THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

  At the top of the staircase, he turned left and walked into their bedroom. Ryan sat on a folding chair, pressing his rifle’s vertical fore grip against the top row of sandbags, scanning the tree line through the 4X ACOG scope. The Enhanced Combat Helmet issued to Alex by the marines protected his head. Over his clothes, he wore a loose-fitting tactical vest jammed with rifle magazines. Several magazines lay flat on top of the sandbag wall, ready for immediate use. More sat stacked on the floor beside the chair. With twenty magazines at his disposal, Ryan would fire the Marine Corps issued HK416A5, providing their only source of automatic gunfire. The weapon was essentially the same as the M27 Infantry Assault Rifle used by the Marine Corp as a squad support weapon, without the bipod and higher capacity magazines.

  “You all right?”

  “Ready for action,” Ryan said, knocking on the helmet.

  Alex kneeled next to the chair, putting a hand on Ryan’s shoulder.

  “You’re the closest thing we have to an infantry support rifleman. I want you to burn through mags as quickly and accurately as you can. Short, controlled bursts. Spread the love around. You’ll draw a lot of attention doing this, so keep your head as low as possible. If you see men coming from the barn, you engage that group until they stop. We can’t let them get into the house. I love you, buddy,” he said, letting go of his son.

  “Love you too, Dad.”

  “Call out anything you see on the radio,” he said.

  “Got it.”

  “If the volume of incoming fire makes it impossible to engage targets without getting hit, you’re done. You call it in and stay out of sight.”

  “How will I know when it gets to that point?”

  “You’ll know, and so will your mother. No heroics,” he said, patting Ryan on the shoulder.

  Alex hovered at the door, afraid to leave. When the shooting started, his son would attract hundreds of bullets. They’d reinforced the position with leftover sandbags, extending the sides to protect against shallow-angled fire and adding an additional layer facing the front. An extra piece of sheet metal had been brought up early this morning and wedged against the right side of the fortification to slow down projectiles heading into the side extension. This had been the only modification to Kate and Linda’s work that Alex had directed.

  Alex had initially considered taking this position, since it offered the best view of the exterior situation, but the rest of the adults quickly talked him out of it. They needed him to remain mobile, constantly assessing their defenses. Much to Kate’s dismay, Ryan was the next best candidate for the key position. He didn’t like placing his son here either, but Ryan could fire accurately at a sustained rate, which was exactly what they needed overlooking both the barn and backyard. When explaining this to Kate, he left out the part about their son becoming the primary target on the battlefield. He took one more look at his son and sped down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

  The second safe box sat about five feet beyond the door to the vast room, in the middle of a windowless sitting area extending from the entrance to the master bathroom to a bay window facing south. Both of the Thorntons’ daughters poked their heads above the sandbags. Linda turned her head from a pair of binoculars to acknowledge his entry before returning to the critical business of spotting the group approaching from the road. He noticed that she wore the Dragon Skin body armor. A good decision, given her job of holding the eastern line. She’d draw a considerable amount of gunfire trying to keep an entire squad at bay.

  “That you, Alex?” said Charlie from the window facing the backyard in the northeast corner of the room.

  Charlie must have changed as soon as the alarm was sounded. Loaded down with tactical gear, he sported Vietnam-era tiger-striped camouflage and his famous raccoon cap. Everyone had their combat rituals, ranging from specialized uniforms to a simple mantra spoken before firing the first round.

  “Looks like the Thorntons have this side of the house locked down,” Alex commented.

  “Damn straight,” uttered Linda.

  “Charlie, move to the other side of the bed. Any rounds fired from the north at your current position run the risk of catching Linda in a crossfire. Better to draw fire away from the corner. She doesn’t have much protection on her left side.”

  He passed Charlie in front of the bed, stopping him for a moment.

  “Stay low. No crazy shit. Fire three to five rounds at each target. Shift immediately to the next. Work your way down the line. If someone makes a break for the house from the trees, stopping them becomes your only focus. I suspect they’ll use the northern tree line for suppressing fire in support of the breaching team, so your job will mostly consist of staying alive and reducing their numbers. Be ready to help Linda if the squad in the eastern woods makes a run for the house. I suspect they will.”

  “Got it, brother,” said Charlie with a fearful look.

  “It’s gonna be hell, but we’ll hold them off,” said Alex, believing the first part more than the second. “Linda, your job is pretty straightforward. Keep them in the woods as long as possible. If they have any tactical sense, they’ll feel you out for a minute before giving it a go. They’ll send a few into the open under heavy suppressing fire. You bury your head in that rifle and keep it flush against the sandbags. Don’t remove your shooting glasses for any reason, or you’ll be put out of action by flying debris. It will not be a pleasant experience. Keep firing and call Charlie. Charlie?”

  “Yo!”

  “When Linda calls you over, take the window next to hers and concentrate on the men in the open. With a bit of luck and good shooting, you’ll take three to four attackers out of the equation. Keep your heads low. If it gets too intense to fire accurately, rapidly empty a few magazines using the Jihadi method and assess the situation.”

  “Jihadi method?” asked Linda.

  “Yeah. You just fire over the sand bags without looking,” he said, demonstrating with his own rifle. “If you can’t stop them from reaching the house, call it out over the radio. Charlie returns to his original position, and you head downstairs to watch the eastern breach points. Good to go?” he said, slapping Linda on the back.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” said Linda, keeping focused on the trees.

  He heard a branch snap in the distance.

  “Good luck,” he whispered.

  On his way out of the bedroom, he racked his brain for anything he missed. ROTAC. The battle would be finished by the time the Marine detachment sent to Brunswick could arrive, but it was worth a try.

  Chapter 35

  EVENT +75:20

  Limerick, Maine

  Eli stared at the barn through the trees, catching part of the gray colonial beyond the far left corner of the red siding. He needed to lead the squad to the right, on a due south heading, so they could enter the clearing safe from observation and direct gunfire. Of course, this theory assumed that the people in the house didn’t have a man situated in the barn. A half-opened window high up on the roofline stared down at him, casting serious doubt on an uninterrupted, near football field length jog across the grass. Like every window on the house, the screen was missing. He’d have to position at least two men to cover the window, bringing them across if the journey proved uneventful. His radio squawked.

  “Liberty Actual, this is Liberty Three, we have a problem.”

  “What is it, Liberty Three?”

  “Last man in my column found a motion detector thirty feet from our ingress route. I can see another one, maybe one hundred feet away in the opposite direction. Looks like a wireless model. I think they know we’re coming.”

  Shit.

  He’d counted on cameras and motion-activated lights, but a perimeter of motion sensors was overkill for a bunch of summer folk. This might be a game changer.

  “Can you tell if they’re live? The EMP should have killed all of this gear.”

  “Most of our unplugged electronics gear survived. We have to assume this stuff
works. They probably caught us watching the place yesterday. Might explain the late night military convoy. What if they offloaded a surprise? This whole thing could be a trap,” said Brown.

  Double shit.

  It was definitely possible. Eli glanced nervously around the forest, wondering if he’d already passed a hidden gun emplacement. Was his second squad lining up on the tree line to be hit from both sides? No. This was crazy thinking. A couple of stupid bitches got the drop on his drunken nephew and stole his SUV. Hatfield’s description of the bridge battle didn’t include a Green Beret A-Team. Jimmy’s group was hit by three guys in a Jeep during a blinding rainstorm, helped by a bunch of Hell’s Angels. Only one guy was in the Jeep spotted by Brown. None of it added up to a clever ambush by Special Forces. But how the hell did he explain a military convoy driving around at night without lights? Maybe the driver was some rich out-of-stater with connections. Who the fuck knew—or cared? They’d give it a try.

  “Liberty Three, continue your approach. Hang back about thirty feet from the clearing to avoid visual detection and wait for second squad to engage the house. Give it about thirty seconds, then execute your mission.”

  After a lengthy pause, Brown responded. “Roger. Liberty Three will advise when in position.”

  “See you inside the house, Liberty Three. Actual, out.”

  “I say we send a few guys across to test the waters. Just in case,” said Hillebrand, from a crouched position buried inside a familiar-looking plant.

  “Don’t touch your eyes, Paul,” said Eli. “You’re sitting in poison ivy.”

  “Son of a bitch,” said Hillebrand, stepping out of the bush and kneeling next to Eli.

  “You got a few volunteers to send across?” said Eli.

  “We don’t have volunteers in my squad. Ain’t a democracy. We’ll get set up on the edge and send two out. If we get hit by automatic fire from the barn, I’d say we might have a problem.”

  “I agree. If we can get the whole squad to the barn, it won’t matter who they dropped off last night. Not with the thirty-cal firing seven hundred rounds per minute into the house.”

  “Liberty Two, this is Liberty Actual.”

  “Send it, Actual.”

  He hated Bertelson’s radio protocol. The kid just didn’t get it. You didn’t tell your commanding officer to “send it.” You answer with your call sign and wait for orders. Why the fuck couldn’t he get this right? Now wasn’t the time to let this kind of shit bother him, so Eli took a deep breath and pressed his lips together before transmitting.

  “Keep your squad thirty feet back from the clearing until I give you the order to move up. I don’t want them spotting you too early. The only exception will be the machine-gun team. I want them up near the edge of the tree line in a concealed position, prepping the thirty-cal for action. Bipod extended, round in the chamber. When I give the order, they will push that barrel through the foliage and sweep each floor of the house with sustained fire. After that, I want them focused on the right-side windows and the sliding door. Fire until the gun is out of ammo. How copy?”

  “Solid copy, Actual. I’ll be on the gun myself, so we don’t have any screw ups.”

  How the hell was he supposed to direct his squad sitting behind a thirty-caliber machine gun? Bertelson was getting under his skin.

  “Negative, Liberty Three. I need you in a command and control position, not behind a machine gun.”

  “Uhhh, I made the decision when we split off. I sent Raymond to lead the column across. He’s on the far left flank.”

  Eli peered through the forest at the skirmish line formed by Bertelson’s squad, barely able to see past the fifth man in line. He didn’t need this kind of shit right before the attack. His gut instinct told him to relieve Bertelson before he made a decision that botched the entire plan. He could send Hillebrand to take over Liberty Two while Eli spearheaded the house breach. Tactically, it made more sense for him to leave Hillebrand in place and take over Bertelson’s squad, but then he’d miss all of the fun. There was no way Eli was going to pass up an opportunity to put his pistol grip shotgun into action. He’d just as soon miss his own son’s wedding, if he had one.

  “Never mind. Just make sure nobody starts firing until I give the order.”

  “Roger. I’ll let you know when we’re in position.”

  Several minutes later, Brown had arranged his squad underneath the impenetrable raspberry bushes, with orders to cover the second-story barn window. Satisfied that they were ready, he gave Eli the signal to send the two men who lay in the deep grass on the other side of the thorny barrier. Twenty seconds later, Eli exhaled gently as the two men safely reached the closest corner of the barn. So far, so good.

  He sent two more across, just in case they were dealing with a well-disciplined gunner. If Eli was positioned in that window, he’d let the obvious Guinea pigs cross, waiting for a juicier target, but he’d never let more than two attackers across. Four men represented a full fire team—almost half of a standard squad, which was more than enough to do some serious damage in close proximity. When the second pair lined up against the barn siding, he knew the barn was empty. There was nothing he could do about the camera mounted next to the window, though he suspected it was disabled. Plugged into the grid, it would have been fried by the EMP.

  “Liberty Two, this is Liberty Actual. Bring the thirty-cal up to a well-concealed position and get it ready. Advise when the gun is ready to fire.”

  “Copy all. Out.”

  Chapter 36

  EVENT +75:22

  Limerick, Maine

  Alex watched the rest of the militia squad disappear underneath the camera view. Thirteen heavily armed men had streamed across the grass, utilizing procedures that indicated a high degree of tactical awareness. The good news was that Striker Five-One had just turned north on Route 5 in Waterboro, on their way back to cash in on Alex’s offer of a hot lunch. He just hoped his group could hold out long enough to benefit from Five-One’s arrival.

  “Striker Five-One, I have twenty-five plus confirmed bad guys converging on the house. Suspect one additional squad east of the house, in the trees. I have to go.”

  “Copy. We’re 16.9 kilometers from your position. ETA nine minutes, seventeen seconds.”

  “Roger. Patriot Two Alpha, out.” He triggered the handheld on his way out of the dining room. “We have thirteen men behind the barn. Call out any locations in the trees. The marines are on their way. Ten minutes out,” he said and turned toward the great room. “Dad, scope in on the left side of the barn. I saw one of them break off and head in that direction. If he’s partially obscured by the corner, shoot the corner. Your .308 will punch right through.”

  Alex kept moving.

  “Ed, got anything?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Does anyone have anything?” he said into his headset, surprised they hadn’t picked up any movement.

  “Affirmative. Two in the trees,” said Ryan.

  “Alex, I have a small cluster of guys, maybe two, directly back from the house,” said Charlie.

  “This is Linda. I’m all clear.”

  “I have movement!” yelled Kate from the mudroom.

  “Let’s get all shooters in position for the first volley,” he said into the headset, running past Samantha, who immediately stood up and moved around the sandbags.

  Kate stood in front of the toilet in the bathroom, a few feet back from the open window. The sandbag position in front of her had been built taller to accommodate the bathroom’s shoulder-level privacy window, a consideration he hadn’t built into his theoretical calculations. To compensate for the additional rise, they stripped sandbags from the side of the barrier and jammed them against an additional piece of sheet metal higher up against the wall.

  “When the shooting starts, stick the barrel out of the window and lean into the bags. What do you have?”

  “I see the two Charlie is talking about dead ahead, and I have a few more moving
to the right and left, a little further back in the trees,” she said, staring through the EOTech STS magnifier.

  “Sounds like this is it,” he muttered, aiming his rifle into the bushes directly across from the window.

  “How bad is this going to get?” Kate asked.

  Alex had no intention of telling her the truth. Twenty-five rifles pounding away at the north face of the house would be cataclysmic, likely wounding or killing a third of them within the first minute. If they didn’t significantly reduce the number of militia rifles, they stood little chance of surviving. He needed her focused on killing, not dying.

  “The marines are eight minutes out. We’ll get through this. I love you, honey.”

  “I love you more,” she said, leaning her shoulder into him.

  Her gentle bump shifted his scope’s field of vision, exposing a thick gun barrel supported by a bipod near the ground. He centered the scope’s red reticle on the barrel and sharply inhaled. The tapered, perforated barrel was unmistakable. Alex reached for his handheld radio, raising the reticle a few inches above the Browning thirty-caliber machine-gun barrel.

  “Fire on all targets! Fire on all targets!” he said and pressed the trigger.

  ***

  Larry Bertelson pushed at the thicket with gloved hands, trying to give his gunner a better field of view. He didn’t think Cole could see the second floor through the tangled mess. Not that it mattered. There was little chance of elevating the barrel high enough to reach it. The bipod wasn’t tall enough.

  “Fucking thorns!” he hissed. “Can you see the whole house?”

  “Good enough for government work,” said Randy Cole, spitting out tobacco on his shoulder and pushing the machine gun further into the opening.

  “Not too far or I won’t be able to reload,” said Bertelson.

  His radio squelched.

  “Say again. I did not copy your last. This thing is a piece of shit,” he said, adjusting the earpiece.