“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.”
Chapter 36
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.
“Affirmative. Two in the trees,” said Ryan.
“Alex, I have a small cluster of guys, maybe two, directly back from the house,” said Charlie.
“This is Linda. I’m all clear.”
“I have movement!” yelled Kate from the mudroom.
“Let’s get all shooters in position for the first volley,” he said into the headset, running past Samantha, who immediately stood up and moved around the sandbags.
Kate stood in front of the toilet in the bathroom, a few feet back from the open window. The sandbag position in front of her had been built taller to accommodate the bathroom’s shoulder-level privacy window, a consideration he hadn’t built into his theoretical calculations. To compensate for the additional rise, they stripped sandbags from the side of the barrier and jammed them against an additional piece of sheet metal higher up against the wall.
“When the shooting starts, stick the barrel out of the window and lean into the bags. What do you have?”
“I see the two Charlie is talking about dead ahead, and I have a few more moving to the right and left, a little further back in the trees,” she said, staring through the EOTech STS magnifier.
“Sounds like this is it,” he muttered, aiming his rifle into the bushes directly across from the window.
“How bad is this going to get?” Kate asked.
Alex had no intention of telling her the truth. Twenty-five rifles pounding away at the north face of the house would be cataclysmic, likely wounding or killing a third of them within the first minute. If they didn’t significantly reduce the number of militia rifles, they stood little chance of surviving. He needed her focused on killing, not dying.
“The marines are eight minutes out. We’ll get through this. I love you, honey.”
“I love you more,” she said, leaning her shoulder into him.
Her gentle bump shifted his scope’s field of vision, exposing a thick gun barrel supported by a bipod near the ground. He centered the scope’s red reticle on the barrel and sharply inhaled. The tapered, perforated barrel was unmistakable. Alex reached for his handheld radio, raising the reticle a few inches above the Browning thirty-caliber machine-gun barrel.
“Fire on all targets! Fire on all targets!” he said and pressed the trigger.
Larry Bertelson pushed at the thicket with gloved hands, trying to give his gunner a better field of view. He didn’t think Cole could see the second floor through the tangled mess. Not that it mattered. There was little chance of elevating the barrel high enough to reach it. The bipod wasn’t tall enough.
“Fucking thorns!” he hissed. “Can you see the whole house?”
“Good enough for government work,” said Randy Cole, spitting out tobacco on his shoulder and pushing the machine gun further into the opening.
“Not too far or I won’t be able to reload,” said Bertelson.
His radio squelched.
“Say again. I did not copy your last. This thing is a piece of shit,” he said, adjusting the earpiece.
“Liberty Two, this is Liberty Actual. Commence firing on the house.”
“Roger. This is Liberty Two. Firing on the house at my command,” he said, patting Cole on the upper arm. “Just got the order to fire, bitch. Holy shit, this is going to rock.”
“You want me to start firing?” said Cole.
“Fuck yeah!” he said.
“Does this thing have a safety?”
“I didn’t see one,” said Bertelson, examining the metal along the right side of the machine gun. “Didn’t you train on this gun?”
Bertelson knew how to load the ammunition belt through the tray, remembering the trick with the extractor. You had to manually lock the extractor forward before closing the feed tray cover. Beyond that, he’d never fired it, which was why he swapped out with Randy. Rank had its privileges.
“I fired it once at a demo, but it was already loaded.”
“Pull the bolt back and light these fuckers up already.”
Randy Cole yanked the charging handle back and slammed it forward, sighting in for a few seconds. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. “Are you sure this thing doesn’t have a safety?”
“What’s the hold up, Liberty Two?” he heard through his earpiece.