“I know. We did discover some human remains, probably about thirty people holed up in the main office building. Based on my initial assessment, they died fairly quick. Years ago.”
“Supplies?”
“Some. Not much. No real food. No weapons or ammo. Scavengers were at it.”
Colonel Starkes scanned the meadow in the distance through her binoculars. The deer herd had not yet detected the presence of the pack fast approaching.
“Where’s the trio, again? The warehouse, you say?”
“Yes, ma’am. Shamus, GT and Scott secured the warehouse with Ren and Stimpy before those two took over sniffing for supplies. I’m heading over that way for a sitrep.”
“Excellent.”
“Those guys are somethin’ else ma’am. Glad we have ’em on our side.”
“There is that, major. Let me know when they find what we need.”
“If they find it.”
“They will. Go check it out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Major O’Malley left the Colonel alone to continue her surveillance. She turned back to the gate to see the setting sun bathe the meadow ahead of her with a golden sheen. A slight wind caressed the thick grass of the meadow in soft, pulsating waves. Raising the binoculars, she watched several deer succumb to the ferocious pack that came fast upon them. In the heat of the evening, she shivered once more.
CHAPTER 8.16-Crushed Love
“Major? Come on over here, sir.”
Entering the huge open hanger doors, the major stood for a few seconds, adjusting to the much weaker light within the cavernous building. The seven huge helicopters, in various stages of assembly, demanded first attention. While none was fully assembled or had rotor blades attached, they were an impressive sight. Though, they did appear sad, like de-winged bugs waiting to die. Dusty with numerous dents and broken windshield glass made by marauders or scavengers, the helicopters were still quite serviceable and they might rise and be reborn, given time. Major O’Malley walked passed the final assembly point to the back of the hanger, waved forward by Scott. Near the chest-high shelving units, he paused.
“What’s up?”
“We got us an update to the nav motherboard.” Scott held a small box in his hands. The box trailed a bright array of wires dangling out of plastic wrap. He held it closer for the major’s inspection.
“Good deal. What’s that mean?”
“It means we got better GPS mapping, at least while those satellites last, and better stick control.”
“I see. How bout that driveshaft bearing?”
“Shamus and GT are in the warehouse still looking. We’ll find it.”
“Okay.”
“There’s enough parts and equipment here to keep our bird and several others runnin’ for years.”
“I’m glad.”
“Don’t worry. I bet they find the bearing in less than three hours.”
“That long?”
“That long! Are you serious? Major, there’s thousands and thousands of parts inside. All the shit’s catalogued by a computer using scan codes. The place is huge, mega huge, check it out. I bet its three acres if it’s a foot.”
“I plan on it.”
“And here’s the issue—what we gotta go through now is a manual and visual scanning process based on targeted size, weight, and general storage arrangement within this facility.”
“And?”
“GT’s laying out the search grid based on my projected mapping along with Shamus’ contributions on inventory volume probabilities. You know, based on bird maintenance and new build requirements.”
“What? Speak English, man.”
“Okay. Hold on. I’ll put it simply.”
“Yeah, do that.”
“Let’s say there’s lots and lots of little parts to these machines. Alright? Each part is needed at different times and for different reasons. Hence, a projected inventory flow.”
“Got it.”
“But, don’t worry. We’ll crack the inventory storage process that these Coatesville guys used. We’ll find the damn bearing.”
“Well, if that’s true, what’re you doing out here?”
“GT got pissed at me, sir.”
“Pissed?”
“For tellin’ him we’re completely screwed and that we’ll need at least a week to find that tailshaft bearing.” Scott smiled a bright and beaming smile, punctuated with a sharp laugh.
“A week? I don’t understand? Why you laughing?”
“Because if anyone can find it, GT can. As long as he has Shamus and my projections in hand.”
The major stood perplexed. “Okay—Scott, start talkin’ sense. I don’t understand.”
“Sir, GT does his best work when he’s pissed. He knows it and I know it. My job right now was to genuinely piss ’im off and get kicked out.”
“I see. And Shamus let this happen?”
“Shit, sir, Shamus winked as I was leaving.” Scott laughed once more.
“Um, okay—should I update the colonel that we’ll be here for a week?”
“Hell no! Wait a few hours, probably less. We’ll be ready with the part for the rebuild. If it’s here.”
“Ah, well, I guess—not sure I see the logic.” Major O’Malley turned to leave, wondering about the strange relationship between Shamus, GT and Scott.
“Major?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you somethin’ not mission related?”
“Ah, sure. I’ll keep it to myself, what’s the question?”
“It’s about Amanda.” Scott’s voice became softer.
Keeping a grin from crossing his face, Major O’Malley waited. When Scott kept quiet, he cleared his throat. “Go on?”
“Obviously, Amanda’s totally devoted to Connor MacMillen and this Marty guy.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“But what if…” Bashful, Scott stared at the electronic box in his hands.
“Scott?”
“What if those two, Mac and Marty are dead or lost or something?”
“So?”
“It could happen.”
“Maybe. What’re you asking?”
“Would you… do you… do you think she might—”
“Scott, are you askin’ if you’re her type?”
“I dunno…”
“You’re wondering if she’d entertain the notion of you and her becoming a pair?”
“Ah, yeah, I guess that pretty much sums it up.”
Major O’Malley interrupted him. “Scott, she’s pregnant with his child, man.”
“Sure, I know that. I’m thinkin’ long range… you know—”
“Scott?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d like to point out a few key factors, right now.”
“Okay.”
“First, the likelihood of Connor MacMillen being dead is just not in the cards. If he’s dead, we got some serious worrying to do about this country. Second, Amanda’s one hundred percent fully committed to finding him and Marty.”
“Sure. Okay.”
“So your plans better be real long range. I’m talkin’ years. See what I’m saying?”
“Yeah. I do—guess I needed to hear it from somebody else besides GT and Shamus.”
“I’m sorry, Scott.”
“No, you’re right. I needed someone else’s opinion—before I got too caught up in this insane fantasy.”
“No problem. She’s a wonderful young woman… and tough as nails.”
“I know. Okay. Thanks. I’ll close that door before it opens.”
“Sorry, Scott.”
“No, thanks, Major.” Scott checked his watch and grinned, mischievously.
“A half hour is up.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Gotta make my grand entrance—up the ante.”
Sensing a devious plan unfolding, Major O’Malley laughed. “You guys always work like this?”