Steven Konkoly - Event Horizon

“What happened to the rest of the battalion? Where are you now?”

“National Guard Armory in Melrose. As for the missing units, I think we’ve had some desertions. Striker units found an abandoned Matvee in Watertown. At least they zeroed out the crypto in the vehicle radios. Homeland’s Cat Five plan estimated a forty-three percent no-show rate for my battalion in the event of an EMP-related scenario, so we’re actually in good shape, according to the plan.”

“I’ll take one vehicle with half of a squad. The group that hit my house is the same group I ran into on the way out of Maine,” said Alex.

“The group executing civilians at Milton Mills?”

“Affirmative. Somehow they figured out where I live, and it doesn’t sound like they’re going away. This was only half of their group. Trust me when I say they will be big trouble for the Recovery Zone. They planned for the possibility of your marines returning and set off a sizable IED next to one of the Matvees.”

“Evans briefed me about it. High-order detonation car bomb. No damage to the Matvees.”

“They have a bomb maker in the group. He won’t make the same mistake twice.”

“I can’t send anything your way, Alex,” said Grady.

“Can you pull some strings and detach some National Guard folks in Maine? They’re standing around in droves at the border crossings.”

“I’ll give it a shot, but I’m not optimistic. FEMA hasn’t officially designated the Regional Recovery Zone yet, so technically, I don’t have any jurisdiction in Maine. I do, however, have a mission, which is why Staff Sergeant Evans was on his way to see you.”

“Hold on, Colonel, let me put my wife on. This sounds like something you might need to clear with her,” said Alex.

“Funny,” uttered Grady. “I do have your signature accepting an emergency commission in the Marine Corps for an indefinite period of time.”

“Sounded like a good idea at the time. What are we talking about?”

“Babysitting duty. The remnants of Bravo Company are headed to the Sanford Regional Airport. ETA two to five days, depending on what I can scare up for transportation. Bravo Company is in bad shape. Thirty-two marines have reported for duty as of this morning, and the company gunny isn’t holding his breath for any more. They’re scattered all over the state. A good number are likely dead from the tsunami.”

“Sounds like they’re in good hands,” said Alex.

“Gunny Deschane is squared away, but without an officer, he’ll have problems cutting through the red tape that’s bound to clog up that airport. With your provisional identification and rank, he should have smooth sailing.”

“None of the officers showed up?”

“Two are confirmed casualties, and the rest live too far north. They may show up eventually, but until then, you’re Bravo Company commander.”

Kate was going to love this. Alex went from sitting on his ass typing reports about militia units—about a day’s worth of work—to leading a marine rifle company, which in his previous experience took up about twenty-five of the twenty-four hours in a standard day, plus time on the weekends. At least it was only thirty-three marines. A typical rifle company could field nearly one hundred forty.

“Sounds easy enough for now, Colonel. Any other good news?”

“Bravo Company has no equipment. The reserve center at the former air station was wiped out by the tsunami. Nothing was salvageable, including weapons and ammunition. I have arranged the delivery of replacement gear for two platoons. Vehicles, comms gear, weapons, everything.”

“Delivery date?”

“TBD, but I anticipate it will leave Hanscomb Air Force Base within three days. I need you to secure hangar space at Sanford Airport. Preferably, enough space for the entire battalion. I need this done ASAP. An Air Force Combat Controller Team is onsite, preparing the field for sustained 24-hour flight operations. Combat engineers from Maine’s 133 rdEngineer Battalion will arrive tomorrow to reinforce the location. It’s about to get busy in your neck of the woods.”

“I can’t leave my family here unprotected. Not until the Maine Liberty Militia has been destroyed. I’ll run back and forth to Sanford. All other business will be conducted over the ROTAC.”

“Why don’t you relocate everyone to the airport? In a few days’ time, it’ll be the safest location in Maine.”

“I’m not moving my family into a hangar to eat MREs, drink funky-tasting water and sleep on cots indefinitely. I plan to call on one of the top militia guys in the county tomorrow morning. I’ll secure hangar space immediately after that.”

“Anything stopping you from doing it this afternoon?”

“Yes. Her name is Kate Fletcher. I believe the two of you have met?”

“Fair enough. Contact me when you’ve secured space at the airport. And Alex? I’m glad to hear everyone pulled through the attack. I’d hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t returned before this morning.”

“Me too. I owe you for the ride back to Maine.”

“It all worked out for a reason. Talk to you tomorrow, Captain Fletcher.”

Alex turned off the phone and lay there for a moment, staring at the deep blue sky. Even with the amphetamines coursing through his body, he could fall asleep in a second if he closed his eyes. Glancing at the gauze holding a 4x4 dressing against his left thigh, he realized he should probably spend some time tending to his injuries. His efforts up until now had mainly consisted of applying some kind of hemostatic dressing or powder to stop the bleeding. He really needed to properly clean and possibly stitch the thigh.

Staff Sergeant Evans emerged from the barn and walked toward Alex. He sat up and planted his brown hiking boots into the grass, preparing for the painful ordeal of standing.

“Natural causes, sir?”

“Metal poisoning.” Alex nodded.

“Lot of that going around,” said Evans.

EVENT +83:21

Limerick, Maine.

Kate sat down for the first time since the motion sensors had been triggered. Soaked through every layer of her clothing, streams of sweat poured down her cheeks, dropping from her chin onto the table. Alex stepped through the empty slider and set two red plastic cups in front of her. He took the cushioned seat next to her on the porch and squeezed her hand. He looked utterly exhausted, his red face covered by rivulets of perspiration. She closed her eyes.

“I’m willing this into an ice cold beer,” she said.

“Well water. Compliments of the house.”

She drank the cold water in a single gulp and stared through the bullet-riddled porch screen next to her.

“Round one of the cleanup is done. There’s only a one in twenty chance of getting a splinter stuck in your ass—or a piece of glass,” he said, digging into the cushion under him.

He placed a sliver of glass on the table in front of her.

“We’ll get there. Stroke of genius pulling all of the window screens yesterday. Linda’s idea,” she said.

Neither of them spoke for several moments. She felt terrible for her friend. The same .308 that had almost killed Alex and her in the sitting room had effectively destroyed Linda’s ankle. Alex wasn’t too optimistic about her prognosis. Unless she got extremely lucky and the bullet passed cleanly through, the damage likely caused by the steel-jacketed round would require serious orthopedic surgery. Repeated surgeries if she wanted to walk normally on her left leg again.

“They took a beating up there from that .308. We never did find it.”

“Find what?” Kate asked.

“The .308. It wasn’t on any of the guys in front of the garage or in the mudroom. Someone slipped away.”