“What the fuck are you doing?” yelled Ed.
“Smashing the brake lights!”
He aimed the buttstock at the aerodynamic fin above the lift gate’s window. He hit the thick plastic fin, which resisted the rifle strike. His next blow skimmed off the fin and spider cracked the window below it.
“Press the brake pad!” yelled Alex.
Light from the fin’s imbedded taillight enveloped him in a red aura. He hit the plastic piece three times, until the light failed, turning the buttstock’s attention to the entire rear window. A few solid blows broke through the safety glass, covering the road in hundreds of small, opaque pieces.
“Let’s go!” he said to Ed, who stood next to the open driver’s door, mumbling obscenities.
Ed climbed in and slammed the door. Alex slid into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt, verifying that all of the doors had been shut.
“Your job is to get us to the interstate,” he said, patting Ed on the shoulder. “Windows down and rifles out. I have a bad feeling about this ride.”
When they reached the perimeter fence, Alex held his breath, exhaling when the gate started moving along the track. He wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if the gate had remained in place, locking them inside. As Ed edged the SUV up to the painfully slow gate, Alex swiped the ROTAC from the center console.
Chapter 30
Main Operating Base “Sanford”
Regional Recovery Zone 1
Lieutenant Colonel Grady sat in the troop compartment of a UH-60M Black Hawk helicopter at the far western edge of the main tarmac, alternating glances between his ROTAC and the RRZ authority compound framed by the compartment door window. Staff Sergeant Jackson sat directly across from him in the main troop compartment, which held six more combat-loaded Marines.
His Black Hawk sat at the end of a staggered line of six helicopters waiting mission approval to fly north. Orders that would originate from Grady when Fletcher called with final verification that the storage facility was empty. Of course, Alex might not call at all. If the warehouses were empty, as they suspected, Alex would immediately know that he’d been conned into visiting the storage complex. He might smash the ROTAC and speed off, knowing damn well that Grady needed the information.
Anything was possible with Alex, which was why the commanding officer of a Marine infantry battalion was watching his phone like a giddy teenage boy after a text to his high school crush.
Come on, Alex.
A voice materialized in his headset. “Colonel, we’ll have to shut down and top off if we don’t launch in five minutes,” said the pilot. “I can go cold now to save fuel. In ready launch I can have us in the air within two minutes.”
“Negative. Should be any minute now,” said Grady.
Damn. Maybe he’d played the schedule too tightly. He’d received a text message from Alex when they were a mile from the interstate exit, which put the verification phone call a minimum of ten minutes out. He figured Alex would be careful approaching the site, so he added another ten to fifteen minutes to the timeline. They’d started the helicopters when the text message arrived, waiting ten minutes before loading the Marines. Ten minutes would give all of the RRZ folks enough time to hear the helicopters and ask their questions about the unscheduled flight operation.
Tower controllers, pilots, and ground personnel in the hangars had been briefed to say it was scheduled engine maintenance; thirty minutes to run live diagnostics. The Marines entered the tarmac from a gate on the western fence line, using the closest hangar to mask their approach to the helicopters. With the port-side troop compartment doors closed, RRZ security officers or observers within the walled compound couldn’t see inside the helicopters. If they could, they would undoubtedly raise further questions.
Grady peered through his window at the row of dark, open hangars facing the RRZ compound. Armored vehicles lingered in the shadows, waiting for the order to speed across a recently cleared section of eastern tarmac toward the main RRZ compound gate. Additional vehicles hid behind the cluster of tents between the primary runway and auxiliary taxiway. In undisclosed locations, snipers sighted-in on the visible security officers, ready to take them out if they fired on the approaching soldiers. When the order was passed, a reinforced company of infantry soldiers would descend on the compound, with the ultimate goal of detaining Medina and her staff. All of this hinged on a phone call from Alex Fletcher, which was ten minutes overdue.
Almost on cue, his ROTAC vibrated, dragging his eyes from the menacing hangars.
“Grady,” he answered, knowing he was about to take an earful.
“That’s all you can manage?” Alex snapped.
“Alex, I don’t have time to explain what’s going on. I just need to know if the warehouses were empty,” said Grady. “We can sort out the rest later.”
“The rest?” said Alex, and the line went quiet.
“Alex?” said Grady.
“The first two were empty. We didn’t stick around to check the rest,” said Alex.
Grady turned to the second lieutenant seated next to him and nodded emphatically. The young officer passed the confirmation order over the mission’s primary VHF frequency, instantly telling designated units that Operation Quick Switch had entered the final execution phase.
“Where are you now?” said Grady.
“Driving as fast as fucking possible to get out of here,” said Alex. “Who has the equipment? I get the impression it’s not Governor Dague’s people.”
The helicopter jolted as the landing gear left the tarmac. Through the window next to Grady, the murky tarmac drifted away, dark silhouettes racing across the airfield toward the RRZ compound, and flashes erupted from the main gate. The Black Hawk tilted forward and gained speed, quickly leaving behind the scene below.
“Hello?” Alex prompted.
“We just launched an assault on the RRZ compound. I’m in a Black Hawk headed to Augusta to secure Governor Dague,” said Grady. “It’s a little hectic over here.”
“Sorry if this is a bad time for you, Sean, but I’m a little worried about making hard contact on my way out of here. What am I looking at?”
“Paramilitary types. Government sponsored, so most likely professional security contractors,” said Grady.
“Most likely? Wait a minute, you don’t fucking know?”
“We’ve received reports of similar groups being used in other trouble spots. We think they arrived a month or so ago,” said Grady.
“How did they get here?” said Alex.
“We’re not one hundred percent sure. RRZ compound security was augmented about a month ago with personnel and vehicles from a C-17 Globemaster. 4th Brigade’s Prophet system picked up encrypted UHF signals from the west at the same time. The signals changed position rapidly, heading north. We think additional aircraft delivered the rest of the group. Possibly by parachute,” said Grady.
“How many?”
“Four to five hundred would be consistent with reports from other military commanders,” said Grady.
“Five hundred? That’s a small army, Sean.”
Grady heard him talking in the background of the phone call.
“Sean, if we’re caught, our families will be in serious danger. I can’t believe you did this to us!”
“Alex, it was the only way to get eyes on the warehouse without tipping off the RRZ,” Grady explained. “Medina was on the cusp of launching something big against the state, and she didn’t trust the military.”
“Yeah, well, I kind of understand where she’s coming from,” said Alex.
“I wouldn’t leave your ass totally hanging in the breeze, Alex. Two of my sanitized Matvees will arrive in your neighborhood within five minutes. I have a squad of Marines watching over your families. Two of my helicopters will continue to your position to provide support. They’ve been armed with hellfire missiles in case you run into any armored vehicles,” said Grady. “I’m sorry it had to go down like this, but I knew you wou
ldn’t agree to check out the site if I leveled with you.”
“I can’t eat an apology, Sean. If we pull through this intact, I better be looking at enough MREs to build a floating dock across the lake.”
“I’ll personally deliver them, Alex. Get your ass south on the turnpike and run like the devil. Two Black Hawks will contact you when they hit Waterville in roughly thirty minutes.”
“Shit. We have company,” said Alex, followed by frantic yelling on the line.
“Alex? You there? Alex!”
The call disconnected. Thirty minutes might be too long. Grady pressed the transmit button on his headset.
“Contact Hellfire zero-five and zero-six. Tell them to proceed north at maximum speed. Troops in contact,” said Grady.
Chapter 31
Main Operating Base “Sanford”
Regional Recovery Zone 1
Bethany Medina stood in front of a row of glowing computer monitors, speaking rapidly into her ROTAC.
“I just received a call from Homeland telling me that 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment’s Category Five storage site has been accessed.”
“With the codes?” asked Jerold Berkoff.
She wanted to call him ‘Jerkoff’ so bad she had to pause.
“Yes, Berkoff. I didn’t say breached. I said accessed.”
No wonder none of this was working. The RRZ had thrown one incompetent idiot after another in her lap.
“I don’t have any personnel at the site, ma’am,” said Berkoff. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“How about telling me ‘I’ll get someone out there right away to check it out,’” said Medina. “I need to know who’s out there.”
“Copy that. I have a team close to the site,” said Berkoff. “What are my rules of engagement?”
“I want to know who sent them—how they got the codes. Detain and interrogate using any and all means at your disposal. Time is critical,” said Medina. “And, Berkoff?”
“Yeah?”
“Put all of your teams on ready alert. We may have to execute the plan tonight.”
“Do you want me to pre-stage any of the teams closer to their targets?” he asked.
Medina considered the question carefully. Putting unfamiliar military-grade vehicles on the streets, even for a short time, might draw the wrong kind of attention from Dague’s expansive network of observers. On the flip side, the storage-site intrusion represented a significant, immediate problem. She had to assume that the perpetrators knew exactly what they were looking for—a battalion-sized weapons and equipment load out. When they found the warehouses empty, all bets were off, especially if Colonel Martin or Lieutenant Colonel Grady were behind this.
That was the worst-case scenario. She’d have to move fast to remove Dague and the state government before the military could formulate a response to the missing cache of gear. The best-case scenario involved Governor Dague somehow uncovering the codes and finding the warehouses empty. She’d probably blame the RRZ and somehow overreact, giving Medina a good reason to take action with the Counter-Insurrection Battalion.
The muted crackle of sporadic gunfire reached her ears, drawing her attention to the communication center’s door.
“Ma’am, do you want me to pre-stage any of the teams?” Berkoff repeated.
The gunfire grew more consistent.
“Negative. Just send the team to investigate,” she said, ending the call.
Voices and rustling chairs filled the hallway as staccato bursts of heavy-caliber machine-gun fire sounded. She started to wonder if the airport was under militia attack again, but dismissed the thought before it wasted any mental space. She didn’t believe in coincidences. Less than five minutes ago, someone had accessed a hidden top-secret weapons cache site in northern Maine. A site she had emptied a month ago. No. This wasn’t a coincidence.
Medina opened the door and poked her head into the hallway. Ian McEyre, her chief of staff, ran down the hallway toward her, dodging panicked staff members. Past him, at the end of the hallway, Eric Bines, the RRZ compound’s security chief, spoke with three heavily armed men wearing black body armor.
“We’re under attack by our own soldiers!” yelled Ian. “Six helicopters just took off, headed north.”
A window shattered in one of the nearby offices, followed by screaming.
“Gather the staff in the communications center. Hurry!” Medina said, passing Ian.
In the aftermath of the militia attack last fall, the room housing the RRZ’s encrypted communications equipment had been reinforced with Kevlar shielding and sandbags. Located in the center of the building, it doubled as the headquarters building’s “safe room.”
“Eric!” she yelled, picking up her pace.
Her security chief patted one of the heavily armed men on the arm, sending them through the stairwell door behind him.
“Eric! Tell your men to stand down!” she said. “There’s no point.”
Eric Bines spoke into his handheld radio before rushing to meet her. The gun battle outside intensified, the sounds spilling through the broken window in the office next to them.
“Ma’am, I’m under strict Homeland orders to defend this installation against any and all attacks,” said Bines.
“This is different, Eric. If the military turned on us, it’s over,” Medina stated. “There’s nothing we can do but wait for D.C. to fix this.”
Bullets passed through the wall ten feet away, filling the hallway with drywall dust. Medina crouched next to Bines, who aimed at the stairwell door with his MP-9 submachine gun. His radio crackled with frantic reports.
“I have to go,” he said, through the door.
Medina shook her head, unwilling to process the man’s death wish. If he wanted to die a pointless death, that was his problem. She had a duty to protect her people, and that was exactly what she intended to do. Ian emerged from one of the rooms, hustling two men toward the communications center several doors away.
“Ian, I need you to enter my security override code into the automated keycard system and reboot the external doors,” said Medina.
“That’ll lock out the security team,” Ian reminded her.
“Just do it. Right now. They’ll get us all killed if they use the building as their Alamo.”
Ian sprinted down the hallway, pushing several people out of his way to reach the communications room, which housed their surveillance and security equipment. A group of administrative personnel burst out of the stairwell door, yelling and pushing their way into the hallway. Medina backed against the outer wall and waited for them to pass.
“Is the first floor clear?” she yelled to the last of the group.
One of the women stopped long enough to nod. “I saw a few security officers guarding each door, but that’s it.”
“Get inside the comms center,” said Medina, staring at her ROTAC. She took a deep breath and selected Colonel Martin’s call sign. “Colonel Martin”—she heard heavy gunfire in the background—“I tried to order Mr. Bines to surrender, but I’m afraid he’s hell-bent on defending the compound to the last man. I’ve disabled the key card readers at all external doors, so they can’t retreat into the building. I’d like to keep my staff alive.”
“They’re putting up one hell of a fight,” said Martin. “Get all of your people into the safe room and wait for my call. I expect this to be over in five minutes.”
“Most of the staff is already there. I’m told we have security officers guarding the ground-floor doors, from the inside.”
“All right. We’ll do everything we can to keep the gunfire away from your safe room. Make sure your people are lying down. The Kevlar only goes up to shoulder height,” said Martin.
“Colonel Martin?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I didn’t do enough to work with Governor Dague from the beginning,” Medina admitted. “I knew better.”
“This isn’t your fault. The blame for this lies about seven thous
and miles west of here, in the People’s Republic of China. Don’t ever forget that. You were dealt a tough hand, and you played the cards the best you could. Not every RRZ made this much progress,” Martin assured her. “Launching a paramilitary coup against the state government would have erased that legacy and catapulted the state into bloody civil war. It’s already happened in three recovery areas. You’ve done well.”
“Funny. That’s not the picture Homeland painted,” Medina countered.
“Of course not. I listen to the same rosy reports, but I also get the real story from the military commanders on the ground in the areas that have collapsed,” said Martin, the sound of gunfire on his end of the call escalating.
Automatic fire erupted near the building, sounding closer than before. Through the stairwell door, Medina heard yells and more gunshots.
“They’re falling back to your building,” said Martin. “You better get to the safe room and lock it. Do not let any of the security team inside.”
Medina ran for the communications center door, a full-scale battle echoing through the hallway. She reached the room at a dead sprint, frantically grabbing for the door handle.
“Barricade the door!” she screamed, slamming it shut and scanning her microchipped badge over the electronic reader installed in the wall.
She punched a quick code in the keypad, and the card reader glowed red. She had locked the door from the inside. Only Ian McEyre or Eric Bines possessed badges that could override her lockout. If Bines survived the battle outside and made it back to the communications center, only a stack of furniture would keep him out.
While members of her staff moved desks in front of the door, she watched the surveillance screens, focusing on the camera views aimed at the entrances. The green night-vision images showed several security officers huddled around each door, firing at unseen targets, while one of them repeatedly swiped his badge over the card reader. One by one they started to fall as bullets visibly splintered the siding around the door and struck the ground near the crouched men.
She recognized Bines on one of the screens. Helmetless, he crouched behind a failing wall of body armor and rifles, holding his phone. Medina’s ROTAC chirped. She checked the orange digital display and shook her head. Bines had sealed his fate when he refused to accept the reality of their situation. Seconds later, his unprotected head snapped back, a dark green stain hitting the door behind him. The rest of the team tried to run for the northwest corner of the building, only to be stopped halfway, their deaths marked by a sudden crescendo of gunfire heard through the communication center walls.
Dispatches Page 16