Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Never expected this kinda shit to go down here and now did we?” asked Andy.

“Smaller world than you think, bro,” said Ryan.

Terry settled in beside Andy, her eyes flitted from Spider to Mark to Andy and Ryan.

“What just happened, Andy?” she asked, loudly for all to hear.

“We took out the garbage, T. Isn’t that right, Mark?”

Mark’s eyes settled on Spider. Calming a bit, he smiled slightly before responding.

“Sonofabitch… seems like it.”

“Well, there you go,” said Andy.

Mark signaled his men again and all turned to leave. “I owe you one, I guess.”

“No,” said Andy, “You’re the Mark Harmon. My brother always told me to stay on your good side. Hope this helped.”

Mark studied Andy for a few more seconds before he turned toward his men. Several nodded. A wide grin emerged on Mark’s face.

“You’re one crazy sonofabitch, Andy. Just like Mac.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Mark pointed toward a tall, shiny-bald black man wearing a huge diamond stud in his left ear, waving him forward.

“Tie a rope and drag that sorry ass back to Nemacolin, ” said Mark, “We’ll burn ’im there, Greencastle. You’re it. You’re my right hand, now.”

“Will do, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Greencastle dismounted and roped Spider’s ankle to one end and the other to his saddle horn. After securing the rope, he glanced at Andy, Ryan and Terry, nodding a greeting.

“Your name’s Brad Greencastle, right?” asked Ryan.

The steel edge in his voice remained, but had softened some.

“Ry?” asked Andy, mildly concerned.

“Relax, bro. I’m cool.”

“Yeah, my friends call me Big G. And, you’re ‘Mad Dog’ Ryan MacMillen. Ex military. Ex Recon. What about it?”

Calmly, Brad climbed into his saddle, unconcerned.

“Heard some good things ’bout you. That’s all.”

“So you say.”

“Just lettin’ you know,” volunteered Ryan.

“Well, how about that? I heard some talk on you, too, Mad Dog.”

“So you say. Like what?”

“Huh. Some say you’re straight shootin’, and that you like the pretty women, those that are big-busted; especially tiny brunettes. One guy told me you’d probably be damn good to have around during a firefight.”

“Hah, that pegs my little brother perfectly, Big G.”

“Most of what you heard is probably not true,” said Ryan, embarrassed.

“And, now that you mentioned it, what have you heard about me? I must admit… I’m a bit curious.”

Ryan smiled at Andy and Terry. The playful glint was contagious and all men surrounding them on horseback listened with a calm excitement. Ryan glanced at Mark, who was content for the moment to stick around. Ryan’s voice settled into a more amicable tone.

“Well, G.”

“Big G.”

“Right. Well, G, you’re not so big to me. But, I did hear some blonde-haired biker with a tear drop tattoo tell a group of ten men, and I only quote: ‘That sonofabitch Greencastle’s got it head & shoulders on that pansy-ass Spider. How the hell can’t Harmon see through that?’ End quote.”

“Huh,” said Greencastle.

“Huh… I see,” said Mark Harmon, blushing.

“Just so you know, I heard that two weeks ago when I was over at the market. I also heard Commander Bastin out at the garrison didn’t think much of the guy, either. Didn’t know what the hell it all meant until today when I laid eyes on him.”

“I see,” said Brad, visibly pleased with the compliment.

Mark shifted in his saddle, sheepish and uncomfortable; it was a testament to his good character that he was embarrassed at his current situation. Brad Greencastle and Ryan stared at each other for a few seconds, before Ryan spoke.

“Greencastle, I’m hoping you’ll help take care of Harmon for the MacMillen clan, if he wants you.”

“Sure thing, that is, if Mr. Harmon and the men will have me.”

Mark nodded, still processing the day’s turn of events. Ryan had one final point to make.

“Big G?”

“Oh. Now I’m Big G? Yeah?”

“From this point on, you know I’ll hold you responsible for his safety. His presence helps keep me and mine safe.”

“Is that a threat? Watch it, Mad Dog,” said Brad Greencastle, a hard edge crept into his voice.

“Not meant to offend. I mean it.”

Brad Greencastle studied the men around him before answering.

“I hear what you’re saying.”

“Just letting you know we have a vested interest in Nemacolin’s success, next door neighbors and all.”

“I’ll plan to do that, Mad Dog. And… thanks, I guess.”

“Takin’ care of business is all.”

Ryan approached Brad’s horse, taking off his right glove. Brad did the same. Once near, Brad reached down and they shook hands. Thereafter, Ryan reentered the forest.

Stepping into the fray, Terry approached the horses.

“Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll see you back here in three or four days, if that’s okay with you. Catch up where we left off. Same time. That work?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Surf Boy? Can you and Snuff secure a captive? Over.”

“Hold.”

Connor squelched in response and the team waited. A full five minutes passed. Finally, Marty returned.

“Recently grabbed one piss-ass sniper rat. Over.”

“He approached your position? Over.”

“Affirmative. Snuff took ’im down, I might add. Over.”

“Status?”

“Based on weapons, he was probably set to take out the roof guards and provide suitable cover fire during a full assault. This punk’s has some decent long-range gear and was damn near silent running, too, except for the last minute when he thought he was settlin’ in. Almost missed his approach. Over.”

“Roger that.”

“Snuff said she’s keeping his fancy scope and NVGs. In fact, she’s rather proud of her new equipment acquisitions, especially the goggles. She says they’re better than yours. Over.”

“I doubt that. Did he come with a spotter? Over.”

“Yeah. We took him down in the east stairwell. Over.”

“Understood. Is the sniper conscious? Over.”

“He’s a bit dazed and confused. Snuff was pretty hard on ’im. Over.”

“Roger that. Yeah, Snuff’s like that sometimes. Especially when they’re playin’ in the wrong sandbox. Can he talk? Over.”

“Hold… yeah, Snuff’s waking him up a bit. He’s some skinny-ass kid, maybe nineteen or twenty.”

“Extract all data on present ops. Priority one. Use all available means. Over.”

“Copy that. Out.”

Marty sat atop the young man, holding a gleaming Colt Defender to the young man’s right eye. Snuff seamlessly continued full surveillance duties near the window.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Screw you!”

Reaching behind him, Marty swung his Colt in a smooth arc, striking the young man in his genitals; the strike was well placed, having the desired effect.

“When you’re able to speak, you prick, I expect some respect.”

Marty assisted the young man onto his side, so he could puke properly. Once done, he flipped him on his back, placing the Colt to his right eye.

“What’s you’re name?”

After a brief resurgence of resistance, the young man answered. “Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“Yeah, Ghost.”

“Huh. That’s a pretty high and mighty tag for a puke kid, don’t you think, Ghost ? Bit of an overachiever?”

Marty studied the ferocity of the young man, deciding he was probably not one to be easily broken. As such, he tried a more discreet tactic.

“You know, I admit, you did move kinda ghostlike . We almost missed ya. Seriously. And, I’m force recon. Her, she’s full blown Army Airborne.”