Steven Konkoly - Event Horizon

He’d been right. Despite the surprise attack on the headquarters and open hostility displayed by the marines, he felt safe here. Perimeter security had killed fourteen “hostiles” within the span of thirty seconds, repelling an attack that Lieutenant Colonel Grady assessed had taken “insurgents” over twenty-four hours to coordinate and launch. Grady felt confident they had sent a strong message back to insurgency leadership: Attacking marines was a bad idea.

He propped his head in his hands and stared vacantly through the mesh window at the red brick walls beyond the command tent. At least they hadn’t stuffed him in a guarded dorm room. He could deal with the concept of house arrest, as long as he stayed in the command tent. A single raindrop streaked across his view, followed by another. Moments later, the pounding din of heavy rain masked the marine’s chatter. Ed glanced from the mess of wires and power strips littering the sand-colored modular flooring to the battalion sergeant major sitting next to Lieutenant Colonel Grady, waiting for the command that would convert the headquarters tent into a sauna. The sergeant major stood, having no doubt made the same weather observation.

“Secure the tent flaps!”

Several enlisted marines left their stations, methodically lowering the windows.

“Colonel Grady! Durham Three-Zero just transmitted. I have the transcript,” said the corporal.

Grady removed his headset and walked to his corner of the tent.

“How we doing, Sergeant Walker?”

“Could be worse, Colonel.”

“Now you’re catching on,” said Grady, taking the corporal’s notepad. “Looks like they’re taking advantage of the weather. They just stepped off from your daughter’s apartment.”

“You don’t look too enthusiastic,” said Ed.

“METOC predicts periods of heavy rain and thunderstorms for the next three hours.”

Ed thought about the bridge at Milton Mills. A heavy downpour had camouflaged their approach until it was too late for the militia. Alex knew what he was doing.

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Periods of heavy rain. Meaning this could stop five minutes from now and continue an hour later. Alex is taking a big risk. He should have waited until nightfall.”

“He’s not convinced you’ll be here when he gets back, especially after last night.”

“If that’s the best the insurgency has to throw at us, we’re not going anywhere anytime soon,” said Grady.

“What if that wasn’t their best? What if it was a probe?”

“Damn costly probe, Sergeant Walker. They didn’t have to lose fourteen heavily armed insurgents to figure out we have this placed locked down tight. That’s amateur hour by my book.”

“You’re not worried that they managed to assemble and coordinate an attack by more than twenty… insurgents?”

“I’m concerned by the high number, but not worried about their capabilities. They could have assembled one hundred of those idiots, with the same result—except we’d have a higher insurgent casualty count.”

“I wish I shared your optimism.”

“Stick around long enough, and it’ll start to rub off. Do you think I can trust you not to swipe any more of the battalion’s gear, especially the kind with embedded crypto? If one of my marines ‘accidently’ took one of these radios home, they’d face a protracted interrogation session sponsored by NCIS, followed by a general court-martial.”

“I promise not to take or touch anything that doesn’t belong to me.”

“I can live with that. Corporal, Mr. Walker is no longer your responsibility. I still want you to monitor Durham Three-Zero’s transmissions,” said Grady.

“Understand, sir. Thanks for behaving, Mr. Walker,” said the corporal, breaking into a grin.

Ed shook his head. “I didn’t think you cared enough to notice.”

“Corporal Maguire notices everything, and you have him to thank for your release. I take his word seriously,” he said, showing Ed the notebook.

A short note scribbled at the end of Alex’s transmission read “Recommend Sergeant Walker be released on his own recognizance.”

“He’s been a public defender in Lawrence for two years,” added Grady. “Follow me.”

“One surprise after another,” mumbled Ed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay in the command tent. It’s about the only place I feel safe.”

“You’re not going anywhere. I just need to give Maguire a break from your ugly mug. Bring your chair over to my table.”

“Am I still under house arrest?”

“No. More like grounded.”

“I can live with that,” said Ed, folding his chair.

“Let’s see if we can steer Alex in the right direction before the storm grounds my Ravens.”

EVENT +57:27

Chestnut Hill Reservoir

Brookline, Massachusetts

Alex picked up the pace, transitioning from a fast walk to a light jog. He’d worked through the cramps seizing his legs, using an age-old method perfected by the marines. Keep going. Defying all scientific theories regarding muscle cramps, ranging from electrolyte depletion to dysfunctional reflex control, “pushing through it” never failed. He checked on the kids, who easily kept pace. Both of them ran cross-country and long-distance track events in high school, so he didn’t anticipate any endurance problems. He wondered if they were thinking the same thing about him.

An unfamiliar buzzing sound penetrated the curtain of driving rain, causing him to stop. He scanned the deserted gravel path, expecting to see a motorbike tear down the trail. The gently curving stretch appeared empty, but he wasn’t convinced they were alone. The driving rain had reduced effective visibility to a few hundred feet. The high-pitched buzz intensified, and he signaled for the kids to take cover in the bushes and trees to the right of the path. They scrambled through the thin foliage, pressing into the dirt behind the first stand of trees. Alex caught a fast motion in his peripheral vision and turned his head.

No shit.

A gray aerial drone streaked over the reservoir, bucking from the wind and passing within a hundred feet of the northern shore. He recognized the RQS-11D immediately. Slightly larger than its predecessors, the Solar Raven represented a breakthrough in the realm of organic unit reconnaissance capability. Fitted with integrated, high-efficiency solar panels, and day/night camera systems, a single Solar Raven provided unit commanders up to nine hours of continuous aerial surveillance coverage. Colonel Grady hadn’t let him down. Alex stood and waved for the cameras. A sudden gust of wind dropped the remote control aircraft several feet below its flight path, and Alex knew it had a limited time on station (TOS).

“Wave to your dad. That’s one of the marine UAVs.”

Chloe stepped in front of the trees and waved enthusiastically. Alex hoped Ed was watching. It was unlikely that Ed had received Chloe’s transmission last night, and this was the first time he could personally verify her safety. With Grady actively helping them, he felt far better about crossing during daylight hours. Even with the storm masking their approach, the chance of discovery en route was high. Crossing the river carried a near one hundred percent guarantee of being spotted. He’d transmitted news of their departure, pretending to speak with Ed, in the hopes of eliciting sympathy from an old friend. Now it was time to see how big he owed Grady. He extracted the handheld radio.

“Patriot Actual, this is Durham Three-Zero, over”

“Stand by, Durham Three-Zero.”

The Raven banked left toward the center of the reservoir and was swallowed by the rainsquall. Visibility must be shit from above. Colonel Grady answered the radio a few seconds later.