Event Horizon (16 page)

“We got this, sir!” said the staff sergeant. “Colonel will kick our asses if he finds out about this.”

The marine lifted Ryan’s right arm and draped it over his shoulder, pulling him upright. Blood dripped from the tip of his son’s boot.

“Grady didn’t send you?”

“Negative. My orders are to provide suppressing fire to aid in your withdrawal. I just happened to bump into you while repositioning.”

Three successive explosions sprayed mud and invisible fragments across the distant intersection.

“Amazing how shit like that happens. I owe you one, Staff Sergeant—Williams,” said Alex, studying the name patch sewed onto his Dragon Skin vest.

“Compliments of the house. We need to get your son to the BAS. He has a through and through to the outer right leg. You could use a little patching up yourself.”

Alex touched his cheek and held his hand in the rain, watching the rain wash away the blood. A quick glance at his bloodstained left sleeve brought his shoulder injury into focus. He traced the arm and saw two deep red slashes across the deltoid area. A few inches to the right and he could have claimed a repeat. Six years earlier, a shotgun-wielding psychopath had shot him squarely in the same shoulder. He started to jog toward the marines lifting the kids when the sound of a fast-moving car on the other side of the bridge stopped him.

“Behind the barrier!” yelled Williams.

Alex took Ryan’s other arm and helped the marine lower him to the asphalt.

Williams keyed his combat radio headset. “Raider One-Zero, hold fire on approaching vehicle. I say again. Hold fire on approaching vehicle.”

The marines tracked the mini-SUV skidding through the intersection.

“Staff Sergeant?” said a corporal, fingering his grenade launcher’s pistol grip.

“It could be some stupid-ass civilians trying to get across. Wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Could be a suicide bomber,” replied the corporal.

“Hold on. Raider Base, this is Raider One-Zero. I have an SUV approaching the south end of the bridge, moving fast. VIPs have been recovered. Request ROE instructions.”

“Raider One-Zero, this is Raider Base. Apply ROE in effect. Signal vehicle using any and all means available. Do not let the vehicle across.”

“Fire a grenade at the first barrier. Now!” said Williams.

The corporal’s launcher thumped, sending a small, dark object in an arc toward the southern end of the bridge. The 40mm high-explosive grenade hit the Jersey barrier, blasting it in half and showering the oncoming car with cement fragments. The vehicle accelerated.

“Staff Sergeant!” yelled the other marine.

“Light it up!”

Alex canted his rifle to use the iron sights and fired alongside the marines, emptying the rest of his magazine at the speeding car. Heavier guns from marine positions along the riverbank joined the skirmish, sending lines of tracers at both sides of the SUV. The car disintegrated under the barrage of mixed-caliber steel, careening left and wedging itself between the second barricade and the bridge. Alex tried to stand, but William’s hand held him firmly in place. The engine whined for a moment before the car exploded.

The force of the blast rippled across the bridge, shifting the four-thousand-pound Jersey barrier several inches. William’s instinct had saved Alex’s life, keeping his body shielded from the potentially lethal overpressure and fragmentation effects. Instead of flattened organs and punctured flesh, Alex was knocked onto his back. A cloud of cement dust and smoke settled over the bridge, obscuring his vision. Urgent, muted voices penetrated the haze.

“Sound off!”

“Leverone. Still in one piece!”

“Graham. Shoulder is trashed!”

“My VIPs?” said Williams.

“VIPs good to go!” answered Corporal Graham.

“Move them off the bridge! You all right, sir?” said Staff Sergeant Williams, extending a hand toward Alex.

“Did I spring any new leaks?”

“Just the old ones. Let’s get your son into one of the Matvees, get you all back to HQ.”

Alex helped Williams lift his son off the ground.

“You all right?” he said to Ryan.

“I can’t hear you!” screamed his son, grabbing Alex with both arms and hugging him.

“It’s going to be fine, buddy. We made it,” he said into Ryan’s ear.

“Where’s Chloe?” Ryan said, craning his head over his shoulder.

“She’s fine. You’ll see her in a minute.”

“What happened?”

“Car bomb,” said Alex.

“Motherfucking game changer,” added Williams.

Chapter 19

EVENT +58:24

Harvard Yard

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Ed Walker bolted through the thick tent flap and skidded on the slippery, matted grass beyond the entrance. His legs swung out, dropping him straight on his ass in front of the command post sentry. The corporal shook his head slowly. Ed sat on the wet ground for a moment, glad to be out of the steamy battalion command tent. The lukewarm downpour washed the sweat from his face and soaked through his swampy clothing, revitalizing him. The distant sound of a humming diesel engine echoed off the buildings, drawing him to his feet. He dashed toward the opening between Harvard and Hollis Halls, slowing as he approached the two marines stationed behind HESCO barriers.

After last night’s attack, Lieutenant Colonel Grady put all noncritical personnel to work filling the battalion’s modular HESCO cages with dirt from campus. The work lasted most of the night, producing dozens of four-foot-wide by four-foot-high barriers for the defensive positions ringing Harvard Yard. Two HESCO cages formed most positions, placed in a “V” shape facing the expected threat direction.

The HESCO system put twelve inches of compacted dirt between the marines and incoming high-velocity rifle bullets. Ed had been a little disturbed to discover that they didn’t have enough barriers to surround the command tent. Grady told him that if the command tent came under sustained fire, they were well past the point where a line of HESCO barriers would make a difference. He couldn’t tell if Grady was serious or kidding.

“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.

“Same shoulder?”

“It’s not bad. Barely grazed,” said Alex.

“How’s Ryan?”

Alex’s son had his head turned to the wall.

“He got hit in the leg, but he should be fine. He’ll be out of it for a while. Morphine.”

Chloe pulled at his arm, keeping him from entering the room.

“What’s wrong?” whispered Ed, turning to Alex and shrugging his shoulder.

“You should spend some time with your daughter. We had it rough getting back. She did good,” said Alex.