Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“He’s dead,” said Amanda. “It can’t be. He can’t be dead.”

“C’mon, Amanda, that’s just not true, no way,” said Nicole.

“We don’t know anything yet, Amanda!” snapped the colonel.

“He’s dead,” Amanda insisted. She let her binoculars fall and buried her face in her hands.

“We got us a ’copter landing!” yelled Marty.

“That’s for us, Surf Boy,” said Captain Daubney.

“Yeah, Daubney—I kinda figured. We need the ride. C’mon BB, keep up, you wuss.”

“Fuck off, Surf Boy, I’m right on your ass.”

“Glad to see you still got a pair.”

“Piss off.”

The three horses picked up speed into a faster trot. Marty struggled to maintain the pace and keep Connor situated across the saddle. His iron grip of the bulletproof vest webbing against the saddle pommel had kept Connor steady so far.

“C’mon!” said Daubney. “Let’s get them there now!”

“I’m with ya!” yelled Marty, lowering his head and digging his heels into the horse’s flanks for a bit more speed. He glanced at BB.

“You look pale, bro!”

“Fuck off, let’s move it!” said BB. He tried to straighten some in the saddle though the pain in his hip made the effort monumental.

The horses threaded themselves through a small opening in the guardrail, throwing small clods of dirt as they passed. They were seventy yards from the helicopter when it landed near the edge of the ravine and two men exited the bay doors facing them to set a perimeter. Three people came to the door edge after the two men were in place. Marty caught Amanda slipping in front of the large redheaded man and small woman and jump onto the ground. He yelled her name with pure elation, though the word was lost in the rotor roar. He was as close as he could come and reined in his horse safely away from the rotor wash.

Colonel Hannah Starkes stepped from the bird with Major O’Malley behind her. They caught up to Amanda as they reached Marty. Looking angry, Colonel Starkes pointed at Marty and yelled. The power of her command carried over the rotor howl. “You! Transport that man on the bird right now! Major, help ’im out! Let’s go! Amanda move the hell outta the way!”

“Marty? Is he alive?” yelled Amanda, the look on her face dreading the answer.

“Yeah, he’s alive—barely. Good to see you’re alive,” said Marty, dismounting. Major O’Malley shouldered his weapon to assist in carrying Connor onto the helicopter bay floor. Gently, Scott positioned Connor on the floor and immediately began cutting Connor’s clothes from his body to better assess the wounds. Amanda and Marty hovered until GT gently guided them out of the way toward the rear of the bay. The quarters were getting slightly cramped. GT jumped from the bay and walked toward the colonel.

Seated and belted with CJ in her lap, Nicole simply stared at the unmoving figure on the floor with tears streaming down her face. “That’s Connor Mac! Amanda? Amanda! How bad? Scott? How bad?”

“Alive. He’s alive, but hit bad,” said Amanda. Shaking with both rage and fear, Amanda moved to Nicole and they both let Scott tend to the wounds.

Knowing her orders were in place to treat Connor Mac, the colonel turned her attention toward Captain Daubney nearby. She took a few steps toward him as he helped BB toward the bird.

“Colonel, it’s great to see you. This is BB.” Daubney’s smile was grim.

“Captain, I’m glad you made it past that clusterfuck down there.

“Yes, ma’am. We need some serious medical attention.”

“I can see that.” She turned to seek assistance and GT was there.

“GT. Take care of this man. His name’s BB. He’s yours for the duration.”

“Yes, ma’am.” GT slipped under BB’s shoulder and guided him to the bay doors where he was gently helped into the compartment.

Not bothering to watch them leave, the colonel grabbed Daubney’s arm and pointed to the man that Lieutenants Daniels and McDonald were unloading from the rear of Daubney’s horse.

“He alive?”

“Edgars, ma’am. Didn’t make it. Burroughs took one, too. His body’s with the team that ran up ahead to the gates.”

“Dammit!” said Colonel Starkes. “Okay—get your ass on that ’copter and we’ll fly the hell outta here.”

Both Starkes and Daubney hopped onboard after Lieutenants Daniels and McDonald loaded Edgar’s body in the aft section beside the water rations. The two perimeter guards, Ren and Stimpy, climbed onboard.

The colonel slapped on the headset and the others did the same as they settled. Marty took a moment to focus—he was having trouble thinking straight. His mind had locked onto the singular item of finding Connor medical attention to the exclusion of everything else. Now that proper medical attention was imminent, he felt himself out of sorts. Absently, he slipped a headset on and heard the chatter. He turned his attention to Hannah Starkes and keyed his intercom.

“You’re the colonel?” he asked Starkes. “You’re the president?”

“I am. And you must be Marty,” she answered, looking at him appreciatively. “Are you wounded, soldier?” she asked gently.

“No, ma’am—I’m fine. It’s Mac I’m worried about. He lost a lotta blood, colonel.”

“Give me a full account of his injuries. Right now.”

“Mac took one in the left leg and one in the left arm. The one in the arm might’ve nicked an artery—he’s lost a lot of blood. Plus, he took at least four or five to the vest. No penetration. A double and a triple maybe five minutes apart. Probably bruised or broke some ribs.”

“Scotty? You hear that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Needs some blood, for sure. I have him as stable as I can. A saline drip and clot agent is in place. Sterilized the wounds for now. But, we need to go!”

“Major McLoy!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“You hear that?”

“I did, ma’am.”

“Take the co-pilot’s seat. Direct the Professor to your best medical facilities.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She glanced out the bay doors; impressed that Shamus was able to hold the helicopter in the meadow at such a steep angle. The wind buffeted the rotors every so often nearly causing the front rotor edge to slam into the meadow before, once again, the rotor leveled out. Seeing the deft yet random touches Shamus applied to the collector while they sat on the ground reminded her again of the serious danger that Shamus was keeping in check. It was certainly time to go.

“Move out, Professor!” she yelled, “I want to be airborne in less than five seconds. Make it happen!”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

The aircraft gyrated violently on liftoff and the rotors whined with additional speed. Gravity loosened its hold on the big bird and Shamus carefully maneuvered away from the steep slope until out of danger. Gaining altitude, he sped east, increasing the distance between Connor MacMillen and much of his blood.

Staring at Major McLoy clambering into the copilot seat, Shamus turned very serious and picked the intercom off his ear and covered it with his hand for some privacy. He leaned into the ear of Major McLoy.

“You better not screw this up son or you’ll answer to me this shit goes south.”

“Head over that treeline, now .”

“These people are unbelievably important.”

“So shut up, Professor, and drive.”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” said Shamus. He smiled, twisting the collector and the ’copter sped toward the treeline.

“Professor, I need an open channel to call my headquarters,” said McLoy.

“Hold that blue button down to talk and let it up when you want to hear. Frequency’s set for your garrison. Both sides of the conversation can be heard by everyone with a headset, major.”