Steven Konkoly - Event Horizon

“What is it, Liberty Three?”

“ Last man in my column found a motion detector thirty feet from our ingress route. I can see another one, maybe one hundred feet away in the opposite direction. Looks like a wireless model. I think they know we’re coming.”

Shit.

He’d counted on cameras and motion-activated lights, but a perimeter of motion sensors was overkill for a bunch of summer folk. This might be a game changer.

“Can you tell if they’re live? The EMP should have killed all of this gear.”

“Most of our unplugged electronics gear survived. We have to assume this stuff works. They probably caught us watching the place yesterday. Might explain the late night military convoy. What if they offloaded a surprise? This whole thing could be a trap,” said Brown.

Double shit.

It was definitely possible. Eli glanced nervously around the forest, wondering if he’d already passed a hidden gun emplacement. Was his second squad lining up on the tree line to be hit from both sides? No. This was crazy thinking. A couple of stupid bitches got the drop on his drunken nephew and stole his SUV. Hatfield’s description of the bridge battle didn’t include a Green Beret A-Team. Jimmy’s group was hit by three guys in a Jeep during a blinding rainstorm, helped by a bunch of Hell’s Angels. Only one guy was in the Jeep spotted by Brown. None of it added up to a clever ambush by Special Forces. But how the hell did he explain a military convoy driving around at night without lights? Maybe the driver was some rich out-of-stater with connections. Who the fuck knew—or cared? They’d give it a try.

“Liberty Three, continue your approach. Hang back about thirty feet from the clearing to avoid visual detection and wait for second squad to engage the house. Give it about thirty seconds, then execute your mission.”

After a lengthy pause, Brown responded. “Roger. Liberty Three will advise when in position.”

“See you inside the house, Liberty Three. Actual, out.”

“I say we send a few guys across to test the waters. Just in case,” said Hillebrand, from a crouched position buried inside a familiar-looking plant.

“Don’t touch your eyes, Paul,” said Eli. “You’re sitting in poison ivy.”

“Son of a bitch,” said Hillebrand, stepping out of the bush and kneeling next to Eli.

“You got a few volunteers to send across?” said Eli.

“We don’t have volunteers in my squad. Ain’t a democracy. We’ll get set up on the edge and send two out. If we get hit by automatic fire from the barn, I’d say we might have a problem.”

“I agree. If we can get the whole squad to the barn, it won’t matter who they dropped off last night. Not with the thirty-cal firing seven hundred rounds per minute into the house.”

“Liberty Two, this is Liberty Actual.”

“Send it, Actual.”

He hated Bertelson’s radio protocol. The kid just didn’t get it. You didn’t tell your commanding officer to “send it.” You answer with your call sign and wait for orders. Why the fuck couldn’t he get this right? Now wasn’t the time to let this kind of shit bother him, so Eli took a deep breath and pressed his lips together before transmitting.

“Keep your squad thirty feet back from the clearing until I give you the order to move up. I don’t want them spotting you too early. The only exception will be the machine-gun team. I want them up near the edge of the tree line in a concealed position, prepping the thirty-cal for action. Bipod extended, round in the chamber. When I give the order, they will push that barrel through the foliage and sweep each floor of the house with sustained fire. After that, I want them focused on the right-side windows and the sliding door. Fire until the gun is out of ammo. How copy?”

“Solid copy, Actual. I’ll be on the gun myself, so we don’t have any screw ups.”

How the hell was he supposed to direct his squad sitting behind a thirty-caliber machine gun? Bertelson was getting under his skin.

“Negative, Liberty Three. I need you in a command and control position, not behind a machine gun.”

“Uhhh, I made the decision when we split off. I sent Raymond to lead the column across. He’s on the far left flank.”

Eli peered through the forest at the skirmish line formed by Bertelson’s squad, barely able to see past the fifth man in line. He didn’t need this kind of shit right before the attack. His gut instinct told him to relieve Bertelson before he made a decision that botched the entire plan. He could send Hillebrand to take over Liberty Two while Eli spearheaded the house breach. Tactically, it made more sense for him to leave Hillebrand in place and take over Bertelson’s squad, but then he’d miss all of the fun. There was no way Eli was going to pass up an opportunity to put his pistol grip shotgun into action. He’d just as soon miss his own son’s wedding, if he had one.

“Never mind. Just make sure nobody starts firing until I give the order.”

“Roger. I’ll let you know when we’re in position.”

Several minutes later, Brown had arranged his squad underneath the impenetrable raspberry bushes, with orders to cover the second-story barn window. Satisfied that they were ready, he gave Eli the signal to send the two men who lay in the deep grass on the other side of the thorny barrier. Twenty seconds later, Eli exhaled gently as the two men safely reached the closest corner of the barn. So far, so good.

He sent two more across, just in case they were dealing with a well-disciplined gunner. If Eli was positioned in that window, he’d let the obvious Guinea pigs cross, waiting for a juicier target, but he’d never let more than two attackers across. Four men represented a full fire team—almost half of a standard squad, which was more than enough to do some serious damage in close proximity. When the second pair lined up against the barn siding, he knew the barn was empty. There was nothing he could do about the camera mounted next to the window, though he suspected it was disabled. Plugged into the grid, it would have been fried by the EMP.

“Liberty Two, this is Liberty Actual. Bring the thirty-cal up to a well-concealed position and get it ready. Advise when the gun is ready to fire.”

“Copy all. Out.”

EVENT +75:22

Limerick, Maine

Alex watched the rest of the militia squad disappear underneath the camera view. Thirteen heavily armed men had streamed across the grass, utilizing procedures that indicated a high degree of tactical awareness. The good news was that Striker Five-One had just turned north on Route 5 in Waterboro, on their way back to cash in on Alex’s offer of a hot lunch. He just hoped his group could hold out long enough to benefit from Five-One’s arrival.

“Striker Five-One, I have twenty-five plus confirmed bad guys converging on the house. Suspect one additional squad east of the house, in the trees. I have to go.”

“Copy. We’re 16.9 kilometers from your position. ETA nine minutes, seventeen seconds.”

“Roger. Patriot Two Alpha, out.” He triggered the handheld on his way out of the dining room. “We have thirteen men behind the barn. Call out any locations in the trees. The marines are on their way. Ten minutes out,” he said and turned toward the great room. “Dad, scope in on the left side of the barn. I saw one of them break off and head in that direction. If he’s partially obscured by the corner, shoot the corner. Your .308 will punch right through.”

Alex kept moving.

“Ed, got anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Does anyone have anything?” he said into his headset, surprised they hadn’t picked up any movement.