“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.
Ed spotted an empty Matvee near the front entrance to Stoughton Hall and jogged toward the vehicle. Part of the battalion’s inner perimeter, Stoughton had been converted into the Battalion Aid Station. The aid station had started as a self-contained shelter unit, half the size of the command tent, in the northern part of the Old Yard. Citizens flocked to Harvard Yard as word spread through Cambridge, quickly overwhelming the medical section’s capacity to house severely injured patients.
The worst cases were moved to the first floor of Stoughton Hall, where the battalion surgeon and four navy corpsmen scrambled to stabilize patients long enough to be transported to one of the overwhelmed hospitals near Cambridge. Options remained limited, since most of Boston’s major hospitals were south of the Charles River. Few patients had been moved.
Patients with minor injuries packed the rest of the yard, hiding from the rain in a variety of commercial tents and makeshift shelters. Grady refused to allow them inside the outer perimeter building, citing security concerns for both the civilians and marines. Few people in the Harvard Yard shantytown complained about the restriction. They were inside the defensive perimeter, which to many felt like the only safe place in the world. They had no idea how quickly “Fort Harvard” could cease to exist if the situation north of the Charles deteriorated much further. He’d overheard Grady issue an order to activate “thirty minute” protocols. He assumed this meant “gone in thirty minutes.”
His knees buckled as the rear cargo compartment came into focus. Bloodstains streaked across the composite benches on both sides of the vehicle. He slammed the rear hatch shut and charged the entrance to Stoughton Hall.
A marine stepped through the open doorway and put a hand on his chest, forcing him back.
“Sir, you need to be escorted into the building by one of the aid station’s personnel. If you head over to the triage—”
“My daughter’s in there!” he said, pushing back.
“Sir! You will step back and follow procedure!”
“He’s good to go, Corporal! His daughter is part of our group,” said a marine Ed didn’t recognize.
“Daddy!” he heard from the dark hallway beyond the sentry.
“Sorry, sir! Orders.”
Ed ignored the marine and pushed into the dormitory, searching for his daughter.
“Chloe!”
He heard footsteps rushing down the hallway and turned in time to grab his daughter. The fact that she could run toward him meant that she hadn’t been hurt. He hugged her tightly.
“We got you. We got you,” he struggled to say.
She buried her head in his shoulder and cried quietly, her bear hug constricting his ribs.
“You okay, sweetie?”
She nodded her head, and he held her, momentarily oblivious to the hard journey ahead of them. He remembered the blood in the back of the Matvee.
“What about Mr. Fletcher and Ryan?”
A familiar voice echoed in the dim vestibule.
“We’re okay too.”
“Alex?” he said, searching the hallway.
“We’re in the student lounge!”
His daughter reluctantly released her grip and stepped back a few paces. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Are you all right, Chloe?” he said, grasping her hand.
She sobbed and shook her head.
“She was caught in the middle of a nasty gunfight. Real nasty. You should have one of the corpsmen take a look at her,” said one of the marines that had brought her in.
Ed crouched, scrutinizing her for signs of injury. She didn’t appear to be bleeding. She was soaked like everyone else, but intact. In the hazy light cast through the entrance, he couldn’t find a single tear in her clothing.
“Not that kind of injury, sir,” said the marine.
He nodded toward the marine and hugged his daughter again. “You’re safe now, sweetie. We’re going home.”
“Right now?”
“As soon as we can, Chloe.”
“We need to go now,” she said blankly.
“Why?”
She paused for several moments. “Because they’re everywhere.”
“Who’s everywhere, sweetie?”
“The Liberty Boys.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you. Let’s find Alex and figure out how to get out of here,” said Ed. “Where’s the student lounge?”
“That hallway. Second door on the left,” said the marine, pointing him in the right direction.
“What happened out there?”
“They had a serious hard-on for your friend. Sorry, ma’am. Whatever he did last night, it really pissed them off. They blew up half the bridge trying to snuff him out. They’re lucky we saw the flares. We thought it was an all-out attack on the bridge.”
“Thanks for bringing back my daughter,” said Ed, starting for the student lounge and holding his daughter.
“We were just batting cleanup. Your buddy and the kid did most of the work. Navy Cross material on the bridge. Sorry, ma’am. You don’t see that very often with today’s youth.”
Ed stopped and stared at the corporal, who didn’t look much older than his daughter. He didn’t know how to respond, so he nodded and kept walking. All of this was beyond surreal. What the hell had happened on the other side of the river? Was this related to the Liberty Boys his daughter mentioned? Were they safe here? The sooner they left, the better. He planned to activate his own version of the “thirty minute” evacuation plan, rain or shine. When he walked into the doorway marked student lounge, his hopes of leaving drained faster than the blood in his face. Neither of the Fletchers looked ambulatory.
“Well, there he is. Sergeant Walker!” said Alex, lying on a cot next to his son.
The room’s furniture had been stripped, replaced by cots and folding chairs. A table stacked with medical supplies sat against the wall next to the door. A smaller cart near Ryan and Alex displayed stainless-steel surgical tools. Ed’s stomach pitched. Two of the medical station’s personnel hovered around Ryan’s bloody leg while another tended to Alex’s shoulder.