Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Surf Boy’s limited to overwatch… I think. Any forward action’s on me… over.”

“We’ll be there in less than ten. Over.”

“The takedown is happening right now, Mac! They’re sitting ducks.”

“Put Surf Boy on. Over.”

“Mac?”

“Put Surf Boy on. Over.”

Abruptly, Amanda shoved the radio to Marty. Staring into her eyes, he caught the intense flow of emotions slip across her face. She was pissed. He raised the radio.

“Surf Boy here. Over.”

“Copy that. Your functional status? Over.”

“I’ll do what needs to be done.”

“Clarification. Would you, as team lead, send you, yourself running hard in through hostile fire given the current condition of the knee injury? Over.”

“Our options are limited otherwise, sir. Over.”

“If required, could Snuff do it? Over.”

Marty glanced at Amanda. Her stare was intense, waiting for his response. The grim smile on her lips dared him to answer in the negative.

“I know you trust Snuff, I do too, sir. Do I think Snuff’s capable? Yeah. Does Snuff have the assault experience? No. Plus, there’s the other… lady issue. I’ll go. Snuff runs cover. Over.”

“Assume Snuff was part of your squad, given current mission status. Over.”

“Define the mission parameters. Over.”

“A full out run through live fire to alert POTUS. Preferably, with some substantial element of surprise. Over.”

Marty studied Amanda objectively. With a critical eye, seeing her this way, he was glad she was part of their team. Grudgingly, he raised the radio.

“Though I admit to some mild surprise in performing this mental exercise right now, Snuff’s more than capable based on those mission objectives and what I’ve seen in her actions. Over.”

“Hold for sixty seconds. Over.”

“Roger that. Holding for sixty.”

Connor rested the radio on his thigh and turned to McLeod. “Talk to me, John. Your thoughts?”

“Marty’s out of commission?”

“Nah, he’d do it come hell or high water, it’s just that for him to alert me to his knee injury in the first place tells me he must be pretty messed up by it.”

“So that leaves Amanda if we can’t arrive in time?”

“They’re pretty clear we’re a bit short on that timeframe.”

“She’s pregnant, Mac.”

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed… John.”

“She’s… not trained like you or Marty or BB, or Roger or Jackson for that matter.”

“You’re correct. But, I want your opinion, John. Give it or go home.”

Resting for the moment behind an old Fed Ex truck and catching their breath, the team waited for the signal to move forward. Thinking furiously, John stared at the Fed Ex logo. Reaching a decision, he turned to Connor.

“Talk it through with her, Mac. You know her capabilities better than any of us. She’s it if it’s feasible.”

Connor raised the radio to his lips.

“Surf Boy. Do you copy?”

“Go.”

“Put Snuff on, over.”

“Mac?” said Amanda.

“How would you two do it? Over.”

Amanda stared at Marty, excitement and determination in her eyes. Marty dipped his head in understanding. But, he was angry at having to place this woman in harm’s way when he was most certainly the man for the job. He rubbed his knee and felt the substantial increase pain. He hoped there was no tear, but it sure hurt like hell at the moment. Amanda raised the radio to her lips.

“I’ll slide into the front doors while Surf Boy takes out the RPGs and creates a diversion? Over.”

“Negative. Too risky. Over.”

“They’re starting this assault soon! POTUS’s a sitting duck. Over.”

“Probably not based on the expertise of her support team from what you’ve told me, but I hear what you’re saying. Over.”

“So you agree? Over.”

“The surprise factor building up against her might be deadly. Over.”

“So you agree? Over.”

“Hell no! But, I see your reasoning.”

“I’m going in. Over.”

Near a small office building, a bit closer but still about eight minutes out from the warehouse, Connor and John crouched behind a rusted Cadillac with the rest of the team spread out behind, taking cover. Connor had a good visual of the warehouse where Snuff and Surf Boy were hiding about 500 yards out. He reached for the radio.

“Hold.”

“What?” asked Amanda.

“I said hold for a sec, Snuff. Over.”

“Roger that.”

Connor turned to McLeod.

“Final thoughts?”

“I guess it depends on what you want out of this shit pie,” said McLeod.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, do you plan to save this President Starkes or keep on due course east?”

“She’s sat waiting for at least two or three weeks by your count, right?”

“Yep.”

“Marty’s at about eighty percent functional and POTUS would be the only remaining form of official government existing right now.”

“Far as I know.”

“Seems POTUS is invested heavily in locating me this past year.”

“Ah huh.”

“And, Nicole might be with them.”

“Highly probable.”

“And, she’s… there might be… uh, a baby, too.”

“Definitely a possibility based on our factor analysis, Mac.”

“Shit!”

“Yep.”

McLeod’s muted smile was infuriating. He was in surprisingly good shape and was barely breathing hard after their last run. After a silent few seconds, he made a suggestion.

“You might consider having Surf Boy fire a round at POTUS and the rooftop guards. That’d alert them to the assault.”

“True, but they’d not know the full extent of the assault and might try to fight it off. And, in firing off that round, that’d alert the entire hostile force to converge onto the warehouse for some special killing that I don’t want to see happening. Based on the current intel, POTUS needs to seriously bug out.”

“Good point.”

Connor clicked the radio.

“Snuff? Do you copy?”

“Copy.”

“The president needs to bug out clean first chance. Over.”

“Understood. Roger that.”

“Do it, Amanda. Do it right. Or, don’t do it at all…”

Amanda smiled at the familiar expression; it caused a bull rush of feelings. Warmly, it reminded her of the first few times she’d shared a sleeping bag with Connor. She recalled the first time he said those same words to her; she was tired and scared that day. Sure, she’d made it clear she was willing, appreciative of his intervention after her predicament with those Kansas assholes and his gentle care and food in the week thereafter. However, Connor had simply slipped under the covers and held her softly in his encompassing embrace. He had no plans other than to keep her warm on that cold night, if that was what she wanted. She snuggled up against him suggesting more to offer.

“You do it right, Amanda. Or, you don’t do it at all.”

Amanda remembered hearing those words before she drifted off into a sound sleep that night. She held the radio in her hand, raising it to her lips.

“Roger that, and… ahh, thanks for your vote of confidence. Over.”

“You’ll always have it. The confidence is real. Over.”

“Roger that. I’m going in two. Surf Boy on the comm.”

Amanda gently tossed both radio and binoculars to Marty. Antsy, she moved toward the stairway.

“Amanda, wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Tac update: I’ll take out the guy with the RPG hanging near the planter on the left side and as many others as I can before they catch on.”

“Ok.”

“When that first man goes down west side of the building, you sprint serious for the front doors like the Goody Bar man’s rounding the corner. I’ll try to keep you safe and hit my marks in this shitstorm.”