A sentry from the portable blast-resistant guard post approached the SUV. The Marine standing in the nearest Matvee turret hunched forward, nestling into the M240 machine gun aimed at his SUV’s front windshield. He hated being on the receiving end of “the gun,” his fate in the hands of a nervous eighteen-year-old.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Charlie, placing his hands on the dashboard.
“Not really, but it’s worth a try,” replied Alex. “You good back there?”
Ryan shifted in his seat. “Good to go, Dad. Everything is tucked away.”
The sentry, an Army specialist dressed in full combat gear, reached Alex’s open window.
“Sorry, sir. No unauthorized vehicles are allowed inside the terminal. I’m going to need you to back into the parking space behind you and head back out the way you came,” said the soldier, peering into the front and back seats.
“My name is Alex Fletcher, and I need to speak with the senior Marine on site. They’ll want to talk to me. Sorry to dump this on you, Specialist. Do you mind if I park and wait?”
The soldier thought about his request for a few seconds, which was a good sign. If he had no intention of passing along the information, he would have shut Alex down immediately.
“Why don’t you back into one of the spaces there,” suggested the soldier, pointing to a small parking lot on the other side of the access road. “I’ll pass your information on to the Marine garrison.”
“Thank you. I know you guys usually have your hands tied with these things, so I really appreciate your help with this.”
The soldier nodded and backed away, waiting for Alex to reposition the SUV. Once he had pulled them into the closest parking space, Alex shut off the engine.
“I don’t think you should have given them your name,” said Charlie. “You might be on their watch list.”
“I doubt it. The RRZ and state governor are at odds right now. The state controls these soldiers,” said Alex.
“Just saying, Captain Fletcher,” said Charlie. “You never know what kind of deals are being made.”
The reinforced section of chain-link fence on the left side of the guard shack jolted to life, squeaking along on its track. A few seconds later, the familiar squat shape of a tan Matvee appeared on the outbound side of the worn road inside the compound.
“Let’s step out of the car for easier identification,” said Alex.
They stopped behind the SUV as the armored vehicle cleared the gate. The Matvee pulled even with the group and screeched to a halt, the passenger-side door springing open. Staff Sergeant Taylor jumped onto the pavement, shaking his head.
“Never thought I’d see you again, sir,” said Taylor, reaching out to shake Alex’s hand.
“They must have been desperate putting you in charge up here,” said Alex, slapping him on the arm.
“Shit. We got a captain up here watching over us, but I had to see this for myself,” said Taylor, stepping in front of Charlie. “Looks like you healed up nicely, Mr. Thornton.”
“I take a licking, keep on ticking,” said Charlie, shaking his hand.
“I see my automatic rifleman seems to have recovered as well,” said Taylor, patting Ryan’s shoulder.
“His fighting days are over,” said Alex guardedly.
“I hope so. I hope all of our fighting days are over,” said Taylor, turning to Alex. “So, what brings the infamous Captain Fletcher out for a visit?”
“Just wanted to say hi,” said Alex.
“Uh-huh.”
“Anyone we know in the Matvee?” asked Alex.
“Negative. The usual suspects are back in Sanford. I got bamboozled into rolling out with Grady’s convoy,” said the staff sergeant.
“Think they’d be up for a ten-minute ride to Belfast?” said Alex. “The Maine Independence Initiative has seized my sailboat for ‘the good of the state.’ I’d really like to convince them, peacefully, to return my property.”
“And you think the arrival of a machine-gun-equipped, blast-resistant, armored vehicle will expedite your peaceful settlement?”
“It couldn’t hurt,” said Alex. “If you’re allowed to go on field trips without a permission slip, that is.”
“Mr. Thornton and your son stay here,” said Taylor.
“I’m going to need them to help me with the boat,” said Alex.
“All right, but they stay in the Matvee,” said Taylor, shaking his head. “I’m gonna get my ass handed to me for this.”
Twelve minutes later, the Matvee burst into the marina parking lot, skidding across the gravel toward the dock entrance. The men clambered to get away from the rickety, weathered picnic table, which collapsed on one end in the rush. Alex hopped out of the rear passenger door, catching up to Taylor as they came around the hood of the vehicle. A short, stocky corporal named Rickson already stood on the driver’s side of the Matvee, his rifle in the patrol ready position—aiming at the ground in front of the group of confused men. Alex glanced at the roof of the vehicle, noting that the turret gunner had the M240 pointed at a forty-five-degree angle over the militiamen’s heads. Taylor walked up to the broken picnic table, leaving Alex behind.
“I believe you have a boat that belongs to this gentleman,” said Taylor, pointing back toward Alex.
The leader of the group stepped forward, keeping the table between them. “Sorry. That boat left about ten minutes ago,” he said with a worried grin.
Alex turned his head toward the dock. Shit. In all of the excitement rolling up on the marina, he hadn’t noticed that his boat was missing.
“They moved the boat. It was at the end of the dock less than thirty minutes ago,” said Alex.
“We got a report that you were headed over the bridge, toward Searsport. You didn’t come from that way, so I figured you were up to some bullshit. Boat’s on the way to Rockland,” said the leader.
Alex walked up to the picnic table, noticing the man’s handheld radio in the gravel next to the crumpled end of the table. Without warning, he lifted his right foot and smashed the plastic radio with the heel of his boot. He slammed his combat boot down several times, until the frame splintered and the radio broke apart into several smaller pieces. The group’s leader stared at the shattered radio with his mouth ajar.
“I should have beat you over the head with it,” said Alex, broadcasting the truth.
He hadn’t smashed the radio for effect to intimidate the group. Alex had replaced the man’s head with the handheld, taking his aggressions out on the inanimate object. He’d thought the long winter had dampened his anger, but it came back with little provocation.
One obstacle after another. One asshole after another.
He was tired of it. Very little stood between Alex pulling his pistol and firing at the ragtag collection of shitheads assembled in front of him. His son was the only thing holding him back. Ryan had seen enough brutal, pointless violence to last a lifetime. The last thing he needed to witness was his own father joining the insanity. Instead, he kicked the broken radio at the group, causing one of the men to unsling his rifle. The sharp metallic sound of the M240 bolt sliding back and forth snapped through the air.
“Not a good idea, slick,” said Taylor. “We don’t recognize your Maine Independence Militia. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a bunch of fuck-stick locals stealing boats. I want all of your weapons on the ground. Right now. Just let them slide off your shoulders.”
The leader of the group didn’t react until the sound of the first few rifles hitting the hard rock surface jarred him out of his daze.
“Keep your weapons,” he said. “The RRZ doesn’t have any authority in the state anymore. We’ve declared independence from these assholes.”
Taylor raised his rifle and pointed it at the leader. Corporal Rickson followed his lead and assumed a tactical stance, aiming his rifle at the group.
“Since we don’t recognize each other’s authority, let’s go with firepower. I win,” said Ta
ylor. “I want every weapon on the ground. This is for your own safety, and I’m not fucking around.”
“You’re gonna regret this,” said one of the men from the back of the group, dropping his rifle.
The rest of the weapons slid to the rocks, amidst audible, but indecipherable grumbling.
“What else is new,” said Taylor, glancing quickly at Alex. “You need anything else from these yahoos?”
“Just my sailboat,” said Alex.
“It’s gone,” said the leader. “Headed to Rockland.”
“Does the Coast Guard know what you’re up to?” said Alex.
“I have no idea,” said the man.
“Maybe they need to be notified that you’re stealing boats, starting with mine. They have a base in Rockland, and the last time I checked, they hadn’t committed treason against the United States,” said Alex.
“Treason? You’re kidding me, right? These stormtroopers are the ones that declared war on the United States and violated the constitution. Not us. The states aren’t obligated to obey the RRZ,” said the leader.
“Actually, they are. Congress passed the 2015 Defense Authorization Bill, which modified the Insurrection Act and made all of this a happy reality,” said Alex. “Maine’s senators, and most of its representatives, smiled and supported it. You should watch C-SPAN once in a while.”
“None of that matters now. The government doesn’t exist,” said a spindly looking guy in a hunting camouflage-patterned jacket.
“Trust me, it hasn’t gone away,” said Taylor. “Keep pulling shit like this, and you’ll find out exactly what I mean.”
“There’s more of us than you,” persisted the man.
Alex didn’t see this going anywhere productive. If they stayed and argued, he’d be sure to draw his pistol and make the situation worse.
“Fuck it. Keep the sailboat. You’re gonna need it when they shut down Searsport and nothing useful rolls into town,” said Alex. “Ready to get out of here, Staff Sergeant?”
“Ready to roll, sir,” said Taylor, keeping his rifle pointed at the leader’s chest.
“Once we get you out of Searsport, we won’t need the RRZ!” yelled the leader.
“Really? Who do you think directs these ships to the terminal? Governor Dague?” said Alex, shaking his head. “Better play nice, gentlemen. Rumor has it that Portland Harbor will be open for business soon. Want to take a wild guess on how many ships will pull into Searsport once that happens?”
“We’ll see about that,” said the man.
“By the way, I hope they replaced the impeller on the sailboat. I removed it last fall—in case someone stole the boat,” said Alex, checking his watch. “Fifteen minutes out? I bet that engine’s running pretty hot right now. Probably ready to shut down on them, if they haven’t blown a few seals already. Have a nice day, gentlemen.”
“Did you really remove that thing you mentioned?” said Taylor once they got behind the Matvee.
“Yeah. It supplies seawater to the cooling system. If they’re lucky, the diesel will shut down before any major damage occurs. Either way, the engine will require some TLC before it runs again,” said Alex. “Sorry I dragged you guys out here.”
“Are you kidding me? This is the most exciting thing we’ve done since you left,” said Taylor.
“Somehow I highly doubt that,” said Alex. “Seriously. I appreciate the assist.”
“Now what?” asked Taylor.
“Plan B, or C if you ask my wife,” said Alex.
“How is Mrs. Fletcher doing these days?”
“She’s doing well, but she’s not gonna be happy about Plan B.”
“Sounds like my kind of plan,” said Taylor.
Chapter 25
Main Operating Base “Sanford”
Regional Recovery Zone 1
Colonel Sean Grady sat at his makeshift desk in the battalion TOC, staring out of the hangar bay door at the same scene. Little changed except the sky. Helicopters flew in and out all day. Vehicles drove back and forth across the tarmac. Soldiers milled around the tents on the other side of the runway. It had all gone stale quicker than he imagined in the fall, which in many ways was a good thing. Stale kept his Marines alive, which was why he didn’t look forward to the RRZ’s imminent move.
Relocating the RRZ north to Portland was guaranteed to stir up a hornet’s nest, and the timing couldn’t be worse. The state governor’s declaration of independence from the RRZ had stoked the long-dormant embers of government distrust. Dormant wasn’t the right term. Frozen. The winter had been too damn cold and messy for people to worry about anything but keeping warm and staying fed—neither of which the population did well. When the winter’s survivors emerged from hibernation, Governor Dague didn’t waste a moment directing their anger at the federal government—particularly the RRZ.
Taking this circus north was going to cause a shit storm of protest throughout the state. Medina was planning a rapid, unannounced redeployment, leaving roughly one hundred and forty thousand Mainers on the wrong side of the fence. She was figuratively pulling the rug right out from under them. On top of that, the RRZ would abandon a few hundred thousand refugees barely scraping by in the FEMA camps along the New Hampshire border.
“Not really abandoning them,” Medina had insisted at their last commander’s meeting. They were welcome to relocate farther north and continue to be supported by the RRZ. Of course, the refugees would have to move the camps without help. Medina couldn’t spare the time or manpower to help them, since she wanted to arrive en masse at the Portland Jetport. RRZ officials didn’t want to give Governor Dague enough time to muster an armed protest or send elements of her National Guard battalion to complicate the move.
Dague was playing a dangerous, unpredictable game with her constituents. The RRZ structure was far from ideal, but it represented a real conduit between the federal government and recovery efforts. Materials, supplies, fuel, information—everything needed to jump start the nation flowed through Washington, D.C., and its proxies as defined by the National Recovery Plan. Under RRZ protocols, state governments functioned in a strictly advisory role unless the RRZ Authority decided to expand that function.
Dague had resisted the RRZ’s implementation from the beginning, essentially killing any chance of a mutually beneficial relationship. To Medina’s credit, RRZ leadership tried to integrate the governor’s staff into the decision-making structure, but her attempts were repeatedly rebuffed. Dague wasn’t interested in “helping” the RRZ. On a number of occasions, Maine’s governor very publicly stated, “Maine is better off without the RRZ.” She couldn’t have been more wrong.
Grady’s ROTAC phone buzzed, vibrating the table. He lifted it from a coffee-stained map and checked the digital display, which read “Centurion.” The garrison in Searsport. Things had been quiet up there since he left Captain Williams and twenty-four Marines to ensure the facility’s continued support of the RRZ.
Dague had played along with the establishment of the garrison, only to spin the nature of the agreement in her favor. According to Dague, the Searsport garrison was the first overt step in the RRZ’s “quiet war” against Maine. She declared independence from the RRZ in the same speech. The state would have been better off if Grady had arrested her at the terminal and displaced the National Guard unit. He pressed connect on the phone.
“This is Patriot,” he said.
“Sean, this is Alex Fletcher.”
“Alex!” he said, drawing a few looks from the Marines. “I thought you might have moved on to warmer weather. Good to hear your voice.”
“Well, it’s hard to leave good friends. We decided to stay at the lake and make a go of it,” said Alex.
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Grady. “We could use a friend or two up north.”
“That’s what I’ve come to understand. I borrowed Staff Sergeant Taylor to help me with a Maine Independence Initiative problem,” said Alex.
“Shit. Please tell me it did
n’t go sideways,” said Grady.
“The biggest fallout will be some hurt egos,” said Alex.
“Shattered egos can lead to big problems, Alex.”
“We didn’t push it too far. The state confiscated my sailboat, which I was about to use to get out of here.”
“You’re leaving?” said Grady.
“That’s only part of it. Food is getting a little scarce up here. I added eight mouths to the equation by staying, which burned through our supplies faster than I anticipated. I don’t think we can plant enough food for seventeen people, and the way things are shaking out up here, it doesn’t look like we’ll be able to take food from King Dague’s land. They’re co-opting everything up here. I figured I’d make it a little easier for everyone by leaving.”
“I have a feeling they’re way better off with you around. We all are,” said Grady, pausing. “So, what can I do for you?”
“I was hoping to make a little trade,” said Alex.
“I can run some supplies up your way, Alex. I know you don’t want to ask, but I’d be more than happy to help out,” said Grady.
“And I would have given you the information I have regardless, though I’ll take you up on your offer. I might not have to if my suspicions are correct,” said Alex.
“Information. Sounds interesting. What does the infamous Captain Fletcher know that we don’t?”
“Let me ask you this. What does the RRZ know about 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment?” said Alex.
“I know the battalion aligned itself with the state,” said Grady, testing the extent of Alex’s knowledge.
“Because the commanding officer and executive officer are MIA?”
“Sounds like you’ve done a little digging,” said Grady.
“So you already know?”
“I met the new battalion commander in Searsport,” said Grady. “I got the impression he didn’t understand the full national picture.”
“Interesting,” said Alex.
Dispatches Page 12
