Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“We move now, team.”

“Mac, there’s thirty or so men coming this way at a run pulling off from the main assault.”

“Shit.”

Slipping out of the warehouse alive might prove more difficult than they’d anticipated.

“Go! Go! Shamus,” yelled Colonel Starkes into her headset.

Mickey and the last of his team dived into the helicopter door, rolling into position to provide further defensive fire. Though smiling like a cat eating a canary, Mickey had considerable blood dripping from his left arm near the shoulder; Rice had a bloody left hand wrapped in a makeshift bandage. Burroughs was unharmed though his trademark Ray Bans were no longer resting atop his head. All other men were safely on board with Nicole and CJ tucked as far back away from the doors as possible. A few men had minor wounds, but all would survive. Lieutenant Tim McDonald had taken some bullet shrapnel in his trigger hand from a stray round and was heard expounding upon what he was going to do Phoenix’s men the next time around. Near them, a young and unknown raven-haired woman lay unconscious, with Scott carefully tending to the substantial wounds the woman had sustained. GT sat nearby. Colonel Starkes sensed the ’copter lift, hearing a few bullets strike the armor-plated fuselage. Taking stock, they had sustained no major damage.

“Veer left toward the lake! Watch for RPGs,” she yelled into the headset.

“Planned on it, ma’am.” said Shamus.

The erratic spin and moves of the helicopter took on a dizzying pattern.

“Get us the hell outta here, Shamus!”

Moving safely away, Colonel Starkes took inventory, realizing that they’d barely escaped with their lives and what was already stowed onto the helicopter. Other than some short rations routinely stored, the limited rations and water would only last for about two days, if that. Ammo, on the other hand, they still had plenty.

“Attack ’em, ma’am?”

“No. We live to fight another day, major.”

“Amanda made it in then?”

“I dunno… from what I could tell Mac, I’m pretty sure she took a hard hit to the back once she entered the building. Possibly into body armor, but not sure.”

“Aww, man—”

“Several of Starkes men scooped her up at one point.”

“She moving?”

“No. But, then I had to clean up a few—”

“Your next visual?”

“They were dragging her toward the escalators, a big fucker he was… and… but… Amanda was down for the count.”

“She alive?”

“Umm, hard to tell.”

Marty studied Connor, realizing the fierce intensity in his eyes was a definite effort to keep focused on the team’s survival and striving not to focus on Amanda’s fate.

“Okay. Next topic… you think the president got the message to haul ass?”

“Most definitely, assuming they’re all on board. Not sure who all jumped on the bird. I was a bit preoccupied at that point.”

“So I heard.”

McLeod approached, stepping close to both, listening with interest.

“That’s a good point, Marty.”

“Anyone left inside that building’s as good as dead, regardless,” said Connor.

“I’d have to say yeah.”

“No point in going in. Be suicide for us for no reason,” suggested McLeod.

“Agreed.”

“What now, Mac?”

Connor studied the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the Cleveland soldiers swarming all over it like ants on a dropped Popsicle. The team had made short work of the twenty men approaching their position, since it was apparent they did not expect to meet the level of firepower that riddled them to the ground. Many men lay dead across the open grounds and, with some satisfaction, Connor Mac knew he and his team had made some contributions to the fight. Taking stock from their hidden position one hundred yards away, he ferreted out his options.

“We track to the rendezvous. No choice. We move now. Assume the president has Amanda, as that’s the only way she’d survive. We make rendezvous. She’s alive, she’ll tell them. Let’s go! McLeod, tell Roger he’s on point.

“Cody?”

“Yeah, Mr. Connor Mac?”

“You’re with me up front. I need your eyes and especially your ears.”

“Okay.”

“You did okay back there. Nice shot exiting the building.”

“Yeah, but Marty got him before I did.”

“Oh, thought it was you…”

“Only after.”

“Well, never hurts to double down in a firefight, now does it?”

“I guess not.”

“McLeod? Stick with Rhonda.”

“Okay.”

Each started to move.

“Marty?”

“Yeah, Mac?”

“Do what you do best. Keep the bubble around the team. Keep us safe.”

“Copy that.”

“Rhonda? Stay sharp.”

“Okay.”

Studying the team, Connor’s confidence built and he forcefully pushed thoughts of Amanda to the back of his mind. Each team member performed well given the current circumstances; they’d mostly passed the first live test working as a unit. They’d emerged unscathed, except, well, except for Amanda. Again Connor forced away any negative thoughts of her demise.

“All team. We hold any further fire to see how far we can fade away from the warehouse without discovery. We’ll try to slip out unnoticed.”

“Understood.”

“Okay.”

“Sure.”

The team nodded as one. Rhonda’s expression especially serious; she knew she was the least trained.

“ Should we be compromised, we take out as many of these damn mother fuckers as we can while we make our evac. Got it?” yelled Connor.

“Understood,” said McLeod. He stroked the new Sig Sauer in his side holster, comforted by the feel. All had grabbed new weapons and valuable supplies from the men killed on the third floor and were, essentially, armed to the teeth. In fact, Marty was particularly pleased to have extracted four fifteen-round magazines and a Beretta 92FS from the leader of the dead. As it stood, he’d always wanted to have this weapon to compliment his Colt Defender. And, carrying the Beretta with his rifle and Colt provided a sense of invincibility. Now, he knew he would survive any future firefight.

“Where are we, major?”

“Meadville, PA.”

“Why here?”

“Spaulding Airport’s a secondary tier stop for bird fuel based on Jimmy’s FAA fueling data.”

“That right?”

“Obviously, we need the fuel.”

Seriously pissed and irritated after leaving the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in haste, Colonel Starkes stared out the helicopter.

“It’s that easy? We’re simply gonna roll in and grab the fuel?”

“Never said it would be easy, ma’am. I’m optimistic that there might still be usable fuel at this tiny airfield after Scott’s suitable conversion.”

“Okay. Let’s hold that thought. Let’s hope Scott’s concoction still does what’s needed for the fuel.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Have Shamus set us down nearby for safe recon. Not too close… in fact, drop ten men at a hundred yards out to secure the area.”

“Already assigned, ma’am.”

“Good. Keep at it.”

Colonel Starkes moved to the injured woman in the back of the noisy helicopter. Taking stock, she realized the woman was young, barely in her twenties, and had a deep crease running across the left side of her head, above the ear. Scott worked frantically stitching up the bloody wound. Scalp wounds bled profusely. The woman lay unconscious.

“Talk to me Scott.”