“Do you require assistance? I can be there in five,” said Alex, hoping Taylor waffled on the decision.
He was looking for any excuse to head back. Logically, he knew Taylor had enough firepower at the compound to repel any attack thrown at them by Eli, but Kate’s words had stuck with him: He’s up to something.
“Negative. I have a night-vision-equipped, two-forty team watching the opposite approach. We can handle anything that approaches from either direction.”
“Copy,” said Alex. “Advise if the situation changes.”
“Affirmative. Sounds like Keeler’s gunner is chewing them—whoa! Jesus!” yelled Staff Sergeant Taylor, momentarily ceasing his transmission.
“Staff Sergeant?”
“Stand by, sir.”
Stand by? What the fuck?
“Slow us down, Lianez,” he said, retransmitting. “Taylor. What the fuck is going on?”
“Taking a report from Guardian Four-Zero. Wait one,” said Taylor.
“Pull us over,” said Alex, switching to Guardian’s tactical frequency. “Guardian Two-Zero. This is Guardian Actual. Lakeside was attacked. We’ll wait here for Dagger’s status report. Watch your sectors.”
“This is Two-Zero. Copy.”
Through the oversized side mirror, Alex watched Sergeant Copeland’s Matvee nestle in several yards behind them. He raised the ROTAC to his face.
“Taylor, you’re making me nervous. Do I need to turn around?”
“Negative. Keeler reported two explosions in the forest. No friendly injuries. Sounds like a repeat of the airport.”
Alex shook his head. Four explosives-laden vehicles? What was Eli hoping to accomplish?
“How many men did Keeler report in the forest before the explosions?”
“His gunner reported seven kills. They left one alive—crawled into a ditch near one of the explosions. If he isn’t gone, he’s pretty fucked up,” said Taylor.
“It’s not enough to get through,” muttered Alex.
“Say again, sir?”
“Something’s not right. I’m bringing Guardian One-Zero back to the FOB. Advise Keeler and all Dagger units of the change. ETA five mikes.”
“Copy, sir. One vehicle returning. Redeploying LP/OPs. Will advise Dagger and Guardian Four-Zero,” said Taylor.
“Taylor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get my family into the basement.”
“I’m not sure Mrs. Fletcher will comply, sir. She relieved the Marine I had watching the remote sensors.”
“I don’t care if you have to drag them down the stairs and sit on them. I want them out of the line of fire,” he said, lowering the ROTAC.
Kate was right. Eli was up to something. Throwing explosives-laden cars and armed inmates at the airport accomplished nothing beyond momentarily tightening a few RRZ sphincters. With spies in the Sanford area, Eli knew what his militia faced at the airport, and he’d sent them anyway. Nothing added up so far, and Alex couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Eli had bigger plans for FOB Lakeside. He wasn’t taking any chances with his family.
“Take us back to the FOB.”
***
A second, distant burst of automatic gunfire filled the steeple, followed by an urgent transmission in his headset from Harry Fields.
“This is Liberty One. Abort mission. Tactical vehicles sighted in road. They knocked out two of our vehicles before we could reach the intersection. Cancel reinforcements. We’re gonna try to get out of here on foot.”
More tactical vehicles?
This changed things. Brown had been confident about the vehicle count. Four total. Now he had mobile threats in two directions. He’d have to sacrifice the rest of his men to buy some time.
“Outstanding, Liberty One! Reinforcements en route,” replied Eli.
“What? Negative. Gelder Pond Lane is blocked by a tactical vehicle. My entire convoy is out of action,” he said.
“Roger. Clearing inner checkpoint with explosives. Reinforcements ETA three minutes. Give ’em hell! Out,” he replied, turning to Jim Hunt and grabbing the barely visible squad leader by the shoulders.
“Son of a bitch, Harry broke through! They left their guard down, and now we’re gonna fuck them up. Take your vehicles west on Old Middle Road and link up with Liberty One.”
“Hot damn!” said Hunt, scrambling for the trapdoor near the back wall. “You sure you don’t need our help here?”
“Negative. We got the easy part,” said Eli, removing his backpack. “Not much can go wrong. Pay attention to the radio. Once we’re done here, I’ll be headed in your direction. Don’t want to get fragged.”
“We’ll be ready for you,” said Hunt, disappearing through the steeple floor.
Eli rifled through his backpack, pulling a handheld radio from a zippered internal pouch. He pressed the power button and checked the bright orange LED as another burst of staccato gunfire echoed through the quiet, rural town of Limerick. Verifying the radio was set to “Preset 1,” he pushed transmit and waited. The windows rattled, followed by a deep, reverberating boom.
Perfect.
He quickly selected “Preset 2” and hit transmit. Nothing. He pressed it again. Silence. “Preset 3” yielded the same disappointing stillness.
No worries.
McCulver had warned him that substantial damage to the car might disable the bomb, and Fields reported two out of the four cars out of commission. He calmly cycled to “Preset 4” and was immediately rewarded with a steeple-shaking detonation. Eli carefully changed the channel to “Preset 8” and gingerly set the radio on the windowsill facing south. McCulver had skipped three channels as a safety precaution against prematurely detonating the grand finale.
“Time for the real show,” Eli mumbled, focusing his night-vision scope on the furthest visible point along Route 5.
Chapter 37
EVENT +21 Days
Limerick, Maine
Alex leaned forward against the five-point harness and scanned the approaching intersection. His eyes flickered between the structures racing by, searching windows, parking lots and driveways for signs of human activity. Brake light reflections, cigarette glows, car door lights, flickering curtains—anything that could signify a hidden threat. He sensed the Matvee easing into a shallow left turn after the gazebo marking the center of town.
“Keep your speed,” he said. “One more intersection, gents.”
A small hill rose behind the gazebo, crowned by a stand of trees. A steeple peeked over the broken canopy of branches, drifting right and quickly disappearing behind them. When the road straightened, a second church appeared directly ahead, marking the next intersection.
“Route 5 coming up on the right. Stay left and watch for inbound.”
Racing into the Y-shaped junction at seventy miles per hour, he spotted a faint glimmer of light in the steeple. Before he could warn the driver, his ROTAC illuminated, drawing his attention to the center console. When he looked up again, they were halfway through the intersection.
“This is Dagger. Hostile vehicles inbound from the east. I say aga—”
***
Eli’s index finger twitched over the transmit button while his other hand pressed the night-vision scope into his face. The timing had to be perfect. McCulver told him to expect a half-second delay between transmitting the signal and the detonation, which had to build into the equation based on the approach speed. Kevin helped him work out a chart to calculate the speed, but the tactical vehicle was moving too fast for him to put it to use. If he took his eyes off the scope, he might miss his chance. The attack was a one-shot deal. They had buried two charges along the north side of the road, separated by thirty feet.
Eli raised the handheld radio next to his face and held his breath, finger pressed against the textured rubber button as the armored car raced through the intersection. At the last moment, Eli panicked, not trusting himself to time the detonation correctly. Instead of waiting to target the vehicle with th
e more powerful of the two IEDs, he pressed the button early and ducked.
The blasts shattered every window in the steeple, splintering the wooden window frame with hissing asphalt fragments. Donning the backpack, he took a quick look out of the missing window with his scope. A thick cloud of dust billowed through the town, rendering the green image useless. Unable to make an immediate assessment of the situation, he swung his rifle into the ready position and descended the ladder.
“Viper team, where are you?” he said, unable to locate them in the haze.
“Over here,” someone croaked, the voice muffled.
“Where is here?” he demanded. “Speak up!”
“By the front windows, all the way to the right!”
“What the fuck are you doing there?” he said, running down the center aisle, still unable to see them through the veil of dust.
“We wanted to see the explosion,” one of the men mumbled. “I think Ronnie’s dead.”
Eli followed his voice to the rightmost front window of the church, where he found the two of them in a heap on the glass-covered floor. Triggering his rifle light, he confirmed the man’s suspicion. Ronnie had a three-inch piece of jagged metal protruding from his scalped forehead. Joe didn’t look much better; his face and neck were shredded by glass fragments that had miraculously missed his jugular artery. He kneeled in front of him.
“Did you see the explosion?” asked Eli, slipping his razor-edged KA-BAR out of the sheath attached to his belt.
“Fucking thing flipped right off the road,” rasped Joe. “You did it, man. Help me up.”
In a blur of hands, he grabbed Joe’s long, knotted hair and yanked his head forward, jamming the seven-inch blade into his neck. Joe’s body went slack immediately, his spinal cord severed near the base of his skull.
“Sure. I got all day to deal with fuckers that can’t follow directions,” replied Eli, pulling Joe off the glistening blade and tossing him aside.
He rushed to the front door, not wanting to waste the time backtracking through the church. After throwing a few latches, he wrenched open the right side of the warped door and squeezed onto the concrete steps. The dust-choked air smelled like ammonia and charred wood. He stood there for a moment, searching through the haze for an outline of a vehicle. There was nothing. Several small fires burned brightly near the intersection, bushes and trees ignited by the superheated blast.
He hesitated on the stairs, not keen on rushing into the unknown. The Matvee was designed to withstand roadside bombs, and he couldn’t take the chance that the damn thing flipped over and landed right side up. The dampened sound of distant machine-gun fire reached him, prompting him to abandon caution. Fuck it. Even if the thing landed on its wheels, nobody inside would be walking a straight line anytime soon. He ran blindly toward the intersection, activating his radio.
“Griz, bring the car directly to the intersection. Lights on. I need the Molotovs right away. We don’t have much time.”
***
A strong ammonia smell permeated the Matvee’s cabin, competing with the industrial stench of diesel fuel. Alex shook his head and rubbed his eyes, initially confused by the counterintuitive feeling of moving his hands downward to reach his face. Something was different. An intense pressure strained against his shoulders, and one of his legs dangled freely; his Kevlar knee pad was looming inches from his flushed face. He released his hands, surprised when they flopped upward, striking the shattered ROTAC on the roof of the vehicle.
Fuck. We flipped.
He stared at the spiderwebbed windshield, trying to make sense of what had happened. The dark, fragmented view didn’t offer any clues, aside from the very fact that a ballistic window designed to withstand IED fragments and .50-caliber armor-piercing projectiles had been shattered. He grabbed a flashlight from the clutter of gear littering the roof and directed the beam at Lianez.
The corporal’s left forearm was wedged into the steering wheel, his elbow hyperextended at least forty-five degrees. His right hand lay uselessly against the roof, most of his fingers twisted at odd angles. Alex didn’t see any blood, which was a good sign. Busted-up limbs could be fixed. Lianez moved his lips, but Alex didn’t hear anything. He tried to respond, but the words came out as vibration, like the Matvee had been submerged underwater. He couldn’t hear.
The fuel odor intensified, stinging his eyes and spurring him into action. The Matvee wasn’t flame resistant, and he detected a flickering orange glow through the driver’s window. They needed to get out of here immediately. He eased his right leg out of the foot well and let it hang in front of him with the other, his feet inches from the roof. Alex triggered the harness buckle and dropped to his knees and elbows.
He gripped the flashlight and turned his attention to the rear compartment. The Marine behind him hung unconscious in his seat harness, suspended with no obvious external injuries. Moving the beam to the right yielded a ghastly sight. PFC Jackson lay crumpled against the roof in the rear cargo compartment, his neck bent at an unnatural angle against the rear hatch. Lifeless eyes stared back into the passenger cabin.
Shit.
Light poured through the driver’s side windows, distracting him. He squeezed along the roof to the window behind Lianez’s seat and peered through the small, ballistic-glass window. An SUV sat in the middle of the road, illuminating the Matvee with its headlights. Alex thought about banging on the door with his flashlight, but quickly abandoned the idea. The vehicle wasn’t there to rescue them. He grabbed the radio handset dangling between the seats.
“All units, this is Guardian One-Zero. Troops in contact. We’ve been hit by a roadside bomb. Request immediate assistance at the intersection of Route 5 and Route 160.”
In a panicky voice, Alex repeated the call, unsure if anyone responded. He could barely hear his own voice, let alone the digitized, staticky voices often heard over the VHF radio net. When he checked the window again, a face blocked his view of the SUV. He immediately recognized Eli Russell’s grinning, pockmarked face from the DMV photos downloaded to his laptop. The man looked even scarier in person.
***
Eli stopped short of the intersection and gawked at the damage done by McCulver’s largest IED. A jagged, three-foot-deep crater, centered on the gravel shoulder, extended several feet into the asphalt road. Wide, gaping cracks continued beyond the hole, reaching the far side of the blacktop surface. The asphalt fissures closest to the crater’s epicenter hissed and crackled from superheated bitumen, the petroleum-binding product used to shape modern roads. All that remained of the telephone pole that stood behind the roadside bomb was a splintered stump just outside the crater; the remainder of the pole and the wires it suspended were nowhere in sight. He’d never seen anything like this. The devastation was perfect.
He jogged south along the road until he found the second crater. Long fractures reached into the southbound lane, connected to a sizzling hole half the size of its sister IED.
He muttered obscenities until he spotted the tactical vehicle upside down in a thick cluster of bushes next to a used car lot. The truck had flattened a path through the brush, rolling from the road to its resting site. He eyed the lush undergrowth surrounding the vehicle.
That’ll burn nicely.
Skirting the massive crater, he crossed the road and examined the wreckage in the dancing light cast by the small fires. Every external feature had been blasted off by the explosion or crushed by the rolling motion of the vehicle. A strong diesel smell hit his nose, competing with the ammonia, telling him that the monster’s fuel tank had been ruptured. All the better. Beams of light cut through the dust to his right as the SUV slowly navigated the intersection. Eli motioned for Grizzly to bring the vehicle forward and point its headlights at the vehicle.
“Watch for anyone crawling around the sides. I’m gonna light this thing up like the Fourth of July,” he said, hurrying around to the rear lift gate.
He pulled a plastic milk crate filled with Molotov cockt
ails out of the cargo compartment and shuffled toward the overturned vehicle. A light flickered through the compact door window, causing him to instinctively stop halfway between the road and the charred armor hull. If one of the occupants opened the door, he’d be caught in the open. He sprinted past the windows and kneeled next to the armor junction behind the rear driver’s side door, breathing heavily. The SUV eased over the shoulder of the road and poured its high beams over the wreckage.
He dropped the crate of clinking bottles behind him and crawled along the side of the steel hull until he reached the rear driver’s side window. A face appeared in the window, disappearing moments later. Eli centered his face on the window and watched a Marine fumble with something on his vest. The marine’s lips moved rapidly, and Eli realized he was calling for help.
He needed to get this over with. The machine-gun fire north of here had stopped just as quickly as it started, which meant Liberty Two was finished. He checked his watch. One minute and they needed to be on the road. Just as he was about to pull away from the window, the Marine turned his head and they locked eyes. A flash of recognition passed over the marine’s face, replaced by rage.
Fletcher.
Eli grinned and winked.
“Cover that door!” he yelled over his shoulder to Grizzly, who kneeled behind the driver’s door and leveled his rifle at the vehicle.
Shaking with excitement, he returned to the crate and removed two Molotov cocktails. McCulver had conveniently stuck a camping lighter in the crate, which he used to light the kerosene-soaked cloth wicks on both bottles. He scurried around the other side of the vehicle just in time to see the rear passenger door open.
“Burn, motherfucker!” he screamed, heaving one of the bottles at the rear-facing door.
Point of Crisis (The Perseid Collapse Post Apocalyptic Series) Page 28