Tim steadied the binoculars against the windowsill and searched for the face he’d seen on numerous occasions in front of the recruiting station. Hampered by the thick smoke hanging over the street, he still hadn’t located his target. Shifting from vehicle to vehicle, he studied the dismounted Marines, muttering curses. This was taking too much time. He started to envision slipping down the stairwell and disappearing into the parking lot behind the building before the shock of the bombing wore off and the Marines started to process their options. The turret gunner in the most distant vehicle yelled down to four huddled Marines helping a group of wounded civilians at the edge of the park. When he started pointing at the buildings surrounding the commons, Barrett almost lost control of his bladder.
Fuck this. I’m out of here.
He started to lift his head from the binoculars when a familiar silver sedan materialized on the street behind the tactical vehicle. Harrison Campbell’s car. The gunner waved at the car and dropped into the vehicle. Breathing rapidly, Tim looked through the binoculars, focusing on the Marine that emerged from the armored transport.
Gotcha.
He stared at the symbol painted on the hood of the tan vehicle and wrote them in a small notebook taken from his pants pocket: Six-one-one inside an octagon. He had no idea what the numbers meant, but who gave a shit. Mission accomplished.
Tim slowly withdrew the binoculars, careful not to disturb the blinds. He stuffed them in his backpack and started for the door, faltering before opening it. McCulver had been really clear about passing the information immediately. He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. They were probably worried about him being captured without passing the numbers. Ten more seconds wasn’t going to kill him. McCulver answered his radio transmission immediately.
“Sanford Overwatch, please confirm the following. Vehicle marked as six-one-one, surrounded by an octagon,” said McCulver.
“Affirmative. Solid copy. Over.”
“Roger. Proceed to extract point. Don’t leave anything behind.”
“Copy. Heading to extract,” Tim said, switching the radio off and stowing it in the high-end daypack McCulver had given him when they met.
Tim opened the door and walked down the dim hallway to the stairwell leading to the back exit, suddenly very aware of the backpack in his hands. He’d been very excited to get the backpack, instantly recognizing the expensive brand. His thoughts flashed to the dark orange backpack carried by the bomber.
Stop. You’re being ridiculous.
Tim pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and pushed the fire door open, illuminating the empty stairwell. He stepped inside, and the door closed behind him.
***
Alex rushed out of the Matvee, wanting to get between the arriving vehicle and the building. There was nothing anyone could do for the men and women inside. Harrison Campbell burst out of his car and ran toward the building, stopping to shield his face from the heat. His driver, the tough-as-nails woman he’d met at Campbell’s compound, sprinted to catch up, grabbing his arm. He shook it free and pushed Alex out of the way.
“They’re all gone, Harrison. Nothing we could do,” said Alex.
“All of them? They can’t all be dead,” he said, peering at the storefront through the smoke.
“I have a vehicle around back. Nobody made it out.”
“My wife’s cousin is in there,” he said.
“I’m really sorry, Harrison,” said Alex, stepping behind the vehicle to escape the heat, pulling Campbell with him.
“You know what we have to do,” Campbell stated emphatically.
Alex nodded gravely. “I’m working on it.”
A deep, muffled thump reached Alex’s ears, and he reflexively crouched, scanning the buildings for signs of gunfire or an explosion. Marines yelled, “Secondary!” and scrambled for their vehicles.
“Get inside the Matvee,” Alex said, pushing Campbell toward the armored vehicle.
“Second floor, west of park,” he heard through his headset.
Grady’s and Blackmun’s rifles swung in the direction of the Sanford Trust Building. Alex searched through the smoke for evidence of an explosion, noticing a cloud of smoke, or possibly drywall dust, drifting out of the third-story windows and floating toward the park.
Internal blast? Accidental detonation?
Whatever it was, it signified a dangerous shift in tactics. Two bombs in one place represented a concentration of focus. The first blast changed the rules. The second changed the entire game. Eli was on the offensive. Governor Medina couldn’t bury her head and hope for the best. That ship had just sailed.
Chapter 28
EVENT +17 Days
Main Operating Base “Sanford”
Regional Recovery Zone 1
Alex examined the RRZ Authority parking lot through his binoculars, noting the same number of tactical vehicles lined up next to the evenly parked row of conspicuous white Jeeps. The fact that he hadn’t been summoned with Grady left him feeling uneasy. If the RRZ Authority didn’t want the battalion’s counterinsurgency officer present at a meeting to discuss the targeted bombing of RRZ personnel, he suspected Grady would return with unpleasant news.
Distant thunder echoed through the hangar, drawing his attention to the western sky. A thick band of thunderclouds dominated his view through the hangar door, occasional branches of lightning breaking up the dark, featureless wall of rain rapidly approaching the airfield. He wondered how the house in Limerick would hold up under the storm.
As a short-term fix, they had patched up the exterior holes in the house and barn using a crate of all-weather sealant taken from the Home Store in Sanford. Theoretically, the sealant should be all they needed, but Alex’s dad wanted to reinforce the job by nailing strips of board over the heavily damaged areas to reduce weather-induced wear on the sealant. It was a project Alex suggested they delay until the long-term viability of remaining at the compound had been decided. Today’s attack represented a major setback to staying in Limerick. Lightning illuminated the hangar’s interior, followed by a single, explosive crack that rattled the building’s metal frame. A few dense raindrops smacked the asphalt taxiway in front of the hangar.
“Lower the doors halfway!” yelled Sergeant Major Howard.
“I got it, Sergeant Major,” said Alex, jogging toward the automatic controls to the left of the TOC.
Alex lowered each of the five doors separately, not wanting to overload the battalion’s primary generator. The wind intensified before the door in front of the TOC reached the halfway mark, blowing rain sideways into the hangar. He let the door continue to the end of the track, then glanced over his shoulder at the battalion sergeant major.
“Close it up, sir! Rain’s coming in sideways!”
Alex felt the humidity level rise even before the last door nestled against the painted concrete floor. At least it was ten degrees cooler than yesterday. He joined the battalion intelligence officer, Captain Paul Bernstein, who had just returned from the supply station.
“Any luck?” Alex asked him.
“The sensors are in the supply system. It’s just a matter of getting them here under the circumstances. The lieutenant wasn’t hopeful, even with our CO pushing for delivery. Then there’s the issue related to the parent gear required to monitor passive sensors. We don’t have anything like that at the battalion level. This is a theatre-specific, division-level asset.”
“What about the RRZ supply system? Every time I close my eyes, they drag something new out of those warehouses.”
“No surveillance gear, unless it’s classified or named differently,” said Bernstein.
“Can the supply officer see the full inventory of gear hidden away out there?”
“Negative. She can search by name or specific supply system number. And she isn’t keen on searching for gear that doesn’t bear directly on our mission, so don’t get any ideas.”
“Maybe we can get Grady to lean on 4th Brigade’s commanding officer. I
know they have acoustic sensors.”
“Not the kind you’re looking for. Mostly low power, localized stuff monitored by a nearby station. One thousand meters or less.”
“Then we’ll have to put LP/OP teams in the field,” said Alex.
“Patriot’s en route. He wants to meet with ops and intel staff immediately,” announced one of the Marines monitoring the battalion tactical along the back wall of the hangar.
“We can barely cover the battalion’s checkpoint requirements,” stated Bernstein, waving for his staff sergeant to join them.
Alex took a seat in one of the folding chairs facing a table-mounted sixty-inch flat-screen. Major Blackmun, a first lieutenant and the operation’s first sergeant joined them a few moments before Grady burst through the side hangar door next to the monitor. They stood and waited for him to approach.
“As you were,” said Grady, hanging his rifle on a rack of hooks bolted to the wall next to the door.
He stared at them, his weathered, battle-scarred face betraying no emotion. “Here’s the situation. The RRZ Authority has changed our tasking to focus on immediate area security, with a major emphasis on—you guessed it—the airport. The Route 109 corridor from the airport to Sanford High School will be secured by vehicle checkpoints and foot patrols. Goodall Hospital is now our responsibility. I’ve convinced them to consider moving the CISA camp to one of the structures across the street, where it will be easier to defend. Our security mission will remain compacted until the militia threat has been neutralized.”
Alex started to form a question.
“I know what you’re going to ask,” said Grady, preempting him. “How can we neutralize the militia threat if everything is tied up in Sanford? I haven’t figured that out yet. They’re aware of the dilemma, but all of their Ivy League think-tank analysis paperwork suggests that domestic-based militias do not have the strength or resolve to address a hardened, tighter security posture.”
“Long term, the Green Zone approach doesn’t work, sir. We’ve proven that time after time,” said Major Blackmun. “That’s in the record books.”
“They’re not looking at this long term. They think if we can keep the militia threat from disrupting RRZ operations for the next three to four months, the winter will slow them down, if not bury them. There’s some truth to that.”
“Four months is a long time. I’ve read the RRZ protocols,” said Alex. “If we can’t secure southern Maine, they’ll shift the security area north. We have to be more proactive about Eli Russell. I don’t think it will take much. He blew up two of his own men today, which leads me to believe he doesn’t like loose ends. If we get enough vehicles searching north, we’re bound to find something. All we need to do is grab a few of his people to unravel the whole group. The guys we captured at my house were eager to give up Eli’s original headquarters.”
“Unless I can get Authority to scrap the high school idea, I can’t spare additional resources,” Grady said. “I barely convinced them to keep FOB Lakeside, and that fight isn’t over. They aren’t convinced of its short-term ROI.”
Alex paused for a second, staggering mentally from the thought of losing the Marines protecting his house. If the RRZ forced Grady to dismantle FOB Lakeside with Eli on the loose, he’d have no choice but to evacuate north, with or without Grady’s permission.
“ROI? This isn’t a publicly traded company. Fuck it. We’ll accelerate the provisional security group’s training and get them out there shaking the trees alongside any Marines we can spare.”
Grady winced, his stoic face clearly pained to proceed. “Governor Medina ordered all militia removed from the base—effective immediately. She doesn’t want any unfriendly militia slipping into the group, especially in light of the fact that the Maine Liberty Militia isn’t mentioned in Homeland’s database.”
“Can I train them off base?”
“Not with RRZ personnel or equipment.”
“What about the provisional Marines? They’re not militia.”
“They don’t want any new personnel involved in RRZ security matters,” said Grady.
“So the program is scrapped.”
“Essentially.”
“All right. I’ll need to borrow one of the Armadillos to return the volunteers, unless Medina plans to make them walk home,” said Alex, resolved not to say another word.
“Operations will secure a vehicle for their return,” said Grady, nodding at Major Blackmun.
“Got it, sir,” said the major.
“Anything else?” said Grady, looking at Alex, who shook his head.
“Nothing? Very well. Alex, I need to speak with you before you leave. Ops, gather up the rest of your staff plus all of the company commanders. We need to redeploy the battalion by twenty-hundred hours, which doesn’t give us a ton of time.”
Alex approached Grady as soon as the group broke apart.
“Sir?”
“Guardian represents the battalion’s only dedicated search assets,” said Grady, referring to the vehicles and Marines stationed in Limerick.
“It’s not enough, but we’ll do what we can. If Harrison Campbell agrees, I’ll try to field a few of his vehicles. Not sure how he’s going to take this. It’s kind of a slap in the face after what happened today. I sold him pretty hard on the cooperative aspect of working with the RRZ.”
“If he’s willing to help, we’ll keep his vehicles fueled. I completely understand if he isn’t interested.”
“He understands what’s at stake if Eli destabilizes the RRZ.”
“Just do me a favor and keep their involvement out of your digital reports. I’m not the only one reading them—and make sure you recover all of the ROTAC gear.”
“It makes sense to let Campbell keep one of the ROTAC sets. It’s the only way we can get in touch with him in the field. He doesn’t have access to any of the battalion or RRZ traffic.”
“I was specifically told to recover the ROTAC gear,” stated Grady.
“I never recorded the ROTAC transfers in any of my reports. You didn’t tell them, did you?”
Grady shook his head.
“They’re tracking the phones? Fuck, there’s something wrong with all of this. The whole RRZ set up seems like one giant clusterfuck, except for surveillance. No problems there. What else are they tracking?” demanded Alex.
“Vehicles. ID cards. But you didn’t hear that from me,” said Grady.
“ID cards? They can track these?” said Alex, pulling out his card and examining it.
“No, but they can track when and where they’ve been swiped. I received a digital message eight days ago notifying me that Captain Alex Fletcher had accessed the Northeast Sector Coast Guard base in South Portland, Maine.”
Alex didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t prepared an excuse for visiting the Coast Guard station because he’d underestimated the depths of the government’s paranoia.
Never again.
“This is fucked up, Sean,” Alex whispered. “They spend more time watching and analyzing our movements than trying to fix the shit storm out there.”
Grady contemplated Alex’s statement, lowering his voice to respond. “I’m not sure how much of a difference any of this will make in the long run, but we have to try. It’s our best option.”
“Maybe,” said Alex, rubbing his sweaty face with both hands.
“Promise me you’ll stick around until this Eli Russell business is finished. Whatever you do decide to do after that, I’ll make sure nothing stands in your way.”
“I’ll need some leeway with this. More Marines would help,” said Alex.
“I can’t give you more vehicles. They’re tracking our deployment carefully.”
“If I had an additional squad of Marines at the FOB, I’d feel comfortable releasing the rest of my vehicles to search for Russell.”
“We could probably spare a few fire teams from Alpha Company. Would that work?” said Grady.
“We’ll make it work.”
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Chapter 29
EVENT +17 Days
Sanford, Maine
Alex selected Harrison’s ROTAC channel and pressed “lock.” He wasn’t looking forward to this meeting.
“Harrison Campbell.”
“Harrison, it’s Alex. I’m sitting on the road in front of your property with Gary, the Kleins, and the twelve volunteers that decided to stay with the brigade. I can drive them up if that’s all right.”
“Probably not a great idea right now. Not everyone took the RRZ’s move in stride.”
“I understand, but I do need to talk with you in person. Trust me, it’s important.”
“I’ll meet you at the first checkpoint,” said Campbell.
“Is that the one where your folks pop out of the woods with guns, or the fortified bunkers a little further down the road?”
“I’ll call ahead and make sure they don’t shake you down.”
“I appreciate that. I’ve hit my shakedown limit for the day,” said Alex.
“That bad?”
“It’s not good. See you in a few minutes.”
Alex trailed the group, drifting back as they disappeared around the bend leading to the gate. A gust of wind unleashed a cascading shower of water from the drenched leaves above. The drops pelted his helmet and uniform, tapering off as the breeze died. He removed his helmet and let the damp, shaded air wash over his head. A purposeful rustling of the bushes to the right drew his attention to a familiar face.
“Ms. Nunya.” He nodded. “Glad to see you back on point.”
“Harrison wants you to wait here,” she said, resuming her watch of the forest’s edge through the thick trees.
“Back where we started, huh?”
She didn’t respond.
Message received.
When Harrison arrived a few minutes later, they walked slowly back toward the rumbling military vehicle.
Point of Crisis (The Perseid Collapse Post Apocalyptic Series) Page 23