“Really? Who do you think directs these ships to the terminal? Governor Dague?” said Alex, shaking his head. “Better play nice, gentlemen. Rumor has it that Portland Harbor will be open for business soon. Want to take a wild guess on how many ships will pull into Searsport once that happens?”
“We’ll see about that,” said the man.
“By the way, I hope they replaced the impeller on the sailboat. I removed it last fall—in case someone stole the boat,” said Alex, checking his watch. “Fifteen minutes out? I bet that engine’s running pretty hot right now. Probably ready to shut down on them, if they haven’t blown a few seals already. Have a nice day, gentlemen.”
“Did you really remove that thing you mentioned?” said Taylor once they got behind the Matvee.
“Yeah. It supplies seawater to the cooling system. If they’re lucky, the diesel will shut down before any major damage occurs. Either way, the engine will require some TLC before it runs again,” said Alex. “Sorry I dragged you guys out here.”
“Are you kidding me? This is the most exciting thing we’ve done since you left,” said Taylor.
“Somehow I highly doubt that,” said Alex. “Seriously. I appreciate the assist.”
“Now what?” asked Taylor.
“Plan B, or C if you ask my wife,” said Alex.
“How is Mrs. Fletcher doing these days?”
“She’s doing well, but she’s not gonna be happy about Plan B.”
“Sounds like my kind of plan,” said Taylor.
Chapter 25
Main Operating Base “Sanford”
Regional Recovery Zone 1
Colonel Sean Grady sat at his makeshift desk in the battalion TOC, staring out of the hangar bay door at the same scene. Little changed except the sky. Helicopters flew in and out all day. Vehicles drove back and forth across the tarmac. Soldiers milled around the tents on the other side of the runway. It had all gone stale quicker than he imagined in the fall, which in many ways was a good thing. Stale kept his Marines alive, which was why he didn’t look forward to the RRZ’s imminent move.
Relocating the RRZ north to Portland was guaranteed to stir up a hornet’s nest, and the timing couldn’t be worse. The state governor’s declaration of independence from the RRZ had stoked the long-dormant embers of government distrust. Dormant wasn’t the right term. Frozen. The winter had been too damn cold and messy for people to worry about anything but keeping warm and staying fed—neither of which the population did well. When the winter’s survivors emerged from hibernation, Governor Dague didn’t waste a moment directing their anger at the federal government—particularly the RRZ.
Taking this circus north was going to cause a shit storm of protest throughout the state. Medina was planning a rapid, unannounced redeployment, leaving roughly one hundred and forty thousand Mainers on the wrong side of the fence. She was figuratively pulling the rug right out from under them. On top of that, the RRZ would abandon a few hundred thousand refugees barely scraping by in the FEMA camps along the New Hampshire border.
“Not really abandoning them,” Medina had insisted at their last commander’s meeting. They were welcome to relocate farther north and continue to be supported by the RRZ. Of course, the refugees would have to move the camps without help. Medina couldn’t spare the time or manpower to help them, since she wanted to arrive en masse at the Portland Jetport. RRZ officials didn’t want to give Governor Dague enough time to muster an armed protest or send elements of her National Guard battalion to complicate the move.
Dague was playing a dangerous, unpredictable game with her constituents. The RRZ structure was far from ideal, but it represented a real conduit between the federal government and recovery efforts. Materials, supplies, fuel, information—everything needed to jump start the nation flowed through Washington, D.C., and its proxies as defined by the National Recovery Plan. Under RRZ protocols, state governments functioned in a strictly advisory role unless the RRZ Authority decided to expand that function.
Dague had resisted the RRZ’s implementation from the beginning, essentially killing any chance of a mutually beneficial relationship. To Medina’s credit, RRZ leadership tried to integrate the governor’s staff into the decision-making structure, but her attempts were repeatedly rebuffed. Dague wasn’t interested in “helping” the RRZ. On a number of occasions, Maine’s governor very publicly stated, “Maine is better off without the RRZ.” She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Grady’s ROTAC phone buzzed, vibrating the table. He lifted it from a coffee-stained map and checked the digital display, which read “Centurion.” The garrison in Searsport. Things had been quiet up there since he left Captain Williams and twenty-four Marines to ensure the facility’s continued support of the RRZ.
Dague had played along with the establishment of the garrison, only to spin the nature of the agreement in her favor. According to Dague, the Searsport garrison was the first overt step in the RRZ’s “quiet war” against Maine. She declared independence from the RRZ in the same speech. The state would have been better off if Grady had arrested her at the terminal and displaced the National Guard unit. He pressed connect on the phone.
“This is Patriot,” he said.
“Sean, this is Alex Fletcher.”
“Alex!” he said, drawing a few looks from the Marines. “I thought you might have moved on to warmer weather. Good to hear your voice.”
“Well, it’s hard to leave good friends. We decided to stay at the lake and make a go of it,” said Alex.
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Grady. “We could use a friend or two up north.”
“That’s what I’ve come to understand. I borrowed Staff Sergeant Taylor to help me with a Maine Independence Initiative problem,” said Alex.
“Shit. Please tell me it didn’t go sideways,” said Grady.
“The biggest fallout will be some hurt egos,” said Alex.
“Shattered egos can lead to big problems, Alex.”
“We didn’t push it too far. The state confiscated my sailboat, which I was about to use to get out of here.”
“You’re leaving?” said Grady.
“That’s only part of it. Food is getting a little scarce up here. I added eight mouths to the equation by staying, which burned through our supplies faster than I anticipated. I don’t think we can plant enough food for seventeen people, and the way things are shaking out up here, it doesn’t look like we’ll be able to take food from King Dague’s land. They’re co-opting everything up here. I figured I’d make it a little easier for everyone by leaving.”
“I have a feeling they’re way better off with you around. We all are,” said Grady, pausing. “So, what can I do for you?”
“I was hoping to make a little trade,” said Alex.
“I can run some supplies up your way, Alex. I know you don’t want to ask, but I’d be more than happy to help out,” said Grady.
“And I would have given you the information I have regardless, though I’ll take you up on your offer. I might not have to if my suspicions are correct,” said Alex.
“Information. Sounds interesting. What does the infamous Captain Fletcher know that we don’t?”
“Let me ask you this. What does the RRZ know about 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment?” said Alex.
“I know the battalion aligned itself with the state,” said Grady, testing the extent of Alex’s knowledge.
“Because the commanding officer and executive officer are MIA?”
“Sounds like you’ve done a little digging,” said Grady.
“So you already know?”
“I met the new battalion commander in Searsport,” said Grady. “I got the impression he didn’t understand the full national picture.”
“Interesting,” said Alex.
“Why do you say that?”
“Did you notice their equipment?”
“Yeah, the Adaptive Combat Rifle mystery has been solved. I’m just glad their Cat Five load out didn’t include heavy vehicl
e-mounted weapons,” said Grady.
“I don’t think they received their Category Five load out,” said Alex.
“No. I saw new rifles,” said Grady.
“They’ve had those for a few years. I saw the ACRs in a news segment on one of the local channels,” said Alex. “Sean, they didn’t get a Category Five load out. I talked to a few soldiers from the battalion. They’d never heard the words ‘Cat Five.’ One of them was a sergeant. Every Marine in your battalion knows about the Category Five equipment.”
Grady thought about this for a moment. Jesus. If Alex was right, Governor Dague might be sitting on enough vehicles and weapons to equip another battalion. At the very least, she could upgrade her current National Guard battalion, which could embolden her.
“This isn’t good,” said Grady. “The last thing Governor Dague needs is a shiny new battalion to play with.”
“Are you sure the RRZ doesn’t already know this? The biometric security system on each of the CONEX boxes delivered to Sanford Airport was registered to your fingerprints. I find it hard to believe that they can’t monitor access,” said Alex.
Hard to believe, indeed.
“The boxes sent to Sanford were processed after the event. My biometric information and the override code that I gave you were uploaded immediately prior to the boxes being shipped from a central facility somewhere in the Midwest. The Category Five gear at Fort Devens was accessed by the codes in my secure Cat Five pod. Only I had the combination to the pod. We’re talking several reinforced warehouses filled with vehicles, weapons, ammunition, supplies—everything needed for thirty days of sustained operations. The warehouses were located in a secure, stand-alone facility within Fort Devens.”
“How could Dague not know about this? National Guard units across the state accessed load outs, all of them reporting for duty to the RRZ authority,” said Alex.
Alex was too perceptive for an impromptu conversation.
“3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry is Maine’s only battalion-sized, combat-deployable unit. The vast majority of National Guard units in the state are service and support groups like the transportation detachment and the engineering company assigned to Sanford Airport. Aside from new communications equipment, computers and repair items, they had all of the gear they needed to accomplish their assigned RRZ tasks. To Dague and her staff, nothing would have looked out of place with the other National Guard units. Hell, even I didn’t put it together. I figured they picked up new rifles, and that was the extent of it. Why would they need new vehicles and heavy gear when a brigade from the 10th Mountain Division was doing most of the security work in the state? Bad assumption.”
“I bet she knows that 3rd Battalion doesn’t belong to her,” said Alex.
“Oh, I guarantee she does. I imagine it became very clear when every unit in Maine gave her the one-finger salute—except for 3rd Battalion. Once she figured out that the CO and XO were MIA, I’m sure she took every necessary step to insulate 3rd Battalion from the rest of the units. The new commanding officer probably has no idea that she played him.”
“She sounds like a clever one,” said Alex.
“Very clever—and very dangerous. I don’t think she understands the stakes. Medina has been extremely patient with her,” said Grady.
“Well, if you happen to secure 3rd Battalion’s load out, I could use any rations you find,” said Alex.
Grady laughed. “Sounds like an even trade to me. I could do one better and establish a Forward Operating Base at your position on the lake. You’re close to Waterville, and it looks like you have easy access to the interstate and roads heading into western Maine. The RRZ wants to establish a remote presence north of Portland.”
“Why? Are you guys headed north?” Alex asked.
Alex’s question caught him off guard, though it was a logical deduction based on Grady’s suggestion to put an FOB near Waterville—in retrospect.
“None of the Marines beyond the officers on my headquarters staff know we’re moving. Play along and say something like ‘just kidding.’”
“I’m out of earshot,” said Alex. “When is this happening?”
“I don’t have the date, but I do know that when it happens, it’ll go fast. Medina wants us out of here within two days of making the general announcement. She doesn’t want to give Governor Dague enough time to coordinate a response.”
Alex remained silent. Grady knew the wheels inside Fletcher’s head were spinning, trying to calculate the overall impact of the move on his situation.
“This is a bad idea,” said Alex. “She’ll have trouble coming at her from two sides.”
“That was our assessment of the situation. The refugees will move north, pushing against the residents of southern Maine.
“You’ll have your hands full trying to police the relocation of FEMA camps in York County.”
“The refugees will be on their own, aside from supplies provided by the RRZ,” said Grady. “Medina even plans to stop patrolling and administering the camps, to free soldiers for other northern garrisons.”
“Like the one you want to put near my house?” said Alex.
“That one would be much smaller,” said Grady.
“I think I’ll take a pass on the FOB, Sean,” said Alex. “I can’t afford to paint a bull’s-eye on my family again.”
“Understood,” said Grady. “Just trying to help my old company commander.”
“Old is the operative term. I appreciate the offer, but we should be fine with whatever rations you can spare from the load out—if that’s still on the table. I’d like to keep my life as uncomplicated as possible for now,” said Alex.
Grady was relieved to hear that Alex wasn’t interested in the FOB.
“There’s only one catch in getting you the supplies, Alex,” said Grady. “And it’s a big one.”
“Always a catch.”
“It’s not my doing. I would gladly deliver what you need, but I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to get my hands on the supplies. Medina won’t assign my battalion to secure the load out. She’ll task Colonel Martin’s 4th Brigade Combat Team with that. They’ll put every helicopter at their disposal into an air assault on the facility and call it good. I won’t be involved in any way. The only way I can guarantee you the supplies is with an FOB,” said Grady.
“I can’t do that, Sean. Even if I were to consider the idea, which I’m not, I can’t take the risk of Medina pulling the FOB away when shit gets crazy up here, and it will get crazy if she doesn’t figure out a way to work with the state government.”
“There’s one other possibility, but it falls well outside of the uncomplicated zone,” said Grady.
“I’m listening,” said Alex.
“I don’t think Kate will like this option,” said Grady.
“You’re killing me, Sean. What are we talking about?”
“All right. Let’s say I got my hands on the codes to open the warehouses, and I passed them on to you…”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” said Alex. “I’m not exactly working with SEAL Team Six here.”
“Your crew can hold its own,” said Grady, remembering Staff Sergeant Taylor’s after-action report detailing the attack on Alex’s house in Limerick. “More than hold its own.”
“I don’t know. We’re looking at too many unknown variables,” said Alex.
“I’m just throwing it out there for you. The warehouses are probably in an obscure, out-of-the-way location for security reasons. Beyond the stares and glares you’d get for driving a vehicle, you might be looking at an easy mission. Once you get inside the facility, it’s just a matter of locating the right warehouse. Everything is stacked for quick access. You load up as much food as possible and lock up on the way out. Nobody will notice a few missing pallets of B-rats or MREs.”
“You make it sound so easy,” said Alex. “Like nobody else has thought of this.”
“You can recon the area and decide if it’s a go.”
&
nbsp; “I don’t have enough gas to be driving back and forth between reconnaissance trips.”
“Staff Sergeant Taylor can top you off and give you extra cans of gas,” said Grady. “He’ll give you a ROTAC, too. Sanitized, of course.”
“How many sanitized radios does the battalion have at this point?” said Alex.
“As many as we can get away with creating,” said Grady, hoping Alex didn’t press him on why.
“I see,” Alex replied. “I’ll take the fuel and the radio, but I need to run this by Kate and the others.”
Grady sensed a shift in Alex’s tone. He’d gone flat, possibly putting together the pieces that didn’t fit.
“Sounds like a plan, Alex,” said Grady. “I’ll work on acquiring the codes and location.”
“I can’t wait,” said Alex. “And, Sean?”
Here it comes. No way this got past him.
“Yeah?” said Grady.
“Can you do me a favor and let Harrison Campbell know what’s about to happen?” Alex asked. “He knows where to find me if he’s interested in getting ahead of the storm.”
Or heading straight into it.
“I’ll send someone to give him a heads-up. You sure you want more mouths to feed?” asked Grady.
“If Harrison Campbell decides to join us, our situation would drastically improve,” said Alex. “I’ll be in touch shortly.”
“Sounds good, Alex. Stay safe,” said Grady, disconnecting the call.
He leaned back in his folding chair, staring at the RRZ Authority compound on the other side of the airport. Alex’s call had been sheer providence. Medina’s recent actions didn’t add up, and Grady suspected there was more to the impending RRZ relocation than the military commanders had been told. He selected a preset call sign on his “sanitized” ROTAC and pressed send. Colonel Richard Martin, 4th Brigade Combat Team’s commanding officer, answered immediately.
“What’s up, Sean?”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve found an untraceable way to verify our problem,” said Grady.
“A reliable way?”
“As reliable as it gets. A good friend,” said Grady.
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 143