Free Point of Crisis by Steven Konkoly Page A

rifle. A thick, cylindrical suppressor sat in the rack next to each MP-7. Definitely not something seen at the Marine infantry level. More like Delta Force or Devgru.
    The final rack held a variety of mountable optics, including night vision and infrared scopes. Forty M-27 Infantry Automatic Rifles (IAR) with 3.5X Squad Day Optics crowded the far end of the rolling frame. The M-27 had replaced the Marine infantry fire team’s belt-fed M249 Squad Automatic Weapon several years ago. The IAR was basically a heavier-barreled version of the standard issue HK416, equipped with a bipod. Nothing out of the ordinary here, though the night optics seemed a bit over the top for a unit already carrying night-vision goggles.
    Something about the equipment didn’t make sense. It resembled the type of load out he’d expect for a high-impact, special-purpose unit, not infantry Marines repurposed for area security. He was almost afraid to open the third container, leery that he might find something that would force the immediate evacuation of the Limerick compound. He could still pull it off while the bulk of the battalion was stuck in New Hampshire. Head north, away from the epicenter of RRZ control, and slip into Canada. Maybe hop over to New Hampshire and try to link up with Kate’s brother. All options still on the table—for now.
    Alex walked to the front of the last container. He felt flushed, almost nervous. Part of him wanted to find something incriminating in the third conex box. Something to give him the excuse he needed to get as far away from this as possible. He knew on a gut level that nothing good could come of the RRZ. If the government didn’t restore limited power and essential services by late November, a scant three months away, nothing short of a one-hundred-mile-long, twenty-foot-tall, electrified fence could keep hundreds of thousands of refugees from swarming north ahead of the winter.
    Even with FEMA’s prophetically suspicious pre-staging of supplies, there was no way the government could support massive refugee camps throughout the winter. Not without permanent heated structures, which would take far too long to construct given the scope of the EMP damage. Then again, maybe FEMA had socked away several thousand wood-burning stoves. He doubted it. Once winter hit, the situation would fall apart. RRZ leadership would be faced with some tough choices, pack up and head north—or look for other options. He didn’t plan on being around to implement the protocols the RRZ “Authority” would undoubtedly follow. One glimpse inside these containers told him everything he needed to know about where this was headed.
    He punched in the codes for the third container and waited for the seal to release. After a prolonged hiss, he swung the doors wide, not sure what to expect. Rows of locked equipment boxes lined the walls, leaving enough space in the middle to walk to the end. Military nomenclature on the first few boxes identified sophisticated night-vision goggles. GPNVG-18. Panoramic night-vision goggles, doubling a soldier’s field of vision from standard NVGs. Special Operations gear. He thought about it for a moment; if the battalion had forty or fifty sets, they could conduct swift, vehicle-based night operations. The additional field of vision provided by the panoramic NVGs would give drivers the situational awareness needed to maneuver in tighter spaces, like forests.
    The pieces were coming together. Suppressed weapons. Strange uniforms. A heavy emphasis on night operations. Fuck if it didn’t sound like 1 st Battalion, 25 th Marines was being reequipped as some kind of internal security group, capable of snatch-and-grab operations.No wonder Adler had freaked out.
    He detected a faint high-pitched squeal behind him and spun with his rifle ready for action. An unfamiliar soldier wearing ACUs and a heavily modified tactical load out skidded to a stop on an obviously spray-painted, green and tan