Overrun Read online

  With a grimace he poured another steaming cup of coffee down his parched throat and watched the first mission of the day slowly unfold. It was one of a numerous many he had ordered underway in the next twenty-four hours.

  Vulture Unit 967 streaked towards Seattle with ten heavily armed helicopters and about one hundred men. Seattle would be the first overrun city in Tuttle’s quadrant to be neutralized by Plan Zero.

  Within a few hours of the declaration of war, J.G.U. troops had descended upon most major cities on both coasts and were moving at alarming rates towards the domes. Their attack was so unexpectedly thorough and efficient, it was quickly believed by almost everyone in the military community that Plan Zero was the only way to halt its progress.

  The assault helicopters made their approach low to the ground to avoid detection by J.G.U. radar and satellite detection systems. The soldiers onboard carried enough explosives to completely obliterate ten cities the size of Seattle.

  The redundancy was to ensure a great area of land surrounding the city was also obliterated. Its rubble and fiery destruction was theorized to offer impassible barriers and further protection to the nearby domes.

  It was also deemed necessary in the event any of the team members were captured before successful detonation of their personal mission assignments.

  When the mission was accomplished and Seattle was ultimately destroyed, the threat of the J.G.U. occupying force in the area would also be gone. The countryside surrounding the region would be thoroughly unapproachable due to the severity of the flames. The troop force within the city’s blast zone would be obliterated along with everything else.

  That was how Tuttle had always envisioned it. He had outlined many such scenarios when championing his theories during the development of the plan. Despite that being many years ago, he still strongly believed in the strategy.

  Tuttle watched the single icon on his screen marking the attack group split apart and become four separate air assault teams. Each sped to the furthest corners of the city to insert their demolition crews.

  The mission plan was to enter the city undetected at all four sides, and once within, construct the massive explosive set.

  From more than eight different image feeds spread across his monitors, Tuttle watched the helicopters settle over their targets.

  "Mission go," he whispered into his transmitter.

  He gazed in fascinated horror at the screens while the Vulture soldiers jumped. Black parachutes barely visible in the night fluttered open and carried the demolition insertion teams lazily to the ground.

  Tuttle swiveled in his chair to focus on a holovid image transmitted from a shoulder cam on one of his men. He ignored the pain the hot coffee had left in his throat while he watched them bury their chutes in the sand and sprint off toward their individual target sites.

  Each team had twenty-four hours to rig and arm their demolition assignments.

  The occupied city of Seattle was set and wired three hours ahead of schedule.

  General Tuttle nodded approval into the holvid transmitter within the command room and watched the screens tracking the attack craft as they retreated from the city.

  When he was satisfied the last assault craft had reached the ten-mile blast safety zone, Tuttle gave the order.

  "Let it go," he said quietly into his headset.

  Behind the fleeing helicopters of the Vulture team, the city of Seattle became a mammoth flash of flame and light. Fire, dirt and debris mushroomed miles into the sky.

  Millions saw the blast that night. Millions more wondered what had just occurred.

  "Baby Flight to Home Team,” the voice of one of the pilots came across the control room speakers. “Baby Flight to Home Team. Come in. Over.”

  Tuttle was somewhat surprised at the lack of emotion he felt. He pressed his transmitter close to his mouth and scanned his eyes across the monitors in front of him.

  The entire countryside seemed ablaze from the blast. From an image transmitted from the rear of one of the lead helicopters, he watched the others race away to escape its wrath.

  "Go, Baby Flight," he answered.

  "Detonation," the pilot reported. “Detonation confirmed.”

  "Copy that,” Tuttle lowered his head and replied softly into the transmitter. “Return to the palace, Baby Flight.”

  "Copy, Home Team. Baby Flight out."

  Tuttle knew this was not the time to mourn. It was not even a time to think. The first time this happened…for anyone…would be the time when it would all come undone.

  He turned to another set of command screens beaming live feed from the next scheduled operation in Beuford, Washington. The images coming from the choppers racing from the destroyed Seattle region still displayed on the monitors at his back.

  Like Seattle, Beuford was heavily occupied and located even more dangerously close to Science Dome 15 and the Beam Cannon Hardware housed there. Science Dome 15 represented everything. The future to the world. An end to the war.

  "Holy God, it's finally happening," Tuttle breathed out loudly to the command room. He put a hand to his face and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  Tuttle sat back in his seat for a moment and closed his eyes. The nightmares lurking behind them seemed less monstrous and more appealing than the world he lived now. He slouched his shoulders further back into his command chair and tried to find a world somewhere in between.

  Around him he could hear the hushed voices of his command center crew as they hovered about their controls.

  Tuttle remained sitting with his eyes closed and waited for the next mission status report to come in.

  * * *

  A faint tug from a hand reaching over his shoulder brought Tuttle back from his attempt at sleep. His eyes flew instantly awake, and his mind stepped his body and senses up to full alert.

  He looked down at his watch to see that more than four complete hours had passed.

  The monitors in front of him still flickered brightly across the dark silent command room. The men around him continued to work noiselessly. Some took guarded glances back in his direction when he sat straight up in his chair.

  An arm reached toward him and held a steaming cup of coffee just under his nose. Tuttle took the cup from the outstretched hand and stared at the air assault team swooping across the screens.

  He took a deep sip to chase away the rest of his brief sleep and went over his recent orders to the Vulture troops massing near Science Dome 15 again in his head. They were almost eighty miles from the city limits of Beuford and about one hundred miles from Seattle which had already been burned.

  He still felt he was right. It was all necessary.

  J.G.U. troop activity had been extremely heavy on that part of the coast. The invasion force was much larger than anyone had ever expected. Enemy divisions were already branching out and flanking inward toward the center of the country. Every dome throughout the nation was now threatened.

  The protection of Science Dome 15 was his primary and nearly sole objective. The secrets to the Beam Cannon Hardware were held within its walls. Technology, that once implemented, would blanket the ruined world with a new atmospheric shield.

  The secrecy of its location had to be maintained until the Vulture squads had been given enough time to do their work. Tuttle’s orders were to utilize every last man to the utmost end to keep the J.G.U. in this area completely at bay.

  The United States’ bid to win the war rested on keeping the secrets held within this facility from being wrestled away. If this were to happen, everything would be lost.

  It was entirely for this reason that Tuttle had sent eighteen chopper teams to Beuford. Thirty-six assault helicopters in all, each carried two full squads of men and enough high-end explosives to obliterate the city more than a hundred times over. Its smoking ruins would burn uninhabitably hot for months offering no means whatsoever of approach…or escape.

  Tuttle fought the vomit struggling to escape his stomach when he thought
of the chances of even his own men going in on the mission escaping the destruction of the city alive.

  He watched the helicopters swoop across the command screens towards Beuford and Science Dome 15. An entire garrison of ground soldiers had also been dispatched to surround the facility in the event the attack chopper teams failed or were destroyed.

  The attack aircraft sped closer to Beuford. So far there were no signs of detection. They had progressed precisely on the schedule he had designed to avoid peak troop movements and general civilian activity within the occupied city.

  J.G.U. troops were pouring into the country by the thousands. With the arrival of each new regiment, even dusk and deep night bombing raids were becoming more dangerous.

  Rumors of Plan Zero were flying around J.G.U. camps. Vulture spies had reported back that every J.G.U. soldier was ordered on twenty-four hour watch for surprise air and land assaults in addition to their regular assignments.

  Every J.G.U. division was on full alert. Their strategists were beginning to surround and protect their troops and positions accordingly.

  Tuttle feared in another seventy-two hours it would be nearly impossible to even approach the cities that were already overrun. They were being fortified and secured that quickly.

  The Vulture choppers reached their insertion locations and hovered just above the ground waiting to unload.

  Tuttle stared hard at the command screens and prayed for the men readying themselves to drop into the dark and enter the war. He wiped a thick line of sweat creeping down the side of his face with the back of his hand.

  Dark lines dropped from all sides of the helicopters, and the men began to descend quickly down.

  Tuttle reached for another sip of coffee and glanced at the clock over his console.

  This would be the last Plan Zero mission before dawn. He hoped to order some ground troops to Science Dome 15 to assess the area once the city was lit.

  He swirled cold coffee across the dried skin of his lips when all the command screens before him suddenly went dark.

  "What the…?" he asked frantically waving his tracking team back to their posts.

  Every man standing or milling about the room rushed to a station. The screens remained black at the front of the room.

  Tuttle could feel unease and fear stifle the air around.

  "Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!" A scared voice crackled from several command console speakers throughout the room. The signal was very faint and faded in and out.

  "Determining position," someone to Tuttle's left said just loud enough to be heard over the din. Tuttle turned from the men scrambling at their posts to the image of the attack area that now filled the front screens. "Viper 5 is in the lead."

  "Right there," someone said pointing at a small image that flashed across one of the center monitors and then vanished.

  "Viper 6, Viper 6, do you copy?" Mick Piper, Tuttle's chief communication officer, calmly spoke into his headset. "Can you see Viper 5? Repeat. Do you have a visual on Viper 5? Over."

  "Negative, Home Team," a different scared voice sounded into the control room. "He's down! He's gone down! Repeat. Viper 5 has gone down! Heavy troop activity beneath us. Rockets are beginning to fire."

  "Give us your coordinates, son, we're having trouble locking in your position," Piper's voice remained steady. Tuttle walked over and stood behind his shoulder. "Tell us where you are. Over."

  "We've also lost contact with the rest of the Vulture team! Repeat. We've lost contact with rest of team. Jesus Christ! We're all alone out here!"

  The frantic voice faded from the speakers and was replaced by the loud searing hiss of empty static. In another instant it was gone. Only the small steady hum of power running through the equipment filled the silent room. No one dared to breathe.

  "Viper 1 do you copy? Viper 2 do you copy?" Piper and his communications team scanned frantically through all the recently-used transmission channels trying to reestablish contact with the air assault teams.

  The command monitors in front remained dark.

  "Sir, we can't locate any of them," Piper turned his head around and reported to Tuttle.

  “Well, keep goddamn looking,” Tuttle snapped quickly back.

  “Sir, they’re not out there. They’re gone. They’re completely gone.”

  "Happened upon a troop encampment before wing formation split, Home Base," the voice and static crackled again across the command room speakers.

  Piper whipped his head around, and everyone else in the room jumped back at their controls.

  “No idea they were there until they started to fire. No contact with the rest of the squadron. Repeat. No contact with the rest of the squadron. Over."

  "He's right, Commander," Piper said moving from his station to sit at another across the room. "There’s wreckage all over the area out there. They could be the only ones left."

  "Viper 6," Tuttle picked up Piper's headset from the station he had just left. "We need your coordinates. Say again. We need your position. Over."

  Only heavy static popped and crackled back.

  "Goddamn it!" Tuttle screamed and hurled his coffee cup against the wall where it shattered into an oblivion of uncountable pieces. He ripped the headset from the top of his head and threw it across the puddled mess on the floor.

  “We are on the city's north side," the young pilot's voice came again. "Area 4545.26. Drop team was fired upon as their chutes opened. No premature detonations occurred. Repeat no premature detonations occurred. Please advise."

  Tuttle's face muscles tightened momentarily, but he managed to keep his expression empty.

  “Return to base, Vulture 6," Tuttle ordered from another command station. He tried to ignore the feeling that a lightning bolt had just been rammed through the base of his head. "Return to Home Base…"

  The speakers became quiet following his last command.

  "Acknowledge Viper 6…"

  "Can’t do it, sir," the faint voice faded in again. "We’ve lost rear control. Massive engine failure. Won’t be airborne much longer. Approaching Beuford to attempt air detonation before impact.”

  Tuttle felt his stomach drop.

  “Do you copy, Home Base?"

  "We copy," Tuttle said quietly. "Good luck, son."

  Tuttle leaned forward on the command console and stared at the screens. Until this moment, he thought he had been at ease with the control of the lives that had been placed at his command. The shake racking his hands rammed a fear through his heart that he actually wasn't.

  "Roger that Home Base," the voice came again from the static. "Viper 6 out."

  Video feed from another satellite had been reestablished across the monitors in the front of the room. The transmission spread into a single continuous image across the hundreds of individual screens.

  Tuttle and his men turned to watch the last attack chopper of the doomed Vulture assault approach Beuford.

  "Assemble a replacement team," Tuttle spoke quietly. “Send them in on foot. Word will spread quickly about the air attack. Another one won’t be possible."

  "Already being assembled, Max," Piper said looking up from the console in front of him. "They'll be ready to launch in ten minutes at your order."

  "Someone contact the team at Science Dome 15. Tell them what's going on and that detonation did not occur. Make sure to emphasize that detonation did not occur. Determine the exact troop amount and their movements within the vicinity. Get that to them as well."

  "Yes, sir," Piper answered him. He pressed his headset closer to his ears and bent forward to work at his controls.

  "Tell them we'll send as much as we can to help defend."

  Piper looked up.

  “That will be difficult. Especially after what we’ve lost and what we’ve already launched. It’s going to take awhile to get people back.”

  "Tell them…," Tuttle ignored Piper and kept his voice level. "Tell them to be ready."

  The flash of a large explosion across the comma
nd screens lit up the room. The image of Viper 6 disappeared from the tracking screens. Many in the room closed their eyes or looked away from the glare.

  Tuttle stood at the room’s center and kept his gaze straight ahead. His eyelids quivered slightly from the sudden onslaught of brilliant light.

  "Gauge the blast," Tuttle said to the man at the console to his right.

  "Not weapons caliber,” the man reported hurriedly back replaying the image on his own personal screen. “Altitude too high. And not enough power. Looks like she exploded before completing her approach. Weapons detonation did not occur. It was only the aircraft."

  Tuttle fought the urge to drop his head towards the ground in defeat.

  "He only made it to the edge of the city."

  "Launch that second team," Tuttle said pointing at Piper and sweeping his eyes across the new bustle about the room.

  He tried not to focus on the panic that threatened with every breath to engulf his head.

  "We're going to have a full-scale revolt when word of this starts to get back."

  "They might think the chopper attack was targeted at the occupying troops and not at the town," Piper stood up from his station and moved closer to Tuttle at the center of the room. "None of them actually even made it into the city before they went down."

  Tuttle moved his head towards Piper but kept his eyes staring ahead at the monitors. He responded to him hoarsely through the corner of his mouth.

  "We know the J.G.U. are aware of what we’re trying to do. If they take that town fully before we do, word will get out. They'll spread it them goddamn themselves."

  "Even if they do, we'll still have time to get another crew in there," Piper said lowering his own voice. "They’ll be shocked at first. No one will believe it right away. It will give us enough time to get it done."

  Tuttle turned from the monitor screens and looked at him fully.

  “That’s a goddamn pipe dream. And you know it.”

  Piper set his jaw and did not look away.