Steven Konkoly - Event Horizon

Alex’s attention strayed to the marine that had passed them a few seconds ago. The sentry was speaking into a Motorola. The sergeant leaned against the HESCO barrier and started to unclip his assault pack from his Modular Dragon Skin Vest (MDV).

“Who is that?” asked Alex.

“Sergeant Bruckman. Chief mechanic,” answered Grady, craning his head to look at the marine.

“Why is he detaching his assault pack?” asked Alex, thumbing the snap on his drop holster.

The marine looked back at them, his eyes dropping to Alex’s holster.

Shit!

Alex drew his pistol as Sergeant Bruckman dropped the assault pack and fired a quick rifle burst into the sentry’s chest. He tried to turn the HK416 on the battalion commander, but Alex lined up the sergeant’s silhouette with his front sight and fired first, joined a fraction of a second later by Grady’s P30L service pistol. More than a dozen 9mm bullets struck Bruckman in rapid succession, driving him against the HESCO barrier and knocking the rifle out of his hands.

The marine’s MDV stopped the bullets from entering his torso, preventing his instantaneous death. Colonel Grady closed the distance to the marine, firing his pistol at the mechanic’s unprotected face with devastating effect. Bruckman’s faceless corpse slid down the tan HESCO cage and toppled into the shiny grass. Grady had already disappeared over the barrier to check on the sentry, reappearing a second a later.

“Alex, get the battalion surgeon ready for a Class Two!”

Alex holstered his pistol and took off for Stoughton Hall, placing his hands on his head as marines scrambled out of the TOC. Tensions were high, and he didn’t want to give any of the headquarters’ staff an early excuse to fire their weapons. Given what just transpired, Alex felt confident that every marine in Grady’s battalion would put their service rifle to work, sooner than later.

“Fletcher is friendly!” Grady shouted. “Sergeant Major, get Bruckman’s assault pack out of here. Possible IED. Put it in one of the HESCO pits away from the TOC. Bruckman shot Kappleman at point-blank range. Help me get this marine to the BAS!”

Alex needed to get his crew out of Cambridge within the next ten minutes. Bruckman’s aborted attack on the TOC was only the beginning. A cascade of destabilizing violence would ripple through the battalion positions in short order. He’d seen this before, and so had Grady. Alex reached the side entrance to Stoughton Hall and stopped. Beyond the fact that one of Grady’s marines had just attempted to detonate a bomb in the battalion TOC, something nagged him about the rogue sergeant’s actions.

Bruckman had removed the pack, which indicated that he either planned to throw it inside or leave it behind. Either method required remote detonation. Throwing it through the entrance hatch didn’t make sense. With a bull’s-eye painted on his forehead, Bruckman would have been forced to trigger the bomb well within the casualty radius. He probably planned to drop it next to the piles of personal gear stashed around the tent, setting off the IED from a distance. But how did he acquire the bomb? Did he bring it with him from Fort Devens? Each question led to answers he couldn’t ignore. Not if his son was stuck in the battalion aid station.

“Notify the battalion surgeon that he has a Class Two casualty inbound,” he said to the marines assigned to the sentry post between Stoughton Hall and Hollis Hall.

“Do it,” said a corporal, dispatching a private to deliver the message.

The corporal looked shaken, on the verge of tears.

“That wasn’t your fault, son. Get that out of your head right now,” said Alex.

“Why did Bruckman do that? I don’t—”

“There’s nothing to understand about it. Don’t let anyone through, Corporal, without clearing it with the TOC first. Copy?”

“Yes, sir,” said the marine, shifting his rifle toward the Old Yard.

“Colonel Grady!” yelled Alex, running back toward the TOC.

Alex passed two marines carrying the critically wounded sentry to Stoughton hall. He didn’t see an obvious entry or exit wound, but the upper half of his body armor was stained dark red. Bright red blood streamed from his mouth and nose. He’d be dead within thirty minutes—if that. Grady leaned against the tree next to the TOC sentry station, his hands and uniform sleeves soaked in blood. He shook his head and grimaced.

“Fucking savages,” he muttered.

“Sorry, Sean. Your marine…” said Alex.

“One of the rounds hit a centimeter above his Dragon Skin,” said Grady, shaking his head. “You ready to give me a hand figuring out this insurgency?”

“Can you confirm that the IED is remote triggered?” said Alex, kneeling next to Bruckman’s body.

“Hold on,” he said, searching around. “Top? Can you take a look at Bruckman’s pack and confirm the detonation mechanism?”

“Roger, sir,” said a hulking Latino marine standing next to the battalion sergeant major. “Make a hole!”

The master sergeant ran toward the unlucky marine tasked to carry the backpack to one of the shallow pits dug into the Old Yard.

“Get the marines focused, Sergeant Major. We still have a shit storm brewing out there,” added Grady.

“On it, sir! Back in the TOC! Let’s go!”

Alex emptied the dead marine’s pockets and vest pouches, trying to avoid staring at his lifeless, destroyed face and the brain matter seeping out of his combat helmet. He found a Motorola resembling one of the battalion’s encrypted models and handed it to Grady.

“Can you confirm this is one of yours?” said Alex, continuing the search.

“What’s your theory?”

“If it’s remote triggered, either Bruckman or another marine has the detonator. I was hoping to find it on Bruckman.”

“Doesn’t make any sense. How did he know to bring a backpack IED to Devens? We were on a regularly scheduled AT,” said Grady.

Alex finished his search, coming up empty. He stood up and shook his head.

“Maybe they bring bombs with them to every reserve drill—or maybe someone delivered it.”

“Everyone camped out on the yard has been thoroughly searched… son of a bitch! Bruckman CASEVAC’d some of the civilians to Cambridge Hospital,” said Grady, stepping toward the tent flap.

“Not by himself, I assume,” said Alex.

“Correct. Another motor transport marine. Sergeant Major!”

The ground shook, followed by the sharp crack of a high-order detonation. Windows shattered above the HESCO barrier stationed between Harvard and Stoughton Halls, followed by a horizontal debris shower that instantly engulfed the marines shielded from the blast. Gunfire erupted outside of the perimeter as marines from the battalion supply point poured out of the back of Harvard Hall and rushed to the source of the explosion. Alex started to walk backward, toward the battalion aid station.

“Who am I looking for?” yelled Alex.

“Private First Class O’Neil. Caucasian. Short. Pale with freckles,” said Grady.

The battalion sergeant major’s acne-scarred face burst through the tent hatch. “Sir, we have movement south of the river. UAV picked up at least fifty personnel and multiple vehicles at the bridges.”

“Which bridge?” asked Grady sharply.

“All of them, sir.”

“Shit.”

“I’ll take care of your internal problem,” said Alex, turning toward the Old Yard.

“Alex!” yelled Grady, bending over Bruckman’s body. “You might need one of these.”

Grady tossed Bruckman’s HK416, which Alex snatched out of the air by the hand guard. The sergeant’s Motorola followed. He started to open the dead sergeant’s ammo pouches, but Alex stopped him.