Free Parker's Folly by Doug L Hoffman

there is no enemy contact, we will proceed to the doors on the side of the building, assuming they actually exist” They were working off of intel from old construction plans some REMF had dug out of the Navy archives.
    “Take cover along the building wall, flanking the doors and wait for my signal. We will enter through both doors simultaneously, secure the immediate area and then the LT will assess the situation and decide what we need to do next.”
    It's simple right up to where we enter the building, the Gunny thought. They should find themselves inside of a large open space, the place was supposed to be a hangar. But there was no telling what they would find. Maybe a bunch of civilians building a playschool rocket ship, maybe a nest of terrorists assembling a nuke.
    “Rules of Engagement are as follows: do not shoot unarmed civilians. But if someone points a weapon at you, weapons are free. Do you understand?”
    “AYE, AYE, Gunny!” The squad responded loudly and in unison.
    At least they understand that this is not a fucking drill. They may not be the best the Corps had to offer, but they weren't virgins either. All of them had seen the elephant in Afghanistan or elsewhere. And all bullshit aside, they were still Marines. The Gunny turned to the Lieutenant, who had been standing behind her, listening to the briefing. “Any thing you would like to add, Sir?”
    “No, Gunny, that should cover things 'til we gain access to the hangar.” From the cockpit, the mechanical voice of the ground proximity warning said “500 feet.” The curtain was about to go up.

Chapter 4
Bridge of Parker's Folly, Parker Ranch, Texas.
    Captain Jack Sutton was sitting in the command chair on the bridge, supervising two of the crew—helmsmen Vincent and Danner—as they ran through the departure simulation yet again. The Captain was of the opinion that practice made everything run more smoothly and he insisted that his ship run smoothly.
    The two helmsmen sat at a shared console in front of the command station, below and farther forward within the transparent bow of the ship than the Captain's perch. There were staggered ancillary control positions set back on either side of the pilots' stations, currently unmanned. Behind the helm and directly beneath the Captain's chair was a row of seats for observers. Vincent and Danner were an interesting pair—both were native born Texans but there the similarities ended.
    William Raymond “Billy Ray” Vincent was the embodiment of the cowboy image: 6 foot three, with long ropy muscles on a lean frame. If they still had a Marlboro Man , he would definitely be in the running. With a nonchalant attitude and steady nerves, nothing flustered him. When the simulator threw problems at him he responded with the same laconic calm as astronauts and test pilots. Outgoing and friendly, in conversation he affected a Texas drawl and was not above whoopin' and hollerin' a bit if the occasion called for it.
    Robert “Bobby” Danner, on the other hand, was quiet. A slightly pudgy, video game addicted couch potato who lived vicariously through online multiplayer games. In World of Warcraft he was a deadly Shadow Priest and a definite bad ass—look at him crosswise and he would melt your face. In the real world, he was almost painfully shy, usually only speaking when spoken too. Bobby was as socially awkward as Billy Ray was genial. Proving that life is stranger than fiction, Billy Ray and Bobby were the closest of friends.
    One thing both members of this odd couple had in common was they were very good at piloting the ship—at least in simulations. Their styles were quite different. Billy Ray was smooth on the controls, precises during maneuvers, keeping things right on the flightpath. Strangely enough it was Bobby who was the daredevil, able to jink and dodge, avoiding obstacles seemingly at will. If you were in need of “evasive maneuvers,” Bobby was your man.
    Together they had become a finely tuned