Overrun

by Michael Rusch

  Each time they fell, he prayed from the far reaches of his soul for the strength to haul himself back up and continue on.

  Chapter 30

  Kirken looked out across the sandy plateau towards the flames of Beuford about a half mile out from where they sat.

  Smaller explosions still rocked the area they had just left. Hundreds of headlights from approaching vehicles lined the few roads cutting across the blowing sands towards the city. Even as far out as they were, they could still hear the faint shouts of the soldiers.

  Kirken looked away from the approaching troop force towards the small campfire burning in front of them. When they had escaped a safe distance away, Kirken had kindled the fire not for warmth but for some sort of solace, comfortable illumination to protect them from the nightmares lurking in the surrounding dark.

  To his left, Mel sat unmoving and stared thoughtfully into the flames. She had not uttered a word since Kirken had rejoined them. She responded only slightly when either he or Brandon addressed her.

  She hugged her legs tightly against her chest and didn’t speak. She kept her gaze straight ahead until it was ultimately lost in the fire.

  Brandon leaned over and tugged at the pieces of straps from his pack he had used to bind Kirken's shoulder.

  Kirken shifted uncomfortably in the makeshift sling. He tried not to look too hard into the deep hateful rage that lined Brandon's face while his tattered and bloody frame stepped in front of him separating him for the moment from the comfort of the small fire.

  Kirken winced twice at the pressure of the straps and averted his eyes down and away.

  The bloody tire iron still hung at the side of Brandon’s belt. When Brandon leaned toward him, its slightly warm metal swung out and touched lightly against his cheek.

  Kirken leaned over and turned his head from the fire his mind racked by the sight and his limbs overcome by pain. Bile and vomit erupted forcefully from his mouth for the second time that night.

  When he had straightened himself again to look at the fire, a tired beep sounded from the darkness.

  Kirken's eyes rolled across the remnants of broken equipment and remaining supplies strewn haphazardly about on the rocks near the fire. The beep came faintly again.

  Brandon turned away and bent down to pick up a small flame-charred pack. He brushed closely past Mel as he carried it over to Kirken. Her eyes didn't register his near presence, and her body didn't move at the sound.

  Kirken took the pack from Brandon's hands and pulled out the small rectangular device that again emitted its exhausted and battered tone. Broken pieces of plastic and metal crumbled lightly away at his touch.

  Kirken set the damaged holovid near him along the rock and flipped a small switch. It made a soft hum as energy converted itself from its badly burned power pack. Kirken stared at it intently hoping desperately for it to come on.

  A few seconds passed and the faint blue light appeared. The grim expression of a harried-looking man stared up at him from the damaged screen. No one spoke across the transmission while the image focused completely into view.

  Brandon tugged one last time on the straps of the crude harness holding Kirken's shattered shoulder in place and walked away to sit on the other side of the fire.

  "Commander Kirken," a man addressed him coolly. Kirken sensed the great effort it took for him to keep a calm expression across his face. "The armory has been successfully destroyed. In fact, the subsequent explosions from your blasts crippled or eliminated most of their forces within that city block. Congratulations on accomplishing what we sent you out to do.”

  The man paused for a moment while his eyes took in the bloody view of Kirken and his son sitting behind him.

  "Soon ground teams will be launched in.”

  “Reinforcements are coming in too fast, General," Kirken said wearily. “There's lines of vehicles coming from every direction both on and away from the main highways. Some aren't even travelling along the roads. Once they arrive and set, they'll put a permanent lock on this town."

  General Tuttle's holovid image did not immediately respond.

  "The air team still needs to be sent in," Kirken said lowering his voice. He then turned his head from the screen toward the stony expression etched across his daughter’s face. "It wasn't enough. With all they’re bringing in, it’ll only be a matter of time before they discover the dome. Forget about the ground team and launch the air strike in now. All we did out there was add time to what will inevitably be."

  "An entire air squadron is being loaded as we speak," Tuttle responded gravely. "We're going to keep launching them until that entire city is completely gone. It will be only through what you've caused that we'll even be able to get them close enough in. What you may have sacrificed made this possible. Many will remember that."

  Kirken picked up the holovid, turned his back from the fire and faced away. Neither Brandon nor Mel looked up as he did. The blue flicker of Tuttle's somber holovid expression was the only thing he could see in the surrounding darkness of the sun-wounded hills.

  "Tell me when they're coming," Kirken commanded softly. "We both know we'll never be able to get far enough away on foot to avoid the attack. And even if we could, we can’t stay hidden for long. Not with everything they’ll be launching in. It’s no longer possible for us to escape. We both know that, General."

  By now, Brandon had picked himself up from where he sat. With the bloody tool clanging softly from his belt, he walked over and stood at Kirken's side. Kirken felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when he did.

  "Commander, that is something that will not happen," Tuttle glanced up briefly at Brandon staring over Kirken's shoulder. "If we launch now, an extraction is feasible. We estimate at least an hour before their forces, present or arriving, can lock the city down again. It'll take them just that long to push through the dead. Their ground force will not be able to prevent an air strike. At least not for awhile. We're going to send a chopper transport in."

  Kirken remained silent and fought the urge to rip away the tire iron that dangled next to him and brushed again at his cheek.

  "Even in this war, some humanity still does exist," Tuttle finished compassionately.

  With the bloody weapon dangling just within the sight of his left eye, Tuttle's words festered furiously in Kirken's stomach and threatened to again make him sick. He did not share Tuttle's belief in this claim. At least not anymore.

  He looked away from Tuttle toward his daughter and fought an overwhelming urge just to cry. His battered body felt hollow. His beaten senses seethed with bitterness and defeat.

  "Do you know the location of the shopping mall just on the outside of town?" Tuttle spoke louder through the crackle of the damaged holovid speakers bringing Kirken's attention back around. "That is where we want you to go. From what we can tell, that area is relatively accessible.

  “Existing troops are being pulled from the roads and air fields to center on the blast site. All reinforcements entering the city are also being directed there. You shouldn't have a problem getting to the shopping mall site or getting inside. The area around, from what we can now see, is relatively clear. There we think we can slip in the air transport."

  "We know where it is," Brandon answered Tuttle this time. Kirken looked away from the holovid screen toward his voice which sounded sinister, unfamiliar and deep. "We're not that far."

  "That's good," Tuttle said. "The chopper team will launch within the next half hour. At 2200 hours, it will touch down on the mall roof. If you're not there at that time, it won't be able to stay long to wait."

  "We understand," Kirken whispered hoarsely. A faint surge of energy lit deep within himself and itched his body to move. "If you don't see us up there, don't even bother to set it down."

  "Commander," Tuttle said sternly. "You've come too far not to get out. You've earned yourself and your family…," Tuttle's eyes looked up at Brandon. "…an exit from this war. Get yourselves up to that roof, and
we will get you out. That to you I swear, Commander."

  Kirken nodded his head at Tuttle and switched off the holovid.

  Brandon jumped into motion as soon as he did. Without moving, Kirken watched him pick up what was left of their broken gear and dump it across the fire. The flames roared themselves into a larger life as they attached themselves to the new debris.

  Brandon gathered what weapons that remained and set them in a small pile near the burning wood and equipment. Kirken stood slowly and allowed Brandon to take the holovid from his hands. With a quick flick of his wrist, it also fell across the crackling flames.

  A full moon appeared from behind the poisoned clouds and further pushed away the darkness that the growing fire had not yet dispelled. Kirken reached down next to Brandon to root through what remained of their weapons and equipment.

  He looked over at Mel who continued to stare silently into the center of the flames. He gazed sadly upon her motionless figure while he strapped on the remaining gear and prepared his battered body to move out once again.

  He bent down close to the ground and waited for the sick feeling in his stomach to again pass.

  * * *

  Tuttle watched Kirken's bloody face slowly fade and finally disappear from the control room screens. For a few moments afterward, the hundreds of screens at the front of the room were empty and dark. He walked to the nearest console, and leaning across its operator, punched its communication switch.

  "Hangar Bay. Hangar Bay. Code 2B Blue Authorization," he barked. "I want the planes to stand down. Repeat. The firebomb air assault is to stand down. Code 2B Blue Authorization. Keep them on the ground until the next half hour."

  "Sir, this is Hangar Bay," a small unobtrusive voice answered back almost immediately through the overhead speakers. The voice was heard easily by everyone within the confines of the suddenly silent room. "Launch code authorization was given five minutes ago."

  "No code has been authorized or given," Tuttle said sharply. A slight twinge of apprehension jittered within his stomach. "I want those planes, for at least the time being, to be kept down. Launch will be shortly forthcoming, but only on my direct voice command."

  "General, War Minister Faulken served an immediate launch command just before his air transport lifted off. Confirmation coding came from the Administration Dome."

  "What?" Tuttle asked incredulously. His mind felt lightheaded and his body weak as if a bodiless fist had just smashed into the center of his stomach.

  "The first three identification prefixes came from the President," the voice spoke carefully sensing the tightness in Tuttle's voice.

  "Oh, my God," Tuttle said. His knuckles gripped white across the chair in front of him. "Get him back. Get him back," he barked to the nearest communication officer and pointed to where Kirken's face had recently disappeared from the screen. "Bring that signal back."

  Tuttle pulled the chair out and sat down at the console. His body was numb and his soul felt sick from what he had just pledged.

  "When was the launch?" he asked the man speaking through the console.

  "The first planes were in the air ten minutes ago."

  "We can't get the signal," the communication officer said. "We no longer have a source."

  "Find it!" Tuttle almost screamed. His body shook with the guilt he felt more than any type of anger. "I want that signal back!"

  "Sir."

  Tuttle sensed the large frame of Com Chief Mick Piper approaching from behind. He looked up at the large hand that grabbed him firmly by the shoulder.

  "Those planes are making a high altitude roundabout run," Piper said staring hard and straight into Tuttle's eyes. "They have to in order to ensure complete protection and avoidance of detection. Their mission to be successful still depends on surprise and will take time to assemble, especially coming in from up high. There still might be time for a transport. If it’s flown straight in."

  Tuttle quickly stood and followed Piper out the door.

  * * *

  Mel sat in front of the small fire with her arms crossed and her legs pulled tightly against her chest. Even when her father reestablished contact with someone on the holovid, she still kept her eyes and mind riveted deep within the mysterious depths of the dancing fires.

  She watched their movements closely and tried not to look at the small boy who moved quietly about directly across from her on the other side. She sensed his eyes falling heavily upon her through the corners of her own.

  She watched him add more wood to the dying fire. His face never turned away.

  She moved her lips up and down, but couldn't find anywhere within her body the energy or even the courage to let out a scream. The sound would only bring him closer. She feared the blame and guilt his touch would bring.

  Mel longed for a return to the tunnel and another chance to hold his hand. This time she would not let go. She would be with him to the end. No matter who happened along or how many soldiers came.

  The boy backed away and moved to gather more wood. He damned his death upon her with the accusation of his gaze.

  Mel's heart hammered against her chest, and her eyes stayed fixed across the fire. She prayed for the power of release and escape from the vision. She hoped against hope for anything that would take the sight of the small boy forever away.

  Chapter 31

  They donned their gear in silence. The pilots’ readiness room was empty. Less than an hour ago, the entire squadron of pilots stationed there had been hastily briefed on assignments and battle status and then launched on their firebombing runs.

  Tuttle somberly pulled on the rest of his assault gear. He did his best to push away the thought that, like the men who had recently left this room before him, the gear he was now putting on most likely would never be taken off.

  Returning was not an expectation. Actually seeing Kirken’s face in person rather than on a holovid screen never entered any remote realm of his mind.

  He hoped it was more than guilt that compelled him to act, the guilt they all felt for ever taking part in this terrible war. For great profound reasons not clear to him now and would probably defy him forever to comprehend, he felt he owed something to this man.

  Something powerful in the back of Tuttle’s mind moved him to make the attempt. To try the unlikely rescue of three people that he still did not even know. It was a desperate act of his conscience to at least make some things in this war right. And reestablish some sort of honor in a world where it seemed none was ever in sight.

  Demons lurked in Kirken’s eyes. Tuttle had seen them the last time they spoke. There was also the emptiness from trying to save what he and his children had ultimately become.

  Tuttle saw their wretched state. The evil glare that lingered behind the eyes of Kirken’s son and the beaten look of his daughter staring catatonically across the dying fire. Tuttle had seen the ghosts in the faces of Kirken’s children, hungry to lash out and waiting to consume what was left of Kirken's broken soul.

  Tuttle couldn't imagine allowing this man to leave this life with such a wrenching vision of his children etched so harshly across his mind. He also feared that when the demons had finally taken Kirken's mind and heart, they would be want to move on to someone else deserving and come after his own.

  It was Tuttle's own actions and inability to stop events now in motion that allowed this to come to exist. If Kirken was left out to die a second time, it would be on Tuttle’s shoulders and his alone where the blame would come to rest. After everything he had sacrificed to try and save them all, Kirken deserved the attempt. No matter how futile it most likely would turn out to be.

  Tuttle reached out and took the weapon Piper offered him. He pulled its arming mechanism back and thoughtfully observed its empty ammunition chambers while turning it over in his hands.

  Piper walked away from him across the room. He punched a small switch and talked quietly into a transmitter along the wall. He nodded his head twice at the voice that spoke back to h
im and then turned back around.

  "General," he said picking up a large plastic face shield and cradling it in the crook of his arm. "The chopper is ready. Scanning teams confirm the planes are moving on schedule into place. So far their presence has been undetected. Firebombing runs are expected to proceed as planned."

  Tuttle clicked the weapon shut and slung it across his shoulder. He reached down along the ground and picked up his own helmet and face shield.

  "Sir," Piper said quietly. "We've got a pilot willing and in place. We have to go now. Or not at all."

  Tuttle tightened the last strap of his equipment and pulled the helmet across his head. He reached back and tugged a small headset transmitter sitting above his ear down to above his throat.

  Piper reached up and did the same.

  “Let’s go, General,” Piper said softly looking Tuttle in the eyes.

  Tuttle looked back up. Determination and Tuttle’s gratitude passed between their stares.

  “Thanks, Mick,” Tuttle’s voice was no louder than a breath.

  Piper nodded his head and pulled the plastic shield down to cover his face. With Tuttle following close behind him, he stepped out into the hall.

  They trotted quickly towards the hanger and the single attack helicopter transport at its empty center.

  The pilot didn't look around when they threw open the heavy door and clambered heavily aboard. None of them spoke. Tuttle and Piper stared down across the helicopter deck as it lifted off and roared out into the coming night.

  * * *

  Mel was the first to run from where they hid in the hills just on the outside of the decaying parking lot. Her movements were lethargic and slow as she crossed the vast crumbling expanse towards the building's entrance.

  She was almost halfway across when first her father and then her brother trotted out after her. Both ran backwards with their weapons raised out towards the hills. Their eyes searched for anyone lurking in the barren emptiness that might have followed them.