“What am I looking at here, Major Richards?” he asked.
“Hopefully nothing, Colonel,” said the National Guard officer, looking past the Marines at the column of Matvees.
“Nothing would be a clear road to Searsport. This doesn’t look like nothing to me,” said Grady.
Despite his sympathy for the local government, he had a duty to safeguard his Marines. The best way to do that was to project a strong, uncompromising presence.
“Searsport has adequate security, Colonel. 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment has a company of soldiers guarding the facility.”
Grady stared at the major, sensing his unease with the situation.
Platoon, but I’ll give you credit for the bluff.
“The RRZ would like to free those soldiers for other duties in the state. We’re a little overstaffed down south,” said Grady.
The major nodded. “Would the colonel entertain a meeting with the state governor?”
“Susan Dague?”
“Yes, sir. She’s at the Searsport facility.”
“How much warning did you have about our visit?” said Grady.
“Enough to bring a company of soldiers and all of the battalion’s armored vehicles. Searsport is a secure facility, sir,” said the major.
Maybe the major hadn’t been bluffing.
“You’re not planning to put bags over our heads for the trip, are you?”
The major almost laughed. “Negative, sir. This is more of a site visit, so you can assure the RRZ folks that we have adequate security at Maine’s only fully operational marine terminal.”
“I’d love nothing more than to assure them that the situation is under control, and that the Searsport facility will continue to fulfill the RRZ’s requirements,” said Grady.
Chapter 15
Searsport Marine Terminal at Mack Point
Searsport, Maine
Grady accepted a ride in one of the National Guard Humvees after briefing Captain Williams, the senior officer remaining with the Marine convoy. He reluctantly left Staff Sergeant Taylor behind, suspecting that Governor Dague had more than a tour of the security arrangements in mind. His gut instinct told him that this would be an executive-level negotiation that would likely result in a status-quo arrangement. He wasn’t sure how Taylor would respond to Grady’s dismissal of the RRZ’s directive to “secure the facility—using force if necessary,” and he didn’t want to put the staff sergeant in a position to question the decision.
The first thing he noticed when they arrived at the gate was a series of HESCO barricades anchoring an armored guard post. Two up-armored Humvees were parked behind a long stretch of fence to the right of the entrance, overlooking the Jersey barriers funneling traffic into the facility. He saw no sign of any weapons heavier than the 7.62mm M240 machine guns, which matched their intelligence briefing. 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment’s Category Five Response load out hadn’t included MK-19 grenade launchers or M2 .50-caliber machine guns. Since the unit wasn’t located in a critical, high-population area, Homeland planners thankfully hadn’t seen a need to include heavy firepower.
They passed through the gate and drove a few hundred yards to a parking lot in front of a two-story, corrugated aluminum building. At least twenty Humvees were parked in the lot, facing outward, their crews standing around the vehicles. If this was the extent of their show of force, the RRZ had little to worry about. Unarmored Humvees and lightly armored soldiers posed little threat to his Marines, and even less of a threat to armored elements of the 10th Mountain Division. If the RRZ wanted the facility, they could take it.
Why didn’t Medina send a Stryker company to take care of this?
He knew the answer; she didn’t care for Grady, so she sent him to do the RRZ’s dirty work.
Major Richards nodded as they parked. “Governor Dague is in this building.”
“This is the extent of the battalion’s armored vehicles?” asked Grady.
“We had a limited motor pool to start with at the reserve center. Older stuff, non-EMP hardened,” said Richards.
Grady shook his head. “This can’t be all of it. This is barely enough to transport a company of soldiers.”
Richards ignored the comment and opened his door. The soldiers were called to attention when Grady exited the Humvee.
“Carry on, soldiers,” said Grady.
Grady made a few observations as they crossed the parking lot. Overall, the soldiers looked healthy. They were dressed in the latest generation ACU-patterned Extreme Cold Weather Clothing System (ECWCS) and half of them carried Bushmaster ACRs. He was surprised to see the Adaptive Combat Rifle. The rifle had seen limited distribution throughout the various services, despite rumors of sizable Department of Defense purchase orders. Mystery solved. Just like the thousands of ROTAC satellite phones that had been reserved for Category Five disaster response. Strangely enough, he didn’t see any radios resembling the ROTAC.
He studied the vehicle markings on the hoods of the Humvees, possibly confirming Richards’ statement. He saw a wide representation of various company and platoon unit designations. Grady found it odd that Homeland planners hadn’t included additional vehicles in their load out. Maybe the battalion’s allotment had been reduced to fit the perceived need in central and northern Maine.
“How many Humvees do you have out of commission?” Grady asked when they reached the door to the building.
“More than half,” said Richards.
“We need to get that fixed. Should be relatively simple with the right parts,” said Grady.
“That’s the problem. We don’t exactly have access to the Army supply system,” said Richards.
“I might be able to work something out,” said Grady, stopping at the door. “Is your commanding officer present?”
“You’re looking at him, sir. Major Don Richards. Former battalion S-3,” said Richards. “Our CO was on vacation with his family in Colorado. Camping trip. The XO was at a family reunion in Wells. They rented two big houses side by side on the beach. We haven’t heard from either of them.”
Grady shook his head.
“Everything between the beach and Route One in Wells was swept inland by the tsunami. Few survived.”
“That’s what we heard. The governor officially appointed me as battalion commander a few days after the event,” said Richards. “We’ve been scrambling ever since.”
“So…what am I walking into here, Major?”
“The governor has no intention of recognizing the RRZ’s authority in the state.”
“That’s not really a debatable point. The president activated the National Recovery Plan, which clearly establishes RRZ authority over local government and defines the roles for each entity,” Grady explained. “Security is an RRZ function—like it or not.”
“She doesn’t recognize the 2015 Defense Authorization Bill. Her staff will argue that your presence—the RRZ’s presence— is a violation of the Insurrection Act,” said Richards.
“It’s a little late for that argument,” said Grady. “I hope there’s more to this meeting than a constitutional debate.”
“There is,” said Richards. “Though I can’t guarantee you’ll like what she has to offer.”
“Offer?” asked Grady, opening the door. “This should be interesting.”
Governor Dague was waiting for them in a small conference room on the ground level. The governor was dressed in a thick red winter jacket and winter cap, sporting a worn pair of waterproof boots made famous by one of Maine’s premier outfitter companies. She looked like someone you’d expect to find ringing a Salvation Army bell in front of a grocery instead of a state governor, but looks could be deceiving in Maine. Dague, a career state prosecutor, was rumored to be hell on wheels in a negotiation, and downright cutthroat when the cards were stacked in her favor.
Grady walked around the conference table to shake the governor’s hand.
“Lieutenant Colonel Sean Grady, ma’am. It�
��s an honor and a surprise to meet you,” he said.
“Not a pleasure?” she asked, shaking his hand firmly.
“Under the circumstances, that remains to be seen,” said Grady.
“Please take a seat, gentlemen,” she said, pulling a chair out for herself.
“I can see my breath in here. No heat in this building?” said Grady.
“Every drop of fuel that comes into this port goes to the people of Maine. Hospitals, shelters, health clinics, and public safety. This has been my top priority as governor,” she said. “RRZ fuel demands have severely undercut these efforts. It’s too early to tell, but we estimate that thousands of Mainers died of starvation or exposure during the winter. It’s hard to explain why homes couldn’t be heated and food wasn’t distributed because the federal government needed to maintain twenty-four-hour helicopter coverage over FEMA camps in New Hampshire. Camps receiving food originating in Maine.”
“Ma’am, your reputation precedes you, so I’m not even going to pretend you don’t know that our helicopters, along with all of our vehicles, run on JP-8, not home heating oil,” said Grady.
“Nice try, Colonel, but I know JP-8 is essentially a kerosene-based fuel and can be used in kerosene heaters. I’ve seen studies suggesting it can be safely used in heating boilers. I believe the Air Force looked into this in the early nineties. We’re pretty savvy around here when it comes to heating solutions,” she said.
Grady realized he wasn’t going to win a debate with Governor Dague, though he couldn’t help continuing the discussion.
“JP-8 has a lower flashpoint than heating oil, which requires mechanical adjustments and constant monitoring, unless you want to potentially run your system into the ground. Maybe if the Maine legislature had supported your efforts to convert the state to natural gas, we wouldn’t be in this situation. The Maritimes and Northeast Pipeline from Nova Scotia is fully operational, and could provide enough natural gas to heat every home in the state. Instead, that pipeline is heating homes in Massachusetts and Connecticut.”
“Touché, Colonel. You’ve done your homework,” she said, appearing to seriously contemplate her next statement. “I’ll come right out and say it, Colonel. The Searsport terminal is operating at full capacity, and RRZ shipments are monopolizing terminal intake. From what I can tell, and from what the people in southern Maine can tell, most of the RRZ’s take is being spent on efforts outside of the state.”
“The RRZ is paying for every shipment that comes into the terminal. The last time we checked, the state of Maine had no cash reserves. Everything that comes into that terminal is owned by the RRZ and given to the state. We’re barely maintaining the necessary levels to sustain operations within the New England North zone,” said Grady.
“My sources indicate that you’re stockpiling fuel and supplies. This puts me in an awkward position,” she said.
Grady took a deep breath. She was forcing him to skirt around the authority issue. He wasn’t sure if she was doing it on purpose, or if the natural course of these discussions inevitably led down that path. She had to know. Maybe it was time to embrace the subject.
“Ma’am, I don’t know what to tell you. I have my orders, and right now, a company of soldiers is sitting on my objective. Your recent communication with the RRZ, along with some fiery rhetoric over several HAM radio channels has called into question the security of the RRZ’s supply line.”
“Searsport is in good hands,” said Dague. “Major Richards’ battalion is more than capable of securing the facility.”
“I haven’t called into question 3rd Battalion’s capabilities. You’re deflecting the issue, ma’am.”
“I’m well aware of that. You’ve been respectful and polite, Colonel, but you haven’t addressed me by my title—why is that?”
Here we go.
“Nothing more than an oversight on my part, Governor,” said Grady. “Here’s what I propose. In an effort to free up some of Major Richards’ soldiers to assist the state with other recovery tasks—at your discretion—I’ll garrison four vehicles and two squads of Marines at the Searsport facility,” said Grady.
“How generous,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “I’ll have to decline the offer.”
“You should seriously reconsider, Governor Dague,” said Grady. “Leaving Marines gets the RRZ off your back. I can’t go back to my vehicle and report the status quo here. You’ve taken that option off the table by threatening to take control of the Searsport terminal.”
“I never threatened to do that,” said Dague.
“You hinted at it, ma’am, and that’s as good as a threat these days. A threat to the entire RRZ. This isn’t just about Maine. The New England North recovery zone is responsible for several states, and this is the only functioning terminal,” said Grady.
“Nobody believes that,” she said.
“It’s a fact. Three Connecticut maritime terminals deep inside the Long Island Sound survived the tsunami waves from the second strike off Long Island. Stamford, New Haven and Bridgeport. Unfortunately, nothing will be delivered to these facilities, because we can’t guarantee safe passage through the sound or secure docking at the terminals. Searsport is the only show within the RRZ, and frankly, the state of Maine is getting a disproportionate amount of the fuel flowing into the region. Governor Medina has been putting up with it because she’s had her hands full keeping a few hundred thousand refugees from rampaging your state. Trust me, you can handle the bad press of accepting a joint security arrangement in Searsport. It beats the alternative.”
“That sounded like a threat,” she said.
“I carry out orders, Governor Dague. In this case, I’m making a notable exception.”
Dague looked out of the window next to her seat. She waited a few seconds before responding.
“The rumor circulating around Sanford is that you don’t care for the way the RRZ is being run,” she said. “From what I’ve heard, this isn’t the first time you’ve taken liberties with your orders.”
“Disagreement between military and civilian leadership working in close proximity is nothing new. I’ve been through this before. In my experience, as long as the end result is the same, civilians tend to overlook the means. Shall I make arrangements to garrison my Marines at the terminal, or would you prefer Governor Medina gets directly involved? She sent me up here expecting failure. I’d prefer not to give her what she wants.”
“If Major Richards could use some assistance handling the security arrangements in Searsport, I don’t have a problem with it,” said Dague.
Grady turned to the major, raising an eyebrow.
“I see no reason why this can’t work to everyone’s benefit,” said Richards.
“Exactly. The longer we keep the RRZ authority happy, the better for everyone. The situation will gradually improve for Maine. Repairs on the pipeline facilities in Portland are nearing completion, along with the harbor-dredging project. If all goes well, they’ll reverse the flow of the pipeline and start moving product down from the refineries in Montreal.”
“If the RRZ doesn’t take it all,” said Dague.
“I don’t see that happening. The recovery plan starts with Maine and radiates outward. Unfortunately, none of the Category Five scenarios included a tsunami wiping out port facilities up and down the New England coast. You have to believe me when I say that we’ve barely kept up with refugee camp management. If Portland harbor opens for business, the RRZ can stabilize Maine and start moving outward,” said Grady.
“A lot of Mainers don’t trust these RRZ folks,” said Dague. “Myself included.”
“Mainers don’t trust anybody from out of state, Governor,” said Grady. “Which is why I like it up here. I know exactly where I stand at all times.”
Governor Dague laughed at Grady’s statement, patting him on the arm.
“We might make you an honorary Mainer after all,” she said.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, ma’am, but I truly hope
I’m not here long enough to earn that title,” said Grady.
She laughed again. “No offense taken, Colonel Grady. The sooner you’re out of here, the sooner things go back to normal.”
“I’m not sure they’ll ever go back to normal—not after this,” said Grady.
PART II
“LITTLE PICTURE”
Late April 2020
Chapter 16
Belgrade, Maine
Alex pulled the snow-encrusted wool cap tighter over his head and grabbed the four-foot-long, wildly flapping sheet of ripped plastic. Reaching into one of his cargo pockets, he fumbled to remove the industrial stapler. A stinging gust of wind tore the clear film from his gloved hands before he could kneel to reaffix the plastic to the raised wood frame. Seizing the sheet, he pulled it downward, hoping to quickly staple it against the lip of the garden frame before another gale-force blast crossed the frozen lake.
“Son of a mother…” he mumbled, getting a close look at the inside of the garden box.
The storm had intensified overnight, packing the ten-foot-by-five-foot box with at least a foot and a half of snow. So much for the cold-frame starter boxes. Surveying the backyard, he saw that all of the boxes they had built in the fall had suffered a similar fate. Plastic either missing or torn, snow drifts inside the frames. He sensed a presence and looked up to see Charlie standing a few feet away dressed in thick winter gear, shaking his head at the disaster.
“Looks like I fucked up,” said Alex. “We started too early.”
Charlie stepped forward, the snow already accumulating in a thin layer on his jacket and hat.
“We haven’t had a storm this late in April for years—if ever,” said Charlie, kneeling next to the box. He stuck his hands inside the frame, gently searching through the sticky snow for signs of the seedlings that had flourished under their vigilant care over the past few weeks. Wilted strands of green emerged. Charlie was careful not to sweep the plants away with the snow, but it didn’t matter. They couldn’t be salvaged at this point.
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 137
