A/N: Captain Red and the Denizens of Mars is one of my earlier Willow/Tara fics but it's one I had a lot of fun with at the time. I just wanted to tell a rollicking sci-fi yarn that isn't really grounded in any sort of reality. One of the key components of the Alternate Universe that I created for this fic is technology that is decidedly more advanced than it actually was in 1936 - just because I could. Sit back and enjoy the action!

Prologue
A Discovery

1922

Lying as a testament to an age long gone, the age of Pharaohs and gods of legend, the Valley of the Kings has long been one of the most famous archaeological sites in the world. From the entrance a person would have a perfect view up to the high point of the Theban hills, al Qurn. The particular angle lends an almost pyramidal to the ancient skyline and explains the ancient name ta dehent - the peak.

Over the centuries, the pharaohs gave way to tomb raiders. They in turn gave way to the rich Europeans who scoured the valley for treasures to adorn their homes and display in their museums. The most recent wave consisted of archaeologists. Knowledge seekers as opposed to treasure hunters, they scoured the valley seeking knowledge of a past age that captured the world's imagination like few others.

A light breeze caused sand to swirl around the members of the Oxford University archaeology team as they worked on KV 14. The inauspicious designation had been given to the tomb of the nineteenth and twentieth dynasty rules, Tausert and Setnakht. The entrance, located at the base of a sheer cliff, saw a great deal of foot traffic as students went to and fro with notepads tucked under their arms. There was a commotion arising from further up the hill where a small group had gathered, one student peeled away and started running towards the entrance of the tomb. When he pushed his way through the throng around the entrance, several people he passed made exclamations of annoyance when he shoved them aside. In his haste he just yelled a quick apology over his shoulder before disappearing into the entrance.

Kathy Rogers lifted her hand so it was just millimetres from the surface of the fragile hieroglyphs in the tomb's interior. The inscriptions were amazingly well preserved considering the passage of centuries since they had been chiselled out of the rock. However they were now incredibly fragile and crumbling away in places. Despite the fact she was deep inside a tomb, a place of death, Kathy felt more alive than she did anywhere else. This was what she lived for, discovering the remnants that an ancient civilisation had left behind and reconstructing the lives of people that had lived and died so many centuries ago. This particular dig carried a special significance for Kathy. It was her first time as dig supervisor. The Head of School had initially balked at the idea of a woman running any dig, let alone one as prestigious as KV 14. However her colleagues had wholeheartedly supported her application. She was anxious that everything run as smoothly as possible to justify their faith in her.

"Take over here, Mark." Kathy handed the small brush in her hand to a student hovering behind her. "Remember, light touches."

"Yes, Miss Rogers, of course."

So far so good, Kathy mused as she wandered past a group of students sketching the hieroglyphs on the wall. Her trained eye scanned the ancient pictograms with a chill of pleasure running though her body. Even though she had seen these murals many times, even studied them for her thesis, they never failed to take her breath away every time she saw them firsthand. The decoration of the upper level consisted of images of the gates of the underworld and at the point where Kathy stood, the eighth division of the Book of Gates. She ran her eyes along the pictorial description describing the journey of the Sun god Ra through the twelve gates of the netherworld. The images of multi-headed snakes and human headed soul birds were definitely from another world altogether. Kathy translated a cartouche on the wall with ease,

King of upper and lower Egypt, Powerful of manifestations of Ra, beloved of Amen, Chosen of Ra; Son of Ra, Set is victorious, beloved of Amen-Ra.

Kathy was continuing down the ramp to the first burial chamber when she heard fast footsteps echoing down the corridor. She spun around to see an out of breath student tearing down the ramp to come to a sliding halt just in front of her. As he regained his breath, Kathy was torn between excitement and worry. Was it good news or bad?

The young man sucked in a few deep breaths before gushing out an explanation for his haste. "We were digging a new access path…found something...odd. I don't know what it is exactly…some other kid keeps babbling something about Mars. You'd better come take a look."

Kathy followed him at a brisk pace back up the ramp and out into the bright Egyptian sunlight. She did not have to look far to see a small crowd gathered up ahead. She and her guide pushed their way through to the front of the throng. Kathy was greeted with a strange metallic object that had been uncovered from beneath the layers of sand. She frowned at the strange sight for a few moments before she knelt down and touched the smooth metal. It was not blemished in anyway. Instead it was as new and shiny as the hood on any carefully polished automobile. There was no way to tell exactly how large it was at this point in time but, judging by the surface area uncovered so far, it was of a considerable size. Rising to her feet, Kathy looked down on the object her students had uncovered. She cocked her head to one side as she always did when she was thinking hard. So far it looked like a very large, strangely shaped wing. Her first thought was that it was some sort of aircraft.

"That has absolutely nothing to do with ancient Egyptians," Kathy said, although that much was glaringly obvious to even the most untrained eye among them.

"It comes from Mars," someone announced behind her with certainty in his voice.

"Don't be ridiculous!" another team member snapped impatiently.

"Shut up everyone and get back to your work," Kathy was annoyed that this little interruption had managed to bring the dig to a halt. "I'll send a telegram back to Oxford, there are people who will want to know about this…whatever it is."

"It's from Mars," the student repeated.

Chapter One
An Ill-advised Stunt

Sussex, England, 1936

Willow Rosenberg tugged irritably at the collar that was threatening to cut of the flow of blood to her head. Just once she wished for something a little more comfortable to wear instead of a uniform that had obviously been designed to cause the maximum amount of discomfort to the wearer.

Not usually given to excesses of vanity, Willow was currently staring intently into the decorative mirror opposite her. She regarded herself with a critical eye. Her red hair was bound into a neat bun that sat at the nape of her neck and framed her pale frame. Most of her face was dominated by her expressive, bright green eyes. 'Cats eyes' her mother had always called them – usually with a smile on her face for her mischievous daughter. A smattering of freckles across the bridge of Willow's nose and rosebud pink lips completed what seemed a very pleasant face. It was all a little too girlish for Willow's liking. She had the distinct impression from several people in her life that at the age of twenty-three one should at least appear distinguished and grown-up. Willow knew she was neither.

The uniform, however uncomfortable it was, did provide her with a degree of respectability and authority. Willow wore the dress uniform of Air Command - dark blue dress trousers that were obviously not designed with the female form in mind and a double-breasted jacket of the same colour. The aforementioned collar buttoned up just under her chin. The blue was complemented with gold - a thick stripe running down either leg, trim on the jacket and the two pips on her epaulets proclaiming a Captain. Willow puffed out her chest slightly and lifted her chin. She had recently been promoted, one of the youngest captains in Air Command. She still enjoyed looking in the mirror and seeing it for herself just to reassure herself that it was not a dream.

Don't get too attached to those pips Rosenberg, they might be coming off darn soon. Then you're going to be setting the Air Command record for the shortest stint spent as a Captain.

Her shoulders sagged and her nose wrinkled in annoyance at the persistence of her ego. At this point in time she knew she really ought to be more concerned about her hair not sitting just right or the creases in her uniform being not quite crisp enough. She tugged the jacket downwards as if it were not sitting perfectly enough already. The stiff fabric hugged her curves in all the wrong places. Her attention to her appearance in this particular instance was for a good cause – she was in smack in the middle of the proverbial frying pan.

When Willow finally realised that nothing more could be done to approve her appearance she forced herself to keep her hands clasped tightly behind her back where they could do no more un-needed smoothing or straightening. A small sigh escaped her lips as she stood and stared at her reflection. What did it really matter what she looked like? Nothing short of a miracle was going to help her now.

The door behind her opened and Willow spun around to come face to face with a very stern looking man. He swung the door open a little wider to reveal a very spartan office beyond. His uniform was much the same as her own only there was an over abundance of gold braid around the cuff of his sleeve and he had four pips to match her two.

"Rosenberg, come in."

Willow marched rather than walked into his office and stood with a very erect posture in front of the desk. There was a small plaque sitting in front of her with writing in gilt letters: Air Vice Marshal Sir Reginald Bryant.

The man himself took a seat behind his nameplate with a clearly irritated sigh. He did not offer Willow a seat and nor did she expect to be offered one. For a few moments he appeared to be pretending that she wasn't even there. He shuffled the papers on his desk and took the time to peruse a few at his leisure.

Willow was fighting a silent struggle - trying to ignore the urge to tug at her collar again. Bryant's office seemed stiflingly hot even though she could look at the window to see rain splashing against the panes. Sheer force of will kept her hands clasped behind her back, her chin up defiantly.

After taking his time, Bryant finally did look back up at her. His lined face hinted that he was quite capable of breaking into a smile when the occasion called for it. However the expression he wore at that point in time made Willow want to scurry for cover. He regarded her through piercing eyes which seemed as though they were boring right into her thoughts.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself regarding yesterday's incident?" he asked her in a bored sounding monotone.

"No, sir...except that I'm very sorry, sir. I know it was foolish," Willow replied in clipped tones

"Foolish?" his monotone gave way to a hint of anger, his eyes glaring and yet Willow surprised herself by meeting them evenly. "Your stunt was dangerous and totally ill-advised. Whatever made you think you could do a victory roll that close to the surface of my airfield?"

Willow had to fight the urge to make an impertinent remark in reply. Of course she could do a victory roll meters from the ground without batting an eyelid, blindfolded even. She was one of the best pilots in Air Command. Bryant knew that much, he had told her himself on several occasions. Willow knew full well it wasn't the answer he was looking for.

"I'm not sure, sir. I think making Captain went to my head and I was thinking with my ego…instead of the rules."

"You never play by the rules, Rosenberg. That is one of the reasons why I had very little hesitation in promoting you to Captain of the Devils after Captain Robson was killed." Bryant paused for a few moments and Willow shifted her feet uncomfortably as Bryant briefly entered 'don't go there' territory before continuing. "There are some people who are naturally inclined to live outside the rules. In most cases those people are just a thorn in society's arse and have no place in the military. However, there are a few who do, god help us, find themselves a place. You know what those people become Rosenberg?"

"No, sir," Willow replied, uncertain as to where this conversation was going.

"Heroes, well, mostly dead heroes to be precise…but heroes all the same."

Fucking fantastic, it's always nice to hear you're on a one way track to deadness, Willow thought wryly. Although given that there isn't actually a war on, nor likely to be one I might be safe enough.

Bryant pressed his hands together in front of him and pointed them at Willow. "You're exceedingly brilliant, an excellent pilot and a born leader…but after yesterday I'm beginning to wonder if I made a bad call. There are some lines you cannot cross, no matter how indispensable you think you are. At any other time yelling at you for a minute or so would have served adequate punishment but you would have to pick the day the American delegation just happened to be visiting and the precise moment they were touring the base. Why on earth did you have to do it right above their heads? You jeopardised the whole joint alliance when you nearly killed one of their most distinguished Air Marshals!"

"He was impressed!" Willow replied quickly and immediately bit her lip to silence herself.

"Your wingtip took his hat off. An inch lower and it would have been his head!" Bryant snapped, he certainly wasn't impressed.

"Well, he was too bloody tall," Willow muttered under her breath.

"Did you say something, Rosenberg?"

"Ah, no sir…well, actually, I'm very sorry for ruining our good relations with the American branch of Air Command but I think it was ruined before I had a crack at it. I mean, refusing to reequip our entire fighter division with the latest American plane was a wise decision if you ask me but I don't think it made them very happy."

"No one is asking you, Rosenberg! I know it is a very difficult task to ask of you but it would be very much to your advantage if you would just keep your mouth shut! Right now you are facing some very serious charges."

"I know sir," Willow replied a little glumly.

"You came this close, Rosenberg," he held up his hand with his forefinger and thumb almost pressed together. "This close to being demoted to private and spending the rest of your days in the service filling sandbags without a hope of ever even thinking about flying again."

Willow gulped, her mouth suddenly going very dry. The thought of not ever flying again…well, they might as well put her in front of a firing squad and get it over with now. She waited for Bryant to pass his sentence on her, knowing that it could be any one of a number of very unpleasant assignments. A transfer to an American Air Command squadron - well, that in itself wasn't so bad, her mother would take her being in another country a lot harder than she would. Perhaps one of the squadrons in Pasadena or Sunnydale.

Willow paled slightly. No, please not Sunnydale. Bryant wouldn't dare.

Or even a flight instructor at Air Academy teaching teenagers how not to fly nose first into the ground? That didn't sound too bad. Then Willow remembered the dismissive attitude she had shown to her instructors during her time at the Academy. She felt a small twinge of guilt when she remembered her arrogance towards the people who were teaching her to fly. Even at the age of seventeen, she had known that she was a better pilot than any of them. Modesty was a word Willow had never bothered to learn the meaning of. Just the thought of having to take the kind of attitude that she herself had given was enough to make Willow cringe.

"Carrier duty," Bryant interrupted her musing with two simple words.

"What?" Willow had been so caught up in thinking of the horrors involved in teaching teenagers how to fly she had missed Bryant's words.

"I'm dispatching you and the entire Red Devil squadron to the carrier HMS Odysseus. She's currently with the fifth fleet somewhere in the Atlantic. Until I decide otherwise, you will fly fighter escort for the fleet-"

"You're sending me to the middle of the ocean!" Willow burst out before she could stop herself.

Carrier duty was one of the least sought after assignments in all of Air Command. Flying from an aircraft carrier was one of the most dangerous tasks a pilot could engage in. However that wasn't the only reason for its unpopularity, the Fleet spent long periods of time at sea – no bars, no entertainment, nothing but a hell of a lot of water. It was well known that life aboard the carrier was lonely, cramped, and damp. Willow hated boats of all sizes, even great big ones.

"Would you rather I assigned you to Air Academy?" Bryant asked coolly.

For a few moments, Willow actually considered this counter-offer. it was almost attractive in comparison to life on a Carrier. Then again, the Red Devils could easily be equipped for Carrier duty, which meant she would still get to fly her Draken. Although the thought of flying her plane out over a vast expanse of ocean with nothing to look at besides water did not really appeal. Willow hated swimming as well.

"No, sir," she managed to reply quietly.

"Right, I've already organised the Devils to undergo the necessary modifications."

"You knew I'd say yes?" Willow asked in surprise.

"Rosenberg, you've been under my command for the past six years. I've seen you develop from being a headstrong, cocky young fledgling to a…well, to a headstrong, cocky Captain. After the serious nature of your transgression, this was all I could do to keep you flying with the Devils…where you belong."

"I understand, sir. Thank you, sir."

"The best of luck to you, Rosenberg. You fly out for the Odysseus next week."

Willow started to open her mouth as though she was going to say something but Bryant silenced her with a wave of his hand,

"Don't even ask, Rosenberg. There will be no leave for you or any members of your squadron. You're going to need the whole week for training and the Devils have to be reconfigured for carrier-based operation," Bryant turned his attention back to the papers in front of him.

"But-"

"No buts. You're dismissed, Captain Rosenberg," He glanced back up and at her to see she wasn't moving and raised his eyebrows. "Dismissed!"

Her eyes widened for a few moments at his uncharacteristic refusal of any leave at all - even twenty-four hours would have sufficed. There would be no time to drive up to London to see her parents. A quick phone call would probably have to suffice. Willow could hear her mother crying into the receiver even now.

She saluted Bryant and he nodded absently. As she left Bryant's office she thought that she really ought to have listened to her parents when they told her to take swimming lessons.

"You didn't tell her anything did you, Bryant?" the voice on the other end of the phone was urgent, insistent.

Reg Bryant cupped his hand over the receiver for a few moments as he let out a frustrated sigh. He watched as the rain ran in rivulets down his office window, the gloomy weather mirroring his own mood.

"No, nothing…they're flying out next week," Bryant replied blandly into the phone.

"Next week...couldn't we make it any sooner?" the voice barked back.

"Not unless you want them to smash into the deck of the carrier on their first landing attempts," Bryant knew full well the Devils didn't have enough time as it was.

"Fine," the voice snapped impatiently. "I'll sleep more soundly when I know all the carrier-based squadrons are almost at full strength."

"Ah, Prime Minister…do we have an ETA?" Bryant ventured quietly.

"No Bryant we don't but when it happens we'd better hope like heck what we've done is enough because I have a feeling that all of hell itself is going to be unleashed."