Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Goody Bar man?”

“You’re kidding me? You have no idea who the Goody Bar man is? Never mind. Just haul some ass.”

“Okay. Sure… thanks.”

“You know, you’ll be on your own out there on this.”

“I know. But, you got my back.”

They stared at each other, strange emotions tumbling. Marty kept it all business and considered the endgame in greater detail. “How are we pulling off your extraction, Amanda?”

“I dunno. I’m hoping there’s no need.”

“No need?”

“I hope we extract the president out safely and me with her.”

“Huh. My tactical sense says that’s very low percentage. At least not with any level of concern for your safety. Too many men out there to suppress.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Those bad guys are gonna breach the Hall of Fame.”

“I agree.”

“Maybe we can slow ’em down some, you and I, but we’re not gonna stop the assault. Seems too well-coordinated.”

“Okay, okay, you’re probably right.”

Amanda felt a sudden and deep surge of affection for Marty. Finding it difficult to handle, she quickly pushed down the emotions; Marty continued his tactical analysis.

“Let’s do this right. Once you’re in position behind that concrete planter with the oak tree, I’ll take my first shot. You’ll have forty yards of hard running to enter those doors. Probably five or six seconds of full exposure to enemy fire.”

“Hey, I can run a forty faster than that!”

“Depending on how they react to a woman running in their midst, you might gain another two or three seconds.”

“That’s an advantage, right?”

“Yeah, I’m sure Mac sees it that way, too.”

“Good. I’ll take what I can get.”

“Sure, but remember, a key concern is them doors. If those doors are locked, you’re screwed.”

“Yeah, I thought about that. I figure I’ll deal with that when I arrive, shoot the glass if I have to.”

“I see. Living large and on the fly are we?”

“Just hoping they don’t slow me down too much. Gotta go.”

Marty studied the tense set to Amanda’s shoulders and her fierce determination. He knew she was anxious to begin before her fear of mission failure overtook her desire to finish the job. He visualized the success of the mission; giving her the best recommendation he had, given the circumstances.

“Make sure you reload on the fly.”

Amanda smiled, grateful for his confidence.

“Will do, Marty. And, thanks.”

“You sure you want to do this? This mission is much more my cup of tea.”

Amanda struggled to keep her calm composure.

“I know. Usually. But, today, you’re busted up and I need to do it. I can do it. Besides… I know you got my back.”

“Dammit! I know Mac supports your plan. And, I’ll tell ya, after spending time with you two and seeing what you’re capable of, my gut says you’d probably be safer in there if you get in… but, can you believe this shit?”

“Safer in there?”

“Yeah, like there’s going to be a whole lot of hurting outside that building when we disrupt their attack.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Make sure you make it to Youngstown to that #1 Furnace, if you end up lost in all this happy horseshit.”

“I will.”

“Bring that female president along if you can. I’d love to see her.”

“Will do.”

“A female president, can you believe it? And, knowing Mac, we’ll probably wait no more than four or five days max at the furnace before we head on east.”

“We have to do something to save the president.”

Amanda glanced toward the window, watching more men massing on both sides of the building, practically streaming into position.

“Well? What’re you waiting for?”

Loaded for infiltration and reconnaissance, Amanda touched each of her weapons taking inventory. Satisfied, she held her Remington 30.06 at ready with a seven-inch Gerber strapped to her thigh. A six-inch Kershaw hung on a small leather strap dangling between her shoulder blades. The .45 Smith & Wesson and two magazines wrapped tightly in cloth and tucked in her right pocket gave her an added measure of reassurance.

“I’m gone…”

In seconds, Amanda slipped on her night vision goggles and disappeared down the stairwell. Marty turned to the window and slipped on his own game face. Serious killing time had arrived once again. He truly relished the distraction and a protective urge for Amanda washed his mind clean of any hesitation. He no longer noticed his knee pain. He stroked his trigger guard and settled into firing position.

He whispered. “For Sarah.”

“We’ve have a highly probable hostile contact confirmed, colonel,” said Major O’Malley.

He entered the command center without knocking, catching Colonel Starkes rising from her chair. Calmly, she set a Cleveland map aside. Alert and ready, she waited for his update, despite tired and bloodshot eyes.

“Details.” She sipped the last dregs of her coffee.

“Lieutenant McDonald stationed near the ’copter caught several men sneaking tight beneath the overhang approaching the front doors. Swore he saw one man with an RPG.”

“Wow. Phoenix kept a few RPGs in reserve?”

“I believe Tim.”

“Scouts?”

“Dispatched. They’re squeezing out the back entrance to circle around. We’ll know in a few minutes.”

“Tell Shamus to power up. I know it’s what you want.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Show us your magic, major. Keep us safe at this country dance and take it to ’em if they deserve it.”

“It’d be my pleasure, ma’am. I’ve sent a four-man advance team to the top of the escalators facing the front entrance doors. Mickey’s lead. They’re loaded for bear.”

“Good choice.”

“We move right now, team!” said Connor.

Gathered near, they responded with purpose. The fire and intensity in Connor’s eyes expected no less and they would not disappoint.

“We’re seven minutes out from the biggest firefight of your life! Snuff and Surf Boy are in serious danger. The president and her men are in danger. Let’s move it!”

As one, the team abandoned any stealthy approach, rushing toward the warehouse at a full sprint. They arrived a few minutes after the serious shooting started. And, the RPGs going off near the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame lit up the sky, so their final travel to the warehouse was relatively well lit.

Amanda slipped near the concrete planter gearing up for her mad sprint to the doors. She thought of her time spent as a one hundred-meter hurdler in college, settling into a familiar position that would transfer all energy into a huge burst of forward momentum. Bluish light from a few spot lamps placed haphazardly near the front doors made it easier to see especially using night goggles.

“Shit. Oh, shit…”

Nervous but engaged, she barely blinked when a man’s head exploded to her left near the entrance doors of the Hall of Fame.

“Go time,” she mumbled.

At that signal, she sprinted full force, while the dead man dropped the RPG. Stunned, the men nearby flinched at the spatter of blood and the reverberating sound of a sniper round. Already halfway to the main doors, Amanda spotted a rusty-haired man recovering from the initial onslaught. He turned and crouched, taking fast aim with his assault rifle.

“Crap!”

In a blur of sound, she heard two quick shots echo from high and behind, the last sound registering simultaneously in the collapse of the man. Crumpling backwards as she blurred past, Amanda noticed the deep hole ripped through his right cheek.