For the moment, the voices were quiet and stayed away.
After four hours of rest, Tuttle and Samuel assisted the bay crew in preparing their Vulture fighter for its trip into space. Every piece of information regarding the Hideaway and its crew that could be readily gathered was hurriedly loaded into the ship’s data network.
When that was complete, the highest ranking officer on the base personally walked aboard the ship and entered the coordinates of the presidential retreat. The location they were to rendezvous with the commander-in-chief should their mission be a success.
There were no words exchanged with the bay crew before their launch. There was really no attention given to them at all. When the crew had cleared, the three of them walked aboard the ship, strapped themselves into the cockpit, and simply flew away.
Samuel and Cranden sat in the two command seats while Tuttle slumped backwards in a rear cockpit chair. He focused on the space ahead and tried to keep the voices at bay.
In less than half a day, they covered the distance from Earth to the other side of the moon.
Briefly breaking free from the torment of his own thoughts, Tuttle gazed over at the man that piloted the Vulture ship.
"So how long before they can detect us?"
"They shouldn't be able to detect us at all," Samuel answered. Both he and Cranden sat rigidly at the cockpit controls.
All three stared intently through the front viewport at the spectacle of ships and debris becoming slowly visible as they rounded the darkest corner of the moon.
Tuttle watched the small pieces of exploded ship that now bounced lightly against the hull of their own.
Samuel’s hands moved slowly across the command controls in front of him.
"They’re used to seeing this kind of ship. We use these small fighters mainly for unmanned outer-atmospheric reconnaissance flights over the J.G.U. Sometimes they blast them away. Sometimes they just let them go. Judging from what they’ve got going on ahead, even if they did detect us, I don’t think they’re going to give us much notice. At least not right now, if we keep our distance.”
Tuttle gazed quietly out the observation window and didn’t respond.
A giant J.G.U. battleship loomed in front of the Hideaway. The wreckage of another ship floated around both of them in the surrounding space.
"They’re going to notice if we make a deliberate course through this shit towards them,” Tuttle spoke again. "Even if they’re ransacking the ship, someone onboard is going to pick up on our maneuvers to avoid the wreckage. No matter how subtle you’re able to make them be."
Another piece of jagged metal flashed and then disintegrated against the front shields of their ship. The floating piles of debris were becoming heavier. Samuel made an adjustment across the controls to slightly edge their course.
Tuttle watched his hands intently while he did.
"They'd have to be looking pretty close to notice us coming this way, General," Samuel reassured. “Though I’m going to take us a bit further out so there’s less junk to travel through and come in a different way.
“I think we’re running out of time. From the looks of the spread of the wreckage, this happened awhile ago. If they haven’t done it already, they will be boarding very soon."
Tuttle settled back in his chair without answering. He stared out at the two large ships coming further into view ahead.
Both ships were motionless and still too far away for them to assess any damage to either craft. And Cranden had already pointed out the heightened possibility of detection by even risking the lowest-level sensor scan.
The J.G.U. ship reminded Tuttle of an eagle getting ready to drop on its soon-to-be-dead prey. It was more than three times the size of the Hideaway. There was no doubt that this was a J.G.U. ship. Though the identity of the shredded metal they floated within still remained a mystery.
It didn’t really matter.
All three men were quiet as they allowed the slow-moving thrusters of the fighter to take them closer to the Hideaway. It rocked slightly from the increased amounts of shattered steel bouncing across its shields.
Ripped metal and scorched steel on the hulls of both ships were coming into view. Flames from battle licked briefly from escaping oxygen and fuel before being snuffed by the vacuum of space.
"Jesus, what the hell happened here?" Samuel asked aloud.
Several smaller craft, each about the size of their own, skimmed along the surface of the undamaged sections of the larger ship. The fighters flew in groups of two and three and were slowly breaking from the main craft. Additional ships launched into space behind them after they had made their way clear.
"It won’t be much longer before they board," Cranden remarked from the right cockpit seat.
"I agree," Tuttle returned. "We’re going to have to find a way in there faster than this."
The small ships circled the Hideaway. Waiting, Tuttle thought, for a final signal to descend.
The Hideaway showed no response or sign of life. It floated there seemingly dead in space.
"If we break from soft thrusters and go faster through this debris, they're going to notice us for sure," Samuel said thick-lipped. "We’d probably never even know if that main ship opened fire. We'd be just be more of the wreckage."
"Can they access the hardware?" Tuttle asked moving about uneasily on the edge of his seat. "What if they board before we can get there? What will they go for first?"
"Obviously, they’d go for the hardware,” Samuel said quickly back. “There would be a recovery team with assault members giving cover. With more assault being dispatched about the ship to look for…”
Samuel’s voice quickly trailed off, his attention instantly diverted to the main controls.
A large section of ripped metal appeared suddenly in front of them. Samuel spun their craft hard to its side to avoid its impact across the cockpit viewport.
None of them dared to make a breath as they waited to see if their maneuver caught the attention of any of the ships in front of them.
"If they pulled the same data we did from Science Dome 15…,” Samuel said again after the ship was out of danger and he resettled their course back into its original low-thruster approach. “…then they are well aware the ship will explode the moment they try to access the pilot controls or cargo area. They need palm verification from at least one of the pilots.”
"They might just do that anyway,” Cranden replied. “Blow the whole fucking thing up. Why not? Just to make sure we don't have it and win the war. They might be just that close to coming up with similar technology themselves and be content to finish it with the United States destroyed and no longer a threat of attack."
"Very unlikely," Tuttle said watching the smaller crafts still hovering around the larger ships.
"I agree," Samuel said. “They could do that just from outside. If that was their intention, they would have done that already.”
Samuel’s hands were now calm and unmoving across the command controls while they maintained their course.
"I wouldn't do that and neither would you. The fate of the world, and more importantly, who controls it, is at stake here. It could be a long time before they develop the same technology. They know their whole country could be dead before they ever figure it out. For possibly generations after. It’s too big of a gamble. They’re going to try and take that ship.”
Tuttle nodded slowly in agreement. His eyes never left the viewport in front of him.
"There’s no other option,” Samuel said again. “They have to try.”
For the moment again, the three men fell silent while their small fighter crawled closer through the wreckage.
The two larger ships loomed larger the further they approached. The amount of smaller fighters massing from the J.G.U. ship was becoming alarmingly apparent.
"Jesus Christ," Tuttle said faintly. The multitudes of smaller craft kept increasing the more they watched.
He was about to speak again w
hen giant blasts of energy seared from every possible section of the J.G.U. ship towards the Hideaway.
"Oh, my God," Samuel said weakly.
His hands moved to the controls that would bring power to the ship’s engine. They were no longer on a stealth approach. It was now a race to board the Hideaway before it was all too late.
The J.G.U. ship fired again. Its blasts pounded mercilessly across the hull of the dormant Hideaway.
Entire sections of the ship were obliterated instantly. Whole portions of its hull were ripped from its side.
The energy blasts were focused on its midsection well away from both the cockpit and the vast cargo area at its rear. Where every piece of equipment and technological data for the Beam Cannon Hardware was stored. Those parts of the ship were untouched.
Swearing and cursing under his breath, Samuel throttled their fighter over and around large pieces of the Hideaway now careening toward them from every direction in space.
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 o
ne 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.
Overrun: Project Hideaway Page 30