Dispatches

by Steven Konkoly

  “Nothing. I was just getting ahead of myself,” he said, dialing Medina’s code instead.

  The governor took longer than he expected to answer, especially given the circumstances.

  “Anything?” she asked in greeting.

  “Not yet, ma’am,” he said. “The team sent to investigate hasn’t reported.”

  “How far out are they?”

  “They should have arrived a few minutes ago,” said Berkoff.

  “A few minutes ago? All right,” she said, pausing for a moment. “Order your team to pull back and stay out of sight. Homeland just confirmed that our mystery guest never opened any of the warehouses. They entered the codes to get through the two gates and apparently departed. We’re thinking this might have been someone involved in building the site. Maybe someone with an override code, but not the warehouse codes. The two code sequences are separate. Homeland is checking the construction contract information. Probably two companies involved. One to build the fence, and the other to build the warehouses.”

  “The keycard system looked the same. Whoever installed one likely installed the other,” said Berkoff.

  “They’re trying to get to the bottom of this.”

  Jesus. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure this out. The same crew installed all of the security devices.

  “Why wouldn’t they open the warehouses?” he pressed.

  “I don’t know, Berkoff,” said Medina. “I’m getting my information from Homeland, and they’re telling me the warehouses weren’t breached. Pull your team back so they don’t tip our hand in this.”

  What? Tip what hand?

  Medina wasn’t making a lot of sense. If they were dealing with a curious local builder, what would it matter if his team appeared? It would probably keep them from coming back. If Medina was wrong about her assumption and this was one of Dague’s military units, they needed to know right away. She wasn’t thinking this through.

  “Ma’am, I think we should at least figure out who we’re dealing with here,” he said.

  “Not without more information from Homeland,” she said. “I don’t want your team spotted. Call them back immediately.”

  “I can’t reach them, ma’am,” said Berkoff.

  “What do you mean?” said Medina. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I’ve been trying to reach them for the past few minutes. They should have reported by now. I’m about to send another team out to check on them.”

  “I don’t think it would be a good idea to saturate the area with your people. It’ll draw attention to the site. If locals find the storage facility, they might report it to the Maine Independence Initiative.”

  Now she wasn’t making any sense at all. His ROTAC buzzed, indicating a second call. He checked the display. Finally! Berkoff was about to tell Medina that the team had made contact, when he reconsidered. He let the call go unanswered, knowing the team would immediately call the communications center.

  “Berkoff?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I was just thinking of a way to handle this without drawing attention,” he said, stalling for time.

  “Homeland thinks this was a false alarm, and I agree. Cancel my order to put the battalion in ready alert status.”

  McKenzie swiped one of the ROTAC handhelds off the desk in front of a row of open laptops, putting the phone to his ear.

  “Don’t you think we should…maybe we should wait…until we know more?” he said, distracted by McKenzie.

  “I’d rather the battalion was not primed for an attack that won’t happen for a few days,” she said.

  Berkoff barely heard what she said, covering the mouthpiece with his other hand as McKenzie swiveled to face him.

  “Caretaker Three-Two reports heavy contact with a single vehicle leaving Site Zulu. Two KIA and two WIA. No survivors in Caretaker Three-One,” said McKenzie.

  Berkoff put an index finger to his lips and answered Medina. “I agree, ma’am. I’ll keep trying to reach the team. If I don’t hear from them in ten minutes, I’ll call back for further orders.”

  “Very well. I’ll let you know if Homeland uncovers anything else.”

  Berkoff lowered the ROTAC to the desk in front of him and looked up at the waiting faces.

  McKenzie tilted his head, giving him a “what the fuck?” look.

  “Where is Three-Two right now?” Berkoff asked.

  “In a field off New Boston Road, about a mile from Runway,” McKenzie answered. “Their targets are out of sight. Last seen heading south on New Boston, toward Route 2.”

  “Shit. Six KIA?”

  McKenzie nodded.

  “What hit them?”

  “Three to four hostiles in a late model SUV running without lights. Automatic weapons, IR lasers, night-vision goggles, helmets,” McKenzie rattled off. “They knew what they were doing. Military for sure, possibly Special Forces. Don’t they have a company of Rangers down in Sanford?”

  “Yeah,” muttered Berkoff, thinking through his options.

  Medina was full of shit. She was either compromised or utterly clueless. Why else would she completely reverse her decision at such a critical moment? He’d have to take matters into his own hands until he figured out what was going on with Medina.

  “Move all sections into echelon alpha pre-stage positions, and send a team to recover Three-Two. I want to be able to move on our primary targets within two hours,” said Berkoff.

  “That’s a tight time frame,” said McKenzie. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait for the RRZ to get more clarification?”

  “Let’s get the ball rolling. Something doesn’t add up here, and I’m not going to take the fall if Medina is full of shit. Ultimately, we answer to Homeland,” he said, picking up the ROTAC and scrolling through his contacts list. “And McKenzie?”

  “Sir?”

  “I want that hostile SUV taken out,” said Berkoff. “I don’t care what it takes.”

  ***

  Bethany Medina handed the ROTAC to Colonel Martin and shook her head.

  “He didn’t buy it?” asked Martin.

  “I don’t think so. He changed his tune too quickly,” she said. “My guess is he’ll follow my original order to move all units to their final pre-staging positions.”

  “Primary targets?”

  “Major elements of 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment, along with all critical state government administration sites.”

  “Time frame?”

  “Two to three hours if he goes for a fully coordinated, simultaneous attack. Less if he learns the truth about what happened here. He’s probably on the phone to Homeland right now, so I’d expect sooner than later.”

  “Shit,” said Martin. “Looks like we’re going to war.”

  “With Homeland?”

  “Just Berkoff,” said Martin. “If we do this right.”

  “We?”

  “I need you to stall Homeland when they call,” said Martin.

  “For how long?”

  “Long enough for us to put Berkoff out of commission. After that, it won’t matter what Homeland knows.”

  “I think you’re underestimating what Homeland—” She paused before continuing, “—what the federal government will do when they learn the truth about what happened here.”

  “I’ve already spoken with 10th Mountain Division’s commanding general about that very issue. He’s prepared to deploy the division’s ready brigade to Maine in support of our mission. Unless Homeland has a Counter Insurgency Division up their sleeve, I’m not worried.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve thought this through.”

  “The decision was a long time in the making, ma’am, and I’m not the only military leader that feels the same way. If we work together, we’ll get through this with minimal disruption of the RRZ.”

  “What do you need from me?” asked Medina.

  “Stall Homeland and identify Berkoff’s pre-staging areas. We have a rapid response battalion ready to head north. D
epending on the distance, we might be able to hit Berkoff’s units in their pre-staging areas, or en route to their targets.”

  “I can’t do that to him,” she said. “He’s here because of me.”

  “Negative, ma’am,” said Martin. “He’s here because Homeland sent him based on your assessment of the internal security situation within the RRZ. It was Homeland’s choice to send a paramilitary group instead of providing you with the resources to negotiate a settlement with Governor Dague. You’re doing exactly what needs to be done to keep the RRZ running smoothly. If Berkoff won’t stand down, we have to take him out.”

  “We’re not giving him a chance to stand down,” said Medina.

  “If I thought for a second he would load his battalion on the next flight of C-17s that arrived at Bangor International, I would try to talk to him. I don’t see that happening. Do you?”

  The colonel was right. Like Eric Bines, the RRZ Authority compound’s security chief, Berkoff would follow Homeland’s orders to unseat the state government, even if it meant “disappearing” and waiting for another opportunity. Martin needed to engage and destroy Berkoff’s force now, or risk a protracted, low-intensity conflict against a well-armed and adequately trained group of contract soldiers. The result could undermine the progress everyone had worked hard to achieve.

  “Berkoff’s digital overlays are on the laptop in my office,” she said, effectively signing Berkoff’s death warrant.

  Chapter 34

  Plymouth, Maine

  Icy wind whistled through the holes in the windshield, bathing Alex in a stream of subfreezing air. The SUV jolted, and a particle of safety glass from one of the spider cracks rattled against his night-vision goggles. He leaned as far over the center console as possible, resting his head against Ed’s arm. It was the only way he could see through the windshield from his seat. The bullet holes created by his rifle were concentrated in an area the size of a volleyball, but the cracks obscured most of the passenger-side view.

  He’d briefly considered knocking the entire windshield out, but just as quickly realized a missing windshield would cause more problems than it might solve. He’d have a clear view of the road, at the cost of dealing with a sixty-mile-per-hour wind, along with hundreds of loose fragments. He could deal with this arrangement for another thirty minutes.

  A grouping of signs appeared in the distance.

  “We’re coming up on an exit,” said Alex.

  A dim red light bathed his peripheral vision for several seconds before vanishing. He didn’t bother trying to see through the windshield while Ryan examined the map. The light reflected off the glass, obscuring his view.

  “This should be exit 161,” said Ryan. “Puts us on Route 7.”

  “I think we should get off this highway,” said Ed. “Do you have to lean on my arm that much?”

  “It’s the only way I can see,” said Alex. “Ryan, how far until Newport?”

  “Four miles, maybe a little more.”

  “I want to get past Newport before we get off the interstate. It’s not a big town, but it’s big enough to hold trouble. After that, we’ll look for a way to get onto Route 2. Take the back way home,” said Alex. “Still looking clear behind us?”

  “You’ll know if it isn’t,” said Charlie.

  “We’ll have helicopter support in less than ten minutes,” said Alex, squinting through the goggles.

  Something didn’t look right, but it was impossible to tell from this distance.

  “Slow down a little,” Alex instructed Ed.

  An overpass materialized in the green image, followed by a clearer picture of the southbound lane. Alex studied the scene for anything out of place. He’d experienced the same feeling of dread approaching the previous two exits.

  “Everything okay?” asked Ed, slowing the SUV further.

  Alex gave it a few more seconds before making a final determination. He didn’t see anything out of place.

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “The exits make me nervous.”

  “You think? That’s why I want to get off the highway. Anything could come barreling down one of those on-ramps. We’re too exposed out here,” said Ed.

  “I know, but I feel safer here than on some constricted back road,” said Alex.

  “I don’t feel safe on either,” said Ed.

  “I said safer,” added Alex. “We won’t be safe until we’ve made contact with those helos.”

  They drove under the concrete overpass, their silver SUV a shadowy phantom in the weak light of a late third-quarter moon. Ed brought the vehicle’s speed back to sixty miles per hour, which was as fast as his friend would drive without lights. Alex didn’t blame Ed. Without night vision, the gray strip ahead of them barely extended the length of a semitrailer. Alex had to announce the slightest curves, which was another reason he couldn’t take his eyes off the road for a second.

  “Shallow left curve starting in about ten seconds,” said Alex.

  “Got it,” said Ed, easing his foot off the accelerator.

  The SUV stayed in the middle of the two-lane interstate for most of the curve, drifting slowly right.

  “You’re drifting to the right. Just barely,” said Alex, immediately feeling Ed’s arm muscles tighten.

  The vehicle eased back into the middle of the road, settling into a straight section of highway a few seconds later.

  “You’re good. It’s a straight shot from—” Alex saw more signs ahead. “Ryan, is there another exit right after 161?”

  His view through the windshield disappeared as Ryan checked the map.

  “Shit. Sorry, Dad. Exit 159. Doesn’t seem to lead to any major roads,” said Ryan, dousing the light.

  Alex could see part of the overpass. How had Ryan missed this? It must have been separated by a centimeter on the map. Before he could continue to mentally chastise his son, a row of vehicles appeared on the road.

  “Stop the car!” said Alex, lowering his window. “Windows down. We have—fuck!—Humvees blocking the highway. Turn us around!”

  The SUV screeched to a halt on the asphalt, the acrid smell of burnt rubber filling the car as Ed executed the quickest three-point turn he’d ever witnessed. Alex unfastened his seatbelt and leaned out of the window, searching the tree-lined median for a way to cross into the northbound lanes. When the SUV gained momentum, he spotted a sizable gap in the trees.

  “Follow my laser,” he said, triggering the visible red laser pointer attached to his rifle.

  He aimed the light, which appeared green in his goggles, toward the middle of the gap. The car tugged right, slowing as it hit the roughly paved shoulder.

  “You got it?” said Alex.

  “I got it, but I can’t see what I’m driving into!” yelled Ed.

  “It’s a slight dip. You might want to put us into four-wheel—”

  The SUV’s nose dropped, the front tires crunching into the hard ground spanning the median.

  “—drive,” Alex continued, relieved when the SUV lurched forward again.

  “They’re shooting at us!” screamed Charlie as bright flashes streaked past the back of the SUV.

  “Gun it, Ed!” said Alex, watching tracer flashes ricochet through the trees to their right and skip off the highway behind them.

  The SUV careened into the northbound lanes, skidding to a momentary stop before accelerating away from the overpass. Alex turned in his seat to see dozens of tracers punch through the thick pines and sail harmlessly behind them. He didn’t see any vehicles blocking the northbound side near the overpass, so they were temporarily in the clear.

  “Hit the lights and drive as fast as this thing will go,” said Alex.

  “Are you sure the lights are a good idea?” asked Ed, jamming the accelerator.

  “It’s more important to gain some distance. We need to get to the last exit before they can put those guns to use against us. If we can get off the highway, we should be able to hide on the back roads until our air support arrives,” said Al
ex, checking his watch. “Which means we need to stay alive another seven minutes.”

  Alex slid into his seat as the SUV picked up speed and the wind outside of the window became unbearable. Ed activated the headlights, switching to high beams and illuminating the empty highway. The lights didn’t matter at this point. Not on the highway. Alex flipped his NVGs out of the way.

  “How we looking back there?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “Clear so far,” said Charlie, his face buried in his riflescope. “If they get behind us, we’re screwed.”

  “We’ll be off the highway before they get into effective range,” said Alex.

  “I’m worried about the place between effective and maximum range,” said Charlie. “You know, the place where you can still hit shit.”

  “Ed, be ready to jump the median again,” said Alex. “Just in case.”

  “Shit,” muttered Ed.

  A few seconds passed before Charlie yelled, “They’re coming! Three Humvees.”

  Alex stuck his head out of the passenger window and scanned ahead for signs of the upcoming exit. Beyond the headlights’ aura, he saw what might be a white U-turn sign coming up on the left.

  “How far back are they?”

  “Hell if I know,” Charlie replied. “You left the range finder behind.”

  Alex muttered a curse. “I’m looking for a ballpark figure, Charlie.”

  “Looks farther back from where we broke through.”

  Ed looked at him and shook his head with an annoyed look. Alex met Ed’s glance and raised his eyebrows, silently mouthing, “Charlie.” Alex did the math. A quick dashboard check told him Ed had pushed the SUV to ninety-three miles per hour. They had at least twenty miles per hour on the Humvees, maybe more depending on the weight of the armor kit installed on the government vehicles. They had a speed and distance advantage on the interstate, but Charlie was right. If they hit a long, flat stretch, the turret-mounted M240s could reach out and touch them in a very bad way. He remembered they had a long, shallow curve coming up, which gave him an idea.