where you hit, Mac?” he asked, searching Connor’s body for wounds and finding none. At Marty’s jostling, Connor grunted and inhaled a huge breath. He regained consciousness for a moment, eyes red-rimmed and unfocused. Marty dragged him in a rather brutal fashion the few remaining yards to the shelter of an old Ford Bronco. He used the front fender as cover and he let loose a full magazine at several men gaining ground against them. He ducked down to reload with the vision of the satisfied look of a man whose face reminded him of a wolf. Wolf was now using the hood of a Chevy as a shooting platform and his lupine smile infuriated Marty. Somehow he knew that Wolf, that lupine-looking bastard, was responsible for Connor’s current condition.