Part I:

Somewhere beneath the Sahara Desert, 1937 A.D:

"What is it Heinrich?" he asked without turning around.

"I'm afraid he will be unable to join you Herr Professor." Said a cold, cruel voice. Jager spun around, and found himself staring into the face of a Gestapo officer.

"What's going on here?" asked Jager, slightly annoyed with the interruption. "Who are you? Where's Heinrich? What do you think you're doing here? I've been authorized by the Füher himself!"

"Herr Professor, so have I." sneered the Gestapo man. "I am simply insuring absolute secrecy on this matter." With a lift of the chin, he indicated the artifact. Cold fingers crawled up Jager's spine.

"What exactly does that entail?" he asked faintly, dreading the answer. The Gestapo man didn't even bother to answer, but simply drew his gun. Jager turned, and began to run. He made it about five feet when the gun roared.

Three more Gestapo agents approached the first.

"What should we do about the workers, and other scientists, Herr Commandant?" queried one of the men.

The officer spared only a glance at the magnificent cavern complex before answering. He shrugged slightly. "Kill them all. Then bury this place."

Part II:

Planet Shada, 3863 A.E:

"Peeper delta-5, do you copy?"

"Yes sir."

A several-second pause followed. Hari growled deep in his throat. "Well? Report already! "

"Oh, right sir. Right away sir. Most of the XIX Corps survived, as well as elements of XX and XVII Corps." returned the contrite sounding peeper. "Also, we have reports of several brigades still alive in the mountains above the Core base, or where it used to be."

Hari swore under his breath. "What about the XII Corps?"

"Sorry sir, there's nothing left in that sector."

Hari sighed softly. He hadn't really been expecting anything else, but he had hoped. XII Corps had led the assault on the Core base, and at the time, the Arm was unaware that a Core commander had even been on planet. He turned back to gaze thoughtfully into the smoldering ground at the bottom of the crater. Losses were heavy, but on the bright side of things, he could report another Arm victory, and the loss of a Core commander, to boot. The next order of business was a clean-sweep for functioning Core technology, and reclamation of the wreckage coating the battlefield. With resources at an all-time low, no metal could be spared.

"Commander, we've found something I think you should see." a nearby construction k-bot suddenly reported.

"What is it?" Hari asked, only partially listening, still lost in thought.

"I'm not sure, but it appears to be generating energy." the k-bot obediently reported.

This caught Hari's attention. "Still functioning? At ground zero of a commander detonation? Impossible!" Still intrigued, he wandered over to the k-bot. "I don't see anything."

"Sir, it's next to that wreckage there, sticking out of the ground."

Hari walked over to the indicated spot, careful not to tread on the smaller k-bot. "I still don't…wait! Now I see it!" Hari slowly scanned the object, and what he found made his jaw drop. "Send for Lieutenant Hendon…now!" He immediately ordered the construction k-bot to the other side of the crater, and ordered XIX Corps to form a defensive perimeter around the crater.

As Hendon's Zeus picked it's way through the corpses of smashed battle units, and towards the crater, he could almost feel the tension of the troops. Commander Hari – 284 was one of the most stable and calm men he, or any of them, knew. Such rash actions from a man like this was an indication of unusual or dire circumstances, the thought of which made him pick up the pace. At last, Hendon stood over the crater and peered down into the misty depths. Spotting Hari, he jumped down the slope, and made his way over to the obviously disturbed commander. Sensing the motion, Hari turned, and beckoned him closer.

"I've just put us on a secure channel, because what we've found here is now officially top-secret." Hari intoned.

Worried, and now confused, Hendon asked, "What is it that we've found sir? The men are starting to wonder why you've formed a defensive perimeter around an empty crater, on a planet that is safely in our hands."

Hari swallowed hard, and whispered, "If the Core know about this discovery, this planet is far from safe." He looked around nervously, an act, which by itself, chilled Hendon to the bone. "Here, take a look at these energy readings."

Hendon glanced at the chart. "It's a galactic gate. That's standard Core procedure for an entrenched world like this was. It's a useful find, but hardly unusual." He frowned. "So, what's the big deal sir?"

"The big deal Lieutenant, is that it is not a Core gate."

Hendon's eyes widened, the implications striking home. "Sir, you're not saying that that thing's an Arm gate, are you?"

Hari only nodded his suit in silent acknowledgment. "There's more. Look at how this gate is positioned. Before the Core commander was destroyed, this whole area was dozens of meters underground." Before Hendon could comment further, Hari said "Lieutenant, what I am about to reveal to you is classified information. The only reason I'm telling you any of this, is that this is probably the most important discovery, or rediscovery, of our age. And I'll need your cooperation and understanding influence with the troops."

Hendon only nodded. "Yes sir, you have my full support, but I would like to know why you are relocating our primary base to this crater."

"Well, it's a bit of a story, but we should have a breathing period here. It started like this…."

Part III:

High Orbit, Planet Shada, 3863 A.E:

Core commander 737-F would have been wearing a faintly puzzled, yet annoyed, look on his face, that is, if he still had a face. He glared impatiently at the monitor screen of the bridge of his command starship, as if it would get their forces there any faster. "Ship!" he snapped. "What is our ETA?"

The starship hurriedly checked her sensors. "15 minutes sir. Then 20 more to land all the ground assault forces."

737-F contacted the captain in charge of the construction force that rested within the enormous hold of the starship. "Captain, ships 3 and 8 will land before us, and unload a contingent of our ground troops. I want your men to begin construction of a secure base immediately, and set up a few metal farms before the storage in the ship runs dry." He thought for a moment about the vast quantities of metal that he had brought directly from Core Prime. "Captain, one more thing. I'll need 5 advanced construction units, for a special assignment."

"Yes sir." The captain sounded slightly confused.

737-F then opened a channel to his entire fleet of eighteen starships. "Attention, this is your Commander speaking. We will be entering planetary atmosphere momentarily. Prepare to disembark." He permitted himself another minute of thought about the strange energy signals emanating from this world, then turned to the more important task of landing 18 starships in the most remote spot he could find.

*****

"What?" gasped Hendon. "Sir, I thought the galaxy had been declared void of alien intelligence long before the war even started!"

"It had been," Hari replied. "But apparently, we were wrong. In fact, intelligent life had been located on no less than eight worlds."

Hendon was stunned. "Eight worlds? How did we miss that many?"

"It's quite simple. They were all located on the outer rim of the galaxy, and no exploration teams had ever bothered to go that far." Hari shook his head, which in a commander chassis is quite a feat. "Anyway, it was deemed that a galactic gate be placed in a remote region on each of these worlds, so that after the war was over, the worlds could properly be studied." He laughed ruefully. "Of course, they weren't expecting the war to drag on for nearly four thousand years."

Hendon thought for a moment. "Commander, that is very interesting, but I don't see what that has to do with our current situation."

Hari replied, "Lieutenant, what in your opinion is the resource so desperately needed by the Arm?"

Hendon scanned the area, and noted the construction aircraft busy reclaiming the wreckage that the past two days fighting had resulted in. "It's not a matter of opinion Commander, we need metal, and in gigantic quantities."

Hari almost smiled. "Lieutenant, those gates I told you about…. this is one of them. When this planet was deep in Arm space, it made perfect sense. And those planets…" Hari trailed off in thought.

"What about the planets, Commander?" Hendon queried.

"They are rich in metal, and almost completely undeveloped. The inhabitants are spear-throwing savages."

Hendon almost laughed. "We can take the planets, and mine them dry!"

"Exactly."

Their reverie was suddenly, and rudely, broken by the high-pitched wail of a siren.

"Report!" yelled Hari into his comm unit.

"Sir!" a tinny voice screamed. "We're under attack! Radar reports no less than eighteen Core starships unloading!"

Hari angrily spun around. "Hawk squadrons 12-25 report!"

"Awaiting orders, sir." Fourteen squadron leaders announced.

"Get those starships before they land, and scout out what has already landed!" Hari shouted.

"Yes sir!"

Hari turned back to Hendon. "Lieutenant, use your lightning gun to clear the dirt from this gate. I would have liked to carefully excavate and explore them all, but it seems our Core friends decided to show up early." He switched the channel back to open link, as Hendon began to vaporize the rock around the gate. "All construction units report to the crater. I want as many laser turrets and plasma batteries as you can build. Freedom Fighters will provide air cover. Also, I want this crater fortified with dragon's teeth, and an Annihilator in the crater itself." Without even waiting for a reply, he called up his radar map. He swore profusely and angrily; what looked like hundreds of thousands of Core units were descending on their ill-prepared base. "I want XX Corps here, on the double, along with the few brigades left over from XII Corps. In ten minutes, the only Arm soldier left outside the perimeter should be those of XIX Corps…now move!" The last was shouted in a hoarse roar.

*****

737-F gazed proudly up at 80 meter tall Krogoth Gantry. Inside, the beast was nearing completion. It had taken most of the metal he had carefully hoarded, but the result was well worth it. Then, with a loud clank, the finished Krogoth stepped off the Gantry platform, causing the ground to shudder.

"Krogoth unit 814-DY, your orders are to accompany ground attack group 53, and destroy every last Arm unit you encounter."

In a nearly inaudible growl, the massive war machine answered, "Yes sir, with pleasure sir." His one large staring eye suddenly glowed a brighter red. The commander mentally shuddered. He almost felt sorry for the clones in that second, but quickly banished the thought. The Krogoth began to stalk away, tailed by dozens of Morties, Thuds, Storms, Raiders, and Pyros. The Arm would pay for the destruction of the Core forces here, and the source of those mysterious energy emissions would be captured and studied.

*****

"Well," sighed Hari, "I guess we're going to find out where that gate goes, whether we want to or not." Once again, he opened the link. "Gentlemen, this is your Commander. We have finished construction of a galactic gate within the crater." He surveyed the brave men facing him. They trusted him with their lives, but still he could not tell them the truth. He wouldn't fail them. "XVII, XX, and those left from XII Corps will proceed through the gate immediately. XIX Corps will engage the enemy and buy the rest of us some time. Then, you will fall back and make the leap yourselves." He looked at the gate once again, realizing that he still had no idea where it would lead; or whether the terminal gate still existed. "Colonel," he opened a link with the commander of the XIX Corps. "When your men make the escape, you must initiate the self-destruct on the gate, to prevent the patterns from following us through."

The Colonel hesitated a moment, and Hari knew what he must be thinking – without the gate, how would they get back? Those very same thoughts were plaguing him, but they had no choice. It was take a chance and escape, or stay and die. "Those are your orders Colonel."

"Yes sir, I'll do it myself."

Hari winced as the first reports of combat reached him, thinking about the men who were dying up there to save the rest of them. He began to hear sounds of weapons fire and knew that could only mean one thing. Somehow, the Core knew. "Lieutenant, get those men through the gate. I'll be right behind you."

"On my way sir." Hendon activated the gate, and a shimmering tunnel appeared in the air beside the gate. He leaped through, and two full Corps worth of men followed. A few minutes later, Hari found himself standing alone waiting for the men of the XIX Corps to arrive. A full ten minutes passed, when he was snapped out of his reverie by the activation of the Annihilator beside him. Core units were beginning to appear around the rim of the crater. The Annihilator fired once, then again, and again. Each shot produced a sudden explosion on the rim of the crater. He knew with a horrible gut-wrenching certainty that XIX Corps wasn't coming. Suddenly, as if a signal had been sent to all of the Core soldiers (and it probably had), they came pouring down the side of the crater like an unstoppable wave. Without even thinking, Hari spun, and began to enter the self-destruct code for the gate, when in a sudden starburst rocket explosion, he found his entire commander chassis flying though the air – and straight at the gate. The Annihilator exploding under the foot of a behemoth with one great, glowing red eye, obscured the last glimpse he got of the planet. As the Diplomat readied another rocket, Hari disappeared into the tunnel, and found himself in the absolute blackness of gate-transit. The gate wasn't going to be destroyed: he had failed.

Part IV:

North Africa, Planet Earth, 1942 A.D:

"Fall back!" he screamed into the transmitter. "All units retreat five miles to the rear! Set up a defensive position there! On the double!" The jeep's engine revved as the driver fought to control it on the shifting sands. Soon however, they were far enough away to avoid the effects of the sudden uplifting of sand and rock. He looked back one last time as the jeep bounced onward, and saw some…thing emerge from the sand. Hell, he thought, let the Nazi's deal with whatever that thing was. In the meantime, he had to make his report to Allied command about the…. whatever it was.

*****

Planet Shada, 3863 A.E:

Commander 737-F scaled the last five meters, and clambered to the top of a large outcropping. He took a moment to scan the horizon. If he were still in an organic body capable of such things, he would have whistled. Stretching away from him, as far as the optical sensors could see, were thousands of acres of wreckage. Smashed Bulldogs, Panthers, and even the famous Mavericks. He noticed with some disapproval that there were nearly as many Core corpses as there were Arm. However, he couldn't complain overmuch, as the patterns had been backed up, and could be rebuilt, while the Arm commander would have to seek out cloning facilities to replace his troops. He started down the front face of the ridge, and into the crater that had once been a commander not unlike himself. An advanced construction k-bot was carefully clearing the debris around a still active object. An Arm gate. "ACK-27S," he asked the construction bot. "Have you broken the encryption code on the gate yet?"

"Almost sir," came the preoccupied reply. "But sir, there's something not quite right about this gate."

"What's so different about it? It looks like every other Arm galactic gate I've ever seen." 737-F impatiently responded.

"Well, sir, it essentially is, but the energy signature has degraded to a high degree."

"Are you saying that it's not safe?" 737-F grew slightly worried. If the gate was unsafe, he couldn't chase after the Arm commander, and would have to track the location of the terminal gate manually. Then he'd have the job of taking his fleet there, which could take months, and then making another expensive planetary assault. And by then, the Arm commander would be well entrenched.

"No sir, but for the energy signature to have degraded like this, this gate must have been active for thousands of years," the k-bot dutifully responded.

737-F's anxiety was instantly replaced with a surge of excitement. An old gate likely led to an ancient world, perhaps Empyrrean itself!

"Sir! I've cracked the encryption!"

"Excellent!" 737-F opened a comm channel to his sub-commanders. "This is Commander 737-F. I want all surviving combat units to report to coordinates 42785.4-96739, immediately. All construction units will resume construction of a secure base. Once this force has left, construction of k-bot and vehicle facilities are a priority." The construction bot next to 737-F began to crawl away. An amused "Where do you think you're going?" brought it up short.

"I'm reporting to the base-area as ordered sir." Came the timid reply.

"Not so fast! I'll need you with us."

*****

North Africa, Planet Earth, 1942 A.D:

When Arm commander Hari – 284 regained his senses, the first thing he noticed was the inky blackness. The first coherent thought he had was the paralyzing fear that the terminal gate no longer existed, and he was now spiraling through folded-space with no way to stop, and would likely continue until his life-support systems gave out. Then he noticed a peculiar sensation. He could feel pressure on his back and legs, like something was supporting him. He tried to stand up, and get his bearings, when an overwhelming wave of dizziness hit him like the butt of a gauss rifle.

"Whoa! Hold on commander, that was a real nasty entrance," exclaimed a nearby voice.

As Hari's eye filters adjusted to the darkness, he saw that the source of the voice was that of a Zeus k-bot. As recognition came back, so did his memory of events just prior to his unintended jump through the gate. "Lieutenant! Shut down that gate, now!"

"It is. We didn't have much choice, since the wormhole collapsed right after you came flying through." We came through into this cavern, and all men are present and accounted for, sir. Hendon paused. "Sir, what happened to the XIX Corps?"

With the memories of the last few minutes on Shada, came the bitter rage. Hari calmly walked over to a nearby wall, and proceeded to smash his armored right fist several feet into the hard bedrock. He breathed hard for a time, and then found the words he was looking for. "Lieutenant, there is no XIX Corps." he said with a thundering finality.

Inside his suit, Hendon's face went ashen. "All…," he gulped. "All of them sir?"

Hari's only reply was to smash his left fist into the wall as well. Then he pounded the wall until three tons of rock had been reduced to powder. He appeared to gather himself for a moment. "Lieutenant, have the men fall in. We're getting out of here."

Hendon instantly composed himself. "Yes sir, but may I ask how we're going to do that?"

Hari peered up at the tunnels that in all likelihood led to the surface of whatever miserable ball of rock this planet was. He once again smashed his fist into the rock, but this time with a purpose. He gouged out handholds for himself, and pulled himself up to the mouth of the tunnel. He wasn't prepared for what he found there, but he was used to worse by now. Not thirty feet into the tunnel was a putrefying corpse. It was too badly decomposed to identify, but it was humanoid. Obviously it had been a native of this planet, and Hari started to prep his arm laser, when he found something that shocked him deeply. It had been murdered, and worse, the weapon was a projectile device of some kind. The people of this planet were supposed to be spear-throwing savages, with only the barest hints of technology. It appeared that they had evolved beyond that, but… in a mere four thousand years? Arming his laser, Hari vaporized the corpse, and looked back down at Hendon. "Lieutenant! Send up a Flea."

Hendon obediently had a Flea k-bot scout scale the cliff. "There you are sir."

Hendon's only answer was the blast of a D-gun, and then the high-speed whirring of a nanolathe.

After he had blasted a hole through the rocks at the top of the tunnel, Hari began to reclaim the mix of rock and sand that lay beyond. Ignoring the shuddering of the cavern ceiling, he turned to the flea. "Okay Private, it's your turn. Climb through there to the surface, and send me a report on your findings."

"No problem, Commander, I'll be right back." And without another word, the Flea began to push his way out of the sand, and on to the surface.

Part V:

Adennes, France, Planet Earth, 1942 A.D:

"Skorzeny! You old dog! I didn't expect to see any Gestapo anywhere near the front." Weiss called out.

The burly Gestapo man shrugged and grinned. "Normally I wouldn't be, but I was planning to go on a little trip, and thought you might be interested. So, what do you say?"

Weiss gave a short barking laugh. "Where are you planning on taking me this time, honey?" he asked in a high, whiney voice, igniting the nearby men into fits of laughter. "Seriously," he said, returning to his normal voice. "Where is the Füher sending you this time around, Otto?"

Skorzeny gave a deep, hearty laugh. "What do you say to North Africa? Sun, heat, and more sun! Besides," he said, glancing at the men around them. "This time could be important." He said it in a jovial enough way, but Weiss knew the S.S. man well enough to catch the serious undertone. Whatever Skorzeny's mission was, it was no laughing matter. "Anyway, you are coming, aren't you… sweetheart?" Gunther's gunner fell backwards off the turret of the Panzer III, and the other men broke up again. "Besides, you're not doing anything here anymore."

"You're not giving me a choice, are you." replied Weiss, looking daggers at his gunner. He didn't even wait for an answer, for he already knew it. "Alright," he sighed resignedly. "I knew this couldn't be just a social call. When do we leave?"

Skorzeny's grin returned, full force. "My plane awaits," he answered, making a theatrical bow. "If you'll be kind enough to follow me, sir."

Gunther Weiss sighed again. He did that a lot around Skorzeny. He turned back to his men, and shouted, "Major! You're in charge until I get back!" Weiss turned back to Skorzeny. "Lead the way."

*****

North Africa, Planet Earth, 1942 A.D:

Patton glanced over his shoulder and admired the large force of men and tanks following him. The orders from Allied command were to assault the German lines before they could recover from the previous day's fighting. More importantly though, he was to determine exactly what had caused the upheaval in the desert that had halted the fighting. If it was a German weapon, he had to know, and if it was something else, they might be able to use it against the Germans. Up ahead, something began to poke over the horizon. "My God!" he breathed. What looked like thousands of giant metallic… somethings, were intermingled with the German troops. "Halt!" Patton shouted. "All units halt!" Within ten minutes, his entire command pulled up behind him.

"Umm… General? What are those things?" came the frightened voice of his driver.

"Damned if I know, Corporal." The German commanders had been slow to notice that Patton's force had arrived, but now, German troops were running toward tanks, trenches, and artillery batteries. The largest of the mechanical monsters had seen them now, and the others were falling back. Still, his orders were clear. "Open fire!" Patton watched in amazement as several of the giants took direct hits without flinching. One of them, he could see clearly now, was a tank, not much larger than a new American Lee class. It opened fire, and a glowing projectile fell in among the American ranks. One tank was almost completely incinerated by the blast, but others kept moving forward.

"Sir, we can't fight those things! We're taking too many casualties, and we're not even making a dent on them!" shouted a tank commander.

Patton agreed, but every instinct in him rebelled against yet another defeat. He angrily picked up the radio to begin ordering yet another retreat, when he realized that the sounds of fighting were dimming down. Sure enough, while the American troops were all but helpless against the armored giants, the Germans weren't so fortunate, and were quickly routing. This time Patton didn't resist the urge to cheer, and hopping up onto the seat of his jeep, let loose a wild war cry. He was answered by many of his men. Within a half-hour, every last enemy soldier was gone, including the giants. There was more to be done though, so he called over a colonel of engineers to the yawning abyss that the metal giants had emerged from, only a scant day before. "Colonel, do you think you can get us down there?"

The abrupt question startled the man, but he thought for a moment. "I suppose so, sir. But may I ask why?"

"Those giant… things… came from this pit, and I want to know more, like what are they and where they came from."

"Yes sir." replied the colonel as understanding lit his face. "Sergeant!" he called. "Bring me as much rope as you can find."

"Coming, sir."

A moment later, the sergeant returned, arms full of thousand-foot lengths of rope. "Here you are sir." he said, dumping the ropes at the colonel's feet.

Patton took a long doubtful look down into the deep crevasse, then with a sudden decisive motion, grabbed the rope. "Colonel; Sergeant. Let's see what's down there." With tight grip on the rope Patton began to slide down.

"Sir! It might not be safe down there. If you insist on going, at least let someone expendable go first." the colonel protested.

"Colonel, in my army, no one's expendable. Now, are you coming or not? Either way, I want to know what's down there."

Numbly, the colonel nodded. "Yes sir, I'm coming. Sergeant, make sure that rope stays secured."

"Yes sir."

With a quick whispered prayer, the colonel grabbed another length of rope, and followed the General down the pit.

*****

Hari – 284 could not believe what was happening. He reviewed the last day's events in his mind in a futile search for sanity. Everything that had transpired since he and his men had entered the galactic gate at Shada had been utterly impossible. Not twenty seconds after he had sent the flea to the surface on a recon patrol, it had jumped back into the tunnel, claiming that he had been attacked. That was when Hari knew that something was wrong. The only creatures capable of launching an attack would have been the pre-industrial hominids that inhabited this planet; and the only weapons they should have had were spears and stone knives, neither of which was capable of doing any damage, even to the tiny Flea. The Flea, of course, assumed it had been Core, and told the commander as much. Only Hari and lieutenant Hendon had known better, and they were both worried. Hari had called up all available information on this planet on his on-board computer. The name of the world was Krytock III, as named by the original survey team. The inhabitants were pre-industrial savages, the most advanced tribe of them living in the river valley of one of the larger sub-equatorial continents. Apparently, the tribe had contact with the survey team, and was most impressed by simple solar collectors. They had constructed massive stone replicas of the collectors, and buried their leaders, or "pharos," in them. They built them using slave labor, which had appalled the survey team. Using advanced holographic images, they frightened the tribe into releasing the slaves. Hari skipped ahead quickly. The information he was finding was fascinating, but hardly relevant to his current situation. He finally did pick up one useful bit of info, however. According to the survey team's logs, they had placed the galactic gate not far from the tribe's main city, buried in the desert. Unfortunately, they included no coordinates, so Hari only had a very general idea of where they were. It was better than nothing, though. Hari had to see what had really happened to the flea, because it couldn't be Core, and it couldn't be the locals. No civilization develops that much in only four thousand years. Or could it? Hari had to know.

"Who are you?" it asked. "Where do you come from, and what is your allegiance?" Then it stood still, waiting for a reply.

Hari himself, without the commander chassis, was about the same size as the locals' spokesperson, so he chose to remain in the suit, feeling that it might work to his advantage to intimidate them. He turned up the amplifier on his suit's broadcast speaker, and boomed out, "I am Arm Commander Hari – 284! Who are you to question me?"

The little man looked up, at Hari, obviously unimpressed. "I am Obërluetnant Otto Skorzeny of the Gestapo. You have not answered my question. Where are you from, and why are you here?"

Part VI:

Skorzeny spoke to the powerfully built man beside him. Hari's enhanced hearing enabled him to overhear the hoarse whisper, and what he heard, he did not like the sound of. "What did I tell you Gunther! 250,000! If we can get them to aid the Fatherland, nothing would stop us!" Skorzeny turned back to Hari. "All right commander. You may bring your soldiers out of the cavern. I welcome you to our planet Earth as guests of our Fatherland, the powerful nation of Deutschland."

Hari did not trust this arrogant conniver, but his troops could not spend another miserable night down in that cave. "On behalf of my troops, I thank you." The tank turrets moved away from his head, and Hari opened a secure comm-channel to Hendon. "Lieutenant, have the troops come out of the ground in fifteen minutes. Before you send them out, I want you to explain everything to them. Now that we're here, they deserve to know the truth."

"Yes sir," replied Hendon. "Shall I order them to form ranks on the surface?"

"Agreed. After all, the sight of two full Corps worth of troops in ranks is a spectacular sight. Good idea lieutenant."

"Thank you sir, I'll be joining you on the surface momentarily."

*****

*****

Planet Shada, 3863 A.E:

Commander 737-F strode to the crater rim, looked down at the construction bots working on the gate, and asked for the fifth progress report in the last hour.

"The situation is the same as the last report twenty minutes ago, sir. We'll let you know when we get it working." a frustrated and annoyed advanced construction vehicle replied.

737-F would have sighed loudly if he could have. He knew he was grating on their nerves, but he felt so powerless, knowing that nothing he did would get the gate activated any sooner. He turned away to help nanolathe a Punisher plasma battery. It quickly finished, and assumed a firing position. 737-F trudged over to a Protector to help finish it, when an excited voice sounded over the link.

"Commander!" It was the construction vehicle. "We've activated the gate! We can send troops through anytime now." it blurted.

"Finally!" He opened a link to the leaders of his infantry. "All combat squads, with the exception of squad 53, report to the crater immediately." 737-F hated to leave an entire attack squad behind, but the Krogoth was in that squad, and Krogoths were too massive to safely make the gate transit. However, within an hour nearly every remaining Core soldier on the planet was assembled in the crater. "Activate the gate." he ordered. With a low rumble, and an electronic buzz, a wormhole formed in the air beside the gate. "I'm going through first, to recon the landing zone." Without waiting for a reply, he stepped into the wavering tunnel.

Part VII:

North Africa, Planet Earth, 1942 A.D:

Patton would have responded to the colonel's query, but he was too amazed himself. "I don't know," he finally replied, "but I intend to find out." he said with sudden determination. Patton once again went back to staring at the object.

Part IX:

Washington D.C., United States, 1942:

One-hundred and fifty feet above the English Channel, February, 1943:

*****

London, England, February, 1943:

Arm Command, North Africa, March, 1943:

15 Miles West of Pskov, March 14, 1943:

Russian Wilderness North of Pskov, March 14, 1943:

University of Chicago Campus, April 2, 1943:

Core Command, Russian Steppe, April 5, 1943:

Rhineland, France, April 4, 1943:

Part XVI:

The Core Invasion of Europe Begins, May 5:

Part XVII:

Poland, May 5, 1943:

*****

Arm Command, North Africa, June 2, 1943:

*****

"Then, as soon as we had word that their troops were in the target zone, we fired all five Paris's at them." Skorzeny sighed and gave a rueful smile, his face taking on a ruddy glow from the campfire before him. "I would've loved to have seen those monsters hit."

"Well, what happened?" asked Weiss impatiently.

Skorzeny's smiled faded, and he glared at the fire. There was a strange, disinterested tone in the colonel's voice. "About an hour after we opened up on them, they found us. Their detection capability is far beyond anything we have. Within five minutes of their first planes flying over, squadrons of bombers hit us."

"And you lost all five guns, and were forced to retreat." Weiss finished.

Skorzeny lifted his head, and gave the other man a strange look. "Four."

"Pardon?"

"You said we lost five guns. Actually, it was four. One of them, on the coast of the Baltic Sea, escaped detection because it was disguised as, of all things, a ship's mast." Skorzeny rubbed his hands together gleefully.

"Then, we have one of these guns still active, deep behind enemy lines?"

Skorzeny only chuckled misheviously. "Don't worry, it'll be seeing action again, soon. In the meantime, I want to hear your own escapades, and all about what happened here." he added, gesturing at the shadowy forms of the ruined buildings that surrounded them.

Weiss stood and began to walk away from the comforting glow of the fire, motioning Skorzeny to follow. The two men silently walked together, Weiss taking the lead, and striking off down a side alley.

Skorzeny glanced around at the encroaching darkness, and put his hand on the reassuring solidity of his gun in its holster. He was just beginning to grow restless and a slight bit anxious, when Weiss finally slowed down. The fires of the panzer encampment were no longer visible in the deep gloom, and as far as Skorzeny could tell, he and Weiss were the last living beings on Earth. "Gunther, where are you taking me?" he finally ventured.

Weiss paused a moment, as if the question of their destination had never occurred to him. "This is far enough." he said, almost to himself. "Well," he said in a louder tone. He looked over at Skorzeny. "You said you wanted to know what happened. Just look around." His voice was like ice.

Skorzeny glared at the ruins around him. "Those Core monsters," he said staring up into the night sky, "I wish we'd gotten them all in that pass." Skorzeny's head snapped back around in shock at Weiss's sudden, barking laugh.

"Monsters," he murmured. "He calls them monsters." Gunther turned his back on the amazed Gestapo officer, and suddenly bellowed, "Damn you! Damn all of you!"

Skorzeny was so startled by the unexpected outburst, when the colonel turned back to him with rage written on his face, it took him almost ten seconds to realize that Weiss had a pistol pointed at his chest. Stunned, Skorzeny whispered, "Put that gun away Gunther, or you'll never pull that stunt again. I am a Gestapo officer after all. Now, kindly tell me what the hell you're talking about!" He put his hand on the butt of his own gun, to at least put on an appearance of non-discomfiture.

"Otto, I told you before that we were pushed back by the Core."

Skorzeny's face clouded for a moment. "So? The same happened to nearly all Wermacht forces on the eastern front."

"Otto… They pushed us back through a small 'town' called Treblinka. Perhaps you've heard of it." Weiss ground out through clenched teeth.

Skorzeny paled. "And you have a problem with that? It was for the good of the Reich!"

Weiss snarled, "Of course I have a problem with mass-murder, you fool. What kind of person wouldn't?" Then his face inexplicably cleared. "Oh, that's right, you don't." He raised the gun to Skorzeny's temple, and pulled back the hammer.

"Dammit, Gunther! You shoot me, and you're a dead man!"

"I don't think so, Otto. You see, my men also had a problem with what you people were doing, and I think they might have a problem with you, or any of your breed coming near me."

Skorzeny closed his eyes, and waited for the end.

After a brief moment, Weiss lowered the gun. "There's been enough death. Get out of here." So saying, he raised the gun, fired off a shot.

Skorzeny, to his credit, betrayed no emotion, turned his back to the colonel, and walked off without another word.

Weiss continued watching until Skorzeny disappeared behind the slumped rubble of the Reichstag building. With a disgusted sigh, aimed at the universe in general, Weiss headed back to the gloomy campfires of his waiting men.

*****

Mere seconds after the colonel disappeared out of sight down the alleyway; several bricks bounded down the side of a pile of rubble, revealing a small sensor antennae. A moment later, more smashed bricks began sliding down the pile, and a three-foot cylindrical tube emerged, followed by the rest of an Arm Flea k-bot. Taking its bearings, it began to track the infrared trail of one Otto Skorzeny. The Arm commander would find the whereabouts of the human leader, Hitler, most useful. With this thought in mind, the pilot of the flea carefully followed the human out of Berlin.

Part XIX:

North Atlantic, June 12, 1943:

The Atlantic was extremely calm, low swells stretching for miles, and reflecting the overhead stars in the pristine surface. A soft, chill breeze whispered across the ocean swells, breaking an occasional whitecap. In fact, there was only a single interruption in the entire scene.

The low dark form of U-124 knifed through the gentle seas, leaving a glowing wake behind. On the bridge, the skipper, Johann Mohr, studied the horizon for some sign of… well, anything. He had been a U-boat commander since 1941, and was considered quite experienced, even an ace, but the types of vessels used by the Core and Arm were far beyond anything he had ever seen. When the aliens first began their conquest of the planet, Mohr had been patrolling the English Channel, where he had successfully sunk two Core scout ships. Each ship had taken two torpedoes, and those were just scouts. He shuddered to think what an alien Capital ship could take. Still, although it had been difficult, it wasn't much, but it was more than any other U-boat captain had done so far. Now, on patrol west of the British Isles, he had yet to see another ship of any kind, alien or human. That was a good thing too, because he had been running underwater too long, and the electric batteries had been drained. Now, with diesels pumping black smoke into the sky, the batteries were nearly finished recharging, and they would soon be safe underwater again. He jumped slightly when a shout came up from the hatch. The silence had been that complete.

"Sir! Sonar reports a contact, at extreme range of 35,000 meters!"

Mohr quickly climbed down the ladder into the control room. "How many contacts?"

The sonar operator sat hunched over his small console. "At first just one, but I'm picking up more than 7 contacts now."

Mohr thought. It was obviously a convoy, but whose? The Americans had stopped nearly all overseas exports to England and the Soviet Union when the war moved to their own backyards, so odds were low it belonged to them. Who else could send a full convoy though? One answer kept popping up in his mind, but he didn't like it. "The aliens." he whispered. What would they be sending a convoy to England for?

"Sir! We've got active sonar pings!"

That settled it. "Crash dive! Get us down!"

Immediately, alarms and klaxons broke out all over the ship, and Mohr stepped out of the way as the duty officer and lookouts dove through the hatch, the last one quickly slamming and locking it behind him. Through the decking, Mohr could feel the pounding of feet as all non-essential personnel raced to the bow. Seconds later, they were at periscope depth. As soon as the depth was confirmed by the ceasing of the chugging diesel and the low thrum of the electric engine starting, Mohr made his way over to his charts. He placed the enemy convoy on the map, and plotted a course that would put him directly in front of it. Orders given, the boat swung about to it's new heading and made off at flank speed. They would intersect the convoy in the next hour.

"Sir!" shouted the sonar operator. "We've lost the contacts!"

"What?" Mohr asked, surprised. "How many contacts at last count?"

"Fourteen sir."

Mohr knew fourteen sonar echoes and active sonar pings could not be another sonar ghost, and said so. It could, however, simply be a thermal layer blocking the sonar. "Besides, if we get there, and find nothing, no harm done, but I want to know if there are ships out there. Continue at current course and speed. Maintain radio silence. They may not use radio, but they can sure pick up ours."

*****

Aboard Arm Fibber Sneak, Chief Engineer Symon – 582 sat back against the bulkhead, satisfied with a job well done. It had taken a lot of hard work, but the fibber's sonar jammer was again fully functional. He glanced around at the other engineers, also slumping back in relief now that they'd completed their task. Symon once again looked at the crumpled bulkhead in front of him. Two Core destroyers had ambushed the fleet earlier in the day, and while they now rested at the bottom, thanks to the fleet's own escorting destroyers, a direct depth charge hit had blown the bulkhead in this compartment, and damaged the jamming device. Symon felt much safer with the jammer activated again. It would make it much harder for Core to find their invasion force again. "Hey! How's it looking up there, Luckie?" he shouted up at his assistant on the catwalk above.

"She's looking good sir, I think we're in the clear now." returned "Luckie" Josh – 128 with a twisted grin.

Symon chuckled slightly. Luckie was an extremely likable guy, but the nickname had a serious origin. Back on Shada, Luckie was the pilot of a construction k-bot. On one patrol, a team of Core Pyros and Freakers had ambushed his squad. His surviving squadmates loved to tell about how during the attack, Luckie had climbed a large rock outcropping by reclaiming footholds for himself. At the top, he proceeded to reclaim the weapon arm of every Core k-bot that passed underneath him, allowing the remainder of the squad to destroy the entire Core force without another loss. When a storm had finally noticed him, it fired, missed, and hit the rock. Luckie fell off the rock, landed on the storm, and was able to reclaim its legs and rocket launcher before it regained control. But, Luckie was also a hell of an engineer, and Symon was glad to have him aboard. Taking the ladder rungs two at a time, he clambered to the upper level, and left the engine room. Making his way down the short corridor to the control room, he was glad he had good news for the captain.

The captain looked up as the door opened, and when he saw who it was, a questioning look appeared on his face. "How bad is it?"

Symon sighed, "Well sir, the jammer took quite a beating, and we have flooding in many lower sections. But there is good news to go along with that."

A tight smile blossomed on the captain's face. "And that would be…"

"We have patched the hull, though it's still pretty fragile." he replied. "Also, we have the jammer working again, but only at 73% efficiency. My teams have the flooding under control as well."

The captain frowned. "73%? How will that affect us?"

Symon chuckled. "As long as we don't get hit again, there won't be any problems."

"Excellent work. Send your men my compliments. In the meantime, we still have to ensure a safe landing in the target zone. Those are twenty thousand good men that need us to be shipshape." He smiled wryly. "Or as close as possible."

Symon nodded. "Yes sir, thank you sir." He snapped a quick salute, and turned to leave. The captain was right. The Sneak had to be fully operational to support the invasion, and it was his job to insure that nothing else went wrong.

Part XX:

"Sir!"

Johann Mohr sat up and smacked his head into his desk lamp. Muttering four letter words and rubbing his head, he looked up at the person who had just woken him.

The executive officer tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "Sorry about that sir, but we've entered range of where the convoy should be."

Mohr glanced up at the other man, and rubbed his bleary eyes. "Have we reestablished contact?"

The officer grimaced. "No sir, we've had no more contacts."

"Damn. They must've altered course somewhere." Mohr stood, and tugged on his rumpled uniform. "Well, I'm going to take a look." He stepped out of the tiny cabin, his executive making room in the tight hall. Stopping only long enough to shut the cabin door, he began to make his way up to the conning tower. "How are we fixed for batteries and fuel?"

The other man looked down at the clipboard he was holding. "Well, at last report, batteries are mostly charged, and the diesel tanks are still half-full."

"Excellent, then we do have enough to track this convoy." They had reached the hatch to the control room, and without waiting for a reply, Mohr entered. Taking a quick status report from each department, he stepped into the center of the crowded room. "Up scope."

An officer stepped up, and grabbed the "pickle". "Up scope, aye."

Mohr was grabbing the handles and peering through the eyepiece the moment the central column stopped moving. It was black. It was just after midnight, and thick storm clouds had come up. A perfect setup, if only he had a convoy to sink. Slowly, he scanned the horizon. Nothing. "Damn. That clinches it, they must've changed course somewhere." He looked a moment longer, then sighed, defeated. "Sonar, where would they be, if they had continued in a straight course?"

The sonar operator jumped. "Oh, well… they would have been due west, at bearing… 95º."

Mohr knew the chances of finding the convoy again was low, but it was worth a shot. "Ok, navigation, set course to due west, helm, reduce speed to one-half." U-124 audibly groaned as it slowed and turned. He looked over at his executive. "You have the tower, I'll be in my quarters if…"

The sounding technician interrupted. "Sir! I have engine noise!"

Mohr spun around. "Belay that last! Sound, what direction is it from?"

The sounding technician furrowed his brow in concentration. The control room waited, silent, for him to render his verdict. "It's hard to tell, the engines aren't screws or props, but it's definitely getting louder as we go west."

"Perfect." Mohr whispered. "Up scope!"

"Up scope, aye!"

With a deep hum, the scope slide back out into the murky water, and for the second time the same night, Mohr found himself staring into the inky darkness above the waves. This time, he knew where to look. Gazing westward, he flipped the scope to binocular vision. There! A silhouette stood out against what stars remained visible in the deepening haze. It was a low, boxy ship with a loading crane suspended over the stern. But God! It was huge! Probably twenty thousand tons or more, Mohr decided. "I have a contact, bearing almost due west." Ignoring the delighted murmur that arose in the control room, Mohr continued. "Sonar, do you have anything out there?"

"No sir," replied the flustered technician. "At this range, I don't understand why!"

"Alright, keep trying, it wouldn't be the first time the blasted sonar's gone dead on us. Sound, any contacts?"

"Yes sir! I'm picking up dozens of them, most identical, but a few faster engines." The sounding operator looked up at Mohr, and licked his dry lips. "I think those are the escorts."

Mohr gazed around at the anxious faces of his crew. For a convoy this size, the escorts would be a bit more powerful than the tiny scouts he had sunk previously. "Alright people, we're going to put a dent in that convoy. Torpedo room, how many torpedoes do we have left?"

"Eighteen torpedoes ready to fire, and four stowed on deck, sir." came the tinny reply over the voice-tube.

Mohr nodded. Eighteen would have to be enough. "Sound general quarters. Man your battlestations." he ordered.

Immediately, the sound of pounding feet echoed throughout the hull. Watch officers shouted into voice tubes, and the U-124 prepared for a fight.

"We have come about to requested course and speed, sir." bellowed the beefy helmsman.

Mohr acknowledged the man with a nod. "Up scope."

"Up scope, aye."

As the U-boat sliced through the waves towards its quarry, sonar contact abruptly returned. Not even questioning the luck, Mohr spoke, his eyes remaining glued to the scene above the surface. "Someone start getting ranges, quickly!"

The first officer jumped. "Jawoh! Range to target is 12,000 meters and closing. Target bearing 62º at 8 knots."

"Helm, put us on an intercept course. Increase speed to 12 knots. I want us within 5,000 meters." Mohr leaned back from the sinking steel pole that was the periscope. Things were going better than planned, though he was still unsure of how many torpedoes would be needed to sink one of the gargantuan ships. He looked up again. "How long until we're in range?"

The executive officer glanced at the TDC mounted on the wall beside him. "At this rate? Within the hour."

Mohr sat back for the agonizing wait.

Mohr leaped up from his improvised seat. "What is it?"

The officer gasped. "Sir, I saw aircraft!" Taking a deeper, calmer breath he repeated, "I saw planes sir. Definitely Arm aircraft, according to the insignias on their wings."

"Damn!" Mohr knew that their already risky job had suddenly become even more dangerous. "Let's just hope that none of them spotted us." Mohr was worried about the planes, but he didn't intend to let that stop his carefully planned attack.

A moment later the first officer called out, "Target now at 5,000 meters and closing."

Mohr rubbed his hands together, and walked the few feet to the voice tubes. "Torpedo room. Load electric torpedoes in tubes one and two. If they fail to take out the ship, we have a better chance of getting away undetected if they can't figure out where it came from." He smiled slightly. The electric torpedoes had a much shorter range than the steam ones, but they were quieter and nearly wakeless.

In minutes the message came back, "Tubes one and two reloaded, and ready to fire."

"Up scope."

"Up scope, aye."

The periscope rose to the surface much more slowly this time, and stopped just over the wavetops. Thankfully, it would be a few more hours before dawn, so they still had the cover of night, and perhaps later, the cover of the storm that was surely brewing. Out in the darkness, Mohr could just see the dim form of the ship, and other identical ones behind it. "What are the range and heading?"

This time, the first officer was ready. "Range is 3,800 meters and closing, bearing is still 62º, and the heading is 194º at a steady 8 knots."

"Torpedo room, flood torpedo tubes one and two, and set gyros to a 3º spread angle on either side of the TDC coordinate." Mohr glanced back at the massive ship and gulped slightly. He would have to order a deep dive, and attempt to retreat if this failed. Summoning up his faltering courage, he gave the fateful order. "Fire one!"

The ship, as always, bucked in the water as the torpedo sprang out into the open ocean. Mohr lifted his stopwatch, and waited for thirty seconds. "Fire two!" Again, the ship lurched at the second torpedo's departure.

"Down scope!"

"Down scope, aye."

Now, there was nothing to do but wait, and pray.

Part XXI:

Symon scrubbed his eyes, and glared blearily at the machinery before him. The sonar jammer was breaking down by the minute now, and he and his engineers had been working for four straight hours just to keep the fleet jammed. It looked safe for the moment though. With a tired sigh, Symon tossed his hydrospanner to the deck, and prepared to take a short break; his first since the Core attack earlier. His sleep-deprived mind almost missed the soft splash of the hydrospanner hitting the water. It took him a moment to conciously register what he heard. 'WATER!' his mind shrieked helplessly. "Symon glanced, paniced, around the compartment. The water had been slowly seeping in, and had nearly risen to the level of the engine core. Symon scrambled up the slick ladder, and made his way into the main engine room. Slamming the emergency klaxon to life, he bawled, "Abandon ship! Everybody out!"

Instantly, realizing the danger, and the significance of the steam that had begun to billow up from below, the assembled crewmen broke into a hasty rout for the nearest life rafts. They all knew that once the cold seawater made contact with the white-hot reactor core, the explosion of steam would pop the ship like a balloon.

Symon glanced around, and spotted his target. "Luckie! Get these boys outta here! I'll bring us to the surface."

Luckie scrambled off to provide some semblance of order in the chaos of the evacuation. By then, the alarm had been heard throughout the ship, and the captain had ordered a general abandon ship. However, the Sneak was still underwater, and if any of them were to get off alive, it would have to make it to the surface.

Symon squinted through the thickening clouds of hot vapor at the auxiliary control console, and reached out for the depth controls. Ignoring the heat now radiating from the damp metal, he adjusted the rudders to surface the craft. Breathing hard, he waited for the dull groan that would tell him the ship was approaching the surface. It never came. Symon sucked in his breath, and looked closely at the console. The ship was sinking! He looked around wildly for something he could do, and his eyes came to rest on the manual ballast controls. Summoning his last reserves of strength, he stumbled through the noxious clouds and grabbed the ballast release lever. Grunting, he strained at the lever with all his might, but it might as well have been a piece of the wall for all it moved. Suddenly, a second pair of hands reached through the swirling mist, and grabbed the lever. Looking back, Symon gasped. "Luckie!"

Without another word, both men went to work. With prodigious amounts of swearing and grunting, the lever suddenly squealed painfully, and flew open. Both men stumbled back as the ship quaked, and a loud burbling greeted their ears. Symon cralwed back to the console, and watched relieved, as the depth guage halted it's downward plummet, and started to near the surface. Luckie helped him to his feet, and the two of them made off towards the nearest life boat.

The Sneak punched through the surface into a driving rainstorm, and several hatches opened long enough for three large rafts to emerge. Thirty bedraggled crewmen clung desperately to them, trying to escape a watery grave. The Fibber launched itself into the air, and with a slight half-twist, plunged back into the deep. The waterlogged crew gathered aboard the rafts, and several meaty sailors lashed them together at the captain's direction.

Symon, now fully awake, scanned the immediate area. He was crammed into a small corner of one of the rafts. Instead of the sterilized air of the submarine, he was now inhaling the heady aroma of this planet's overly salty oceans. All around, Symon could just make out the dim forms of Envoy-class, and slightly squatter Bear transport vessels through the curtains of falling rain. The rafts were rocking on the increasing waves, naeuseatingly, it seemed to Symon, who was used to the relative stability of a submerged vessel. He strapped himself to the side of the raft, shrugged down into the side, and prepared to wait for one of the destroyers to pick them up. He was absolutely convinced things couldn't possibly get any worse.

Five minutes later, with a shuddering explosion to the right, things indeed got worse.

*****

The tense silence on the bridge of the U-124 was broken from an unexpected direction. The sounding officer jumped up, and let fly an oath.

Mohr turned to him, a questioning look on his face.

"Sir, I can hear a submarine surfacing out there, right in the middle of that convoy." replied the technician, by way of apology.

Mohr scowled and let fly a string of words that turned the sounding man's ears red, and caused some of the other crew members to snort. "A submarine? Are you certain?"

The other man nodded grimly, but suddenly cocked his head. "Wait a minute sir, it sounds like it's breaking up!" He listened a moment longer. "Yes, it definitely broached the surface, then sank like a rock. I can hear it breaking up now."

Mohr scowled at nothing in particular. He didn't completely trust the sounding. There was no reason why a previously undetected submarine would suddenly surface in the midst of a convoy, then promptly sink. Unless of course it was Core… He would have to be careful.

Mohr was just turning to his executive officer for a report on the progress of the torpedoes, when a thunderous explosion pealed through the water, answering his unasked question. "Up scope!" Mohr was peering into the eyepiece before it even finished rising. The sky was black with pouring rain, but he could make out the distinctive glow of a burning ship on the horizon. "Down scope."

As the scope slid back into its well, the sounding officer leaped up. "Sir! It's sinking! It sounds like it was fully loaded too. I can hear many smaller objects smashing through its hull, and sinking separately. We did it!"

Amid the relieved cheers of the crew, Mohr stepped up to the scope. "Quiet everyone! There's still more of them out there." Mohr glanced over at his X.O. "Get me TDF readings on three more of the closest ships." Mohr allowed himself only a small smile. There was more danger to come.

*****

Hendon glared fiercely at the rain, which was now coming down in sheets. His last tour of duty had been a rather enjoyable stay on Empyrrean, which, unlike most of Arm's remaining occupied planets, had a thick enough atmosphere to actually support weather. However, the climate-controlled Empyrrean had nothing at all like this raging tempest, which had seemed to come out of nowhere, and was now making the Crusader pitch wildly. The bridge of the ship was warm and dry though, which Hendon could appreciate, although his heaving stomach could not.

Hendon had more important problems to deal with, so his discomfort would just have to wait. For instance, with the loss of the Fibber, the invasion fleet was now plainly visible to Core's sophisticated radar systems, and they seemed to be taking the greatest advantage of it. Already, one Envoy was down, sunken moments after the Fibber went down, and another was foundering from a torpedo hit. So far, Skeeters had picked up the entire crew of the Fibber, but there was nothing left of the one Envoy. The other was listing badly, and would soon be at the bottom anyway. Fortunately, most of the soldiers themselves were on board the Bear hover-transports, hopefully safe from the torpedoes.

The Crusader's commander cautiously approached the somber Lieutenant. "Sir, we have a contact on sonar, possibly a Core sub. What are your orders?"

Hendon turned on the poor, bewildered commander, whose only previous naval experience was as cargo in one of those Envoys. With the value of each man at an all time premium, and lack of cloning facilities, Hari had been forced to place officers in positions they had never expected to fill. Hendon couldn't care less.

"Well, obviously," he ground out, "destroy it!"

The commander gulped, but turned to a subordinate. "Order Crusaders Xantippe and Larab to attack the sonar contact. The Skeeters will take up point-defense around the fleet."

"Yes sir."

Hendon watched with interest as the dark silhouettes of the two destroyers changed course, and made straight for the contact. Now the Core would get theirs…

Part XXII:

"…and in conclusion, gentlemen," finished Churchill, "with the Axis powers proven nearly impotent against the onslaught of the Core, and the United States in contention now, this planet has never faced a greater threat. My suggestion is that we take advantage of this relative lull in the fighting to propose a peace initiative to both parties."

Ribbentrop merely snorted disdainfully, while Molotov seemed to consider the suggestion seriously. The Soviet Union had avoided being fought over so far, but how long would that last? However, it was Cordell Hull who broke the silence, and in a position not of Churchill's liking.

"Pardon me, Mister Prime Minister," said Hull as he rose from the small wooden chair he had claimed. "President Roosevelt has made our position quite clear. As long as an enemy army occupies so much as an inch of our soil, we will see no peace." Hull silenced several retorts with a small gesture. "Let me finish; I did not have authorization to reveal this bit of information before now." He took a deep breath. "We believe we are now in possession of a weapon that can possibly even the balance of power with the aliens."

Ribbentrop sputtered angrily. "Impossible! The Core army pushed through the Reich with minimal effort, though our forces did take a great toll on them. No weaponry can match their technology!"

The American Secretary of State seemed nonplussed by the interruption. "No conventional weaponry, true. However, as I speak, a bomb similar to that used on Bonn is already completed, and several more are in production." Hull held up a hand for silence again. "The United States will cooperate fully with the British peace initiative. However, should talks prove unsuccessful, we will make the first strike."

The normally loquacious Churchill actually seemed too stunned for words. A pounding on the chamber doors saved him from a difficult silence. Choosing the better part of valor, Churchill turned to a guard, and nodded once. The obedient soldier opened the door, and instead of showing in the strange visitor, leaned out the doorway, apparently in conversation. Even more unusual, he then beckoned the Prime Minister. Intrigued, and more than a little annoyed with the interruption, Churchill stomped over to the door. The ensuing conversation involved some rather interesting gesturing, and the other men all leaned forward in a futile attempt to overhear part of the conversation. Discussion concluded, the portly Englishman closed the door, and turned back to the expectant faces of the diplomats.

His face had a sickly flush to it, and they all waited for the bad news. "Mr. Hull," Churchill began, "when, exactly, can you deploy your bomb?"

Ribbentrop leaped to his feet, immediately protesting this breach of protocol. Molotov was shocked, but he suppressed his initial reaction. He wanted to know exactly what had brought on the change in Churchill's demeanor.

Hull stood, slightly confused. "As soon as we decide where to place it, Mr. Prime Minister. The bomb is very large, and will have to be placed in front of the enemy advance. Our succeeding bombs will be small enough to load on a bomber, but for now, this is the only one we have."

Churchill nodded solemnly. "Then I suggest you inform Washington to that effect. Now," he continued, raising his voice, "I recommend that all of you return to your staterooms at once, and for God's sake, do so quickly." He then turned on a heel and left, ignoring Ribbentrop's incoherent demands.

Hull didn't stop to listen either, and followed the Prime Minister out. A pair of beefy guards fell in on either side of him as he exited the building, and made for his car. He wasn't going to question the British Prime Minister, and he was sure Churchill had a valid reason for his sudden change of heart. One guard had just opened the door, when an incongruous sound reached Hull. He looked up, and noticed that what sounded like church bells were getting louder and louder. Within seconds, they were all but deafening, as the bells in every last church, mosque, and synagogue in London began to toll. Immediately, one of the guards, who was a native Londoner, gasped, and began to moan, "Oh, God! Oh, God!" repeatedly. The other soldier, an American, looked just as confused as Hull.

Hendon, as usual lately, was frowning. He still stood on the bridge of his Crusader flagship, but this time it was no endless ocean he gazed upon, but the haze-shrouded coast of Scotland. Of course, Hendon didn't know it was called Scotland, nor did he care. His primary concern was the successful unloading of each successive wave of transports along the entire three-mile long stretch of beach. With the unloading complete, Hendon's orders were to move south swiftly, and conquer the city of London. That task complete, he was to inform Hari, and the preparations for an invasion of the European coast could begin.

That was not the cause of Hendon's frown, through. Nor was the slowness of unloading the transports, which he had made allowances for. What was truly bothering Hendon was that despite every possible precaution, there had been a hitch. A pair of Core destroyers had surprised the fleet, and although the Crusaders had sunk them, the attackers had managed to knock out the vital sonar jammer, leaving the way open for more attacks. Two Envoys now lay at the bottom of the Atlantic, complete with their full complements of battle units because of that chance encounter. The worst part of the whole encounter, mused Hendon, was that the unknown submersible that had sunk the transports, had managed to get off a radio transmission before it was forced to the bottom… not even a confirmed kill. The Arm fleet had not been able to intercept the transmission, but Hendon was certain that it boded nothing good for his invasion force.

Hendon was still deep in thought when the meek Crusader commander approached him again. "S-Sir," the man stammered, "The transports have finished unloading, and the ground forces have assumed a defensive position on the beachhead. With your permission sir… the – a Skeeter has arrived to take you to the shore. We will escort the convoy back to safe harbor in Egypt."

Without sparing the man a second glance, Hendon made for the gangplank, where a Skeeter was being made fast by a pair of Peewee pilots, the scout's only crew. "Captain, you have the fleet." Hendon said over his shoulder. Get back to… Egypt, did you say?… and inform the Commander of our current status." Without waiting for, or expecting, a reply, Hendon stepped onto the heaving deck of the Skeeter, which almost immediately began to move toward shore.

Issuing a relieved sigh, which he dearly hoped Hendon hadn't heard, the captain turned back to his green crew, and began making preparations for the return trip.

*****

Watching the fleet slowly disappear into the thick blanket of fog, which hid the horizon, Hendon was still confident in the abilities of these Arm soldiers to squash any pathetic human opposition on this tiny island. Sweeping his eyes along the beach one last time, Hendon approached his Zeus chassis, and grabbing hold of the specially designed handholds, climbed into the cockpit, where the neural-jack automatically extended and plugged into the genetically engineered link at the base of his skull. His senses coming alive with enhanced input, he never even felt the suit's restraining harness latch across his middle, and pull him gently into the well-padded alcove within.

Focusing on the rise from beach to rugged black rock, Hendon picked his way to the top of the slope, and stopping to survey the temporary beachhead defensive position, issued the order to fall in. Immediately, the mob of battle units responded, and began to separate into dozens of squads and companies, regiments, and finally, three distinct brigades took shape, complete with lead elements, skirmishers, and artillery trains. A supply train consisting of nine construction k-bots, four construction vehicles, and assorted escorts emerged behind the second brigade. However, there were supposed to be five vehicles, and ten k-bots. This worried Hendon, especially when he checked the fleet logs, and found that no construction units of any type had been lost in the sea battles.

Growling under his breath, Hendon called up the designations of the two missing units. In ghostly neon-green lettering, the names "Symon-528" and "Josh-128" appeared on his HUD. Hendon furiously opened an army-wide communications channel, hoping to embarrass the offending pair into never pulling a stunt like this again. "CVSymon-528, and CKJosh-128?" Hendon bawled. "R-e-e-port!" he dragged out. Almost instantly, a weaker and obviously apologetic voice came back to him.

"Sir, we're terribly sorry sir. We're on the beach right now, but we'll be joining you momentarily." Symon quickly cut off the link.

Hendon, now fairly purple, bellowed, "Momentarily? You're sorry? You'd better believe you're gonna be sorry!" At this point, Hendon's suit, automatically sensing its occupant was becoming rather stressed, administered a small dose of calming drug. Naturally, it had no effect. Crushing ancient, weather beaten rocks under his heavy tread, Hendon leaped down from the escarpment, and on to the pebble-strewn beach. From his new vantage, he could plainly make out the forms of two construction units, and a brand-new radar tower. Standing beneath its twirling dishes stood two, plainly unsuited, forms. Hendon was on the verge of simply wasting the two troublemakers with his lightning gun, when the irregular shape of the tower impressed itself upon his seething brain. The basic shape was there, but the excess of wires which coiled around the two radar dishes and twined down the length of the tower to join a questionable looking contraption that the two engineers were studying so intently, was definitely not part of the standard design. "What in the name of the Supreme Commander is that?" Hendon demanded, almost forgetting the rage of a moment ago.

One of the engineers, probably the pilot of the CV, Symon, spun around, and nearly bolted for the water's edge when he saw the Zeus. Obviously, he had not heard its approach. From the look of things, the second engineer still hadn't noticed. Opening and closing his mouth a few times, he silently willed himself together. "S-S-Sir… uh… this is… uh…" Suddenly pulling himself together, he said, "Sir, this device is a radio-wave receiver. Luckie over here," he motioned to the still-oblivious engineer beside him, "helped me to develop the idea after the submarine attack on the fleet. I saw that the submarine commander managed to transmit a message before being sunk, and realized that having accurate knowledge of the destination and content of that message could have aided us tremendously."

Hendon didn't bother to correct the engineer on one count. The sub had not been confirmed sunk, just assumed so by the Crusader captains. Impatiently, he beckoned Symon to continue.

"Well, I puzzled about it for a while, devised a way to intercept radio communications, and Luckie provided me the inspiration and technical abilities to actually do it. He programmed the nanolathing program, and we decided that now was the perfect chance to test it. And… well, here it is." He waved broadly at the modified radar tower.

Hendon pretended to inspect it thoroughly, though he had no idea what each seemingly random bit of wiring and controls actually did. "So, have you found out anything of use to us?"

Symon nodded eagerly, and turned back to Luckie. "The Lieutenant wants to hear the broadcast," he said hurriedly. Still, seeming to be oblivious to the imposing presence of the Zeus k-bot behind him, Luckie began fiddling with a few knobs and dials, and followed this procedure with the thoroughly unprofessional act of kicking it once. Almost immediately, a transmission punctuated by constant hissing and crackling emerged from an unseen speaker. Luckie carefully twisted a dial, and the hissing slowly abated, to reveal… a song? Hendon fumed. As if sensing his superior's displeasure, Symon quickly raised his hands in apology. "This isn't it, sir. The message we want replays every few minutes." Almost on cue, the song ended, and a speaker came on.

"And now," floated the disembodied voice, "this special announcement from Prime Minister Churchill."

In calculating and cultured tones, a second voice began to speak. "Citizens of the British Empire, and indeed, the entire world." it began. "Seven hours ago, a message was received from a German submarine in the North Atlantic, warning of a massive Arm fleet that was sighted bearing down on our beloved shores. The submarine, U-124, had attacked the fleet, obviously an invasion force of epic proportions, and sent two of the Herculean ships to the bottom. However, soon after this message was received, U-124 vanished. German High Command reports that no additional communications have yet been received from that vessel, and it can only be assumed that the brave crewmen aboard must surely have perished. But, this broadcast is not intended to warn the people of England that the invasion has begun, for surely they are well aware, and our finest soldiers are already being sent to repulse the enemy. No, this broadcast was reserved for the commander of the invaders." At this point, Hendon felt a rather nasty chill run down his spine. "England will never surrender, and we will fight on, through the moors, and forests, and cities and towns, and no man will cease in this struggle until the invader has been repelled. And should the leader of this invasion choose to carry the fight on despite this promise, I issue another promise: We will begin using a vile weapon upon you, so vile, it has been unanimously banned from being used in our own conflicts. And that, is a promise I will most happily keep. God bless England, and the best of luck and valor to our esteemed army."

Hendon did not like the sound of that transmission. He would have preferred not to crush the populace, but if that was their intentions, well… Looking over at the quailing Symon, Hendon growled, "Enough, reclaim this contraption, and rejoin the army. And make it quick."

This time, both engineers jumped to obey.