THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

  “I certainly hope so,” said Gifford, picking up the .308 and removing a few magazines from Brown’s vest.

  Chapter 21

  EVENT +10 Days

  Porter, Maine

  Eli paced the ground in front of the farmhouse, debating whether he should order the immediate abandonment of the farm. Lowell Sherman and his crew should have returned with Jeffrey Brown more than four hours ago. Even if they got lost picking up Brown and blew a tire on the way back, they should have been here by now. Their absence was conspicuous.

  He’d coordinated the night’s festivities so Sherman’s crew would have ample time to make it back by sunrise. If any of his men had been captured, Eli faced a possible full-scale government assault on the farm. To make matters worse, he couldn’t rely on his early warning system to escape. Dozens of helicopters had been spotted over southern Maine, rendering his network of radio-equipped spotters useless. Travelling over one hundred fifty miles per hour at treetop level, the Black Hawk helicopters would close the distance between his most distant spotters and the farm within minutes.

  With the sun burning off the morning haze lingering in the shallow valley, they were completely exposed. Escape and evasion tactics would prove useless against government air assets. Hell, for all he knew, they were watching him through the fog with thermal imaging. It wouldn’t be the first time the government used drones against the people. The screen door on the farmer’s porch creaked, drawing Eli’s attention away from the road leading out of the farm. Kevin McCulver stepped onto the dilapidated porch.

  “I think it’s time to pack up and head to Bridgton. Fuck it. We’re too exposed here anyway,” said Eli.

  “Eli, we’re fine. I just talked to Tim Barrett. We’re good to go. He just turned off Route 25. Should be here in ten minutes.”

  “How the fuck did you talk to him! I’ve been sitting on this radio like it’s gonna hatch,” he said, raising the handheld to his face.

  The LED display blinked “no charge.”

  “Motherfucker!” he screamed, hurling the radio past McCulver and through one of the front windows.

  The sound of shattering glass drew attention from the men gathered under the trees along Norton Hill Road. McCulver rushed down the stairs.

  “Eli, why don’t we step inside?”

  “What the fuck does Barrett know? He’s supposed to be hanging out at the hospital.”

  “He saw a woman drive Sherman’s SUV up to Goodall Hospital’s emergency room entrance at about 2:50 AM, so he—”

  Eli’s hand drifted to the Colt Commander on his hip, his face burning. “This isn’t making me feel better.”

  “Bear with me. Barrett hung out long enough to see two police cars head into town about ten minutes later. Police scanner transmissions indicated a possible body in the park off Main Street.”

  “Sherman took care of the mayor,” said Eli, “but somehow fucked up the rest of their mission?”

  “He won’t be a problem, and neither will Brown. Barrett caught a dispatch requesting a crime scene investigation unit in Limerick. Five bodies. Male. All with fatal gunshot wounds.”

  “Someone took care of Sherman.”

  “Apparently,” said McCulver. “The question is how?”

  “Maybe they spotted Brown at some point over the past couple days and waited for him to make a move,” said Eli.

  “They would have taken him alive if that was the case.”

  “Knowing Brown, I don’t think that would have been an option.”

  “What about Jimmy’s people?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Eli.

  “What I mean is we got lucky this time. All five of them are dead. Brown may have taken this secret to his grave, but I’m not so sure about the others. I’ve been thinking a lot about our plans for Bridgton. Giving the town to Jimmy’s Vikings might not be in our best interest.”

  “Go on,” said Eli, checking his watch.

  “At first it seemed like a good idea. Putting them in Bridgton gets them out of the way. They’re nothing but trouble. Useful trouble, but not at all suitable for our next phase of operations.”

  “Bridgton will keep them busy while we go about our work in York County.”

  “But how long will it take for the whole thing to unravel? All it takes is one concerned citizen with a radio transmitter or a working vehicle to bring the whole thing crashing down on their heads—and ours. They’d sell us out in a second to save their own skins.”

  “And your little genius expedition to the prison just added more of them to the group,” said Eli, wondering where McCulver was going with this.

  “We needed more people. The prison raid put nearly seventy recruits in the training program.”

  “Most of them are useless,” said Eli.

  “We knew that going in. I’ve identified at least fifteen worth keeping. That’s all we needed.”

  “And the rest?”

  “None of them can locate the farm on a map. We made sure of that. We’ll drive them an hour north in one of the buses with their hoods on and leave them in a parking lot. They’ll scatter to the winds. Problem solved.”

  “I’m more concerned with the Vikings. What a stupid name. I must have been out of my mind letting Jimmy create that group.”

  “The Vikings served a purpose—but I think it’s time for them to go away.”

  “Easier said than done. They keep to themselves.”

  “They took a big hit last night. Two from the original crew and two from the prison. That leaves three in Bridgton—all Jimmy’s—and five sitting around here waiting for Sherman.”

  “And Sherman ain’t coming back,” said Eli.

  “They don’t know that, and they probably don’t care. More for them to plunder in Bridgton.”

  “But we’re not turning them loose in Bridgton.”

  McCulver shook his head. “Of course not. Wouldn’t be long before that attracted serious attention. We’d have an Apocalypse Now-style helicopter raid on our hands before the end of the week. I say we get in and out of Bridgton as fast as possible. Take the vehicles at the checkpoints.”

  “We need heavier stuff, including some basic construction equipment. A backhoe loader would be ideal. Something we can use to build trenches and dirt berms—fortify this place a little. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on a fuel truck. I’m pretty sure Bridgton has a public works gas pump, but it doesn’t do us much good without electricity. Some of the smaller fuel trucks have their own pumping systems. Don’t know if they have one of those. Probably not. We need to keep our eyes open for a big shiny gas carrier. Has to be one stranded somewhere.”

  “We might have to go actively looking for one soon. Siphoning efforts are barely keeping up with our current consumption.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” grumbled Eli, attuned to McCulver’s flat, dissatisfied tone.

  Maybe he was right. The logistical realities of running a small army proved next to impossible without gas stations, grocery stores, Internet shopping and cell phones. Unless they were willing to attract significant attention. Attention they couldn’t afford now, especially with thousands of soldiers running around. He hadn’t anticipated such a large, conventional force arriving this soon.

  Yesterday evening, Tim Barrett passed a disturbing report. Over a hundred Light All-Terrain Vehicles (L-ATVs), Stryker Infantry Combat Vehicles (ICVs) and armored supply vehicles rolled east through downtown Sanford, preceded by dozens of helicopters. A late afternoon bike ride along Main Street revealed the Sanford Seacoast Airport as their final destination. From the closest allowable point, nearly a half-mile away, he watched helicopters land and take off nonstop for more than an hour. Eli was familiar enough with brigade- and division-sized operations to guess that Barrett had witnessed the arrival of a light infantry battalion, along with elements of a combat aviation battalion.

  Over the next several days, they could expect a brigade-sized unit—more than 4,000 soldiers—to deploy within souther
n Maine. They’d start seeing armored vehicle patrols in some of the planned operating areas within York County. Some new roadblocks. The helicopters were bad enough, but boots on the ground was always the worst. It signified the beginning of the end.

  He’d have to rethink their strategy. The Maine Liberty Militia wasn’t strong enough or adequately savvy to fight a protracted guerilla war against a brigade-sized, conventional military force. To start, he didn’t have the proper surveillance network in place to keep a close enough eye on government forces. Tim Barrett was his only contact in Sanford, and Eli could only talk to him by sending a car south to contact him via handheld radio, which took his message and relayed it to the farm. The system was barely adequate, as evidenced by this morning’s fiasco. He’d almost abandoned the farm when it became apparent that Sherman wasn’t coming back.

  His original plan to connect surveillance posts in York County with his headquarters in Porter proved impractical. Just the fifteen-mile relay to Brown’s post in Limerick required four relay stations, consisting of a vehicle, radio and two men—he couldn’t trust one to do it right. Sanford was another thirty miles south. No way that was feasible. Driving a car down would have to suffice—until it became too risky because of government patrols. Then what? He didn’t have a good answer to that question.

  McCulver gave him one of those “all knowing” looks.

  “What?”

  “You know I’m on your side, right?”

  “Aw, shit. Here we go,” said Eli. “Can it wait until we hear the rest of Barrett’s report?”

  “Does his report really matter? A thousand soldiers in Strykers and Black Hawks showed up at Sanford airport, and we lost five men in Limerick. Not exactly a positive turn of events. Game changer, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Eli glared at him, making it as uncomfortable as possible for him to continue.

  “I think it’s time to decide what you really want to accomplish with the militia, and if that’s possible.”

  “You don’t think the resources in Bridgton represent an opportunity?” said Eli.

  “It all depends.”

  “You’re like the fucking Riddler. Spit it out, Kevin.”

  “I think we snag a few cars at the roadblocks and head back. We use the raid to get rid of a few loose ends—like we discussed earlier.”

  “And after that?”

  “You can’t defeat an entire brigade combat team. Not with this army.”

  “You think I don’t know that? It takes time to build up an effective insurgent force.”

  “We don’t have time. Once winter hits, you’ll have a hard time convincing folks to stick around. The barn is heated with propane, which won’t last. There’s plenty of wood to heat the house, but I can’t imagine you plan to open the doors to the entire group. Even if we dump most of the prison inmates, we’re still looking at forty-plus mouths to feed. Everyone’s been eating MREs up to this point. There’s no shortage of food in the house, but once again, I don’t see you inviting forty folks to join you at the table.”

  “The new recruits have been eating out of the fields,” offered Eli.

  “Even if we put an all-hands, concentrated effort into harvesting, we’d still be in deep shit by the end of November.”

  “A lot can change in a few months.”

  “For the worse, potentially. If the troops get word that a brigade of soldiers arrived in southern Maine, convincing them to carry out sustained insurgency operations will be a tough sell.”

  “I can be pretty persuasive,” he said, patting his holster.

  “That worked once.”

  “It’ll keep working,” said Eli.

  “Trust me, blowing a man’s brains out in front of three dozen armed men has a short half-life as a leadership tactic. Let me know when you plan to kick off that campaign, so I can be on the other side of the state.”

  “What do you suggest?” he hissed. “I just give up on this whole thing. Find a nice house on the lake and curl up by the fire all winter?”

  Just as McCulver stepped uncomfortably close to Eli, a small sedan raced past the vehicles lined up along the dirt road leading out of the farm.

  “I’m not suggesting you quit altogether. As your deputy commander, I’m suggesting a smaller, more symbolic target. Something completely in line with the insurgency role you’ve established. Test the waters with that, and see where it leads.”

  “Revisit our friends in Limerick,” muttered Eli.

  “Sort of. I didn’t tell you everything Barrett passed over the radio,” said McCulver. “The name Fletcher came up.”

  Eli cocked his head.

  “Captain Fletcher. Regional Recovery Zone security officer. He established Homeland jurisdiction over the mayor’s crime scene. Got the statue cleaned up before sunrise. Seems like he has the Sanford PD in his pocket now.”

  “Son of a bitch. This Fletcher guy has his hand in everything.”

  “And he still travels back and forth to Sanford from Limerick,” said McCulver.

  Eli put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking, and I approve, after we find a new headquarters. Something much smaller. Suitable for wintering over.”

  McCulver glanced around furtively. “How much room will we need?”

  “Enough for one squad. Roland Byrd’s crew.”

  Chapter 22

  EVENT +11 Days

  Forward Operating Base “Lakeside”

  Regional Recovery Zone 1

  Alex opened the front door and shielded his eyes from the halogen lamps illuminating the field across the driveway. The persistent low-pitched growl of a diesel generator bounced off the trees, reaching his ears from multiple directions. The neighbors were going to love this.

  Unlike 4th Brigade Combat Team’s daytime arrival, Lieutenant Colonel Grady’s battalion rolled across the Maine/New Hampshire border at “zero dark thirty,” arriving at their designated locations between midnight and 3AM. The battalion’s vehicles left Londonderry and linked up with Route 95 near Hampton, driving the vacant turnpike north into Maine. Refugee traffic had been diverted westward several miles before Hampton, in response to the growing crisis at the Seabrook nuclear power plant.

  Two Matvees and a medium utility truck detached from the long convoy before it reached Sanford, bringing twelve Marines, a DRASH (Deployable Rapid Assembly Shelter) unit and support gear to “FOB Lakeside” in Limerick. Alex would ride back to Sanford in the truck to meet with Grady, returning later in the day to assume command of the Forward Operating Base. He’d still serve as the battalion’s primary liaison with the York County Readiness Brigade, which required frequent trips into Sanford to oversee the recruiting station and guide the training of the battalion’s provisional security platoon. His duties threatened to take more time than he’d hoped, but it bought him peace of mind. With six armored vehicles and twenty-four Marines permanently stationed at his house, he could finally sleep easier.

  A hand touched his shoulder.

  “Looks like one of those eerie scenes in a post-apocalyptic movie. You know, where the government sets up a command post in the middle of hostile territory,” said Kate. “The lights attract the zombies or whatever; then they get overrun.”

  “I’d say that was pretty farfetched if I hadn’t spent the last few days repairing bullet holes,” he replied, kissing her hand.

  “I’d try to hug you, but I can’t seem to get my arms around all of your gear.”

  “Grab lower,” he said.

  “Nice. I’m sure the Marines wouldn’t appreciate the show.”

  “Quite the opposite. They’d probably turn a few more of the lights in our direction.”

  “Grady really needs to see you at five-thirty in the morning?” asked Kate, stepping next to him on the porch.

  “He’ll be running at full speed, 24/7, until the battalion settles into their new role. I’m just hoping he doesn’t request my presence every morning at the battal
ion staff meeting.”

  “What if he does?”

  “He’ll have to settle for my smiley face on one of his computer screens. I should get going. I’ll ring the satphone when I get a chance.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know. Depends on how much time Grady wants to spend with me. He’ll want to see what we have set up for the recruits, maybe take a trip downtown to the recruiting station. I’d like to introduce him to the chief of police in Sanford. Lots of little things. I’ll keep you posted,” he said, leaning in to kiss her.

  “Why can’t you take one of the Matvees? I don’t like knowing that those militia nuts are still watching us.”

  “The truck is armored,” he said.

  “It doesn’t look as safe.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly inspire a lot of confidence insisting that I ride in a more heavily protected vehicle. The truck is fine, trust me.”

  “Be careful,” Kate said, kissing him again.

  “I’m always careful.”

  “That’s not exactly what Ryan described in Boston.”

  “I had everything under control…more or less,” Alex said and jogged away before she could delay him any further.

  Thirty-five minutes later, the vehicle transporting Alex passed through a reinforced checkpoint at the junction of Route 109 and Airport Road. Two rows of concrete Jersey barriers stretched across the two-lane road, reducing it to a single lane flanked by a modular, armor-plated sentry post. A small generator concealed from the road by one of the barriers powered the portable light towers illuminating the road in front of the checkpoint.

  Once inside the Maine Operating Base’s outer perimeter, the driver activated the vehicle’s headlights and followed Airport Road to the gate behind the battalion’s hangars. A sandbag post framed by a hastily constructed wood structure greeted them at the airport’s outer fence. A ranger dressed in full combat gear and helmet stepped in front of the vehicle with a flashlight and a handheld device. On his way to the passenger side of the cab, he placed the device over one of the barcode tags on the side of the MTVR’s hood and read the illuminated screen. Alex slid the thick ballistic glass window back several inches and held out his identification card as the soldier approached.