Overrun: Project Hideaway (32 page)

He increased their speed again.
Detection by the J.G.U. forces was no longer a concern.

Time had finally run out.

The small fighter bucked and
shook from the onslaught of debris from the exploding ship.

The J.G.U. ship slammed the
Hideaway with weapons again.

Half the structure facing them
was on fire. Emergency seal-off doors in some areas were not activating in time
to prevent the vacuum from overtaking the hull-breached sections of the ship.
Whole sections shuddered, rocked, and then imploded back within.

"Looks like they're going
to be satisfied with just destroying it," Cranden said grimly.

"Those smaller ships are
still out there," Samuel responded taking a hand from the controls to
point to the now hundreds of small ships hovering just outside the onslaught on
the Hideaway hull. "They're waiting for something. They’re still going to
board."

Tuttle watched the spectacle
silently.

They were almost to the
Hideaway. None of the smaller fighters had broken from their formation to
engage them as they approached.

For the moment, the blasts from
the larger ship had stopped.

They made it the rest of the
distance to the Hideaway where Samuel was able to bring the fighter alongside
its hull in an area yet untouched by laser fire.

"Alright," Samuel said
giving their craft just enough soft thruster to nudge it softly against the
Hideaway.

It made a soft thump and rocked
slightly when their hull finally touched the other ship.

"We're not going to be able
to sit here for too long. We're going to have to get in right now."

Samuel turned around when no one
answered him.

Tuttle and Cranden had stepped
to the back of the ship and begun strapping on an assortment of assault gear,
location tracers, and high caliber weaponry.

Samuel pulled a section of the
command terminal away from the main unit. It detached with a hiss of broken
suction and escaping air from the console.

It was the device they would
need to interface with the controls of the Hideaway to locate the secret
presidential retreat once they had control of the ship and returned it to
Earth.

In the event that actually did
occur.

Samuel joined Tuttle and Cranden
as they readied their weapons and waited for the ship's attaching device to
make a tight seal onto the Hideaway. No one breathed a word in the stillness of
the compartment.

A light glowed green across the
fighter’s access door. Samuel reached into a compartment in the wall at his
side and pulled out a torch.

He turned away from Tuttle and
Cranden and pulled a dark protective visor across his face. He tightened the
pack against his body which carried the locator device and lowered his assault
rifle to his side.

He took another quick look back
at Cranden and Tuttle, then dropped his head and lit the torch.

Tuttle reached over his shoulder
and activated the switch controlling the access door. It opened with a loud
hiss to reveal the vacuum-controlled section of the Hideaway's outer hull.

Tuttle and Cranden raised their
rifles across their shoulders and aimed them over the top of Samuel’s head.
Samuel touched the searing heat of the torch against the metal of the Hideaway.
Its walls seemed to give a scream as the flame cut through.

Tuttle’s and Cranden's body
tightened with apprehension while they watched Samuel quickly burn his way in.
The floor beneath their feet bobbed and rocked from the impact of debris
against both ships. The suctioned section between the small fighter and the
Hideaway made a quiet sucking sound as the boarding mechanism worked to keep
the seal between the two ships.

Samuel brought the tip of the
torch down to the deck. The burning arc he created was now complete.

The cut metal teetered to the
side threatening to break loose.

Samuel powered down the torch
and reached for his weapon. He remained crouched on his hands and knees and
hung the rifle across the pack on his back. Tuttle and Cranden stepped closer
in. Their weapons pointed over both of his shoulders towards the metal he had
just burned through.

Their labored breathing filled
the room.

The fighter gave another more
violent lurch from larger chunks of debris now ramming into it. The barrage of
rubble was coming at a much faster rate.

Samuel reached into his gear and
pulled a smaller sidearm from a concealed holster.

Tuttle pressed in even closer.
The tip of his rifle touched the surface metal of the Hideaway's hull. He could
feel the flow of his blood pound against his ears. His muscles felt so tense he
thought they might actually burst and tear away from his skin.

"Everybody ready?"
Samuel whispered. The men behind him responded by pressing more firmly against
his back. Cranden's weapon also touched against the metal they had just cut
into the ship.

Still on his heels, Samuel took
a breath and leaned his weight against the loosened steel. It gave way easily
and his body tumbled in. He landed firmly on his stomach and pointed his weapon
out into the darkness.

Cranden and Tuttle stepped
quickly over him and boarded the ship. They each stood on his either side while
he pulled himself through the opening and to his feet. Tuttle swiveled left,
and Cranden moved right. Samuel kept his eyes focused straight ahead.

The area they entered reeked of
dust and smoke and was completely dark.

"We have to get out of here
fast and seal this section off,” Samuel said pulling out a lamp and shining it
ahead of them. “Before they blow off the fighter."

They stepped out into a
passageway leading to the rest of the ship. The lights in the corridor were not
lit. "If they don't blow it off, that debris is going to obliterate it
soon anyway."

Tuttle pulled out a small lamp
and a map of the ship. Cranden and Samuel stood rigidly next to him while
Tuttle searched for the quickest route to the cockpit. Tuttle raised his eyes
and pointed down the passage to his left.

"This way," he said
into the smoky silence.

Before heading in the direction
he pointed, Tuttle stopped and adjusted the weight of his own pack and gear.
When he raised his head again and took a step, a sharp click of metal against
metal sounded from the darkness.

All three men brought their
lights around to find the sound.

A pair of feet became visible
within their beams. Then a pair of wide eyes.

No one took a breath as the
three raised their lights. Their beams found another man’s face in the
darkness. He blinked violently against the glare they centered across his eyes.

It was the face of a bloody and
beaten man. His left cheek was covered in a crust of blood, and one of his eyes
was nearly swelled completely shut.

His clothes were tattered and
covered in dark grime and days of continuous sweat. He held a large hand weapon
in the greasy palm of a shaking arm. It was a weapon type from a time that
neither Tuttle nor the other two men had ever seen.

Its tip pointed directly at
Tuttle's heart. The cocking of its arming mechanism was what had drawn their
attention to his hiding place in the dark.

Tuttle stared coolly at the man.
In one fluid pronounced motion he lowered his own weapon and brought it down to
rest against his chest.

In that same instant, Samuel
dropped his sidearm across the floor and snatched his rifle up against his
cheek. Cranden did the same next to him.

"Let’s just relax,"
Tuttle breathed softly. He lowered his rifle to the ground and turned slowly to
his side. He pulled up a flap of material across his arm and brought his light
around.

The figure stood motionless
before them. He looked past Tuttle at the men next to him with assault rifles
pointed at his head.

The figure then moved back and
pressed his beaten form against the wall. Without lowering his weapon, he slid
his back down along the wall’s surface until he rested on crouched knees near
the ground. His whole body started to shake, more from his injuries than any
type of fright.

Tuttle sank to the ground next
to him keeping his light centered on the United States Administration Dome
patch across his arm. He moved it closer to the man’s open eye that was still
able to see.

Tuttle let his weapon slip from his
fingers and clatter softly across the ground. The bloody man stared into
Tuttle's eyes and blinked slowly twice before looking at what Tuttle showed him
beneath his light.

"I don't know what that
is," he said dully.

His voice shook. His expression
showed no recognition of what Tuttle had just shown him.

“Tell me who you are."

Tuttle moved his arms slowly to
the side of his belt and pulled a small blade from its side. The man before him
didn’t flinch. He followed his movements with a wide open eye. Tuttle brought
the blade up against the material near the top of his arm. With a quick slicing
motion, he cut it away revealing a small tattoo near his shoulder.

He licked his finger to wipe
away the dirt so that the red, white, and blue image of the first American flag
could better be seen in the light. He moved his arm closer for the bloody man
to see.

With a recognizing nod of his
head, the man lowered his weapon and leaned his back against the wall. His legs
fell from underneath him, and his quivering body sank all the way to the
ground.

Tuttle and Cranden rushed to his
either side. Samuel remained where he stood with his weapon still pointed at
his chest.

"C'mon, we've got to get
out of here,” Samuel said from behind the trigger guard of his rifle. “Right
now.”

There was a loud crash outside
the ship wall that made the Hideaway lurch and roll beneath their feet. The
metal of the surrounding passageways emitted a low groan and then seemed to
scream in pain.

Samuel rushed to a viewport to
see the blinding blasts of another full scale weapons attack.

Tuttle and Cranden bent down and
pulled the Hideaway Captain Jediah Parker to his feet.

Hoisting him roughly up with
their hands beneath his arms, Parker’s head drooped limply forward across his
chest. He drifted in and out of consciousness as they tried to get his legs to
walk.

Samuel pointed his weapon
forward again and stepped to the next corridor door. Dragging Parker between
them, Tuttle and Cranden followed hurriedly after him.

When they reached the next
section of the ship, Samuel waited for Tuttle and Cranden to haul Parker
through the doorway and then hit the emergency seal-off control switch to the
corridor. A heavy metal door drove itself hard into the ground at their feet.

A resounding clang resonated
throughout the chamber.

Tuttle and Cranden lowered
Parker to the ground. Cranden ripped off his medical pack and tore through it
looking for anything that might keep Parker more coherent and awake. Or at
least alive until he was able to show them how to take control of the ship
before the J.G.U. boarded or completely destroyed it.

Tuttle held Parker's head while
Cranden injected him with what he could from his pack. With his weapon raised,
Samuel stood guard over them.

A few seconds later Parker moved
around and opened his good eye.

It was then the explosion hit.

The blast knocked Samuel
crashing down across their shoulders. Still holding his weapon, he quickly
pulled himself from the pile and rushed to the nearest viewport.

“It’s gone,” he yelled quickly
back. “The whole thing. Completely gone.”

Only jagged pieces of metal
stemming from another damaged section of the Hideaway remained. Their ship and
the entire section of the Hideaway they docked against had been blown away. Two
of the small fighters from the larger J.G.U. ship flew quickly from view.

“They’re bringing in the
fighters,” Samuel said yanking his two men and Parker roughly to their feet.
“We’re running out of time.”

“Which way to the cockpit
area?!” he shrieked at Parker. His back was toward the door they had just
sealed. The heavy door that now separated them not from the rest of the ship
but from the vastness of space.

"Straight," Parker
said dazedly trying to stand without the help of the two men at his side.
"Up the second corridor. Ten minute walk ahead."

"We gotta go," Samuel
said raising his weapon and hurrying down the corridor in the direction Parker
had pointed. “We gotta move! Move now!”

Tuttle reached down to grab his
weapon from the floor and slung it across his back.

He wiped a thin trail of blood
from his lip and put his arm around Parker to steady him.

Carrying Parker between them, he
and Cranden rushed after Samuel to the front of the ship.

The corridors they traveled
through were smashed. Most of the floor grates were torn loose or completely
destroyed. In some places entire sections were missing leaving giant holes that
dropped many stories deeper into the ship. Gigantic pits they would have to
cross to access the ship’s cockpit.

Most of the time they scaled the
sides of the walls to get across. Their white-knuckled hands gripped at hanging
pieces of metal and destroyed floor from the level above as the only means of
supporting their weight.

Their progress was slow. And
Tuttle and Cranden half-dragging, half-carrying Captain Jed Parker between them
slowed them down even further.

The number of smaller ships
outside grew by the minute. They streaked by the Hideaway viewports back
towards the cargo area.

Everyone knew they were quickly
running out of time.

The J.G.U. ship followed every
fighter attack with a full-scale weapons bombardment methodically ripping the
Hideaway apart bit by bit.

"Do you have any idea who
it is?" Samuel asked from up ahead.

He had just picked himself up
from the portion of the left wall that tried to bury him after the last laser
blast. He raised his weapon again in the direction of their advance and stepped
slowly forward. Both his knees were bloody and torn.

"Do you know who it is
that's still onboard?" Samuel asked through set teeth as the ship rocked
again from another blast.

Cranden left Parker's beaten
figure in Tuttle's arms for the moment and pulled his medical pack from where
it was strapped to his calf.

He walked ahead to Samuel and
used a small knife to cut the uniform fabric around his leg. He sliced it into
strips and wrapped it tightly around a large wound just above his knee.

The ship jolted again beneath
their feet from another weapons hit.

"It’s not them,"
Parker struggled to speak. His broken body sagged in Tuttle’s arms. “Not
J.G.U.”

Blood ran down his face from a
gash Cranden hadn't been able to completely bandage above his eye. His
breathing came in gasps cut short by broken ribs that jutted into his lungs.

"Could be United States.
But nothing official."

Parker coughed twice. A gurgle
of spit and blood crusted around his lips. His drooping form was becoming
overwhelmingly heavy in Tuttle’s arms.

"Mercenaries,” Samuel’s
voice echoed through the darkness of the broken corridor.

He kept his weapon trained
straight ahead into the unknown at the front of the ship while Cranden finished
bandaging his wound.

There were two deep cuts that
went directly to the bone. The bleeding was bad to the point Samuel started to
feel a faint tingle down the side of his leg. Cranden's entire chest and arms
were instantly stained a deep thick red.

Cranden wrapped the last of the
thick bandage across the joint and moved back to help Tuttle with his own
bloody load.

"Thanks, Corn," Samuel
said biting at the pain that crept into his voice.

He hobbled a step acclimating
himself on his damaged leg and working the bulky bandage across his knee.
Despite its awkwardness, he left it on. If anything, he wasn’t going to come all
this way to die by bleeding to death in space.

"They never identified
themselves," Parker said. His voice came easier once Cranden returned to
help Tuttle support his weight. "Just came up on us and tried to board. No
signal. No nothin’. We were able to keep them off. At least until the other
ship came."

"Your copilot?" Tuttle
asked while Cranden readjusted his gear and weaponry across his back.

They moved after Samuel towards
the front of the ship.

"Dead," Parker
answered back.

A piece of the metal deck gave
way beneath Cranden’s step causing him to fall to one knee. He released his
hold around Parker allowing his body to twist to the side. Parker screamed in
pain.

"Can they pilot the
ship?" Samuel asked stopping their advance. “If they got onboard?”

In front of him, the floor
dropped away into the darkness of the lower layers of the ship. He pointed his
light to find the bottom. The beam became lost in the gloom before it found the
ground. Cranden and Tuttle dragged Parker until all three stood behind his back
next to him.

It was more than ten feet across
to the other side.

"Only I have access to ship
controls," Parker said grimacing and stretching his neck to get a look
over Samuel's shoulder at the gaping hole in front of them. The ship shuddered
again from the aftershocks of the most recent weapons attack. "War
procedures were initiated right out of hypersleep. Everything has been
signaturized to my command."

"Retina scan?" Samuel
asked.

"Palm recognition,"
Parker answered leaning back into Tuttle’s and Cranden's arms.

He looked down and slowly flexed
his wrist.

“I want you to take it if it
comes to it,” Parker said.

None of the men looked at him
when he spoke. They continued to stare across the divide.

“Even if I’m not dead. If it’s
to a point where you can’t move me. I want you to take it. You’ll only need one
for full command of the ship. Do you got that?”

“Yeah, we got it,” Samuel said
without looking back.

Another blast threw all four men
to the ground like a carpet had been yanked out from beneath their feet.

Samuel toppled forward toward
the gaping hole. The entire weight of his body dropped hard across his weapon.
Its metal trigger guard rammed into the small of his stomach. He gasped
violently while more shattered metal from the disintegrating ship rained across
his head.

The blast threw Tuttle and
Parker into the air to the side of the corridor. Tuttle’s shoulder smashed into
its metal side. Shredded pieces of steel grabbed hold of his arm. Parker’s
weight yanked him in the opposite direction nearly ripping it from its socket.

Close to blacking out from the
pain, Tuttle tried desperately not to fall backwards to the ground.

Still supporting the added
weight of Parker leaning on top of him, he could not completely keep his
balance. His body fell backward. More pieces of destroyed ceiling fell down
around them.

Parker's heavy frame toppled on
top of him.

Cranden was the only one left
standing in the middle of the obliterated corridor. The blast had knocked him
to his knees and threw him forcefully towards Tuttle and Parker. Still on his
feet, he grabbed Parker by the shoulder and pulled him from Tuttle. Tuttle
thrashed on his back across the ground grabbing his injured arm and spitting
dirt from his mouth.

"Son of a bitch!"
someone screamed.

"We've got to get out of
here now!" Samuel shrieked. His heavy fall across his rifle had forced all
the breath from his lungs in one quick blow. He struggled to ignore that his
battered body was working hard at the moment to just breathe.

"How much farther to the
cockpit?" he yelled again.

"It should be just
ahead," Tuttle said raising himself to his knees. “Right?” he said looking
over at Parker.

Cranden pulled Parker back up to
his feet. Parker nodded in return.

"It should be right across
that divide," Tuttle said his breath coming quickly. He pointed his light
across the jagged metal of the huge pit in the center of the corridor.
"We're at the foremost section of the ship. It should be right there
unless the structure has already been blown off."

"Well, if it has, then we
might as well just sit here," Cranden said. "There won't be anything
more to do. Except wait for it to come."

"It's still there,"
Parker wheezed. "Loss of signal from that room to the cargo in back would
have set off the nukes. Whoever's out there knows that. That's why they're only
attacking the midsection of the ship. Not the front. Not the cargo area. They
know exactly what they're doing."

"How do you know
that?" another voice screamed from the darkness of the dying ship. The voice
came from across the opening in the floor. It was panicked and filled with
terror.

Hands scrambled for weapons in
the dark.

Cranden dropped his hold around
Parker's waist and let him slip to his knees across the deck. His hand snatched
at the assault rifle hanging across his back. He ran to the edge of the gap and
knelt next to Samuel who was crouched with his own weapon ready to fire.

"Come on out! Come on
out!" Samuel screamed. Saliva sprayed from his lips. "Come on out
right goddamn now!"

Tuttle grappled for a bigger
brighter light strapped somewhere within his gear. He pulled his sidearm and
stepping over Parker stood between Cranden and Samuel.

Tuttle remained standing while
Samuel and Cranden both knelt to the floor next to him. He activated the larger
light and pointed it towards the voice in the dark.

The beam bobbed around for a
second showing only flaming rubble and wreckage from the ship. It then rested
across a pair of booted feet.

Tuttle felt the muscles of the
men next to him tense. Their drawn weapons sat tautly across their shoulders on
both sides of his knees.

Tuttle held his Sunszk in his
left hand and played the heavy beam up into the darkness with his right. He
moved the light slowly while Samuel continued to scream for the figure to come
out.

"Who are you?!" the
man shrieked back. The ship rumbled and roared its hull again under attack.

"Drop to the ground
now!" Samuel screamed over him.

Both of their voices rang
through the darkness. Neither acknowledged the other.

"Get down now! Show us your
goddamn hands!"

"Who are you!!!?"

"Get the fuck down now! Or
I'll fucking kill you!"

Samuel pulled across his trigger
and began to fire. Flame lit the dim passageway. Rounds pierced the ship’s
walls, and sparks threw more light into the dark.

And then for a second again
everything was quiet.

Tuttle played his beam further
out into darkness to reveal the man hiding in the gloom.

Like the rest of them, the
figure of RadCom was bloody and bruised. His body was soaked with sweat, and
his face was covered with dirt and blood. A giant cut across his forehead
dripped into his eyes. He approached the pit that separated him from Samuel and
his crew.

His legs and body shook as he
did.

"That's fucking
enough!" Samuel yelled again.

Behind him, Parker worked loose
another lamp from his pack. He rolled on his side and lit the air ahead with
another beam.

Tuttle glanced quickly down at
Cranden kneeling motionless next to him. He stared intently through his weapon
sight.

The entire area near the ruined
cockpit entrance was now bright with light. The battered man stood directly in
front of them on the other side of the hole ripped in the deck.

Hair still burned on the left
side of his head, and another long red streak marked a giant wound across his
chest. His legs wobbled when he tried to step.

Tuttle lowered his weapon.

"We don't have much
time," he said just loud enough to be heard over the attack on the
outside.

He stepped closer to the edge of
the drop. Samuel and Cranden nudged closer to Tuttle’s side when he did.

"There’s plenty,"
RadCom said to them with a slight edge to his voice. "There’s plenty of
time, because it’s all going to end. It’s all going to end right here."

He dropped slowly to his knees.

"Put down your weapon,”
Samuel ordered. “We’re coming across.”

Tuttle dropped his arm and put
his sidearm back in its holster. Cranden also lowered his weapon and joined
Tuttle in trying to find a way across.

Parker crouched behind the three
of them keeping his beam centered across RadCom's face.

"You're not coming
across," RadCom said with no emotion in his voice.

He reached slowly behind him and
pulled a small metal object from behind his back. Several lights blinked across
its top. The lights threw a series of small brightly colored beams across the
darkened corridor.

"Grenade!" Parker
screamed. “Fucking goddamn concussion grenade!”

Cranden and Samuel snatched
their weapons and pointed them again at the man’s chest. They stood rigidly
next to Tuttle. Their muscles tensed behind their weapon sights.

"Drop that fucking
thing!" Samuel yelled. His voice was almost a panicked scream "We are
not fucking around! We will kill you right fucking now!"

Samuel and Cranden crouched on
either side of Tuttle with weapons raised and ready to fire. Pieces of the
ceiling and walls still fell around them.

"You’re not coming
across," RadCom's unsteady voice said again.

The ship rocked again more
violently from the onslaught of the outside attack. His body lurched with the
moving structure of the ship, but he didn’t lose his step.

"Everything ends right
here."

Tuttle remained standing between
Samuel and Cranden.

"Don't do it," he
heard Cranden muttering to himself. "C'mon, don't make me kill you. C'mon,
put that fucking thing down. Don't make me do it."

Tuttle lowered his hands to the
shoulders of both men next to him. He felt the anxiety rushing through their
limbs like an uncontrolled wildfire. He could see the tips of their weapons
shake.

"Let's just take it
easy," he said softly to the two men.

"If he arms it, we're all
going to fucking die," Samuel said the tension across his weapon not
letting up. He kept it pressed hard against his face.

"He's right," Parker
said softly from behind his light. "If the sensors are damaged in the
cockpit, it'll set off the nukes. Pretty much right away. We won’t have a
chance to disarm it."

"C'mon son, put that down
and let us come across," Tuttle tried to sound calm and reassuring. He
tried to control the tremor that started to creep into his voice. "Help us
bring this ship back to Earth."