Steven Konkoly - Event Horizon

“We got this, sir!” said the staff sergeant. “Colonel will kick our asses if he finds out about this.”

The marine lifted Ryan’s right arm and draped it over his shoulder, pulling him upright. Blood dripped from the tip of his son’s boot.

“Grady didn’t send you?”

“Negative. My orders are to provide suppressing fire to aid in your withdrawal. I just happened to bump into you while repositioning.”

Three successive explosions sprayed mud and invisible fragments across the distant intersection.

“Amazing how shit like that happens. I owe you one, Staff Sergeant—Williams,” said Alex, studying the name patch sewed onto his Dragon Skin vest.

“Compliments of the house. We need to get your son to the BAS. He has a through and through to the outer right leg. You could use a little patching up yourself.”

Alex touched his cheek and held his hand in the rain, watching the rain wash away the blood. A quick glance at his bloodstained left sleeve brought his shoulder injury into focus. He traced the arm and saw two deep red slashes across the deltoid area. A few inches to the right and he could have claimed a repeat. Six years earlier, a shotgun-wielding psychopath had shot him squarely in the same shoulder. He started to jog toward the marines lifting the kids when the sound of a fast-moving car on the other side of the bridge stopped him.

“Behind the barrier!” yelled Williams.

Alex took Ryan’s other arm and helped the marine lower him to the asphalt.

Williams keyed his combat radio headset. “Raider One-Zero, hold fire on approaching vehicle. I say again. Hold fire on approaching vehicle.”

The marines tracked the mini-SUV skidding through the intersection.

“Staff Sergeant?” said a corporal, fingering his grenade launcher’s pistol grip.

“It could be some stupid-ass civilians trying to get across. Wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Could be a suicide bomber,” replied the corporal.

“Hold on. Raider Base, this is Raider One-Zero. I have an SUV approaching the south end of the bridge, moving fast. VIPs have been recovered. Request ROE instructions.”

“Raider One-Zero, this is Raider Base. Apply ROE in effect. Signal vehicle using any and all means available. Do not let the vehicle across.”

“Fire a grenade at the first barrier. Now!” said Williams.

The corporal’s launcher thumped, sending a small, dark object in an arc toward the southern end of the bridge. The 40mm high-explosive grenade hit the Jersey barrier, blasting it in half and showering the oncoming car with cement fragments. The vehicle accelerated.

“Staff Sergeant!” yelled the other marine.

“Light it up!”

Alex canted his rifle to use the iron sights and fired alongside the marines, emptying the rest of his magazine at the speeding car. Heavier guns from marine positions along the riverbank joined the skirmish, sending lines of tracers at both sides of the SUV. The car disintegrated under the barrage of mixed-caliber steel, careening left and wedging itself between the second barricade and the bridge. Alex tried to stand, but William’s hand held him firmly in place. The engine whined for a moment before the car exploded.

The force of the blast rippled across the bridge, shifting the four-thousand-pound Jersey barrier several inches. William’s instinct had saved Alex’s life, keeping his body shielded from the potentially lethal overpressure and fragmentation effects. Instead of flattened organs and punctured flesh, Alex was knocked onto his back. A cloud of cement dust and smoke settled over the bridge, obscuring his vision. Urgent, muted voices penetrated the haze.

“Sound off!”

“Leverone. Still in one piece!”

“Graham. Shoulder is trashed!”

“My VIPs?” said Williams.

“VIPs good to go!” answered Corporal Graham.

“Move them off the bridge! You all right, sir?” said Staff Sergeant Williams, extending a hand toward Alex.

“Did I spring any new leaks?”

“Just the old ones. Let’s get your son into one of the Matvees, get you all back to HQ.”

Alex helped Williams lift his son off the ground.

“You all right?” he said to Ryan.

“I can’t hear you!” screamed his son, grabbing Alex with both arms and hugging him.

“It’s going to be fine, buddy. We made it,” he said into Ryan’s ear.

“Where’s Chloe?” Ryan said, craning his head over his shoulder.

“She’s fine. You’ll see her in a minute.”

“What happened?”

“Car bomb,” said Alex.

“Motherfucking game changer,” added Williams.

EVENT +58:24

Harvard Yard

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Ed Walker bolted through the thick tent flap and skidded on the slippery, matted grass beyond the entrance. His legs swung out, dropping him straight on his ass in front of the command post sentry. The corporal shook his head slowly. Ed sat on the wet ground for a moment, glad to be out of the steamy battalion command tent. The lukewarm downpour washed the sweat from his face and soaked through his swampy clothing, revitalizing him. The distant sound of a humming diesel engine echoed off the buildings, drawing him to his feet. He dashed toward the opening between Harvard and Hollis Halls, slowing as he approached the two marines stationed behind HESCO barriers.

After last night’s attack, Lieutenant Colonel Grady put all noncritical personnel to work filling the battalion’s modular HESCO cages with dirt from campus. The work lasted most of the night, producing dozens of four-foot-wide by four-foot-high barriers for the defensive positions ringing Harvard Yard. Two HESCO cages formed most positions, placed in a “V” shape facing the expected threat direction.

The HESCO system put twelve inches of compacted dirt between the marines and incoming high-velocity rifle bullets. Ed had been a little disturbed to discover that they didn’t have enough barriers to surround the command tent. Grady told him that if the command tent came under sustained fire, they were well past the point where a line of HESCO barriers would make a difference. He couldn’t tell if Grady was serious or kidding.

“Sir?” said one of the marines, looking away from his riflescope.

“My daughter’s coming in on one of the Matvees.”

The marines glanced at each other with doubtful looks.

“Let him through, Marines!”

Both marines stiffened, standing at attention. Grady gave him a single nod and disappeared into the tent. Ed squeezed past the HESCO barrier’s metal mesh exterior and searched for the vehicle transporting Chloe.

Holy Jesus!

Harvard University resembled a cross between a refugee camp and a third-world military outpost. The battalion’s “hard” security perimeter now encompassed most of the Old Yard commons. Two ugly, obtrusive machine-gun positions cut the yard in half, facing south toward Gray’s Hall. Three HESCO cages, arranged in a “U,” protected each M240 machine-gun team. Muddy patches of ripped turf surrounded each nest, identifying the immediate source of filler for the cages.

The battalion’s motor transport section sat directly behind the machine guns, taking up half of the remaining open space between Thayer Hall and the cluster of buildings sheltering the battalion command post. Eight behemoth MK25 MTVRs (Medium Tactical Vehicle Replacement) transport vehicles made up the bulk of the section, staggered far enough apart to maneuver independently out of the yard. Four M-ATVs (“Matvees”) were parked haphazardly in front of the seven-ton MTVRs, facing Johnston Gate. All of the battalion’s tactical vehicles mounted M240 machine guns, part of Homeland’s Category Five load out. He’d learned a lot pretending not to listen to the marines in the command tent.