Dispatches

by Steven Konkoly

  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.

  “They’re on their way. I can hear the helicopters,” said Kate, catapulting the room into a frenzy.

  As the extended family rushed toward the front door, Kate looked at Evans.

  “Luckily for you, all this group cares about is getting their people back in one piece,” said Kate. “You might want to have your medic put something strong in my husband’s IV bag. He’s the one you need to worry about.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” Evans said, looking even more contrite than before.

  They waited in the wide front yard, keeping their distance from the armored vehicle parked squarely in the middle of the trampled grass. The silent mass of steel stood vigil over the house, anchoring a dozen Marines spread in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree perimeter throughout the property. An impenetrable row of evenly cut arborvitaes stretched across the front edge of the grass, creating a privacy screen from the dirt road connecting the lot to the rest of the neighborhood. The trees were somewhat pointless, since the house was located at the far northern end of the access road. You’d have to be hopelessly lost, or terminally nosy, to travel to the end of the road.

  Staff Sergeant Evans stood at the edge of the compact trees, watching the road through a handheld night-vision scope. She was relieved to have the Marines guarding the house, even if their arrival had been one hell of a surprise. The house exploded in panic when the battery-powered wireless motion detectors installed a hundred feet down the road registered movement. Linda led everyone into the trees north of the backyard while Tim manned one of the protected firing positions they had constructed on the second floor of the house facing the road.

  When he reported two military vehicles pulling up to the property, they assumed the worst. The mission to Bangor had failed, leading the paramilitaries to their doorstep. The sudden arrival of two Matvees less than an hour after Alex’s departure was hard to interpret any other way. They all breathed a sigh of relief when Tim reported that the “Marines had landed.”

  The good vibes ended when Staff Sergeant Evans, unable to adequately explain the need for his presence in Belgrade, confessed that their husbands and her son were headed into an uncertain situation. Kate interpreted “uncertain” to mean dangerous, which turned out to be an understatement. A military coup was underway in the state, and her husband was driving into the middle of it. They waited in sheer silence for word from the helicopters sent north toward Bangor.

  Evans had understood the gravity of their situation. He had a ten-year-old son and six-year-old daughter waiting with his wife in the Military Dependents Camp at Fort Devens. His family’s safety was completely dependent on the commanders calling the shots at the base. He was as helpless as Kate and the rest of them. She felt bad for heaping the blame on Evans. He’d drawn the short straw tonight. If anyone in Alex’s group had been killed, the Marines would have witnessed a hostile environment unlike any combat zone they had ever seen. The thought brought a quiver to her lip. She didn’t want to think about what could have happened. Kate was just glad they were safe.

  “They just made the turn,” said Evans.

  The group edged forward in the darkness. Evans cracked a green chemlight and tossed it to the ground between the trees and family, casting a faint glow over them. Kate squeezed Emily’s hand, and her daughter squeezed back. The sound of heavy tires grinding against the uneven dirt road penetrated the trees, followed by the deep hum of a powerful diesel engine. The Matvee rumbled past the evergreens, squeaking to a halt several feet beyond Evans. The passenger-side doors opened, disgorging two Marines, who rushed to the back of the troop compartment. The rear hatch swung to the right, exposing the road to a dark red light.

  Ryan jumped to the ground, turning to help Ed. They reached up to help Alex slide out of the back, onto his feet. Her husband’s left arm was wrapped in a compression splint that ended at his wrist. Alex grimaced when he hit the ground, sucking air between his teeth. Ryan pulled the good arm over his shoulder and backed out of Charlie’s way.

  “I got this!” yelled Charlie. “Jesus Christ, I feel like I’ve been admitted to a nursing home.”

  Charlie’s feet hit the ground unevenly, his sizable frame wobbling on impact. He stumbled backward, unconsciously extending his bandaged hand to catch the back of the Matvee. When his hand smacked into the armored hatch, Charlie screamed loud enough to wake the entire lake. Ed quickly grabbed him before he crashed to the ground.

  “Told you I had it,” he grumbled, sparking laughter from everyone.

  When the four of them finally stood upright behind the Matvee, one of the Marines inside the vehicle started clapping. They all joined in a round of applause and whistles for the returning crew, before the families rushed forward to swarm them.

  Emily ran ahead of Kate, throwing her arms around Alex’s uninjured side. He winced before kissing the top of her head and squeezing her tight with his good arm.

  Kate hugged Ryan tightly, ignoring the rifle magazines and combat gear fastened to his body armor. She wept silently, tears streaming down her face. Kate could barely wrap her arms around her son, but she kept him locked in place until he protested. She didn’t want to let her son go. The relief she felt holding his living, breathing form caused her to feel weak, almost fragile. She couldn’t go through this again. Not with either of them.

  “You’re not going anywhere, ever again,” she said, sniffling.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” Ryan said, trying to squirm out of her bear hug. “It wasn’t a big deal. Dad had it under control.”

  “It sounded like a big deal,” she said, easing up on him.

  “Everything was more or less fine. This is just from falling off a fence,” said Alex, nodding at his splinted arm.

  “Save it. I got the full story from Staff Sergeant Evans,” s
aid Kate.

  “Yeah, he fell off the fence dodging machine-gun bullets!” yelled Charlie. “You should have seen it! And they say I’m the klutz. Whheeeee, he went sailing!”

  “I thought we agreed to play down certain aspects of our trip,” said Alex, letting go of Emily to hold Kate.

  “Fuck that, man. We just survived against all odds. I thought we were gone for sure until those helicopters showed up!”

  “Maybe I didn’t get the full story,” she said. “Ryan, I expect a full report from you, since I’m obviously not going to get it from your—”

  “He’s gone to find Chloe,” said Alex, nibbling her bottom lip.

  She tilted her head for a more passionate kiss. Despite the fact that he smelled like a combination of gun propellant, musty pine needles, and blood, she couldn’t get enough. He responded to her not-so-subtle advance and returned the deeper kiss. She broke it off, conscious that their daughter was holding on to them.

  “Later,” she whispered in his ear, opening their family cluster to bring Emily closer.

  “Dad, do you think things will go back to normal now?” asked Emily.

  “I think it’ll get better, sweetie,” said Alex, meeting her eyes with doubt.

  A distant boom punctuated the night, causing Alex to look toward Staff Sergeant Evans. The Marine cracked a second green chemlight, holding it in front of him. Three successive explosions followed the first.

  “Welcome back, gentlemen. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get everyone inside,” said Evans, motioning for them to follow him across the yard.

  When the families were clear of the road, the Matvee turned around and raced away.

  “How long will they be here?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Alex, pausing as several muted detonations echoed across the lake. “Probably depends on how long that lasts.”

  “I hope they stay,” said Emily, speaking for all of them.