Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

Colonel Starkes laughed gently. “Luckily, he’s still slightly intimidated by me and wants to be sure he has the upper hand before making his move.”

Major O’Malley raised the binoculars for another view of the warehouse before weighing in with a comment. “You know, Suzie was asking how the men slept, where they slept, and if they needed any pillows or… maybe something… else to help ’em sleep. All innocent with some nice sexual undertones. She was flirting quite a bit on the subject, especially with Mickey, who’s quite infatuated with her.

“I’ll bet. He’d certainly be one to disarm.”

“You know, Mickey’s hardly talked about anything else since breakfast started comin’ compliments of Phoenix.”

“That’d be part of any disruptive strategy. Phoenix’s plan, major.”

“Colonel, if I may speak freely…”

“Cut the crap! You know better than to take that stance with me!”

Bristling with anger at himself, the major realized he’d been lulled into a false sense of security by Phoenix’s fine ministrations. Grumbling, he was pissed at his lapse in judgment.

“Okay, then! Can I ask why you’ve taken seven days to let me in on your interpretation of these events?”

Colonel Starkes grinned ear to ear before gently snatching the binoculars from his hands. The satisfaction on her face suggested she’d achieved a worthy objective.

“I know men, major.”

“What?”

“I said I know men. And, I know you especially. That’s why I depend on you so much.”

“So? You’re not tellin’ me anything—”

“And, I’ve found you, Major Mike O’Malley, do your best work when you’ve realized you’re just about to get severely and negatively fucked.”

Major O’Malley stared, shocked at her bluntness, but sensing her excitement and anticipation. With conviction, he knew he would not disappoint her.

“I’ll bury that fuckin’ prick bastard he tries to come at us.”

Satisfied, Colonel Starkes stood, turning to leave. Gently, she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“That’s where you need to be major. Please see to it.”

“Damn right I will… ma’am.”

“So, Mac. What’s the plan?”

“C’mon, McLeod, sit down. Take a load off. What’s that?”

John settled onto the creaking patio chair in the gentle, afternoon sun. It was late August, a day since discovery of the president’s letter. He handed a bottle of wine to Connor for inspection.

“Found this one and ten others on a bottom shelf in the basement. Hidden behind some old knick-knacks and coffee cans. We missed it the first time through.”

Connor read the handwritten label.

“Merlot. A homemade merlot? Wow.”

“Yep. Made by a guy named Hugo Kingman. See here? Signed each label.”

“Huh. How about that.”

“Let’s hope the guy knew what the hell he was doing. Rhonda and Amanda already snatched up the rest of the batch. They’re planning on preparing a special meal tonight to go along with it.”

“Sounds good.”

“I just hope the wine doesn’t disappoint.”

“Yeah?”

“Damn right. BB and Marty snagged two fat turkeys this morning and Cody and Amanda brought in ten plump turtles ’bout an hour ago. And, from what I’m told, Roger makes a seriously delectable turtle soup. I expect dinner this evening will surpass expectations.”

“Good deal.”

“Right now most of our crew are out searching for soup vegetables while you’re sitting brooding here all by yourself.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“Suit yourself.”

McLeod placed two crystal wine glasses on the patio table, closer to Connor, tossing down a corkscrew. Understanding his role, Connor grabbed the corkscrew and slowly uncorked the wine, sniffing the cork.

“Smells right.”

“Well, that’s good to know. How about you pour some you insufferable prick?”

Grinning at the unusual use of profanity, Connor filled both glasses almost full, and McLeod reached and took one, raising it in toast.

“To the big unknown, Mac. May it keep our times interesting for at least a few more years.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Sampling the wine, they were quite pleased with the taste. Together, they leisurely studied the farmhouse, tracking Amanda’s exit and her stroll fifty yards away toward the large pond and barn sixty yards out. Sensing their gaze, she waved and they waved back.

“There’s a big batch of scallions seventy-five feet off the back left corner of the barn, if you’re looking for any,” said Connor. His voice carried easily when he slipped into a command tone.

“Thanks!” yelled Amanda, veering slightly.

John and Connor sipped the wine, surprised at the fine quality.

“You a wine connoisseur, McLeod?”

“Not at all, you?”

“No, but this is good.”

“I have to agree. It is that.”

After acknowledging their find, they settled comfortably for what was obviously going to be more than a two-minute conversation. Eventually, Connor broke the comfortable silence.

“So you really think that’s it, John. This letter from the president is all about babies?”

“I dunno know. It’s a viable hypothesis until we can come up with a better one. But, I’ll admit, it does kinda fit.”

“Yeah, maybe. But, umm, that means I came through this thing different than you and the rest of the men? It means… oh, hell, that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Connor stared after Amanda, lost in thought. After a moment, McLeod spoke.

“Yeah, I imagine you’re going a mile a minute out here. How about you take a few more sips of that wine. Let’s talk on this.”

“Right. You be my second pair of eyes on this. My thinkin’s kinda screwed up on the whole damn thing.”

Connor drained his glass and McLeod did the same. Taking the bottle, McLeod refilled the glasses with a flourish.

“Your turn to toast, Mac.”

At that moment, Rhonda exited the house onto the back porch, striding with purpose to the gathered firewood stacked against the rail. She wore tight-fitting blue jeans and a stylish red blouse that caught the sunlight. Both men followed her graceful movements, as she bent to grab several pieces of firewood for the living room fireplace. Glancing their way, she stopped to smile and wave, before reentering the home.

“A toast to women, then, McLeod… there’s nothing better than a good woman.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

They sipped the wine until Cody passed close by.

“Mr. Connor Mac! My Daddy’s makin’ turtle soup for dinner!”

“Wow. Great.”

“Yep. You’ll love it. It’s my favorite.”

“I’m already hungry for it.”

A quick study, Cody sensed his presence was unwanted and decided to make himself scarce.

“Okay. Bye, now. Hi, Mr. McLeod.”

“Hi, Cody.”

Both men followed Cody’s path toward the barn, knowing he was probably keeping tabs on Amanda.

“He’s one smart kid, McLeod.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

“Make sure you take ’im under your wing during our travels.”

“I’ll do that.”

“I’m thinkin’ he has what it takes to survive in this day and age. And, you know, I want him to benefit from your knowledge and creative thought processes.”

“Okay. I plan on it, Mac. And, thanks for the back-handed compliment.”

“Hmm.”

Each partook of the wine, before Connor made his intentions known.

“We leave at first light. BB, Marty and Jason will take overwatch until lunch. Not sure how we’ll handle the horses in all this just yet. I’ll probably listen to your take on that. Anyways, we’ll switch teams after lunch. Have Snuff and Rhonda gather up the remaining food, dispersing it across all our packs. Have Jackson bring that small Weber grill; we’ll need it for the crew. I know it’ll be annoying to transport, but we’ll be grateful. And, I’m putting you in charge of making sure we load up on the spring water.”