Overrun (16 page)

"This way!" Kirken
pulled Brandon after him around a corner to avoid three soldiers coming from
the other side of a burning car.

They charged a handful of steps
further through the fires when machine gun fire hungrily devoured the battle-scarred
earth around them.

Kirken shoved Brandon to the
ground and dove into the rear of a yet undamaged pickup truck. He dumped his
pack upside down and scattered the remaining equipment around to prepare
another charge.

Brandon laid unmoving on the
ground next to the truck. Kirken glanced nervously up at the vehicles racing
into the stadium through the fiery ripped holes in the facility’s outer walls.

"Brandon! Get up! They're
starting to seal it off!"

Brandon stirred briefly and
moved groggily around. A jagged piece of car metal burned near his head. Its
flames licked savagely at the skin of his face.

"Brandon! Come goddamn
on!"

Kirken hurriedly set the last
wire and dove from the truck into the dirt near Brandon's side. By this time,
Brandon was on his knees and moving next to him. They crawled quickly away from
the rigged truck towards the center of the field. Kirken clutched the last
charge tightly in his hand.

At the far corner of the field,
Kirken rolled over and leaned against a J.G.U. artillery jeep. He pressed the
detonator in his hands and watched the charge in the pickup truck erupt into an
angry fireball.

More than half of the remaining
vehicles were swallowed by the blast.

Still more soldiers continued to
pour through the exploded stadium walls.

Kirken quickly slung his empty
pack across his shoulder and dove to the ground at the rear of the jeep. He dug
his elbows into the warm dirt and squirmed his way beneath its frame to set the
final charge.

While Brandon watched and rubbed
at the back of his head, Kirken quickly wired the unit near the fuel tank. When
he was finished, he rolled out and ran to the jeep's front. He ripped open the
door and in a panicked frenzied haze tore a handful of wires from beneath the
dashboard.

Making the engine breathe to
life with a startling roar, Brandon jumped into the seat next to him. Kirken
rolled the jeep out into the flaming chaotic din while soldiers ran in front,
behind and past them.

They were almost to the edge of
the stadium when from somewhere within the craze-filled night a hand grabbed
Brandon around the throat and yanked him from the jeep.

Brandon landed hard on his chest
across the sandy rock of the terrain. The force of the fall robbed his lungs of
most of his breath. He raised his head up and stared into the drawn weapon of a
bloody and battered J.G.U. soldier.

About fifty feet past where he
fell, Kirken spun the jeep around and drove towards the back of the soldier.
The loud rev of the approaching engine caused the soldier to whirl around.
Seeing the coming jeep, he raised his weapon and began to fire.

When he turned, Brandon grabbed
the tire iron clipped to his pack and swung hard at the base of the soldier’s
neck. The soldier’s body immediately fell limp and dropped to the ground. He was
crushed instantly by the tires of Kirken's jeep.

Brandon rolled twice around on
his side to also avoid being flattened when Kirken's jeep blazed past. Kirken
brought the jeep back around, and Brandon jumped in.

Two additional soldiers appeared
from the smoke and wreckage that had been the J.G.U. vehicle land base and
fired two prolonged weapon bursts at the jeep.

Kirken and Brandon dove beneath
the dashboard for cover. Kirken yanked his Sunszk from the holster at his side
and leaned his arm across Brandon. Brandon raised his arms to cover his eyes
and ears while Kirken emptied the ammunition clip. Both soldiers fell dead
before they reached the vehicle.

Kirken jammed his foot to the
floor and spun the jeep toward the exit torn open by the fiery blasts. They
disappeared into the confusion of roaring trucks and smaller transports as
soldiers tried hard to drive some of the undamaged vehicles from the flames.

All the vehicles headed towards
the gaping hole that had once been the east wall of the stadium just to the
side of its giant dilapidated scoreboard. Transports filled with troops roared
past them from the opposite direction back into the stadium.

Kirken pulled the jeep behind a
carrier truck hauling multi-terrain vehicles on its deck. He revved the engine
harder and drove in until the jeep’s front bumper was only inches from the
hardware dragging from the carrier’s rear. The engines of both vehicles
screamed as they raced for the flaming hole leading to the outside.

Behind them a few jeeps had
turned around and chased after them. A handful of sporadic shots spit through
the air over their heads.

"Get on!" Kirken
yelled.

Brandon bolted immediately
upright in his seat and with unsteady steps made his way carefully out onto the
hood of the jeep. The carrier truck continued moving straight towards the
outside of the stadium, its driver still unaware of the vehicle behind him.

Large pieces of flaming wreckage
from the explosion dropped down around them. Both vehicles lurched through the
air as they smashed across.

Staggering unsteadily across the
jeep’s hood, Brandon grabbed frantically through the open air at a large beam
attached to the rear of the carrier. Clutching the beam, he was able to balance
his weight on the moving jeep for the moment and prevent his body from flying
out into the flaming night.

The jeep then lurched again as
it bounced violently across more falling debris. The jolt caused Brandon’s legs
to slip to the side of the jeep’s hood and one of his arms to flail free from
the truck carrier.

"Jump!" Kirken
screamed. "Get off now! The last charge is on a timer! You’ve got to jump
now! It’s about to go!"

Brandon didn't even hear. He
hurled his body through the air and wrapped his arms and legs around a steel
girder on the carrier. His knees smashed painfully against its metal frame, and
somehow his hands managed to keep their grip. He hung tightly to a large piece
of metal while his body thrashed about the back of the vehicle.

Kirken looked away from Brandon
swinging wildly from the back of the truck and jammed his head underneath the
jeep’s dashboard and steering column. Jamming the pack he used to carry the
explosives into a small ball, he wedged it between the seat and the
accelerator.

When he pulled his foot away and
the jeep continued to run, he leapt up on the driver's seat and prayed the pack
would hold the accelerator long enough for him to jump to the carrier.

He reached down to wedge the
pack more firmly in place and then scrambled over the windshield onto the
jeep's hood. Halfway across, his foot slipped on its slick surface causing him
to fall forward towards the speeding carrier. His arms flailed out desperately
in front of him.

"Dad!" Brandon
screamed.

Kirken's first hand missed the
carrier, and his body toppled forward from the front of the jeep. Still hanging
from the metal girder, Brandon thrust his arm out frantically to catch him.

Only lightly touching his
outstretched fingers with his other hand, Kirken fell past Brandon's grasp. He
dropped through the open air and landed hard across the carrier’s back bumper.
Hooking a piece of metal on the back of the truck with his arm, he stopped his
body from bouncing off towards the ground.

The pack holding the jeep’s
accelerator slipped and fell away. Smashing across another pile of wreckage,
the jeep suddenly veered sharply to the left. Still holding some speed, it
careened through a squad of soldiers entering the stadium on foot. Bodies and
screams were left immediately behind in its wake.

Kirken clung to the bottom of
the carrier truck and was dragged mercilessly across the jagged rocky terrain.

Ten seconds later the last set
of explosives in the jeep finally detonated sending searing flames straight
into the air. The explosion engulfed many of the remaining vehicles and sent
pieces of obliterated metal and glass hurtling through the night.

A piece ripped across the rear
tire of the carrier disintegrating it instantly into a flash of shredded
rubber. The truck jolted violently to the left raising its passenger side high
into the air.

Brandon released his hold on the
back of the carrier and let his body fall. He rolled in a twisted heap through
the explosion’s flames. His head hit a large rock and then his body was still.

Kirken also let go his grip and
tumbled away through the burning hotness of the dirt. He watched dully as the
last blast launched brilliant yellow and orange flames deep into the darkness
of the night sky.

The carrier truck toppled over
on its side and slid across the fiery earth. Another transport, this one carrying
troops, slammed into its front completely obliterating the cab.

Soldiers jumped from the rear of
the second transport. Some scrambled to help those trapped in the wreckage.
Others raced towards the center of the burning stadium. Tortured screams of the
injured rang out through the smoke and fire.

Kirken grabbed Brandon by the
back of his shirt and dragged him to his feet.

"We have to go! We have to
go now! " he screamed. "They’re going to seal it off! We’ll never get
out!"

Brandon pulled himself groggily
up and balanced his weight across his feet. Kirken pressed his hands against
Brandon’s back and pushed to keep him moving away from the additional jeeps and
vehicles that sped through the flaming hole in the side of the stadium.

After a few seconds, Brandon
began to pump his legs faster and sprinted step-for-step next to his father.
They raced toward the stadium’s edge and the opening that offered escape to the
outside. In another handful of tortured heartbeats, they were finally able to
run through.

More troop transports flew past
them onto the field. Several additional explosions echoed through the night as
the fire found its way to various gas tanks throughout the facility.

Kirken and his son ran for the
cover of darkness away from the main roadway. Brandon limped on a sprained
ankle, and Kirken struggled to move his arm. He lifted it over his head and
hurriedly dropped it back down trying to bring some feeling back into the
tortured limb.

Fire coursed through his leg
from a piece of burning metal that had lodged itself in his shin from one of
the exploding vehicles.

Both just continued to run. The
heap of rubble and fire that was once Beuford's football stadium fell quickly
behind. They sprinted more than a mile before lessening their pace. When they
finally stopped, both struggled to breathe.

"That’s it,” Kirken tried
to say between tortured breaths. “We’re not going on. We’re not going to the
next target. Let's go back and get her."

Brandon nodded, but didn't
respond. He dropped to his knees and coughed violently his lungs trying to
recover from the sudden inhalation of hot air and smoke.

Kirken bent down and rested a
hand on his son's shoulder. While Brandon retched into the sand, Kirken stared
towards the stadium burning brightly in the distance.

When Brandon finally recovered
and stood next to him, they started running again even faster leaving the sound
of the roaring flames behind.

"Sir, we’re registering
multiple blasts at the football stadium in Beuford."

Tuttle rushed over to his
surveillance operator's console. He grabbed the back of the man's chair and
leaned over his shoulder to get a better look at the multiple images flashing
across his screens.

"Can you gauge intensity on
any of them?" he bit out quickly.

"Five high-level blasts so
far," the surveillance operator reported. He pressed a small headset
speaker to his ear and listened intently. "There’s a lot going on in
there. They’re working on getting it secured. Damage level sounds pretty high.
It should be awhile before they can get it locked back down.”

"Did he get the vehicle
supply or just damage the structure?"

"Looks like he got a lot.
Satellite went over just a few minutes ago. Can’t really see anything but fire
and smoke on the inside. Interpreters on communications chatter say they were
switching guard shifts when the explosions occurred. There were a lot of people
inside."

"Kirken? Any report?”

"No contact,” the operator
reported sullenly. “Nothing, at least at this time.”

“When’s he scheduled to check
in?" Tuttle’s voice also became more quiet.

The rest of the room fell still
around them. Only the soft tapping sounds of strokes across the keyboards of
the command consoles filled the air.

"When is he scheduled to
check in?" a voice boomed through the silence.

Tuttle turned away from the
console and was not surprised to see War Minister Faulken return to the command
center.

"We monitored the
blasts," Faulken continued as he walked hurriedly over to him. “What’s his
status?”

With a quick wave of Tuttle's
hand, his men stood and left the room. Only Comm Chief Piper remained with him
to face Faulken.

"We haven’t heard,"
Piper answered for him. "Judging from what just occurred, we assume he was
alive up until a few minutes ago. After that, we can't be sure. Despite his
personal outcome, what he went in there to do was a success. It was all we
hoped."

"Report that back to the
President," Tuttle added in a low ominous tone. His eyes glared hotly at
Faulken.

Faulken ignored the hostility
and turned around the room to look at the barrage of images coming across the
large command screens.

"When he reports back, I
want him sent immediately to the next target."

“He’s going to need time to
rearm and regroup. If he’s alive, I’m sure he’s heading back to his daughter.”

“He can’t go back there. You
have to reestablish contact and order him on to the next target.”

“Why?”

“General Tuttle, this is a
direct order from the President himself. Send him onto the next target.”

“Faulken, what in the fuck is
going on?”

Piper looked up from his command
consoles to stare at the two men.

“What?!” Tuttle yelled hotly
when Faulken didn’t answer immediately.

“Others have been sent in,”
Faulken replied slowly.

“What?” Tuttle’s voice was slow
and drawn out.

“Troops have been sent in.
Vulture squad. About an hour ago.”

“You goddamn son of a bitch!”
Tuttle just about screamed. “What fucking right…?”

“I’ll tell you what right,”
Faulken hissed smartly back. “And, I’ll tell you by whose authority. The
President of the fucking United States. That’s whose goddamn authority.”

“This is my goddamn quadrant.”

“United States Administration is
running all this. Not fucking you.”

“That city has been completely
cut off. Impenetrable for the last thirty-six hours. Nearly fucking impossible
to get anybody through.”

“A team was ordered in,”
Faulken’s voice became more forceful and commanding. “I made that order. Your
own lookouts reported those blasts created enough confusion that an insertion
could be possible. So I dispatched the orders and dropped them in. And I can
goddamn do that, because you, your quadrant, your facility and your goddamn men
are at my command. I report directly to the President. I don’t need to inform
you or request permission. Every man here falls under authority of what’s been
designed. As it’s always been.”

“I’m giving him the evac order
then. If you’re sending people in then there’s no need for him to do anything
more. I’ll tell him to get his daughter, get his son and just get out.”

“You will do no such thing,”
Faulken moved closer to him.

“If our men are getting in, he’s
already done what we asked him to do. He deserves the evac. The troops can do
the rest of the city if need be. Not this one man. It would be ludicrous to
order otherwise.”

"I agree,” Faulken said
icily. “I couldn’t agree more. Nothing more can be asked of him. He’s done
everything we could possibly expect. But there was a cost. His actions were at
sacrifice. This can’t be overlooked.”

“What actions caused this cost?”
Tuttle asked quietly.

“The taking in of knowledge.
We’ve allowed him to know too much to bring him back in. Or leave him out there
alive.”

“But it was us. We gave him what
he needed to know to accomplish what we asked.”

“This war…every facet of it is
at sacrifice,” Faulken replied in a low tone.

Tuttle sensed Piper shifting his
weight across his feet behind him. His boots scuffed quietly against the floor.

“What are you saying, War
Minister?”

“I’m saying, if he reestablishes
contact. If he survived this mission, send him to the next. Like you said,
General, the J.G.U. still have control of the city. Use Kirken to the fullest
extent possible with the intent of saving our own. Continue to make use of his
presence…"

"Until he’s gone,"
Tuttle cut him off.

"Yes. Until he finally
dies. He cannot be allowed back in. Let him be with what he accomplished."

"And what about those in
the bunkers?!” Tuttle’s temper flashed hotly. “Where his goddamn daughter most
likely is. Is that what everything has come to? Are you really going to do it?
Kill all those he was with?”

“If they were above ground in
the city and not down there, they would have been dead already. Orders for
their sacrifice and the thousands of those like them were already given a long
time ago. Before Kirken ever set foot in that city.”

“That doesn’t make it right,”
Tuttle said his stomach hitting the floor.

“What’s right is finishing what
was started. That is what makes these sacrifices justified.”

“It can’t be,” Tuttle said
softly mostly only to himself. “None of this can be justified now. It never can
be.”

“General Tuttle,” Faulken said
matching Tuttle’s stare along the ground. “What you now need to do is reacquire
contact and send him back out.”

“He won’t go. Not now. Not
without his daughter. Especially not if he finds her dead.”

“He will meet her same fate if
he returns,” Faulken’s voice was now cold. “We risk internal uprising if what
is known by Kirken and those in that city ever got out. If word of it spreads,
the country will divide. Opposition, war, chaos will mount against this
government. Against everything that has been put into motion and designed.
Everything will fall apart.”

"That’s because it
should," Tuttle returned quietly. “God knows it should.”

"Send Kirken back out.
Immediately. There is no reason to tell him anything. Just send him. It will
all be over before he ever finds out."

Tuttle stared long and hard at
the man before him. He felt the skin below his eyes sag as if it would go all
the way to his knees.

"General, the fate of the
world rests on the outcome of this war. We are at the brink of the worst crisis
this country has ever seen. The Beam Cannon Hardware in Science Dome 15 must be
protected at all costs. The future of the Earth depends on that. Sacrifices
must be made to ensure its secrecy and security are maintained."

Tuttle again sensed Piper's
posture stiffen behind him.

"Commander Kirken is to be
kept from returning to those bunkers," Faulken finished. "Dispatch
him at once to the next target. It soon will not be possible for the J.G.U. to
continue its control. We will launch an air and ground offensive at the proper time
and wipe this godforsaken city from the face of this planet before anyone
discovers the location of the dome.”

Tuttle whirled around and
grabbed the closest thing to him, the crew’s new coffeemaker, on a stand near
his desk. It sailed with his newfound fury across the room where it smashed
into a million pieces against the wall. Hot coffee splattered about the room.
The shattered remains of the coffee pot fell softly to the ground.

A steaming puddle of the spilled
liquid formed near Faulken's shoes.

Tuttle glared into Faulken’s
eyes. Jagged breaths seared in and out of his throat.

“This can not happen,” his voice
rasped. “Not like this. I will not allow it to happen like this. You do what
you need to do. But it will not happen like this.”

“General Tuttle,” Faulken spoke
very slowly. "None of this is for you to or not to allow. You have an
order directly from the President of the United States to continue as planned.
Refusal to obey these orders can and will result in your court martial and
removal from command. In a state of war such as we find ourselves in now,
charges such as these can lead to execution. Execution for treasonous acts. I
swear it to you personally, Tuttle. It will happen. I will make you die a
pathetic disgrace.”

Tuttle wedged his fists tightly
together at his sides.

"If the existence and
activities of the Vulture squads and Plan Zero become known to the American
public either within or outside the domes, the country will divide and the
J.G.U. will quickly destroy us.”

Tuttle did not move or speak.

"General, despite this
conversation, I am comfortable in allowing you to continue command. I believe
that in this fight we need and must have the effort of every last good man. I
believe you are a good man. Good men make the correct choices, and we will save
this country."

Tuttle looked away from Faulken
and dropped his eyes to the ground. The whites behind them still hotly burned.

"I want contact with Kirken
reestablished before nightfall. Get him going to the next target. Immediately.”

Faulken turned to walk out the
door. Before he walked completely out, he stopped to speak one last time. He
kept his back to Tuttle and his face towards the outside of the room.

"Tuttle,” Faulken then
turned slightly around. “Remember what you are here for. What you protect. You
are here to defend a way of life here in the United States. A whole new world
will come to be with this technology you have been entrusted to protect. Those
in that city, in all our cities, would choose to die for that. And so would you.
When it's over, those people will be known for what they've done."

With that, Faulken walked
quietly out.

Tuttle leaned wearily against a
wall while his men began to file back into the command room. He stayed there
for a long time inhaling deeply and trying to calm his tortured mind and soul.

He walked slowly back to his
large office window. Leaning his face against the glass, he gazed at the
monitor screens across the command room.

"See if you can locate,
Kirken," he said to his communications chief standing behind him.

Like Faulken, Piper turned and
left the room.