a vast, sun-browned field of low-cut scrub grasses separated from the road by a barb-wire-topped, chain-link fence. Not much standing between the public and the airfield . Alex imagined that Maine’s 133 rd Engineering Battalion had a few upgrades planned for the perimeter—especially given Regional Recovery Zone security protocols. He had spent most of the night on the battalion’s SIPRNet (Secret Internet Protocol Routing Network) connection, digging through the hundreds of classified documents in an attempt to understand the scope and impact of the RRZ’s deployment to southern Maine.
The picture was complicated, but one thing became crystal clear. Once the president of the United States activated the National Recovery Plan, you wanted to be inside one of the RRZ security zones—for reasons he tried to impress on Harrison Campbell. You especially didn’t want to end up in one of the FEMA camps outside the RRZ. The documents painted a rosy picture of the United States’ “upgraded” capacity to implement and administer a sprawling system of refugee camps, but time and time again, history proved otherwise. Alex intended to do everything in his power to keep his family and friends inside the security zone.
They drove past an enormous vacant parking lot connecting a Super Walmart with a Home Depot. He planned to visit The Home Depot on the way back, to secure some plywood for their windows and two toilets. They had stacked enough boards in the barn to barricade the first-floor windows against intruders, but the Maine Liberty Militia’s sustained fusillade had shattered close to every window in the house . Since the event blast wave had been negligible in Sanford, he didn’t feel bad commandeering the wood, along with a few other repair supplies needed to patch up the holes.
Three olive-drab flatbed trucks converged on Route 109 from a road beyond the parking lot. Without stopping, the loaded vehicles turned right and accelerated, pouring black exhaust above the convoy. From a distance, the trucks resembled the Mk23 MTVRs (Medium Tactical Vehicle Replacement) used by Grady’s battalion.
Where the hell did they come from?
His tactical overview of organic RRZ units indicated that the 1136 th Transportation Company based out of Sanford had M1078 MTVs—but their headquarters was four miles west of here. As Alex’s vehicle passed the fire station, he matched the street sign to the vehicle’s tactical display. The digital map confirmed that Eagle Road was a dead end.
Interesting.
“Looks like they know where they’re going,” said Alex.
“Let’s hope, sir,” said Lianez. “I’ll tuck in right behind them.”
“Make sure to stop at the gate so we can figure out where we need to go. I’m not exactly sure where we’re supposed to check in, but I assume there’s a base commander or something like that,” said Alex, fumbling with the door. “How do you open the windows?”
“You don’t, sir. This is an integrated projectile and blast resistant design.”
“Really? How the hell did I miss that?”
“Most officers don’t figure it out until they want to shoot something from that seat. I had one platoon commander who insisted we were messing with him. Every time he got in the damn vehicle, he fucked around with that door.”
“It was kind of silly-like,” said Jackson over the PRC-153 Intra-Squad Radio (ISR).
“I’m sure he had every reason to trust the two of you to steer him in the right direction,” said Alex, smirking. “So, how the hell does the crew defend the vehicle?”
“You leave that up to me, sir,” said Jackson.
“Not even a gun port?”
“Fucks with the blast-resistant dynamics,” said Lianez.
“What are you, a vehicle engineer?”
“Mechanical engineering degree at Northeastern.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Negative, sir.”
“I stumbled into the Einstein Battalion,” Alex muttered.
“Lianez is the exception to the rule. Most of us are good
Sex Retreat [Cowboy Sex 6]
Jarrett Hallcox, Amy Welch