“Six deployments taught me to work closely with the locals, preferably before arriving. I sent Captain Fletcher and a small contingent of Marines ahead of the battalion to liaison with the York County Readiness Brigade, an upstanding militia group.”
“And his community outreach efforts have resulted in the murder of Sanford’s mayor?”
Alex shook his head and muttered, “This is fucking pointless.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Governor Medina said.
“I said this is fucking pointless.”
“Colonel?” she stated, shooting Grady a nasty glare.
“I’ll work on Captain Fletcher’s language, ma’am.”
She regarded him for a moment, a thin grin forming on her pressed lips. “Message received, Colonel. I’m taking this in the wrong direction. Let’s start over. Captain Fletcher, what are we dealing with? Who’s running this Liberty group?”
“The Maine Liberty Militia is run by Eli Russell. Surprisingly, he has no criminal record. Former army, discharged honorably. Worked for a local auto parts company as a salesman for fifteen years prior to the event. According to Harrison Campbell, York County Readiness Brigade commander, Eli was kicked out of the brigade three years ago during a purge of ultramilitaristic types. Unfortunately, the purge gave Russell a head start forming his own group. The MLM.”
“And he’s perpetrating crimes in the security zone, using this group,” she said.
“Correct. We’ve linked him to a growing number of disturbing incidents within the southern Maine zone. Most recently, he raided a correctional facility thirty miles north, adding an unknown number of hardened criminals to his organization. Five days later, he hit Bridgton, less than forty miles away, killing more than a dozen checkpoint volunteers and stealing several vehicles.”
“It sounds like he’s taking his business north,” she said.
“The mayor was mutilated and tied to a town landmark about two miles from here,” said Alex.
“Seven days ago. The Bridgton incident occurred after the murder.”
“Trust me, ma’am. He’s still active in the area.”
“Either way, I’m seeing this as more of an annoyance than a viable threat to security,” she stated.
“He has a guy that knows how to build bombs. Big bombs. Police reported a large quantity of slurry explosives stolen from an excavation company in Windham.”
“Slurry explosives?”
“Water gel-based explosives used for mining and excavation. They can be poured into common objects, completely evading detection, or used to create shaped charges. We’re talking high order detonation stuff. Trust me, Eli Russell has the immediate capacity to be far more than an annoyance.”
“And his whereabouts are a complete mystery?”
“I have a few solid leads regarding his general location. If I had dedicated helicopter support, I could better exploit those leads,” he said, glancing at Grady, who took his cue.
“Ma’am, freeing up some of the battalion’s vehicles from rural patrols and checkpoints south of Sanford would be a solid investment in our security mission.”
One of the governor’s staff whispered and pointed at a printout on the table. She examined the paper and shook her head.
“None of that is going to happen right now. Brigade air assets are maxed out with current mission requirements, and I have additional tasking for your battalion.”
“I’m at 55% manning, with ten vehicles down. I’d suggest leaning on 4th Brigade for additional tasking,” said Grady.
“RRZ protocol strictly delineates areas of operation. Even if I could deviate from the protocol, I wouldn’t. 4th Brigade has its hands full with the border areas.”
Grady pulled a handheld tablet device out of his tactical vest. “What am I looking at in terms of tasking?”
“We’ll need 24/7 security for the CISA Camp being set up at Sanford High School. Helicopters should start ferrying personnel from New Hampshire to the MOB within a week. Count on security for transport back and forth to the airport.”
“CISA?” said Grady.
“Critical Infrastructure Skills Assembly. Refugees processed through FEMA checkpoints outside of the security area are screened for backgrounds and skills that can assist in the recovery. We fly them here for further evaluation. The goal is to assemble teams with the expertise to tackle projects focused on restoring essential services like electricity and communications. The list is pretty exhaustive.”
“The process sounds exhaustive—and manpower intensive,” said Grady. “What level of security do you expect at the high school?”
“CISA is essential to the recovery effort.”
“I don’t doubt that, but securing several hundred civilians in a fluid environment will eat up Marines, especially with a known explosives threat in the area. A more proactive approach to the militia is preferred.”
“Then we’ll have to focus on hardening all potential RRZ targets against explosives. Engineers will build a HESCO barrier to assist with CISA security,” Medina said.
“You can’t put a twelve-foot HESCO barrier around the entire state and hope for the best,” said Alex.
“We have a lot of HESCO material and—”
The conference room windows rattled, followed shortly by a distant sound resembling thunder. Chairs scraped the linoleum floor as Alex and the military contingent stood.
“Thunderstorms predicted for the morning,” one of the staff members offered. “Sixty percent chance.”
“That wasn’t thunder,” said the staff sergeant.
Grady’s ROTAC chirped. “Send it,” said Grady, listening for several seconds before responding. “Deploy the quick reaction force. I’ll catch up with them on Route 109. Order all checkpoint units to maintain their positions. Defense posture Red. Nothing gets in or out.”
“What happened, Colonel?”
“Units in Sanford report a massive explosion near the downtown area.”
The recruiting station.
Chapter 27
EVENT +17 Days
Sanford, Maine
From Alex’s elevated vantage point in the Matvee’s armored turret, he caught the first glimpses of the devastation ahead. The four-story brick building appeared through the cloud of gray-black smoke enshrouding Sanford’s central park area. Smoke from the blast should have cleared by now. The vehicle decelerated in front of Town Hall, the driver approaching cautiously. Flashing red lights cut through the murk at the western end of the park area across from the building, headed toward Main Street.
As they passed Town Hall, the scene took shape. Windows on the second floor directly above the recruiting station poured smoke and flames skyward. Broken glass and crumbled brick debris littered the street and sidewalk. Deeper in the park, small groups of people huddled over injured bystanders, waving frantically for the inbound ambulance. The Matvee slowed to a standstill. A jagged, scorched hole encompassed the entire right half of the building’s storefront.
“What are you seeing?” Grady asked over the vehicle net.
“I’m not seeing the remains of a vehicle. Probable remote detonation, like at Harvard Yard. We need to lock this area down hard, sir.”
“Copy. How many people did we have in the station?”
“Eight. Three Marines and five of Harrison’s people.”
“You better let him know,” said Grady.
The vehicle edged forward, pulling over the curb and stopping in the park. The rest of the quick-reaction force raced by, deploying at even intervals across from the burning building. One of the vehicles continued to Washington Street and turned left, headed toward the back of the building to check for survivors. Alex swiveled the turret to cover the road heading back to the airport, digging through his vest to retrieve his ROTAC.
***
The binoculars started to tremble when the convoy of four heavily armed tactical vehicles appeared through the haze. He knew the heavy machine guns mounted in the turrets
could tear through the brick wall in front of him with little effort, and every time one of the barrels shifted past his window—he flinched. He’d been happy to leave the general ranks and return to Sanford, especially after the massacre in Limerick. They needed someone to keep an eye on the county seat of York County, and nobody knew the town and the people better than Sanford’s top realtor, Tim Barrett—but this was too much! Too risky.
This particular spot had been his best idea. Overlooking the central commons, the empty corner office on the third floor of the Sanford Trust Building gave him a bird’s-eye view of the town’s main thoroughfare. As a realtor, nobody questioned his presence in the office buildings, especially downtown, where most of the buildings remained empty from the recession. He’d felt safe, almost untouchable until a few minutes ago. Something had gone wrong with the bombing.
A guy wearing a gray T-shirt and red hat was supposed to stuff a small package into a city trash container outside of the storefront, remotely detonating the device from a pickup car on Washington Street when Barrett confirmed that the sidewalk and street were clear of innocent bystanders.
Nothing had gone according to the plan relayed by Kevin McCulver. The man showed up wearing a dark orange student backpack, and walked into the recruiting station. The building exploded before the glass door closed behind him. The blast turned out to be far more powerful than he expected, injuring citizens gathered in the park.
Had the plan changed? What else had changed?
The whole point of the operation had been to draw the Marines to the recruiting station so Barrett could observe the marine’s response. The vehicles continued down Main Street toward his building, and he considered abandoning the mission.
If he stayed and the Marines captured him, he could be forced to divulge information critical to Eli’s plans. He suspected elements of the Maine Liberty Militia had been moved closer to Sanford, since he no longer had to drive north to make his reports. McCulver took them directly, every four hours. He’d even met with McCulver two days ago on his last trip north. Combined with the targeted information McCulver had just requested, he had no doubt they were preparing an imminent strike. On the other hand, if he deserted his post before delivering the information, Eli would no doubt hunt him down and kill him and his entire family. It wasn’t much of a choice.
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. Theoretica
lly, 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.”
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 119
