When Cerberus began the Lazarus Project, the Illusive Man had a thought, if he could bring to life one of the most inspiring Humans of the age to life, why not seek the greatest inspirations from throughout time to galvanise the Human race in the coming war with the Reapers? With this thought, Project Who (named after a character in an old Earth Television series) was created. Hopes for its success were limited with most Cerberus funds heading to Lazarus, however, three months before Lazarus' termination a Break Through occurred.
Cerberus Base, location: Top Secret
"Sir," the junior Scientist beamed as he hurried through the door, "We have initiated the start-up sequence, the window will open in London and we have the year right, but there is still the uncertainty as to what surface the window will be on, we should consider sending some mechs through to be certain."
The Project leader shook his balding head, "No can do," he growled, "This project is well over budget and TIM is going to pull the plug if we don't get results, he doesn't seem to realise we have formed a window through fucking time!"
He sighed, running a skeletal, liver-spotted hand through what little remained of his hair, "Come on then," he groaned as he stood, "Lets greet the man."
So, saying he slipped on his lab coat and headed for the project control room.
The Siege of London 1940
Lieutenant Mycroft Ryder shuddered as another shell landed nearby, his unit (or what was left of it) was holding Horse Guards in preparation for another German Push into Central London.
He shook his head, The German invasion had come only a few short months ago, The Germans, eager to act on their successes in France had scraped together an invasion fleet and had launched an invasion across the Channel while the Luftwaffe roared overhead keeping the RAF and the Royal Navy occupied whilst storm troopers surged up the beaches at Dover.
British Forces, still recovering after Dunkirk were in no position to mount a concentrated defence and with a chronic lack of Tanks and anti-tank weapons were forced to fall back from their Stop Lines, ambushing the enemy where they could, whilst units were hastily re-equipped and home guard units mounted last stands in every village. The Germans however, had suffered heavy casualties and according to the radio (When it was broadcasting) were stretched to the max, The British people were sacrificing themselves in droves to keep the Nazis from their island and even the most brutal of the SS were shocked at the savage defence most of the civilians put up. But now the Germans had been halted in the streets of London, The King and Churchill remained in the Capital though much of the government itself had been evacuated.
Mycroft groaned as the familiar moan of Heinkel bombers droned overhead, heading for the evacuation routes and supply dumps.
A young Private came dashing into the room, "Sir!" he called, Mycroft beckoned him over and waited, the Private paused a moment, looking confused before realising Mycroft was waiting for him to speak, "Sir, there's been a message sir!" Mycroft tried not to roll his eyes at the obvious.
"Go on" he sighed, expecting more reports of villages decimated or relief columns bombed to buggery.
"Sir, message reads, "German paratrooper attack on Whitehall in progress, after Prime Minister, send reinforcements immediately!""
"Shit! Private, follow me!"
As he ran outside behind the buildings he was forced to take in the sight his men, most of them wounded, along with dozens of civilians, taking comparative shelter from the German shelling. Ambulances stood useless, the roads to full of rumble for wheeled vehicles.
Pounding along towards the entrance pulling down his cap and cradling his captured MP40 he yelled to a nearby bobby if he knew a fast way to Whitehall, the bobby, his face, and uniform smeared with grime and blood, gave a grin hefting his police issue revolver, "Certainly Sir!" he yelled and ran to catch up.
Just inside the entrance stood one of the few surviving vehicles from Mycroft's unit, a battered but still functioning Bren Gun Carrier, it was supposed to carry Six passengers and have a crew of two but Mycroft had found in France that it could carry Ten if you knew how to stack them right. Unfortunately, with such few men left and such short notice he could only take the Crew, A Veteran sergeant and corporal, along with the Private and Constable following him. Driving out through the gate, a Royal Military Policeman was also hefted up by the collar into the back of the carrier as it sped towards Whitehall, the Constable shouting directions to the Corporal driving while the sergeant manned the Bren Gun in the front.
By the time, they reached the entrance to the cabinet war rooms the German Paratroopers were already storming the sandbag emplacement outside the doors. During the trip the Carrier had gained extra passengers in a downed RAF pilot who had proved quite handy with a rifle and a Female Anti-Aircraft Gunner whose position had been destroyed along with a couple of stragglers from the Coldstream Guards.
Just as the Carrier rounded the corner to see the Germans final charge, the Figure of Winston Churchill was seen at the Barricades firing his pistol with glee into the oncoming Falshirmjagers, however, within seconds a bullet found its mark and the figure crumpled.
The groan that rose from the British defenders silenced the field for about half a second, but to Mycroft it felt like an hour, with the sight of that fallen figure burned in his memory, his hopes for a miraculous victory evaporated leaving him with a fatalistic desire to take as many of the bastards with him as he could.
Before he could order his motley unit to fire though, something peculiar happened, the dust filled air around the carrier seemed to suddenly still and then began to flow downward, the ground seemed to open and the carrier with all its assorted passengers, fell straight down.
The Cerberus project chamber was suddenly filled with dust and rubble flowing through the window, The Project leader strained his eyes as he waved two armoured soldiers forward to find the figure of one of humanities most inspiring leaders.
Instead, a burst of gun fire lashed out of the swirling dust, bullets pinging of the armour of the soldiers but a couple of bullets got lucky and a soldier went down gurgling and clutching his throat.
Silence reigned as the echo of the gun fire died away. The Project leader stared as the dust cleared revealing not Winston Churchill, but a battered and crowded APC, its passengers looking confused and more than a little pissed off.
"Oh Bollocks!"
Yes, I know it is most irregular, I am sorry, the chapters will get longer too I promise.
For now, though, I'm curious to see how many of you would like to see this story progress, its currently in the yay or nay stage and your input would be most welcome indeed.