Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Yes, ma’am. My commander knows we’re here.”

“Okay.”

The colonel studied the helicopter’s progress as it cruised the ridge toward the garrison. Tall and dense trees blocked most visual assessment of the highway as they flew. Turning to face Shamus, she clicked her intercom. “Professor, drop us near the garrison. We need to backtrack on the ground and find our men.”

“There’s no suitable landing area, ma’am.”

“What about that meadow? Right there?” she asked. She leaned between Shamus and the major, pointing through the windshield.

“That meadow’s slope angle is way too steep, ma’am. And, it’s at the edge of the ravine. Colonel, the updraft is unpredictable—look at the grass—the wind’s blowing it all over the place! It’s way too dangerous… we’d send a blade into the dirt.”

The large meadow was on a severe slope separated by the guardrail of the mountain highway. Kept well trimmed, its purpose served as a killing field for the garrison. The field faded for several hundred feet from the garrison to end at the sheer drop-off into the ravine. Huge boulders, remnants from the glacier age, were strewn haphazardly throughout making any landing attempt more difficult.

“You can’t do it?” asked the colonel.

Careful analysis honed by years of combat experience told Shamus there was only one possible spot to land in the meadow and it was iffy at best. The edge of the ravine was just too close.

“I’ve seen him do worse,” said Scott to GT. Purposefully, Scott made sure his intercom was engaged.

“Up yours, Scotty!” yelled Shamus, “I’m not landing there. We’ll tip in the wind and dump!”

“Professor, I wanna know if you see a better landing anywhere?”

“Those tennis courts, maybe,” he said. “No, the poles are too close together… and the nets are still there. Shit.”

“Dammit, professor, there’s no time to find another landing! I want us down there! Now! Our men are down there somewhere!”

“I know that!” yelled Shamus, embarrassed after realizing he was speaking to the colonel.

“Professor,” interrupted Major O’Malley gently, “you’re doing fine. Just consider this like any other problem. You’re the best. That’s why you’re here. Consider it from all the angles.”

The rest of the team heard the major’s calm words and prudently kept their mouths shut.

“Professor,” said Scott, in a gentle voice that spoke of shared times, “you know you’ve done worse.”

“Yeah, I’ve done worse, Scotty,” he answered, sighing. “But not with POTUS on board. Not with a couple women… and certainly not with a little kid who’s a national treasure!”

Shamus intently studied the meadow, his pilot’s trained eye seeking the secrets of the terrain and the hidden swales. He was not happy.

“So, Professor, just don’t screw up,” suggested Major O’Malley. He settled comfortably into the copilot seat and crossed his arms. His calm tone spoke volumes about his faith in Shamus’ ability. “Gauge the odds, Professor. You know you’re the best.”

“I hear that,” said GT.

“You have the final say,” said the major.

The colonel kept her lips pressed tightly together. She wanted to order him to land, but knew it wasn’t the right time to assert any authority.

Shamus looked at Major O’Malley in exasperation. “Right, major, piece of cake.”

“For you, maybe,” answered the major. “Me, I’m scared shitless.”

“C’mon, Professor,” said GT, “you know you can do this.”

Shamus shifted the collector and sent a deft touch to the left pedal. The helicopter moved a bit lower and closer to the mountain highway for another perspective on the potential landing site.

“It would have to be fuckin’ perfect. Continuous feather adjustments for wind shear on landing. I dunno—”

“You’re the Professor, do it if it’s doable,” said the major.

Looking left out of Shamus’ side window, the colonel caught movement and focused on four horses rushing up the highway. They were spread out with a single rider ahead of two riders with a fourth rider bringing up the rear.

“Horses and men at nine o’clock!” yelled the colonel. She grabbed her binoculars for a better view. She did not like this development. She saw two men strapped to horses.

Hearing the colonel’s declaration, Amanda pushed for space at the helicopter bay window and focused binoculars on the horses and men. Studying the tall man in the lead, she knew he was not somebody she had seen before. She shifted to the middle riders.

“That’s Marty!” she yelled immediately. Marty was riding at a gentle trot and was taking some care to hold a man in the saddle in front of him. “He’s holding someone across the saddle!”

“Which horse?” asked the colonel.

Desperately seeking to catch sight of Connor, Amanda focused on the other two horses. A man in a long brown duster rode beside Marty. He was slumped over, as if exhausted or injured. “That’s BB’s there! The middle horses!” She scanned the remaining rider bringing up the rear. “That’s Captain Daubney! On the last horse. Someone’s strapped behind him. I don’t see Mac!”

“Professor, move us closer to those riders! Now!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The helicopter gained a few hundred feet of altitude and shifted closer.

Checking once again to be sure, Amanda didn’t recognize the man in the lead and returned her focus to Marty and the unmoving man draped across Marty’s saddle. As the helicopter edged closer, the man’s profile became clear. “Mac!” she screamed.

“Where, Amanda? Where?” asked Colonel Starkes, a note of panic in her voice.

Amanda was too busy using her binoculars to answer. She tracked Marty’s horse, never relinquishing sight of Connor, who remained unconscious despite the jostling motion of the horse’s gentle trot.

“I don’t see him, Amanda,” said the colonel.

“He’s laying across Marty’s horse,” Amanda answered despairingly.

“Professor, set us down in that meadow, right now! That’s an order.”

“Yes, ma’am. Setting down.”

“We need to intercept and transport Colonel MacMillen to medical facilities.”

Shamus was out of options—it was a direct order and he had to execute. He concentrated his expertise on the helicopter’s controls, hoping to survive the landing.

“You got this, Professor,” said GT with a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I know you got this.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” said Shamus wryly. “Now, shut the fuck up.”

“Major O’Malley,” said Colonel Starkes, “radio Commander Bastin. Find the best medical triage in this area—I don’t give a shit if we have to travel a hundred miles. Find it now!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Umm, ma’am,” said Major McLoy, “when we get the wounded, I’ll direct you to Nemacolin. It’s eight miles past the garrison. General Harmon’s got a full medical set up and a great doc there, a surgeon.

“For severe injuries?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Better than anywhere I know of.”

“Professor, put this bird on the ground, right now,” said the colonel.

“I’d ask that you be quiet, ma’am, if you please,” said Shamus.

The helicopter settled swiftly into its final landing approach. The pulsing ridge wind slammed the helicopter almost sideways before leveling out with the fast and furious movement of Shamus’ hands and feet.

“Twenty seconds, ma’am. I’d advise you make a fast exit and keep your heads down real low if you want to keep ’em,” said Shamus.

Amanda continued to watch the lifeless body of Connor MacMillen in the saddle of Marty’s horse. Tears streamed freely and her vision blurred. Nicole softly embraced Amanda.