Point of Crisis (34 page)

Rising slightly, he shuffled past the open door and kneeled next to the driver’s seat to search for the radio detonator. The car held a sharp, coppery smell mixed with a faint ammonia odor. Feeling around the wet, sticky interior, a flush of anger warmed his face. Fucking Eli. He should have known better than to trust that self-serving snake. His hand hit the radio in the driver’s foot well. Lying prone several feet away from the cruiser, he examined the radio, which appeared to be dead. He pressed the power button next to the antenna, and the radio buttons and channel LED display glowed muted orange. The dumb fuck had turned the radio off.
Without hesitation, he pressed the button labeled “Preset” until the LED displayed “Preset 2.”

***

Specialist Martinez dropped to the ground as a stream of tracers raced past to his left.

“Rogue Dispatch, this is Rogue Three. Cease fire on the police cruiser at the end of the runway. Friendlies in contact. I say again, cease fire on the target at the eastern end of the runway. Friendlies in contact.”

“What the hell are these two doing?” whispered Staff Sergeant Jensen lying several feet to his right.

“Trying to kill each other,” said Martinez, staring at the grayscale image through his thermal scope.

The heat signature kneeling behind the trunk of the car fired two shots before moving down the right side of the car. A burst of white streaks ripped through the figure, passing through the car. Martinez ripped his head away from the scope in time to see another line of red tracers shoot by less than twenty feet away.

“Goddamn it!” yelled Martinez, grabbing his radio microphone.

“Rogue Dispatch! This is Rogue Three. Cease fire on target at eastern end of runway. Friendlies in contact! Acknowledge. Over!”

“This is Rogue Dispatch. Cease fire acknowledged by airfield units. Out.”

“Stay low,” said Jensen. “No way every shooter out there got that order.”

One hundred feet from the cruiser, at the edge of the runway, the two rangers watched the surviving heat signature crawl around the front of the vehicle and pause. A few snaps passed overhead and to the side.

“Told you,” said Jensen. “We stay right here until the snap, crackle, pop is over.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Martinez. “Should we drop him?”

“Negative. This looks like a command and control target. He isn’t going anywhere.”

When the figure started frantically digging around the driver’s seat, Martinez zoomed in, interested to see what the man needed so badly.

A handheld radio? Shit!

“Possible detonator,” he hissed.

“Got it,” said Jensen. “Stand by to take him out.”

Martinez concentrated on the gray image, which crawled away from the vehicle and stopped. He kept the scope’s crosshairs on the figure’s head.

“Take the shot,” said Jensen when the figure raised the handheld radio.

Martinez steadied the sight picture and pressed the trigger, exploding their relatively calm corner of the airfield.

“You missed,” said Jensen.

“Uh-huh,” replied Martinez, watching the man writhe in pain holding his mangled fingers.

Chapter 34

EVENT +21 Days

Forward Operating Base “Lakeside”

Regional Recovery Zone 1

Alex leaned over the map stretched across the folding table in the DRASH tent, matching satellite image features on his digital tablet to paper. He drew small circles on the map, each representing a field or some kind of clearing in the woods that held a structure. When he finished, his vehicle leaders would use the tactical tablets assigned to each Matvee to snap digital pictures of assigned search sectors. They’d keep the quick reference images of the paper map minimized on their tablet screens, “checking off” each location after it had been cleared.

The Marine seated at the communications table next to him suddenly sat up, adjusting his headphones and grabbing a pen. He scribbled furiously on a pad of paper before responding.

“Copy all. Passing to Guardian Actual now,” he said, turning to Alex. “Sir, MOB Sanford is under coordinated attack by car bombs and small-arms fire. Patriot wants our vehicles on the road ASAP, heading south to intercept retreating hostile forces.”

“Acknowledged. Will contact Patriot en route. Send it.”

Alex grabbed his rifle and burst out of the tent, nearly colliding with Staff Sergeant Taylor.

“You’re up earl—”

“MOB Sanford is under attack. Car bombs and small arms. I need four vehicles, four Marines each, including gunners. Full tactical load outs. We roll in two minutes. Staff Sergeant Evans!” he said, sprinting toward the house.

He met Evans on the gravel driveway in front of the porch. “I just heard!”

“I’m taking four Matvees and fifteen Marines to Sanford. Pull the forest LP/OP’s back to the house immediately and set up 360-degree coverage. Send one Matvee with four Marines and a two-forty to reinforce the Old Mill Road LP/OP. The other Matvee sits right here on the driveway.”

“Copy. What about the LP/OP at the entrance to the compound?”

“Keep them in place in case something slips through,” said Alex, holding up a finger to Kate, who had just arrived. “One second, hon.”

“ROE?” said Evans.

“Weapons free. Assume all unidentified vehicles or ground personnel are hostile. They’re using car bombs. Don’t let any vehicles near the OPs,” he said, slapping Taylor on the shoulder. “Get your men situated.”

“I’m on it, sir,” said Evans, disappearing for the command tent.

The Matvees parked in front of the DRASH tent rumbled to life in the darkness, followed immediately by the vehicle east of the house.

“Where are you going?” said Kate, turning her head to Matvees. “Where are they going?”

“South to cut off Eli’s retreat. He’ll be long gone before the Marines deploy the quick-reaction force. If we’re lucky, we might catch him heading north.”

“He’s up to something,” she said.

“I’m leaving two vehicles and more than half of the Marines. You’ll be fine,” said Alex, quickly kissing her.

“I’m not worried about
us—
I’m worried about you.”

“He can’t take on four armored tactical vehicles.”

“Then why would he attack the airport?”

“Because he’s crazy,” said Alex.

“Crazy doesn’t mean stupid,” she said. “Be careful.”

***

Houses peeked through the trees along the road, marking the outskirts of Limerick’s downtown area. Alex searched the green image for anything out of place. A church steeple rose above the trees. First Baptist stood at the intersection of Routes 160 and 5. He’d split the convoy in less than a mile.

“Slow us down until we get to Route 11,” said Alex.

“Copy,” said Corporal Lianez, and Alex felt the Matvee downshift.

His ROTAC chirped. “Alex, what’s your plan?” Grady asked.

“I’m sending one vehicle down Route 11 in case he heads west. We’ll hit the Route 4 junction in eight minutes, where I’ll send another Matvee east to intersect with 35. I’ll proceed down Route 4 with the rest. What makes you certain he didn’t die in the attack?”

“A solid hunch. Half of the cars involved in the attack exploded simultaneously. 4
^th
Brigade had a car rigged with explosives pile right through their tents surrounding their TOC. Miraculously, it didn’t detonate. Either it malfunctioned or the triggerman was killed. Rangers think they nabbed the guy setting off the explosives, but it wasn’t Eli. My guess is he watched from a safe distance and bolted when it became clear that the attack had failed. That was five minutes ago.”

“Do you have units in pursuit?”

“I’m waiting for clearance. The Authority compound got hit pretty hard, and they’re not keen on sending heavily armored vehicles away from the MOB. Work up a search plan for ten vehicles.”

“That’s it? They should have every vehicle at their disposal looking for this lunatic,” said Alex.

“Ten is all I could convince them to consider. They think this is a diversion to draw everyone away.”

“How big of a militia do they think he has?”

“It just got a lot bigger in their minds. Contact me when you have a plan. I have to go,” said Grady, disconnecting the call.

“Punch it, Lianez. We need to make up lost time.”

***

Eli peered through one of the First Baptist Church’s steeple windows and counted the tactical vehicles speeding past Duvall’s Market. Four oversized armored baddies headed south through town. He steadied his handheld night-vision scope on the hood of the lead vehicle, studying the infrared markings.

Bingo. Six-one-one.

The Matvees roared past the church, running the intersection and quickly disappearing down the narrow, two-lane road.

His first instinct had been correct. The large-scale attack on the airfield drew the compound vehicles out. Now to test his deepest instinct.

“Liberty One, this is Liberty Actual. Four tactical vehicles headed south through Limerick. The nest is empty. Commence your attack.”

Chapter 35

EVENT +21 Days

Forward Operating Base “Lakeside”

Regional Recovery Zone 1

Corporal Eugene Merrick leaned against the back of the armored turret, studying the road through his night-vision goggles. Four white glows, infrared chemlights spaced evenly along the right side of the road, broke up the green-scale image. The entire scene seemed noticeably brighter, prompting him to raise his NVGs and examine the road unassisted. The dark blue-gray image deteriorated rapidly, forming a murky screen a few hundred feet down the road. Better than the last time he checked, but still twenty to thirty minutes away from transitioning to daytime optics. Merrick lowered the NVGs, immediately spotting a distant, grainy vehicle in the center of Old Middle Road.

“SPOTREP. Vehicle approaching from the west. Running dark. Estimate twelve hundred feet. Definitely beyond the one-thousand-foot marker. Request permission to engage,” said McCall, lowering himself into the gunner’s sling and nestling the M240G into his shoulder.

“Negative,” said Sergeant Keeler, his vehicle leader. “Report number of vehicles.”

“Stand by,” said Merrick, lifting his goggles.

He looked through the 6X ACOG scope mounted on the machine gun, hoping the magnified view might provide the answer. Staring through the illuminated red reticle, he found the lead vehicle and quickly confirmed a total of four in the convoy.

“Four vehicles. Lead is an SUV. I can’t make out the rest,” he said, lowering his NVGs.

“Copy. Engage lead vehicle at the five-hundred mark. Groves, move your two-fourty closer to the road and watch the western approach,” said Keeler.

Merrick lifted his head above the scope, keeping the metal stock buried in his shoulder. The furthest glow disappeared momentarily as the convoy sped past the one-thousand-foot marker.

“Mark. One thousand feet,” he said, disengaging the safety.

“Copy. One thousand,” repeated Keeler.

A few seconds passed before the second marker vanished.

“Mark. Seven hundred fifty feet.”

“Copy. Three point four seconds. Vehicle speed estimated at fifty-plus miles per hour. Commence firing,” said Keeler.

Merrick triggered the infrared laser mounted to the machine gun and nudged the gun right, connecting the bright green line with the hood of the lead SUV.

***

Harry Fields scanned the road through his AR-15’s night-vision scope, pressing the rubber eyepiece against his eye socket. The SUV jolted, and the barrel of the rifle struck the windshield, jamming the scope into his cheekbone.

“Damn it,” he hissed, a sharp pain radiating down his face.

Using rifle optics from the cramped seat made little sense, but Eli had only issued his team one pair of NVGs, and it made a hell of a lot more sense to equip the driver with those. He hesitantly returned the scope to his face and searched for the target. The turn onto Gelder Pond Lane was somewhere up on the right. The scope bounced into his face again, causing him to wince—but he kept staring ahead. A bright green line hit their hood, deflecting through the windshield.

“What the—shit!” he screamed, yanking the steering wheel right.

Red streaks flashed past down the left side of the SUV, illuminating the interior as they rumbled along the gravel shoulder of the road. Fields turned his head in time to see the tracers ricochet off the next vehicle in line, which abruptly swerved left and disappeared.

“Keep us right here and slow to ten miles per hour.”

He raised his rifle and tried to locate the concealed machine-gun position. A second burst of tracers lit the road, barely missing the next car in line, which maneuvered behind Fields’ SUV to avoid the fusillade. Momentarily safe, he decided to call for the reinforcements waiting in Limerick. With a second threat distracting the machine gun from the opposite direction, he could get close enough to use the explosives against the emplacement.

“Liberty Actual, this is Liberty One. Request reinforcements from your direction. I have a machine gun—hold on,” he said, squinting through the scope.

An armored vehicle lurched into view, blocking Old Middle Road.

“That’s not supposed to be there,” he whispered before his SUV swerved off the road.

Red flashes chased them off the shoulder, striking the back end of the SUV and bouncing around the cargo compartment. His driver slammed on the brakes, grinding them to a halt in front of a thick tree trunk. One of his convoy’s vehicles raced past on the road, engine revving at maximum RPMs, tracers pouring through the cabin and igniting the interior. He stared at the flaming car until it fishtailed and veered off the road, vanishing in the thick foliage ahead. He fished the radio out of the foot well and opened his door.

“This is Liberty One. Abort mission. Tactical vehicles sighted in road. They knocked out two of our vehicles before we could reach the intersection. Cancel reinforcements. We’re gonna try to get out of here on foot.”