“They’re the same,” protested Ed.
“But that one’s mine.”
“I give up trying to figure out how marines think,” said Ed, swapping rifles.
Chapter 23
EVENT +59:53
Harvard Yard
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Alex weaved through the chaotic mess of refugees that had enveloped the battalion TOC. The wounded sentry had been replaced with four marines that barely held the crowd back. As he approached the inner ring of civilians, one of the marines pushed through the angry mob and pulled him through.
“You’re good to go, sir,” said the sergeant, pointing toward the entrance flap.
He stepped inside to find most of the battalion’s gear packed into reinforced, gray travel cases marked “Cat Five.” Lieutenant Colonel Grady stood near the operations station, taking reports from the battalion staff huddled in front of communications gear. Grady saw him and rushed over.
“Attention in the TOC!” said Grady, halting all activity. “Based on the authority vested in my command by the Joint Department of Defense and Homeland Security Directive Five Bravo, I hereby commission Alex P. Fletcher as a provisional officer in the United States Marine Corps reserve, at an O-3 pay grade, effective immediately. Congratulations, Captain Fletcher. As you were, Marines!”
A few celebratory “ooh-rahs” echoed through the shelter, and the marines quickly went back to work, scrambling to pack up for their impending evacuation. Alex remained at attention in front of Grady, coming to his senses a few seconds later.
“What just happened?” he said loud enough to draw a few hurried stares from nearby marines.
“I need your expertise, Alex, and your judgment. Corporal Meyers told me what you did out there. You prevented a serious perimeter breach.”
“You don’t have to make me a captain, Sean. I’ll gladly help you sort through the militia file in exchange for a ride up to Medford.”
“The Liberty Boys aren’t my problem anymore. We’re heading well north of the city. I need your help with something else.”
“My top priority is getting everyone back to Maine,” stated Alex.
“That’s exactly where I’m sending you. One of my infantry companies is based out of Brunswick, Maine. Alpha Company. I’ve had no contact with them since the EMP.”
“Now it’s an EMP?” said Alex.
Grady raised an eyebrow. “What else could it be? Homeland hasn’t confirmed it, but I don’t expect them to. We have enough problems without rumors of a foreign attack or invasion.”
“Yeah. Reports of a U.S. government sponsored invasion seem to be keeping everyone occupied at the moment,” quipped Alex.
“I’d like you to lead a convoy of two Matvees back to Maine and establish contact with Alpha Company. First stop in Maine is at your discretion,” said Grady.
“You don’t need me to babysit your marines, Sean. What’s the catch?”
“If this shakes out like I suspect, southern Maine is about to become a significant focal point in the federal government’s recovery plan. I assume you’re familiar with Sanford?”
Alex nodded, wondering exactly how much Grady knew about his compound in Limerick. Was he included in Homeland’s file?
“Sanford has a 5,000-foot runway and sits strategically in the center of southern Maine. Rivers naturally define most of the state’s southern border, which makes it easy to seal off from the bulk of expected refugee traffic. One of the joint FEMA/Homeland Recovery plans establishes Maine as a Primary Recovery Zone. When that happens—”
“If it happens,” said Alex.
“Oh, it’s going to happen. The tsunami, coupled with the EMP, likely caused critical damage to Seabrook and Pilgrim nuclear plants. Think full reactor meltdown.”
Alex shook his head slowly.
“The refugee situation along the coast is already a mess. Wait until everyone within a thirty-mile radius of each plant hits the road. Southern Maine is about to become one of the most valuable pieces of real estate in New England. Guess what’s in this file?” said Grady, lifting a green envelope.
“Recipes for radioactive clam chowder?”
“Funny. Profiles of militia groups in Maine. When Maine is declared a PRZ, every reserve and National Guard military unit in northern New England will be sent to southern Maine to assist in recovery efforts. Homeland assessed that local militia, and Mainers in general, will not respond favorably to the sudden influx.”
“How does this relate to me being conscripted into the Marine Corps?”
“1st Battalion, 25th Marine Regiment will provide security within the Southern District,” he said, pausing. “And I don’t want a repeat of Boston. The Liberty Boys may or may not have responded to battalion outreach efforts. We’ll never know, and that’s my bad. I want you to study these files and come up with a game plan to approach the groups in Maine. You know them better than anyone. Ideally, we’d want to incorporate them into the overall recovery structure. Get them vested in—”
“The success of the military’s plan to speed the recovery and return control of civil functions to the local government?” said Alex.
“You know the drill. Think of this as a favor,” said Grady.
“Who’s doing who the favor? I kind of lost track.”
Grady started laughing. “We’re knee deep in favors. I’m giving you an armed escort back to Maine and a provisional commission in the Marine Corps Reserve, which gives you one of these.”
He reached into the green file folder and withdrew a light blue card with a magnetic strip on one side.
“Military ID card?”
“Better. Provisional Security ID. If you accept my offer, I’ll activate the card and upload your information to Homeland’s database. I doubt any of the law enforcement agencies or Guard units have the capacity to swipe this card, but they can confirm your identity and classification via satellite phone. Instructions are on the back of the card. You’ll be classified as security/intelligence, which will give you unrestricted travel and facilities access.”
“Travel will be restricted?”
“Only if we run into trouble, which is why I’m putting you to work on this before we arrive. I’ll provide you with a secure satellite communications kit and a ruggedized laptop. You’ll communicate directly with me, or in some cases my S-2. Can I count on your help, Captain Fletcher?” said Grady, extending a hand.
Alex weighed the situation. Taking the “deal” solved most of their immediate problems. It provided a heavily armed, government-sponsored escort to Maine, which, given the acutely hostile environment, seemed well worth the price. Long term, the military rank and security ID gave them an additional layer of protection and privilege, regardless of whether Grady’s predictions came true. Priority medical treatment for his son’s leg or, at the very least, access to medical supplies. Transportation. He envisioned safely returning to Durham Road to collect his family’s personal effects. Pictures, scrapbooks—everything they’d left behind.
Grasping Lieutenant Colonel Grady’s hand, he knew the job involved far more than relaxing at the Fletcher compound, reviewing files and typing up reports. A deep instinct told him to walk away, but he brushed it aside and shook Grady’s hand, standing at attention immediately after.
“As you were, Captain Fletcher. Welcome back to the Marine Corps,” he said, handing Alex the thick file folder. “The papers contain executive summaries of the data found on the flash drive. You’ll set your own password when you plug the drive into the laptop. I’ll activate your ID card and meet you in Harvard Hall to release the electronics gear. S-4 will set you up with some battle rattle, and off you go.”
Grady considered him for a moment and nodded slowly. “Alex, I really appreciate you doing this—on top of everything you’ve already done for the battalion. Our reunion here was providence. I’m sure of it.”
“If not, it’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“Too big for that. I’ll s
ee you in a few,” said Grady, walking toward the operations table.
“Colonel Grady?”
The battalion commander looked back.
“Does Homeland have a file on me?”
“Do you really want to know the answer to that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s just say that activating your ID will be a one-click evolution,” said Grady.
“I didn’t give you my information yet.”
“Like I said,” he smiled and knelt next to a monitor displaying a map overlay of Boston.
“Captain Fletcher,” said a young Marine from the left side of the tent. “You can sneak out the back door. Head right to supply in Harvard Hall. Your family will be there shortly.”
Nausea hit him in a sudden, quickly passing wave. Homeland Security’s omnipresent hand felt suddenly oppressive. The government’s level of knowledge about everything and everyone was disturbing. Alex wondered what might have happened if he had refused Grady’s offer. Would Homeland have changed his status and paid him a visit in Limerick? Did their banter about favors have more meaning than Alex realized? Maybe the choice had never truly been his to make.
Providence, my ass.
Chapter 24
EVENT +59:42
Middlesex Fells Reservation
Medford, Massachusetts
Even the windshield wipers worked surprisingly well in the Matvee. He’d imagined the same shitted-up, blurry ride he’d experienced with the venerable Humvee, but everything about the Oshkosh Defense’s M-ATV sang the words “major improvement.” Visibility through the tiny bullet-resistant side windows sucked, but that shortcoming was more than compensated for by the small arms and IED impregnable armor design. He felt secure inside the tactical vehicle and wished he could convince himself to leave the Jeep behind. He pointed at the granite sign marking the entrance to the reservation’s lower parking lot.
“Take a left at that sign.”
The corporal driving hit the tactical vehicle’s siren, which sounded like a police car, while the Marine in the turret yelled at the thick stream of refugees blocking the entrance. They had stopped using the horn twenty minutes ago. The trip had been stop and go most of the way from Harvard Square, rarely exceeding fifteen miles per hour. News of the battalion’s evacuation spread quickly, prompting a large percentage of the civilian holdouts in the areas surrounding Cambridge to take flight. Perceptions ruled the day. The past twenty-four hours had been marked by frightening exchanges of distant and nearby gunfire. With the marines gone and the bridges unguarded, Cambridge was now vulnerable to the threat south of the Charles River.
The convoy cleared the crowd and slowed in front of the concrete underpass.
“We gonna clear that, Barry?” yelled the driver.
“Good to go!” said the turret gunner, sticking a thumbs-up through the hatch into the cabin.
The corporal eased the Matvee under the train trestle and roared forward toward the main parking lot. A few seconds later, Alex stopped him.
“I think this is it. Chandler Road.”
“Not much of a road, sir,” he said, pulling the left side of the vehicle as close to the trail marker as possible. “Confirmed. Chandler Road. Is there room to maneuver in there?”
“It’s not worth getting one of your vehicles stuck. The Jeep is a half mile away. I can walk it,” said Alex.
“Your guy can’t drive it out, sir?”
“We moved a few downed trees across the path. It’ll take two of us to move them,” he said, glancing back at Ed in the rear driver’s-side seat.
Rain poured through the open turret hatch, soaking both the rear passenger seats. Ed raised an eyebrow and shook his head. Ryan and Chloe sat jammed in the rear troop compartment.
“Kids, I’m headed out to grab Uncle Charlie and our Jeep. I’ll be back in less than fifteen minutes.”
Ryan nodded, still wiped out by the painkillers.
Chloe smiled wearily, looking a little more like the joyful, carefree young woman he remembered. The further they drove from Boston, the more she emerged from the mental barrier she’d constructed at the North Beacon Street Bridge. Alex knew from experience that she would never fully step out from behind the wall, but given enough time and compassionate support, few would notice. He returned the smile before activating his handheld radio.
“Durham One-Seven, this is Durham Three-Zero, over.”
“This is One-Seven. Solid copy.”
“I’m coming in on foot. Tactical vehicles won’t fit down the trail. Meet me at the first obstacle with the Jeep. How copy?”
“Oh, man. What are we talking about here? M-ATV? Fully armored troop carrier variant? It’s an M-ATV, right?” squawked the radio.
Alex winked at Ed. “I brought two of them, my friend,” he said to Charlie.
Prolonged static filled the cabin.
“One Seven, you still there?”
“You’re gonna make me drive the Jeep back, aren’t you?”
“How could I deprive you of this? You’ve earned it. The marines will stick you in one of the turrets, if you don’t mind the rain—and promise to keep your hands behind your back.”
“Holy shit! Are you serious? In the turret? What kind of firepower are we talking? Is there somewhere to sit, or do I have to stand the whole time?”
“One Zero, we’ll work out the details when we get back. I’m starting my trek into the reservation. See you in a few minutes. Out,” said Alex, turning off the radio. “You think the staff sergeant will let him in one of the turrets?” he asked the corporal.
Corporal Gibson shrugged his shoulders. “It’s up to you, Captain. He sounds a bit excitable.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Alex. He’ll drive the staff sergeant crazy,” said Ed.
“I wasn’t going to put him in the rear vehicle,” said Alex.
“What? No wonder you’re so excited to drive the Jeep. Forget it. It’s my Jeep. I get to drive it to—”
“With all due respect, sir, one of the marines in the rear vehicle will drive the Jeep,” said Corporal Gibson. “Based on the current conversation, I’d feel more comfortable if both of you were present when Durham One-Zero steps into the turret.”
“Apparently, Corporal Gibson is far more savvy than he appears,” said Alex. “Let the staff sergeant know we’ll need one of his marines to drive the Jeep back to Maine.”
“My pleasure, sir. Truly my pleasure.”
PART IV
“REMEMBER THE ALAMO”
Chapter 25
EVENT +60:04
Limerick, Maine
An unfamiliar digital tone resonated from the kitchen. Kate walked out of the steamy dining room and looked around, unable to identify the source of the sound. Her stomach knotted. More visitors? Maybe today’s law enforcement visit had been legitimate. She hesitated, not wanting to leave Emily alone in the surveillance hub. The two “deputies” had triggered one of the sensors on their way back to the road, but they had agreed to monitor the room 24/7. Tim Fletcher bolted through the sitting room doorway next to the intercom station and saw where Kate was headed.
“That’s the satellite phone,” he blurted. “It’s charging next to the coffee maker.”
“Is that the satphone?” yelled Samantha from the great room to Kate’s left.
“Yes!”
She snatched the phone off the granite and read the display: “GOVT.”
“Shit. It says government. Are they calling us with messages now?”
“Who cares?” Samantha said impatiently. “Pick it up. Either way it’s important.”
Everyone crowded around her as she pressed the green button. “Hello?”
“Honey? It’s Alex.”
Kate found herself unable to answer for a moment. “Yes,” she uttered finally. “It’s me. Is everyone all right?”
“The kids are fine. Ed and Charlie are fine. I’m a little beat up, but I’m fine too. We did it, honey. The kids are with me righ
t now, and we’re headed home.”
She started nodding, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Everyone’s fine. They’re on the way home,” she said to the group gathered around her.
Everyone cheered, and Amy ran over to the dining room. “They got the kids. Everyone made it!”
“Honey, I’ll talk to you in a couple of minutes. Pass the phone to Chloe so her mom can talk to her. She’s worried sick,” said Kate, holding the phone out to Samantha.
“Like you weren’t worried,” said Sam, eagerly taking the phone and walking onto the deck.
Kate hugged Emily and was quickly joined by Amy. They held each other while the phone was passed around. Tim peeked out of the dining room, smiling and nodding.
“How far out are they?” he asked.
Linda handed the phone to one of her daughters. “Charlie said they were still in Medford. They’re moving slowly because the streets are jammed with people. They’re thinking it might take four to five hours to get back. After dark for sure.”
“I hate to have them drive into Gelder Pond with those nutballs out there. They could be waiting near the entrance for all we know, with more fake cops,” said Tim.
“Charlie said they’re with a convoy of marines,” said Linda.
“What?” said Kate, making her way toward the screen porch.
“I love you too, Dad,” said Alyssa Walker, handing the phone out to Kate.
She took it. “Charlie?”
“Kate? Great to hear your voice. You won’t believe what we went through. Apocalypse-fucking-Now kind of shit. Your boy will heal up nicely and probably get a Silver Star! Alex too.”
“What do you mean? Charlie, can I talk to my son?”
“Oh sure, sorry. Here’s the hero right now!”
In the background on the phone, she heard Charlie say, “I think I screwed up, Alex.”
“Mom, I’m fine,” Ryan slurred on the other end of the phone. “Mr. Thornton was being a little overdramatic.”
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 85