Dispatches (8 page)

“Turn coming up, sir. Looks like we have to cross over Route One and drive through the town to reach the on-ramp,” said the driver.

“Roger. Keep us moving through the town.”

Grady called the lead helicopter on a separate, dedicated UHF radio channel.

“Night Train this is Raider Lead, over,” said Grady.

“This is Night Train.”

“Raider is ten mikes out from objective. Request Night Train on station in fifteen mikes.”

“Copy fifteen mikes,” said the staticky voice.

“Roger. Weapons hold unless otherwise ordered,” said Grady.

“Copy weapons hold.”

Grady replaced the handset and shifted in his seat, making room to move his rifle. He expected no trouble in Belfast, but he’d learned never to make assumptions about the perceived threat level. The driver crossed the overpass and turned right on a snowplowed, two-lane road paralleled by a string of telephone poles. The town turned out to be little more than a tighter collection of houses. They passed a VFW hall on the right side of the road. An American flag over a Maine state flag sat motionless at the top of a flagpole in front of the cleared parking lot. It looked like the VFW was in business.

He wished they could settle this business inside the hall over a few draft beers. Grady was sure they could reach some kind of agreement if they sat down as fellow service members, instead of pawns in a dangerous power play.

The Matvee turned onto High Street, bringing them to the Route One North on-ramp. On-ramp seemed like an overstatement, since they transitioned from a two-lane road to a slightly better built two-lane road. Quintessential Maine. The driver slowed the vehicle as soon as they straightened on Route One. Two up-armored Humvees blocked the entrance to the flat bridge less than three hundred feet ahead. He should have guessed this wouldn’t be easy.

Son of a bitch
.

“Raider units, we have a roadblock at the west end of the bridge. Raider Two-Zero, pull alongside Raider One-Zero. We’re going to approach slowly as two columns. Stop on my mark,” said Grady.

“Two-Zero copies. Moving up.”

The fifth vehicle in the column swung into the empty oncoming traffic lane and pulled parallel to Grady’s vehicle. The rest of Raider Two-Zero’s vehicle troop followed, creating two columns of four vehicles and filling the road. Grady stopped the formation fifty feet in front of the blockade, examining the scene.

He counted eight soldiers on the bridge and two turret gunners. The turrets contained M240 machine guns, useless against his Matvees. This appeared to be more of a symbolic show than anything—he hoped.

“Raider units, this is Raider Lead. I’m heading over for a chat. Stay alert. Out,” said Grady. “I’ll be right back,” he said, getting out of the vehicle.

The cold air stuck to the inside of his nose as he shut the door to the toasty cabin. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and motioned for the vehicle leader behind him to join the greeting party. Staff Sergeant Taylor stepped onto the asphalt next to Raider One-One and nodded. They met next to Grady’s rumbling vehicle.

“What are we looking at, sir?” said Taylor.

“Looks like more of a welcoming committee than a serious attempt to stop us,” said Grady.

“What if they refuse to move?” asked Taylor.

“Then we’ll have to push them out of the way. We outweigh them by about twelve thousand pounds,” said Grady, patting the hood of the Matvee. “Let’s get this over with.”

As they approached the Humvees, a major dressed in digital ACUs, carrying a short-barreled M-4 carbine, stepped between the vehicles. The officer scrutinized Grady’s uniform for a moment before snapping a crisp salute. Grady returned the military courtesy, eyeballing his name patch.

“What am I looking at here, Major Richards?” he asked.

“Hopefully nothing, Colonel,” said the National Guard officer, looking past the Marines at the column of Matvees.

“Nothing would be a clear road to Searsport. This doesn’t look like nothing to me,” said Grady.

Despite his sympathy for the local government, he had a duty to safeguard his Marines. The best way to do that was to project a strong, uncompromising presence.

“Searsport has adequate security, Colonel. 3
^rd
Battalion, 172
^nd
Infantry Regiment has a company of soldiers guarding the facility.”

Grady stared at the major, sensing his unease with the situation.

Platoon, but I’ll give you credit for the bluff.

“The RRZ would like to free those soldiers for other duties in the state. We’re a little overstaffed down south,” said Grady.

The major nodded. “Would the colonel entertain a meeting with the state governor?”

“Susan Dague?”

“Yes, sir. She’s at the Searsport facility.”

“How much warning did you have about our visit?” said Grady.

“Enough to bring a company of soldiers and all of the battalion’s armored vehicles. Searsport is a secure facility, sir,” said the major.

Maybe the major hadn’t been bluffing.

“You’re not planning to put bags over our heads for the trip, are you?”

The major almost laughed. “Negative, sir. This is more of a site visit, so you can assure the RRZ folks that we have adequate security at Maine’s only fully operational marine terminal.”

“I’d love nothing more than to assure them that the situation is under control, and that the Searsport facility will continue to fulfill the RRZ’s requirements,” said Grady.

Chapter 15

Searsport Marine Terminal at Mack Point

Searsport, Maine

Grady accepted a ride in one of the National Guard Humvees after briefing Captain Williams, the senior officer remaining with the Marine convoy. He reluctantly left Staff Sergeant Taylor behind, suspecting that Governor Dague had more than a tour of the security arrangements in mind. His gut instinct told him that this would be an executive-level negotiation that would likely result in a status-quo arrangement. He wasn’t sure how Taylor would respond to Grady’s dismissal of the RRZ’s directive to “secure the facility—using force if necessary,” and he didn’t want to put the staff sergeant in a position to question the decision.

The first thing he noticed when they arrived at the gate was a series of HESCO barricades anchoring an armored guard post. Two up-armored Humvees were parked behind a long stretch of fence to the right of the entrance, overlooking the Jersey barriers funneling traffic into the facility. He saw no sign of any weapons heavier than the 7.62mm M240 machine guns, which matched their intelligence briefing. 3
^rd
Battalion, 172
^nd
Infantry Regiment’s Category Five Response load out hadn’t included MK-19 grenade launchers or M2 .50-caliber machine guns. Since the unit wasn’t located in a critical, high-population area, Homeland planners thankfully hadn’t seen a need to include heavy firepower.

They passed through the gate and drove a few hundred yards to a parking lot in front of a two-story, corrugated aluminum building. At least twenty Humvees were parked in the lot, facing outward, their crews standing around the vehicles. If this was the extent of their show of force, the RRZ had little to worry about. Unarmored Humvees and lightly armored soldiers posed little threat to his Marines, and even less of a threat to armored elements of the 10
^th
Mountain Division. If the RRZ wanted the facility, they could take it.

Why didn’t Medina send a Stryker company to take care of this?

He knew the answer; she didn’t care for Grady, so she sent him to do the RRZ’s dirty work.

Major Richards nodded as they parked. “Governor Dague is in this building.”

“This is the extent of the battalion’s armored vehicles?” asked Grady.

“We had a limited motor pool to start with at the reserve center. Older stuff, non-EMP hardened,” said Richards.

Grady shook his head. “This can’t be all of it. This is barely enough to transport a company of soldiers.”

Richards ignored the comment and opened his door. The soldiers were called to attention when Grady exited the Humvee.

“Carry on, soldiers,” said Grady.

Grady made a few observations as they crossed the parking lot. Overall, the soldiers looked healthy. They were dressed in the latest generation ACU-patterned Extreme Cold Weather Clothing System (ECWCS) and half of them carried Bushmaster ACRs. He was surprised to see the Adaptive Combat Rifle. The rifle had seen limited distribution throughout the various services, despite rumors of sizable Department of Defense purchase orders. Mystery solved. Just like the thousands of ROTAC satellite phones that had been reserved for Category Five disaster response. Strangely enough, he didn’t see any radios resembling the ROTAC.

He studied the vehicle markings on the hoods of the Humvees, possibly confirming Richards’ statement. He saw a wide representation of various company and platoon unit designations. Grady found it odd that Homeland planners hadn’t included additional vehicles in their load out. Maybe the battalion’s allotment had been reduced to fit the perceived need in central and northern Maine.

“How many Humvees do you have out of commission?” Grady asked when they reached the door to the building.

“More than half,” said Richards.

“We need to get that fixed. Should be relatively simple with the right parts,” said Grady.

“That’s the problem. We don’t exactly have access to the Army supply system,” said Richards.

“I might be able to work something out,” said Grady, stopping at the door. “Is your commanding officer present?”

“You’re looking at him, sir. Major Don Richards. Former battalion S-3,” said Richards. “Our CO was on vacation with his family in Colorado. Camping trip. The XO was at a family reunion in Wells. They rented two big houses side by side on the beach. We haven’t heard from either of them.”

Grady shook his head.

“Everything between the beach and Route One in Wells was swept inland by the tsunami. Few survived.”

“That’s what we heard. The governor officially appointed me as battalion commander a few days after the event,” said Richards. “We’ve been scrambling ever since.”

“So…what am I walking into here, Major?”

“The governor has no intention of recognizing the RRZ’s authority in the state.”

“That’s not really a debatable point. The president activated the National Recovery Plan, which clearly establishes RRZ authority over local government and defines the roles for each entity,” Grady explained. “Security is an RRZ function—like it or not.”

“She doesn’t recognize the 2015 Defense Authorization Bill. Her staff will argue that your presence—the RRZ’s presence— is a violation of the Insurrection Act,” said Richards.

“It’s a little late for that argument,” said Grady. “I hope there’s more to this meeting than a constitutional debate.”

“There is,” said Richards. “Though I can’t guarantee you’ll like what she has to offer.”

“Offer?” asked Grady, opening the door. “This should be interesting.”

Governor Dague was waiting for them in a small conference room on the ground level. The governor was dressed in a thick red winter jacket and winter cap, sporting a worn pair of waterproof boots made famous by one of Maine’s premier outfitter companies. She looked like someone you’d expect to find ringing a Salvation Army bell in front of a grocery instead of a state governor, but looks could be deceiving in Maine. Dague, a career state prosecutor, was rumored to be hell on wheels in a negotiation, and downright cutthroat when the cards were stacked in her favor.

Grady walked around the conference table to shake the governor’s hand.

“Lieutenant Colonel Sean Grady, ma’am. It’s an honor and a surprise to meet you,” he said.

“Not a pleasure?” she asked, shaking his hand firmly.

“Under the circumstances, that remains to be seen,” said Grady.

“Please take a seat, gentlemen,” she said, pulling a chair out for herself.

“I can see my breath in here. No heat in this building?” said Grady.

“Every drop of fuel that comes into this port goes to the people of Maine. Hospitals, shelters, health clinics, and public safety. This has been my top priority as governor,” she said. “RRZ fuel demands have severely undercut these efforts. It’s too early to tell, but we estimate that thousands of Mainers died of starvation or exposure during the winter. It’s hard to explain why homes couldn’t be heated and food wasn’t distributed because the federal government needed to maintain twenty-four-hour helicopter coverage over FEMA camps in New Hampshire. Camps receiving food originating in Maine.”

“Ma’am, your reputation precedes you, so I’m not even going to pretend you don’t know that our helicopters, along with all of our vehicles, run on JP-8, not home heating oil,” said Grady.

“Nice try, Colonel, but I know JP-8 is essentially a kerosene-based fuel and can be used in kerosene heaters. I’ve seen studies suggesting it can be safely used in heating boilers. I believe the Air Force looked into this in the early nineties. We’re pretty savvy around here when it comes to heating solutions,” she said.

Grady realized he wasn’t going to win a debate with Governor Dague, though he couldn’t help continuing the discussion.

“JP-8 has a lower flashpoint than heating oil, which requires mechanical adjustments and constant monitoring, unless you want to potentially run your system into the ground. Maybe if the Maine legislature had supported your efforts to convert the state to natural gas, we wouldn’t be in this situation. The Maritimes and Northeast Pipeline from Nova Scotia is fully operational, and could provide enough natural gas to heat every home in the state. Instead, that pipeline is heating homes in Massachusetts and Connecticut.”

“Touché, Colonel. You’ve done your homework,” she said, appearing to seriously contemplate her next statement. “I’ll come right out and say it, Colonel. The Searsport terminal is operating at full capacity, and RRZ shipments are monopolizing terminal intake. From what I can tell, and from what the people in southern Maine can tell, most of the RRZ’s
take
is being spent on efforts outside of the state.”