The bullets created a tight pattern of holes in the safety glass, surrounded by compounded spider cracks that partially obscured his view of the approaching intersection. The green laser went wild, indicating his bullets had the desired effect. With the barn rapidly approaching, he shifted his rifle into the passenger side window, triggering the infrared laser attached to the HK416’s hand guard.
“Contact, right side!” he yelled, feeling the SUV speed into the turn instead of slowing.
As the car turned, the threat crystallized. A staggered column of two pickup trucks was less than fifty feet from the intersection, one with bullet holes peppered across its windshield. Now he understood why Ed had gunned the engine. The trucks would barely miss slamming into them. Alex aligned the green laser with the windshield of the lead vehicle and pressed the trigger, firing a short burst. Ryan unleashed a fully automatic barrage of bullets.
The lead vehicle swerved left in a cascade of sparks as their bullets struck the metal chassis and windshield. The pickup truck slammed into a utility pole ten feet from the intersection, abruptly stopping and ejecting two passengers through the bullet-riddled windshield. The second truck barreled forward, gunfire exploding behind its windshield. Sharp cracks followed by hollow metallic pops broke through the sound of the SUV’s screeching tires, and their vehicle fishtailed onto New Boston Road.
The SUV straightened and accelerated, Ed desperately trying to put some distance between their car and the team sent to kill them. Alex reloaded and twisted in his seat, seeing that Ryan and Charlie had already braced their rifles against the rear seats’ headrests, aiming through the shattered rear window. Ryan reloaded while Charlie fired single shots through his night-vision scope at the pursuing truck.
A blinding light caused Alex to squeeze his eyes shut, followed by a staccato rhythm of snaps and metal thunks. He flipped up his NVGs to see two brilliant headlights bearing down on them.
“Damn it!” yelled Charlie, firing wildly at the truck.
A few ricochets zipped through the SUV cabin; one striking the windshield in front of Ed.
“What the fuck is happening back there?” asked Ed, slinking as low as possible in his seat.
“It’s under control,” said Ryan, firing a long burst at the truck and knocking out the passenger-side headlight.
The pickup swerved briefly, but resumed the chase, accelerating toward them at ramming speed.
“Doesn’t sound like it!” yelled Ed.
Another fusillade of bullets struck the SUV, ripping through the cabin. Alex’s headrest crumpled when a round snapped one of the posts holding it in position. Another projectile hit the top corner of Ed’s seat, passing through the fabric and smashing the digital dashboard display. Ryan and Charlie ducked below the tops of their seats, riding out the barrage. Anticipating a possible problem, they had secured a single layer of sandbags, reinforced by sheet metal, behind the back row of seats. The barrier prevented bullets from penetrating the backs of the seats, but did nothing about the bullets flying through the top half of the SUV’s interior.
Before either of them rose to fire, the pickup truck slammed into the back of the SUV, pushing them forward. Alex was unexpectedly thrown against the seatbelt, momentarily stunned by the blow. Ed gunned the engine, breaking them free of the metal battering ram. Another salvo of bullets hit the SUV, striking from a high angle and drilling through the rear cargo compartment roof.
“Son of a bitch!” Charlie cried out.
Alex turned his head to see a bloody hand illuminated in the pickup’s single high beam.
Enough of this shit.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned in his seat, leaning against the passenger-side dashboard. Keeping the rifle barrel clear of his son’s head, he aimed through the mini-reflex sight mounted to his ACOG scope and switched to semiautomatic.
“All guns fire in three, two—”
“Wait! I’m not ready!” said Ed.
“Fire!” screamed Alex, pressing the trigger.
He fired repeatedly above the glaring headlight, hoping to hit the windshield. Ryan’s muzzle blast filled the rear compartment, illuminating their cabin as he emptied a thirty-round magazine at the truck. Alex kept firing until his rifle clicked empty. By the time Charlie started to fire again, the pickup truck had disappeared.
“Where is it?” yelled Charlie.
“Veered off the road,” said Alex.
“I think it rolled to a stop,” said Ryan. “It was too dark to tell for sure.”
“But you think it stopped?” asked Alex.
“I’m pretty sure. It definitely slowed down.”
“Jesus Christ!” said Ed, rising a few inches in his seat.
“Jesus Christ is right. He’s the only reason none of us took one to the head,” said Charlie.
“I think you deflected one with your hand,” answered Alex.
“Yeah, it’s a little fucked up,” said Charlie, holding his bloodied hand between the front headrests. “Look at this thing.”
Ed turned his head, hitting the mangled hand with his right cheek.
“Careful!” howled Charlie. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Well, don’t stick your fucking hand in my face. What did you expect?”
“I didn’t expect you to ram my hand with your head,” countered Charlie.
“All right! Cut it out!” yelled Alex. “Reload your rifles.”
He lowered the night-vision goggles and scanned the darkness around the vehicle. Nothing ahead or behind them. New Boston Road was a straight shot to Route 2. No crossroads, just houses. They needed to get to Route 2 before any more paramilitaries responded. The absence of crossroads on New Boston Road could work against them.
“Ryan, can you wrap Charlie’s hand so he can still use it?”
“Got it,” said Ryan, digging around for the medical kit.
“I don’t think that was the last of the shooting for tonight,” said Alex, checking the road again.
“Faster?” Ed asked.
“Faster,” said Alex, pulling a roadmap out of the glove box.
He wanted to check on alternate routes to the turnpike in case they ran into another hostile team.
Chapter 33
Dexter, Maine
Jerold Berkoff pinched the bridge of his nose and tried the call again. His ROTAC display flashed “attempting to connect.” He’d give it ten seconds before reaching out to Medina. The team dispatched to check on the storage site had been located in an empty house less than five minutes away. They should have reported by now, unless something bigger was in play. Medina had certainly hinted at the possibility.
Putting all of his units on “ready alert” meant one of two things: Either the state government had discovered the facility or the military units attached to the RRZ were sniffing around where they didn’t belong. Both scenarios threatened to kill the element of surprise he needed, which was critical to his battalion’s success. He had too many groups going in too many directions to fight against an alerted enemy. Pre-staging key assault units made more sense given the circumstances.
“Damnit,” he hissed, seeing no change to the ROTAC display. “McKenzie?” he said, causing a stir in the brightly lit trailer.
A bearded man wearing tan cargo pants, a MultiCam combat shirt, and a black and white checkered shemagh spun his stool to face Berkoff.
“Sir?” asked the contractor.
Berkoff considered issuing the order without Medina’s permission, but killed the thought. He wanted this operation to go as smoothly as possible, and pissing off an RRZ administrator wouldn’t contribute to that plan. As much as he enjoyed commanding a Counter Insurgency Battalion, Berkoff wanted a more stable position, preferably in a comfortable position within one of the RRZs. If he overstepped his authority here, regardless of the outcome, he could cross New England North off his list, along with the rest of the RRZs on the East Coast. Medina struck him as a petty, spiteful bitch.
“Nothing. I w
as just getting ahead of myself,” he said, dialing Medina’s code instead.
The governor took longer than he expected to answer, especially given the circumstances.
“Anything?” she asked in greeting.
“Not yet, ma’am,” he said. “The team sent to investigate hasn’t reported.”
“How far out are they?”
“They should have arrived a few minutes ago,” said Berkoff.
“A few minutes ago? All right,” she said, pausing for a moment. “Order your team to pull back and stay out of sight. Homeland just confirmed that our mystery guest never opened any of the warehouses. They entered the codes to get through the two gates and apparently departed. We’re thinking this might have been someone involved in building the site. Maybe someone with an override code, but not the warehouse codes. The two code sequences are separate. Homeland is checking the construction contract information. Probably two companies involved. One to build the fence, and the other to build the warehouses.”
“The keycard system looked the same. Whoever installed one likely installed the other,” said Berkoff.
“They’re trying to get to the bottom of this.”
Jesus. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure this out. The same crew installed all of the security devices.
“Why wouldn’t they open the warehouses?” he pressed.
“I don’t know, Berkoff,” said Medina. “I’m getting my information from Homeland, and they’re telling me the warehouses weren’t breached. Pull your team back so they don’t tip our hand in this.”
What? Tip what hand?
Medina wasn’t making a lot of sense. If they were dealing with a curious local builder, what would it matter if his team appeared? It would probably keep them from coming back. If Medina was wrong about her assumption and this was one of Dague’s military units, they needed to know right away. She wasn’t thinking this through.
“Ma’am, I think we should at least figure out who we’re dealing with here,” he said.
“Not without more information from Homeland,” she said. “I don’t want your team spotted. Call them back immediately.”
“I can’t reach them, ma’am,” said Berkoff.
“What do you mean?” said Medina. “Can’t or won’t?”
“I’ve been trying to reach them for the past few minutes. They should have reported by now. I’m about to send another team out to check on them.”
“I don’t think it would be a good idea to saturate the area with your people. It’ll draw attention to the site. If locals find the storage facility, they might report it to the Maine Independence Initiative.”
Now she wasn’t making any sense at all. His ROTAC buzzed, indicating a second call. He checked the display. Finally! Berkoff was about to tell Medina that the team had made contact, when he reconsidered. He let the call go unanswered, knowing the team would immediately call the communications center.
“Berkoff?”
“Sorry, ma’am. I was just thinking of a way to handle this without drawing attention,” he said, stalling for time.
“Homeland thinks this was a false alarm, and I agree. Cancel my order to put the battalion in ready alert status.”
McKenzie swiped one of the ROTAC handhelds off the desk in front of a row of open laptops, putting the phone to his ear.
“Don’t you think we should…maybe we should wait…until we know more?” he said, distracted by McKenzie.
“I’d rather the battalion was not primed for an attack that won’t happen for a few days,” she said.
Berkoff barely heard what she said, covering the mouthpiece with his other hand as McKenzie swiveled to face him.
“Caretaker Three-Two reports heavy contact with a single vehicle leaving Site Zulu. Two KIA and two WIA. No survivors in Caretaker Three-One,” said McKenzie.
Berkoff put an index finger to his lips and answered Medina. “I agree, ma’am. I’ll keep trying to reach the team. If I don’t hear from them in ten minutes, I’ll call back for further orders.”
“Very well. I’ll let you know if Homeland uncovers anything else.”
Berkoff lowered the ROTAC to the desk in front of him and looked up at the waiting faces.
McKenzie tilted his head, giving him a “what the fuck?” look.
“Where is Three-Two right now?” Berkoff asked.
“In a field off New Boston Road, about a mile from Runway,” McKenzie answered. “Their targets are out of sight. Last seen heading south on New Boston, toward Route 2.”
“Shit. Six KIA?”
McKenzie nodded.
“What hit them?”
“Three to four hostiles in a late model SUV running without lights. Automatic weapons, IR lasers, night-vision goggles, helmets,” McKenzie rattled off. “They knew what they were doing. Military for sure, possibly Special Forces. Don’t they have a company of Rangers down in Sanford?”
“Yeah,” muttered Berkoff, thinking through his options.
Medina was full of shit. She was either compromised or utterly clueless. Why else would she completely reverse her decision at such a critical moment? He’d have to take matters into his own hands until he figured out what was going on with Medina.
“Move all sections into echelon alpha pre-stage positions, and send a team to recover Three-Two. I want to be able to move on our primary targets within two hours,” said Berkoff.
“That’s a tight time frame,” said McKenzie. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait for the RRZ to get more clarification?”
“Let’s get the ball rolling. Something doesn’t add up here, and I’m not going to take the fall if Medina is full of shit. Ultimately, we answer to Homeland,” he said, picking up the ROTAC and scrolling through his contacts list. “And McKenzie?”
“Sir?”
“I want that hostile SUV taken out,” said Berkoff. “I don’t care what it takes.”
***
Bethany Medina handed the ROTAC to Colonel Martin and shook her head.
“He didn’t buy it?” asked Martin.
“I don’t think so. He changed his tune too quickly,” she said. “My guess is he’ll follow my original order to move all units to their final pre-staging positions.”
“Primary targets?”
“Major elements of 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment, along with all critical state government administration sites.”
“Time frame?”
“Two to three hours if he goes for a fully coordinated, simultaneous attack. Less if he learns the truth about what happened here. He’s probably on the phone to Homeland right now, so I’d expect sooner than later.”
“Shit,” said Martin. “Looks like we’re going to war.”
“With Homeland?”
“Just Berkoff,” said Martin. “If we do this right.”
“We?”
“I need you to stall Homeland when they call,” said Martin.
“For how long?”
“Long enough for us to put Berkoff out of commission. After that, it won’t matter what Homeland knows.”
“I think you’re underestimating what Homeland—” She paused before continuing, “—what the federal government will do when they learn the truth about what happened here.”
“I’ve already spoken with 10th Mountain Division’s commanding general about that very issue. He’s prepared to deploy the division’s ready brigade to Maine in support of our mission. Unless Homeland has a Counter Insurgency Division up their sleeve, I’m not worried.”
She shook her head. “You’ve thought this through.”
“The decision was a long time in the making, ma’am, and I’m not the only military leader that feels the same way. If we work together, we’ll get through this with minimal disruption of the RRZ.”
“What do you need from me?” asked Medina.
“Stall Homeland and identify Berkoff’s pre-staging areas. We have a rapid response battalion ready to head north. Depending on the distance, we might
be able to hit Berkoff’s units in their pre-staging areas, or en route to their targets.”
“I can’t do that to him,” she said. “He’s here because of me.”
“Negative, ma’am,” said Martin. “He’s here because Homeland sent him based on your assessment of the internal security situation within the RRZ. It was Homeland’s choice to send a paramilitary group instead of providing you with the resources to negotiate a settlement with Governor Dague. You’re doing exactly what needs to be done to keep the RRZ running smoothly. If Berkoff won’t stand down, we have to take him out.”
“We’re not giving him a chance to stand down,” said Medina.
“If I thought for a second he would load his battalion on the next flight of C-17s that arrived at Bangor International, I would try to talk to him. I don’t see that happening. Do you?”
The colonel was right. Like Eric Bines, the RRZ Authority compound’s security chief, Berkoff would follow Homeland’s orders to unseat the state government, even if it meant “disappearing” and waiting for another opportunity. Martin needed to engage and destroy Berkoff’s force now, or risk a protracted, low-intensity conflict against a well-armed and adequately trained group of contract soldiers. The result could undermine the progress everyone had worked hard to achieve.
“Berkoff’s digital overlays are on the laptop in my office,” she said, effectively signing Berkoff’s death warrant.
Chapter 34
Plymouth, Maine
Icy wind whistled through the holes in the windshield, bathing Alex in a stream of subfreezing air. The SUV jolted, and a particle of safety glass from one of the spider cracks rattled against his night-vision goggles. He leaned as far over the center console as possible, resting his head against Ed’s arm. It was the only way he could see through the windshield from his seat. The bullet holes created by his rifle were concentrated in an area the size of a volleyball, but the cracks obscured most of the passenger-side view.
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 148