“I don’t think any of us will be the same.”
“My guess is she’ll be fine. Let’s get our shit together and secure some seats on the last ride out of Boston.”
The stairwell door behind him burst open, causing him to whirl and level his rifle. A marine first lieutenant stepped into the hallway and froze at the sight of the rifle.
“Captain Fletcher?”
“Mr. Fletcher works just fine,” said Alex, lowering the rifle.
“Colonel Grady instructed us to call you captain. He needs you in the TOC.”
“I’m a little busy right now.”
“Give him five minutes, sir.”
“I need to secure transport out of here before the civilians figure out that the battalion is abandoning Harvard Yard.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, sir. I’ve been ordered to facilitate your group’s evacuation. As soon as they’re ready to move, I’ll escort them to Harvard Hall.”
Alex looked at Ed, who shrugged with a ‘why not?’ look on his face. If Grady was offering them a ride out, who was he to turn it down? Especially if that ride came in the form of a small-arms-impregnable vehicle and only cost him a few hours of scouring through the Liberty Boys’ file data. The Captain Fletcher thing was a little annoying, but he could understand Grady’s need to give him some perceived authority in light of the chaotic circumstances.
“Fair enough. Tell Grady I’ll be right down,” he said, turning to Ed. “Stay close to this marine.”
“What’s that saying you like to use?” Ed said. “Glued to his ass?”
“That’ll work. Lieutenant? I want them in Harvard Hall ASAP.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll escort them down as soon as we get their shit together.” He extended his rifle toward Ed. “Trade you.”
“They’re the same,” protested Ed.
“But that one’s mine.”
“I give up trying to figure out how marines think,” said Ed, swapping rifles.
Chapter 23
EVENT +59:53
Harvard Yard
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Alex weaved through the chaotic mess of refugees that had enveloped the battalion TOC. The wounded sentry had been replaced with four marines that barely held the crowd back. As he approached the inner ring of civilians, one of the marines pushed through the angry mob and pulled him through.
“You’re good to go, sir,” said the sergeant, pointing toward the entrance flap.
He stepped inside to find most of the battalion’s gear packed into reinforced, gray travel cases marked “Cat Five.” Lieutenant Colonel Grady stood near the operations station, taking reports from the battalion staff huddled in front of communications gear. Grady saw him and rushed over.
“Attention in the TOC!” said Grady, halting all activity. “Based on the authority vested in my command by the Joint Department of Defense and Homeland Security Directive Five Bravo, I hereby commission Alex P. Fletcher as a provisional officer in the United States Marine Corps reserve, at an O-3 pay grade, effective immediately. Congratulations, Captain Fletcher. As you were, Marines!”
A few celebratory “ooh-rahs” echoed through the shelter, and the marines quickly went back to work, scrambling to pack up for their impending evacuation. Alex remained at attention in front of Grady, coming to his senses a few seconds later.
“What just happened?” he said loud enough to draw a few hurried stares from nearby marines.
“I need your expertise, Alex, and your judgment. Corporal Meyers told me what you did out there. You prevented a serious perimeter breach.”
“You don’t have to make me a captain, Sean. I’ll gladly help you sort through the militia file in exchange for a ride up to Medford.”
“The Liberty Boys aren’t my problem anymore. We’re heading well north of the city. I need your help with something else.”
“My top priority is getting everyone back to Maine,” stated Alex.
“That’s exactly where I’m sending you. One of my infantry companies is based out of Brunswick, Maine. Alpha Company. I’ve had no contact with them since the EMP.”
“Now it’s an EMP?” said Alex.
Grady raised an eyebrow. “What else could it be? Homeland hasn’t confirmed it, but I don’t expect them to. We have enough problems without rumors of a foreign attack or invasion.”
“Yeah. Reports of a U.S. government sponsored invasion seem to be keeping everyone occupied at the moment,” quipped Alex.
“I’d like you to lead a convoy of two Matvees back to Maine and establish contact with Alpha Company. First stop in Maine is at your discretion,” said Grady.
“You don’t need me to babysit your marines, Sean. What’s the catch?”
“If this shakes out like I suspect, southern Maine is about to become a significant focal point in the federal government’s recovery plan. I assume you’re familiar with Sanford?”
Alex nodded, wondering exactly how much Grady knew about his compound in Limerick. Was he included in Homeland’s file?
“Sanford has a 5,000-foot runway and sits strategically in the center of southern Maine. Rivers naturally define most of the state’s southern border, which makes it easy to seal off from the bulk of expected refugee traffic. One of the joint FEMA/Homeland Recovery plans establishes Maine as a Primary Recovery Zone. When that happens—”
“If it happens,” said Alex.
“Oh, it’s going to happen. The tsunami, coupled with the EMP, likely caused critical damage to Seabrook and Pilgrim nuclear plants. Think full reactor meltdown.”
Alex shook his head slowly.
“The refugee situation along the coast is already a mess. Wait until everyone within a thirty-mile radius of each plant hits the road. Southern Maine is about to become one of the most valuable pieces of real estate in New England. Guess what’s in this file?” said Grady, lifting a green envelope.
“Recipes for radioactive clam chowder?”
“Funny. Profiles of militia groups in Maine. When Maine is declared a PRZ, every reserve and National Guard military unit in northern New England will be sent to southern Maine to assist in recovery efforts. Homeland assessed that local militia, and Mainers in general, will not respond favorably to the sudden influx.”
“How does this relate to me being conscripted into the Marine Corps?”
“1st Battalion, 25th Marine Regiment will provide security within the Southern District,” he said, pausing. “And I don’t want a repeat of Boston. The Liberty Boys may or may not have responded to battalion outreach efforts. We’ll never know, and that’s my bad. I want you to study these files and come up with a game plan to approach the groups in Maine. You know them better than anyone. Ideally, we’d want to incorporate them into the overall recovery structure. Get them vested in—”
“The success of the military’s plan to speed the recovery and return control of civil functions to the local government?” said Alex.
“You know the drill. Think of this as a favor,” said Grady.
“Who’s doing who the favor? I kind of lost track.”
Grady started laughing. “We’re knee deep in favors. I’m giving you an armed escort back to Maine and a provisional commission in the Marine Corps Reserve, which gives you one of these.”
He reached into the green file folder and withdrew a light blue card with a magnetic strip on one side.
“Military ID card?”
“Better. Provisional Security ID. If you accept my offer, I’ll activate the card and upload your information to Homeland’s database. I doubt any of the law enforcement agencies or Guard units have the capacity to swipe this card, but they can confirm your identity and classification via satellite phone. Instructions are on the back of the card. You’ll be classified as security/intelligence, which will give you unrestricted travel and facilities access.”