THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

  “We’re coming in for a hover above friendly ground unit. Zero-Six will land in front of the garage and disembark Patriot elements. Watch for a third hostile vehicle possibly entering the compound from the north,” said the pilot.

  The crew acknowledged the pilot as they flew over the compound and approached the flare from a southerly direction.

  Chapter 36

  Plymouth, Maine

  Alex lifted his head a few inches off the ground after he was certain the second helicopter was finished. Dozens of tracers and bullet ricochets from the friendly miniguns had ripped into nearby tree trunks and branches. He wasn’t complaining, but he wasn’t taking any chances either. His flare continued to burn brightly on the ground between them, whitewashing his view through the NVGs. He pushed the goggles off his face, squinting at Charlie’s red, glowing form.

  “You okay?” whispered Alex.

  “Aside from the 7.62 millimeter haircut?” said Charlie, who remained face planted into the ground. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Check the right flank, in case something survived,” said Alex.

  “Nothing survived that,” said Charlie, rolling onto his side to scan the trees through his riflescope.

  “One of the helicopters is going to hover directly above and keep us safe while a squad of Marines secures the area,” said Alex.

  “Does that mean I can just lay here for a while?”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much all I plan to do for now,” said Alex.

  The deep, rhythmic thumping grew louder, preceded by a growing wind that rustled the pine boughs and swept a fine layer of dirt from the compound through the trees. As the dark shape of Hellfire Zero-Five moved into position above, a maelstrom of pebbles, sticks and dried pine needles pelted them, causing Alex to bury his face in his arms. A quick burst of minigun fire sent a line of red tracers toward an unseen target, presumably the second Humvee.

  Small-arms fire erupted in the compound, punctuated by the buzz-saw sound of the minigun above them. Spent casings tumbled through the branches, jingling as they struck the ground next to Alex. Either the third Humvee had showed up, or a few survivors had decided to fire at the offloading helicopter. Alex’s ROTAC buzzed as the crackle of gunfire thinned. He didn’t recognize the call sign.

  “Alex Fletcher,” he answered.

  “This is Sergeant Keeler. I’m moving my squad toward the fence, due west of your position. We’ll clear the vehicle and cut a hole in the fence. Have you out of there in a few minutes.”

  “Copy, Sergeant. You know where to find us. Any sign of the third Humvee?”

  “Negative,” said Keeler. “I have a few AT-4s waiting for it to make an appearance.”

  “I hope you get to use them,” replied Alex, switching to his handheld radio. “Ed, this is Alex. Can you hear me?”

  “Barely. Are you guys okay?”

  “I broke my arm, but that seems to be the extent of it. We’re just waiting for a squad of Marines to sweep the area. Where are you now?”

  “Somewhere south of the SUV. We stopped moving when the helicopters started firing. Do you want us to head back?”

  He could barely hear Ed over the incessant noise and rotor wash of the helicopter above him.

  “Did anyone follow you into the woods?” said Alex.

  “I don’t know. We’ve been hauling ass since we got over the fence. We can’t see a damn thing.”

  “Just stay where you are. Lay low and listen for any sounds.”

  “I hear helicopters and gunfire,” said Ed. “That’s about it.”

  “Do what you can until we get this sorted out,” said Alex. “How’s Ryan?”

  “I think he’s enjoying this way too much,” said Ed. “The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. See you in a few.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

  “It is if you’re trying to stay alive,” said Ed.

  Alex laid his head on a thick root protruding from the bottom of the tree trunk and watched the red flare sputter against the ground. All he wanted was a stretcher and a helicopter ride home. He highly doubted either was in his immediate future, unless the paramilitaries had disabled the SUV before chasing them. Over the drone of the helicopter rotors, he heard the sharp metallic snap of bolt cutters breaching the chain-link fence. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for the Marines to surround his position.

  “They’re here,” said Charlie.

  “Mr. Fletcher?” yelled a voice in front of them.

  A figure in full combat kit appeared at the outer fringe of the flare’s light, aiming a rifle at Alex.

  “Yes. Alex Fletcher and Charlie Thornton. We’re on the ground with the flare between us.”

  “Can you bury the flare for me?” said the Marine. “I need to positively ID one of you.”

  Alex grabbed the flare with his right hand and jammed it into the soft forest floor, burying it as far as possible to give the Marine a chance to use night vision to identify them from a distance.

  “Confirmed! I have Alex Fletcher on the right. Mr. Thornton on the left,” said the Marine, rushing forward. “Hasty one-eighty facing east.”

  As the Marine rifle squad sprinted into positions around them, Alex rose to his knees to greet the squad leader.

  “Sergeant Keeler, good to see you again,” said Alex.

  “The pleasure is all mine, gentlemen,” said Keeler. “If you don’t mind, Hellfire Zero-Six would like to get airborne ASAP.”

  Alex struggled to get off his knees.

  “Need a hand, partner?” said Charlie, pushing himself off the ground with his good hand.

  “I don’t know who’s helping who here,” said Alex.

  Sergeant Keeler heaved Alex to his feet by his vest, swiftly grasping Charlie’s good hand and swinging him into an upright position.

  “We need to move,” said Keeler, striding ahead of them.

  Alex flipped his NVGs in place and followed the sergeant to the helicopter, pulling Charlie through the darkness. Once inside the Black Hawk, Alex slipped a pair of crew headphones over his NVG harness and spoke with the pilot.

  “Thanks for the rescue. We were about a minute from the end when you guys showed up. Drinks are on me,” said Alex, feeling the helicopter lift off the ground.

  He dropped into an empty, forward-facing seat between two Marines.

  “You’re lucky we can’t take you up on that offer,” said the pilot.

  “One of these days,” said Alex. “Hey, did Zero-Five mention picking up two additional friendlies? My son and another friend are on foot, south of the facility.”

  “Zero-Five has located them using infrared. Tell them to proceed due south. They’re less than a hundred meters from the interstate,” answered the pilot. “Zero-Five will pick them up in the southbound lanes.”

  “Roger. I’m calling them now,” said Alex, pressing the transmit button on his handheld.

  “Ed, this is Alex. I need you to continue south another hundred meters, three hundred feet or so. You’re almost to the turnpike,” said Alex.

  He could barely hear Ed’s reply.

  “Say again, Ed. I didn’t catch what you said.”

  “—not us,” said Ed.

  “Not us? Did you say not us?”

  “Some—else,” said Ed. “Been trying—contact.”

  “Stay put. We’ll fix this,” said Alex, keying the helicopter headphones.

  “Pilot, my guy on the ground is telling me that’s not them. I can’t hear what he’s saying. I think he’s whispering. Can you have Zero-Five do another sweep with their FLIR?”

  “Stand by,” said the pilot.

  Alex felt the helicopter bank sharply, increasing speed as it came out of the turn.

  Charlie yelled across the troop compartment, “What’s going on?”

  “I think there’s another team tracking Ed and Ryan!” he said, the implication hitting him hard.

  Neither Ed nor Ryan had night-vision gear. They
didn’t have a way to fight in the dark. His earphones crackled.

  “Mr. Fletcher, Zero-Five has two sets of infrared signatures. They’re less than ten meters apart. One group is headed right for the other. Too close for guns,” said the pilot.

  Alex shook his head, muttering, “No. No. No.”

  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Ed and Ryan were supposed to be out of danger. Where the hell did more of these contractors come from? Why were they between the highway and his son? He needed to come up with something. Without night vision, his son and Ed stood no chance against seasoned military contractors. Night vision. That was it.

  “Is this helicopter equipped with infrared countermeasures? A flare dispenser?”

  “Affirmative,” said the pilot.

  “Tell Zero-Five to light up the sky above the heat signatures,” said Alex.

  Chapter 37

  Plymouth, Maine

  Ryan lay prone, his rifle canted sideways to keep it as low as possible. A twig snapped, barely audible over the distant thunder of helicopter rotors. The men were close, most likely directly in front of them, but he couldn’t be sure. Even with his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the blackness betrayed no movement. He let his peripheral vision do the work, remembering what his dad said about the motion sensitivity of his eyes’ photoreceptors. Still nothing.

  A muted crunch drew his attention to the left, in front of Mr. Walker. He had to do something. The men searching nearby were bound to catch a glimpse of them soon. Without night vision, the earliest warning would be a hail of bullets tearing through flesh and bone. Ryan had no intention of dying on his stomach while hoping for a miracle.

  He’d take the initiative, throwing the mercenaries off balance. It was their only chance of survival. Unfortunately, he couldn’t warn Mr. Walker. The men were too close to whisper. Sliding his thumb along the rifle hand guard, he located the pressure switch for the flashlight attachment. The powerful LED light would render their adversaries’ NVGs temporarily useless, giving him a second or two to fire, unless they were using generation four night-vision gear. If that was the case, he might get one of them before they shot him in the head. Shit. He couldn’t just lay here and wait to be shot. The light was worth a try. He took his right hand off the rifle’s pistol grip and planted it into the soft, moist forest floor, tensing his muscles for a solid boost.

  His dad’s voice came over the earbud planted in his left ear.

  “Ed, Ryan, listen closely. You have two targets due south of your position, less than twenty feet away. One of the helicopters is headed in your direction right now, but they can’t fire without hitting you. They will fly directly overhead and drop several high-intensity flares. Once the flares ignite, you should be able to see your targets. Don’t hesitate. Just start shooting. Click your radio transmit button twice if you copy. Ed first. Then Ryan.”

  Ryan eased his hand to the remote transmit button on the shoulder of his vest and waited for two breaks in the static before pressing it twice. A hand gently patted him on the shoulder as the sound of helicopter rotors deepened.

  This is it.

  He found the trigger again, stretching his thumb around the pistol grip to verify that the safety was disabled. He knew the rifle was set to automatic fire, but he had to check. There was no room for error. Especially now. When his stomach started to vibrate from the booming sound of the approaching Black Hawk, he took some of the slack out of the trigger.

  Any time now.

  A high-pitched engine whine mixed with the rotors as the helicopter thundered overhead, turning night into day. Ryan fired a long burst into the two body-armor-clad figures appearing less than fifteen feet away, sweeping the point of aim of his rifle across their twitching bodies. With Ed’s rifle barking rapidly next to him, he switched to short, successive bursts until the two men dropped out of sight, leaving a fine red mist drifting in the flares’ dancing illumination.

  Ryan twisted onto his side and withdrew a fresh rifle magazine from one of his vest pouches, reloading and listening for movement in front of them. As the earsplitting din of the helicopter faded, he rose behind the tree next to him and fired into each body’s legs, not detecting a reaction. The men were dead.

  The magnesium flares launched by the helicopter crashed through the canopy, igniting anything they touched on the way down. Ryan crouched as a flare swept through the pine boughs above them, setting fire to the tree before bouncing off a thick branch. The pyrotechnic device landed on one of the dead mercenaries, burning intensely for a few moments before suddenly fizzling. His face went cold when the flare died.

  “I think they’re about as dead as they can be. Let’s go,” whispered Mr. Walker, squatting next to him, “before the forest burns down around us.”

  They took off running, using the yellow-orange flickering light of the flaming trees to guide their way.

  “Ed, Ryan, what’s your status?” said his dad.

  Ryan waited for Mr. Walker to answer. That was the protocol they had established between them. Only one of them answered radio calls to avoid confusion.

  “Go ahead, Ryan. I think your dad would rather hear from you,” said Mr. Walker.

  “Dad, we’re fine. Heading south toward the highway. I think they started a forest fire.”

  “Good to hear your voice, buddy. Move as fast as you can to the highway. We think the third Humvee dropped off the team you encountered. The pilots are eager to get out of here,” said Alex. “And thank you for keeping my guy safe, Ed.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was the other way around,” said Mr. Walker, patting Ryan on the back again.

  He liked hearing Chloe’s dad talk about him like that. Mr. Walker hadn’t been a big fan of his for obvious reasons. Ryan stuck to avoiding him and, in turn, evading Chloe. He felt bad about doing that to her, but Mr. Walker’s stares and pointed comments made him feel uncomfortable. His mom did a decent enough job explaining why the Walkers might want to put the brakes on their relationship, but it still hurt to be away from her. Maybe things would change between them. He hoped so. He also hoped all of this meant they could stay in Maine.

  They reached the edge of the trees, pointlessly scanning the starlit sky for the helicopter. They heard it approach before they saw it, a dark mass descending in front of them. Four shadowy figures hopped to the pavement and ran in their direction, shining lights in their faces. Ryan turned his head and squinted, hearing one of them report “confirmed” into his helmet microphone. The lights disappeared, leaving them flash blind.

  “Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Walker. Please follow me,” said the Marine, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the powerful rotor wash toward the waiting helicopter.

  Just outside the helicopter, one of the Marines took his rifle and cleared it, handing it back and keeping the magazine. Hands grabbed his vest and pulled him inside, where he was directed to empty harness seats and told to hang on. He searched through the darkness for his dad, seeing nothing but night-vision-equipped helmets and balaclava-covered faces.

  “Where’s my dad?” he yelled.

  The last Marine to jump into the helicopter answered, “Your dad and Mr. Thornton are in the other helicopter. They’re both injured, so we’re assessing whether they need to be transported to a medical facility. My orders are to take you to your house in Belgrade. Your dad has been notified that you’re safe.”

  “Okay,” he yelled, turning his head to find Mr. Walker. “Mr. Walker?”

  “Right behind you,” a voice called out. “And I think you can call me Ed at this point.”

  Ryan really liked the sound of that.

  Chapter 38

  Belgrade, Maine

  Kate heard the helicopters before the deck’s side stairs announced Staff Sergeant Evans’ presence, the wood creaking from the added weight of his combat gear. She’d been outside listening since the Marines had passed word of the harrowing rescue. She let go of the deck rail and turned to the house. A diesel engine revved in the distance. />
  “Ma’am, they’re less than a minute out. The helicopters will touch down just south of here on Jamaica Road. One of my vehicles is heading out to meet them,” said Evans, standing in front of a two-story wall of wide, angled windows.

  The soft glow of candles illuminated the great room behind the wall of windows facing the lake, turning the Marine into a dark silhouette.

  “Can your medic treat them here?” she asked, walking toward the house.

  “He’ll thoroughly clean the wounds and do what he can to keep Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Thornton comfortable. Their injuries are painful, but not life threatening. We’re working on a plan to deliver a medical team from Augusta to set your husband’s arm and do a real stitch job on Mr. Thornton’s hand. They might be preoccupied until the morning, or longer,” said Evans.

  “All hell breaking loose tonight?” said Kate.

  “We’ll be fine here,” said Evans, opening the sliding door.

  “Your colonel doesn’t think so, or I wouldn’t have a squad of Marines at my house,” Kate pointed out.

  “It’s just a precaution,” said Evans. “And a bit of a fig leaf.”

  “I think you mean olive branch? Offering a fig leaf is what you do to cover up an embarrassment.”

  “Whatever the saying is,” said the Marine. “He really needed their help.”

  “He should have asked. A few pallets of field rations and MREs isn’t adequate compensation for a dead husband and son,” Kate remarked, eyeing the stack of olive drab containers stacked in the hallway leading to the front door.

  Evans looked down as she stepped through the door.

  “I know, ma’am. I’m really sorry,” he whispered.

  The dry heat from the wood-burning stove warmed her face like a sunny day. The flickering light of several widely spaced candles illuminated the great room and eat-in kitchen. Her daughter, Emily, and the rest of the teenage girls sat on the floor in front of a wide, U-shaped sectional couch, playing cards. Samantha, Linda, and Alex’s mother sat on the leather sections behind them, looking to her for word. Tim Fletcher placed a glass on the kitchen counter and turned to face her.