The Perseid Collapse (The Perseid Collapse Series 1)

by Konkoly, Steven

  “Sean Grady?” he blurted.

  “About time. Am I that ugly now?” he said, rushing forward to hug Alex.

  “Beautiful as ever. Careful, the wrist.” Alex winced.

  “Sorry about that. You’re lucky they didn’t light you up out there,” said Grady.

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. You’ve met Ed. Hope he’s explained things a bit.”

  Ed stood up with a pained look on his face.

  “Sergeant Walker of the, uh…what was it again?” asked Grady.

  “3rd Special Operations Department,” stated Ed matter-of-factly.

  “Yes. Sergeant Walker of the 3rd SOD,” said Grady, raising his eyebrows, “hasn’t broken character, despite everything I’ve told him about you. He’s still some kind of spec ops technical advisor, and you’re his high-speed, ninja escort.”

  “You’ve gotta be shitting me? They have your wallet, Ed,” said Alex, shaking his head.

  “I don’t break easy—unlike some people,” said his neighbor, taking a sip of coffee and leaning back in a folding chair.

  “I can see that. They didn’t offer you some cookies to go with that?” said Alex.

  “He refused a whole assortment of—”

  “Colonel Grady! Fire Support platoon commander requests the QRF (Quick Reaction Force)!” yelled a marine. “Someone just drove a bulldozer through one of the concrete barricades at the far end of Western Avenue Bridge!”

  “I want Raven coverage immediately,” said Grady, pushing past Ed to one of the tables on the opposite side of the tent. Alex followed, patting Ed on the shoulder.

  “How’s the coffee, sergeant?”

  “Shitty,” whispered Ed.

  “Welcome to the Marine Corps,” said Alex, rushing to keep up with Grady.

  “Did they try to drive it across?” asked the battalion commander.

  “Negative. Pushed the concrete barrier into the river and stopped. Last pass by the Raven picked up a large group massed beyond Soldiers Field Road. They’re partially masked from our sensors. Probably hiding in the underpass,” replied the marine.

  “Define large,” said Grady.

  “Thirty to fifty, estimated.”

  “Launch QRF. Put them on the bridge,” said Grady, turning to face Alex and Ed. “This has been going on all day and all night.”

  “Are you guarding the bridges?” asked Alex.

  “Hold on,” he said, shifting two tables down.

  Two marines sat in front of a laptop monitor, watching a live, panoramic aerial feed.

  “I want you scouring the areas beyond the bridges connecting to Harvard Business School. Anderson Memorial, Cambridge Street, Western Avenue, and Weeks. Any vehicles or groups of people on the move need to be tagged and sent to ground units in the area. Get it done,” said Grady, turning back to Alex.

  “We’re loosely guarding the bridges, trying to restrict traffic. No vehicles. Pedestrians are stopped and searched,” said Grady.

  “Both ways?”

  “One way. Nobody is going south anymore. It’s not a very hospitable environment. 1st Battalion, 101st Field Artillery Regiment out of Brockton never linked up with our forward elements. We don’t think they made it north of Dorchester or Roxbury. I gave it twelve hours and yanked the marines back.”

  “You’re not talking to the 101st?” said Alex, following Grady back to the monitors on the center table.

  “We’re talking with 1st Battalion, 182nd Infantry Regiment out of Melrose, and that’s pretty much it beyond Homeland and a few local law-enforcement agencies.”

  Grady stopped in front of the rightmost screen, which showed the greater Boston area broken into color-shaded sections. Everything south of the Charles River was shaded red. He pointed at the north shore.

  “First off, the 182nd has everything shaded green. East of the 93, up through Salem. We’ve got everything shaded blue. 93 west to Waltham. We were supposed to connect with the 101st and help them with the areas west of Kenmore Square, but that obviously fell apart. All the better, really. We’re spread beyond fucking thin as it is. Take a look,” he said, shifting to the other monitor.

  “I’ve split the Indirect Fires Platoon into two platoons. Same with the Large Caliber Direct Fire platoon. LCDF is lighter on personnel, so I have them working areas outside of the concentration zone. Somerville to Medford. Watertown to Waltham. We’re talking thirty marines max per platoon, including some of the guys on loan from the Short Range Direct Fire platoon. We called that the heavy-machine-gun platoon in your days.”

  “That’s not a lot of coverage,” Alex pointed out.

  “It’s more of a presence mission,” Grady explained. “We’re driving around with bigger guns than the criminals. It’s working.”

  “So this is the area of concentration?” asked Ed.

  “Sergeant Walker is all over this, Captain Fletcher. Better keep him out of danger,” said Grady. “I have four platoons working here. The Fire Support platoon, with a little heavy-machine-gun help, is spread out along the river, mainly watching the bridges. I have overwatch in the buildings and a ‘meet and greet’ team on the ground level. The other three platoons are stationed around Cambridge. You ran into one of the HQs at Sennott Park. They cover east of battalion HQ to the 93. We’re running vehicle patrols 24/7. Limited ‘walk and talks’ if the intel section thinks we need to dig a little deeper into one of the neighborhoods.”

  Alex politely stared at the screen, a single question clawing to the surface. “How were you able to get here so quickly?”

  Grady grinned. “False flag rumors have everyone on edge.”

  “You have to admit it doesn’t look good. A marine infantry battalion rolls into town within twenty-four hours of the EMP, with working vehicles and communications gear?”

  “Who said anything about an EMP?” said Grady.

  “Come on. Asteroid strike? Sounds a little farfetched combined with a region-wide electrical outage.”

  “The power outage isn’t regional. It’s nationwide—and the asteroid strike has been confirmed by local sources. There’s something bigger going on, no doubt about that, but we don’t have shit for information. We have our orders, and that’s about it.”

  “It still looks suspicious. Mobilizing an entire marine reserve battalion within twenty-four hours?”

  “Twelve hours, and it was pure luck, really. I had two of my companies at Fort Devens for the start of annual training. H and S was prepping for the rest of the battalion, while Weapons Company was knocking out some of their heavy weapons quals,” he said, shaking his head. “The rest of the battalion was scheduled to roll into Devens on Wednesday. Two more days, and I’d have been at full battalion strength. The plan was designed for a minimum of three out of the five companies. I have two.”

  “If this had happened two days earlier, you’d be stuck in Fort Devens holding your dick. What is this plan you mentioned?” said Alex.

  “Category Five Event Response ordered by the Department of Homeland Security. We’re supposed to prevent a widespread breakdown in civil order.”

  Alex looked around. “Is that possible?”

  Lieutenant Colonel Sean Grady leaned in and whispered, “Not with two companies. I give it a day or two.”

  “That’s why we hauled ass to get here,” Alex admitted, glancing at Ed. “Our kids are stuck over the river.”

  “I was wondering what dragged my former company commander to Cambridge, Mass, geared up for urban combat,” Grady said. He reached under the table to grab a familiar rifle. “We’re confiscating shit like this on sight.”

  “I heard. Category Five requirements?”

  “Something like that,” said Grady, reluctantly.

  “I dropped my son off at BU on Saturday. Ed’s daughter is a sophomore at BC.”

  “That’s not good,” Grady mumbled.

  “That’s what we keep hearing, but we don’t have a choice.”

  “Maybe they got out early,” Grady sugges
ted.

  “Not likely. They had a prearranged plan. Stay in the safest of the two places, and wait for us,” said Ed.

  “We have to make the trip, Sean. Even if the kids made it out, we have no way to verify it. One way or the other, we’re going into those badlands,” said Alex, pointing at the red-shaded zone on the monitor.

  “You can’t walk across one of the bridges. Not with your commando gear. They’ll tear you apart.”

  “What exactly is going on over there?”

  “Rioting. Looting. Arson. Personal violence—”

  “Rape?” said Ed.

  “Everything. Large gangs are staking out territory.”

  “Drug gangs?”

  “Not really. We can’t discount a heavy criminal element based on what we’ve witnessed, but it seems like a typical power grab in the absence of authority. Early this morning, we stopped a mixed group of ten men and women trying to cross the Weeks pedestrian bridge with AR-15-type rifles and semiautomatic shotguns. They had the shit broken down and concealed in backpacks. I felt like I was back in Helmand Province. That group was sent across for a reason, and it wasn’t to seek a new life in the mountains of Vermont. We’re talking a hardened group of ex-con-looking types.”

  “Colonel Grady,” said the UAV operator, “Raven is sweeping north to south over Harvard Business School. White-hot thermal imaging detected.”

  “Copy. I’ll monitor from here,” said Grady. “Watch the screen,” he said, navigating to a new screen on his monitor.

  A few mouse clicks and the blue screen changed to a grayscale aerial image of the buildings along the northern tip of the business school complex. The screen panned south until a white cluster appeared in the middle of Soldiers Field Road near the intersection of Western Avenue. The camera’s crosshairs centered on the cluster, and the image magnified.

  “That’s why you can’t cross the river,” said Grady.

  At least twenty armed figures huddled under the Western Avenue overpass, hidden from the building-based surveillance teams in Cambridge. The crosshairs focused on one of the individuals, who carried an AR-15 and wore a tactical vest.

  “Where are they getting the hardware?” Alex asked.

  “Take a guess. The weapons we grabbed were a mix of previously legal ARs and heavily modified Class Three shit.”

  Ed said, “I thought Massachusetts—”

  “The governor’s mandatory buy-back program was a joke,” Grady interrupted, “and Boston’s draconian firearms ban only succeeded in disarming people who followed the rules. The guns never went away. They just shifted into the wrong hands.”

  “Any way we can get an armed escort?” Alex requested. “You could use the Raven to find a safe route. We’d be in and out in less than an hour. Your marines don’t leave their vehicles.”

  Grady shook his head with a grave look. “I can’t justify sending anyone across, Alex. I’m strapped here. It’s no longer possible to move anyone, including heavily armed marines, past the river. We’ve tried it several times, with the same result. We eventually reach a point where we have to engage with small-arms fire to continue. I’m doing everything in my power to avoid that.”

  “Sounds like the fifty cals are cleared for engagement?”

  “Countersniper operations. My posts overlooking the bridges are taking persistent sniper fire. We’re only using the fifties when the sharpshooters get cocky and bunch up.”

  “Fuck it. I’ll swim across.”

  “Not a great idea. It’s anywhere from two hundred to three hundred feet across, and I’m sure they’re watching the water. It’s a full moon tonight.”

  “I can swim low profile. Combat swimmer stroke. I’ll follow one of the bridges across. Swim between supports,” said Alex.

  “You’ll probably get into a knife fight under the bridges. You’ll be better off swimming straight across. We’ll hold off on popping flares. No guarantee they won’t spot you,” said Grady, glancing up at the screen. “See that? Another group off Cambridge Street. Hiding out in a parking garage behind the Double Tree.”

  “Second group, Colonel,” said the assistant UAV pilot.

  “Got ’em. Nice job, Marines,” Grady said proudly. “Wave for the camera, assholes. Split the QRF between the Western Avenue Bridge and Cambridge Street Bridge.”

  “Passing the order, sir,” said one of the operations marines.

  “I wish we had some Reapers on station—with ordnance,” said Grady.

  Alex looked at him. “I thought you were trying to avoid civilian engagements?”

  “Trying. If either of these groups crosses with weapons—the trying part is over.”

  “We should probably get out of your way. What about our gear?” said Alex.

  “I’ll send it with you to Fire Support HQ. They’re set up at the Hyatt, right across the river from the university. Captain Baker has some individual river-crossing gear. Watertight bags. Tow lines. He may have some fins. He’ll set you up and get you into the river undiscovered. You’re on your own after that. I can’t send anyone in after you,” said Grady.

  “Sounds like a plan. Any way I can grab one of your spare Motorolas to announce my return? Hate to get smoked coming back.”

  “I can’t give you an encrypted radio, but I’ll give you an open frequency that we monitor,” Grady offered. “You can program it into the radio we took off Sergeant Walker. Yours is sort of smashed.”

  “Great. What about a new tactical vest? I’m pretty sure your marines cut mine to pieces.”

  “S-4 will hook you up. They’re set up on the first floor of Harvard Hall. I’ll let them know you need a—”

  “QRF is in position at both bridges,” announced one of the radio operators.

  “Copy,” said Grady. “Tell them to maintain blocking positions on the Cambridge side.”

  “Colonel, I have both groups on the move! Transmitting data to the platoon commanders,” said the UAV pilot.

  “Got it,” he said, turning to Alex and Ed. “It’s gonna be a long night for both of us. If you can’t get back across the river by sunrise, wait for tomorrow night. Hostile sharpshooters have been more of a nuisance than anything else—at night. Daytime is a different story. We’ve had some close calls.”

  “Got it. You better be here when I get back,” said Alex.

  “We’ll be here. I’ll have hot chow and coffee waiting for you and the kids. Lieutenant McGarrity?” he said, scanning the tent.

  “Yes, sir,” said a stocky officer watching the UAV feed by the pilots.

  “Escort these two gentlemen over to the main supply point and arrange a ride to Fire Support HQ. Supply has their gear. Replace anything we smashed or slashed. You better get moving. The situation over there could change in a heartbeat.”

  “Thank you, Sean. I owe you one,” said Alex, shaking his hand.

  “Careful what you say. I might cash in on that if you’re still handy with one of these,” said Grady, returning Alex’s HK416.

  “I can hold my own,” said Alex. “One last thing. Sergeant Walker could use a weapons upgrade,” he said, patting Ed’s shoulder.

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Ed.

  “I’m not taking you over with a Ruger 22. If Colonel Grady can spare—”

  “I’m not going,” he said.

  “That’s the first thing out of his mouth that’s made any sense. Good luck. Get ’em moving, Lieutenant.”

  Alex grabbed Ed by the arm and guided him through the tent flap. “I’m willing to take you, if you want to go.”

  “I can’t walk another mile on these stumps right now—let alone try to swim the river,” said Ed.

  “We’ll float you across,” said Alex.

  “The river isn’t the issue. I appreciate you letting me come this far.”

  “I wouldn’t have stopped you,” said Alex.

  “It’s better this way. Trust me,” said Ed. “I’ll stay here and make sure you don’t get left behind.” He looked up at the anci
ent buildings crowded over them. “They have less than twenty-four hours, and Grady knows it.”

  “I’ll get the kids back before it all goes to shit. Just a walk in the park,” said Alex.

  “Make sure you write down all of our frequencies. I picked something up on my way out of the tent,” whispered Ed, pressing something against his ribcage.

  “Either that’s a radio antenna in your pocket or you’re really happy not to be swimming the Charles,” said Alex.

  “It’s both.”

  Chapter 41

  EVENT +44:58 Hours

  Hyatt Regency

  Cambridge, Massachusetts

  Alex paused on the eleventh floor stairwell landing and put his hands on his knees. Taking deep breaths, he fought the wave of nausea that had decided to join him on the seventh floor. Unlike the other landing areas, which were illuminated by a single red chemlight, the eleventh was bathed in green light from three chemlights taped just above the exit-door window.

  “How we doing, sir?” said Corporal Rodriguez, his unflagging stairwell escort.

  “Better than you,” grunted Alex.

  “Good. We got six more floors to go,” said Rodriguez.

  Alex sighed and straightened himself, embracing the fact that he was going to meet their platoon commander with vomit on his new gear.

  “Just kidding. This is our floor,” said Rodriguez. “You should have seen the look on your face, though. You really going across?”

  “My son is at Boston University.”

  Rodriguez nodded with a blank look.

  “You got kids, Rodriguez?”

  “Family’s in Lowell. We’ve heard it ain’t so bad up there.”

  “I came through Haverhill. Not much going on in that area. They should be fine,” said Alex.

  “For now—until this mess spills north,” said Rodriquez, knocking on the door and standing directly in front of it. “It’s Rodriguez! I got your mystery guest!”

  A face appeared in the window, and the door opened. “Get back down to the patio, Rodriguez. We got a situation on the riverbank,” said the marine inside the hallway.