“Twelve hours, and it was pure luck, really. I had two of my companies at Fort Devens for the start of annual training. H and S was prepping for the rest of the battalion, while Weapons Company was knocking out some of their heavy weapons quals,” he said, shaking his head. “The rest of the battalion was scheduled to roll into Devens on Wednesday. Two more days, and I’d have been at full battalion strength. The plan was designed for a minimum of three out of the five companies. I have two.”
“If this had happened two days earlier, you’d be stuck in Fort Devens holding your dick. What is this plan you mentioned?” said Alex.
“Category Five Event Response ordered by the Department of Homeland Security. We’re supposed to prevent a widespread breakdown in civil order.”
Alex looked around. “Is that possible?”
Lieutenant Colonel Sean Grady leaned in and whispered, “Not with two companies. I give it a day or two.”
“That’s why we hauled ass to get here,” Alex admitted, glancing at Ed. “Our kids are stuck over the river.”
“I was wondering what dragged my former company commander to Cambridge, Mass, geared up for urban combat,” Grady said. He reached under the table to grab a familiar rifle. “We’re confiscating shit like this on sight.”
“I heard. Category Five requirements?”
“Something like that,” said Grady, reluctantly.
“I dropped my son off at BU on Saturday. Ed’s daughter is a sophomore at BC.”
“That’s not good,” Grady mumbled.
“That’s what we keep hearing, but we don’t have a choice.”
“Maybe they got out early,” Grady suggested.
“Not likely. They had a prearranged plan. Stay in the safest of the two places, and wait for us,” said Ed.
“We have to make the trip, Sean. Even if the kids made it out, we have no way to verify it. One way or the other, we’re going into those badlands,” said Alex, pointing at the red-shaded zone on the monitor.
“You can’t walk across one of the bridges. Not with your commando gear. They’ll tear you apart.”
“What exactly is going on over there?”
“Rioting. Looting. Arson. Personal violence—”
“Rape?” said Ed.
“Everything. Large gangs are staking out territory.”
“Drug gangs?”
“Not really. We can’t discount a heavy criminal element based on what we’ve witnessed, but it seems like a typical power grab in the absence of authority. Early this morning, we stopped a mixed group of ten men and women trying to cross the Weeks pedestrian bridge with AR-15-type rifles and semiautomatic shotguns. They had the shit broken down and concealed in backpacks. I felt like I was back in Helmand Province. That group was sent across for a reason, and it wasn’t to seek a new life in the mountains of Vermont. We’re talking a hardened group of ex-con-looking types.”
“Colonel Grady,” said the UAV operator, “Raven is sweeping north to south over Harvard Business School. White-hot thermal imaging detected.”
“Copy. I’ll monitor from here,” said Grady. “Watch the screen,” he said, navigating to a new screen on his monitor.
A few mouse clicks and the blue screen changed to a grayscale aerial image of the buildings along the northern tip of the business school complex. The screen panned south until a white cluster appeared in the middle of Soldiers Field Road near the intersection of Western Avenue. The camera’s crosshairs centered on the cluster, and the image magnified.
“That’s why you can’t cross the river,” said Grady.
At least twenty armed figures huddled under the Western Avenue overpass, hidden from the building-based surveillance teams in Cambridge. The crosshairs focused on one of the individuals, who carried an AR-15 and wore a tactical vest.
“Where are they getting the hardware?” Alex asked.
“Take a guess. The weapons we grabbed were a mix of previously legal ARs and heavily modified Class Three shit.”
Ed said, “I thought Massachusetts—”
“The governor’s mandatory buy-back program was a joke,” Grady interrupted, “and Boston’s draconian firearms ban only succeeded in disarming people who followed the rules. The guns never went away. They just shifted into the wrong hands.”
“Any way we can get an armed escort?” Alex requested. “You could use the Raven to find a safe route. We’d be in and out in less than an hour. Your marines don’t leave their vehicles.”
Grady shook his head with a grave look. “I can’t justify sending anyone across, Alex. I’m strapped here. It’s no longer possible to move anyone, including heavily armed marines, past the river. We’ve tried it several times, with the same result. We eventually reach a point where we have to engage with small-arms fire to continue. I’m doing everything in my power to avoid that.”
“Sounds like the fifty cals are cleared for engagement?”
“Countersniper operations. My posts overlooking the bridges are taking persistent sniper fire. We’re only using the fifties when the sharpshooters get cocky and bunch up.”
“Fuck it. I’ll swim across.”
“Not a great idea. It’s anywhere from two hundred to three hundred feet across, and I’m sure they’re watching the water. It’s a full moon tonight.”
“I can swim low profile. Combat swimmer stroke. I’ll follow one of the bridges across. Swim between supports,” said Alex.
“You’ll probably get into a knife fight under the bridges. You’ll be better off swimming straight across. We’ll hold off on popping flares. No guarantee they won’t spot you,” said Grady, glancing up at the screen. “See that? Another group off Cambridge Street. Hiding out in a parking garage behind the Double Tree.”
“Second group, Colonel,” said the assistant UAV pilot.
“Got ’em. Nice job, Marines,” Grady said proudly. “Wave for the camera, assholes. Split the QRF between the Western Avenue Bridge and Cambridge Street Bridge.”
“Passing the order, sir,” said one of the operations marines.
“I wish we had some Reapers on station—with ordnance,” said Grady.
Alex looked at him. “I thought you were trying to avoid civilian engagements?”
“Trying. If either of these groups crosses with weapons—the trying part is over.”
“We should probably get out of your way. What about our gear?” said Alex.
“I’ll send it with you to Fire Support HQ. They’re set up at the Hyatt, right across the river from the university. Captain Baker has some individual river-crossing gear. Watertight bags. Tow lines. He may have some fins. He’ll set you up and get you into the river undiscovered. You’re on your own after that. I can’t send anyone in after you,” said Grady.
“Sounds like a plan. Any way I can grab one of your spare Motorolas to announce my return? Hate to get smoked coming back.”
“I can’t give you an encrypted radio, but I’ll give you an open frequency that we monitor,” Grady offered. “You can program it into the radio we took off Sergeant Walker. Yours is sort of smashed.”
“Great. What about a new tactical vest? I’m pretty sure your marines cut mine to pieces.”
“S-4 will hook you up. They’re set up on the first floor of Harvard Hall. I’ll let them know you need a—”
“QRF is in position at both bridges,” announced one of the radio operators.
“Copy,” said Grady. “Tell them to maintain blocking positions on the Cambridge side.”
“Colonel, I have both groups on the move! Transmitting data to the platoon commanders,” said the UAV pilot.
“Got it,” he said, turning to Alex and Ed. “It’s gonna be a long night for both of us. If you can’t get back across the river by sunrise, wait for tomorrow night. Hostile sharpshooters have been more of a nuisance than anything else—at night. Daytime is a different story. We’ve had some close calls.”