PROLOGUE

The air was hot the whole ride through the Nevada Desert for Corporal Mathison and his companions. They had never met each other, and had little knowledge of what was about to happen to them. On their way to Area 51 to participate in a "Field Exercise" of some newly designed weapons system that was supposed to mimic a tank.

Cpl. Mathison looked at the people around him, his partners in this blind venture. A big burly black man that looked like he could crush an elephant with his hands sat in silence, staring out the back, was apparently oblivious to his gaze. Next to him a scrawny, out of place white kid with glasses thick as the desert is long. Sitting beside him was a female of some Asian descent, clearly uninterested in anything, as she was leaning her head back trying to make up for last nights lack of sleep.

As the truck roared down the barren desert road, Mathison started to think back to his briefing less than 6 hours ago. He silently wondered why exactly a tank commander would be called into a base that seemed to be primarily under the control of the Air Force. Even more curious was the gag order that was placed on him. He couldn't phone and friends, or family, not that he had any outside the military, and was immediately quarrantined just for good measure.

Politics. He thought to himself. This would most likely be some new destructive invention that would fail horribly because the design engineers that came up with this crap had spent zero time in a battlezone. This thought caused him to chuckle aloud, as he now realized exactly why he was being called into this little charade. The engineers want a veteran of combat to tell them their new toy will work in the field... and they want to have someone to blame if things don't work out.

The scrawny kid sitting adjacent to the Corporal noticed him chuckling, and was apparently not shy when it came to talking to people he didn't know. "What's so funny, sir?"

Mathison shook himself out of his thoughts. "I'm just thinking about the end of my carrer."

The kid sat there in silence for a second before responding. "I don't follow, sir."

Mathison waved his hand nonchalantly, "None of this 'sir' shit. Just call me Joe. If you really need to know, my career will most likely end in Area 51 after the geeks realized whatever they built isn't going to work in the field, and I get blamed for giving it a passing grade."

The kid started to say something, but was cut short by the deep, imposing sound of the black man's voice. "Well, Joe, you're pretty optimistic I'd say. You also seem to know more about whatever is going on here than I do. I'd appreciate knowing why I was hauled out of my bunk at oh six hundred this morning and put on this rig."

Mathison gave the black man another once over, and then responded as if he hadn't heard the question. "Name and rank, soldier."

The black man stiffened up and gave the response that was more natural to him than pronouncing his full name. "Gunnery Seargant Michael Smith, 5th Batallion Marine Corps, Armored Division."

Mathison nodded slowly. Another tank jock. That's a bit strange. Must want a second opinion. He turned towards the white kid, but stopped and turned back to Smith. "Smith? That's a bit of an odd last name for a black guy."

Smith responded completely deadpan. "My birthname is Jackson. I had it legally changed before I enlisted. I'm sure the Corporal can understand the reasoning behind it."

From the left came a bellowing laughter that caught everyone by surprise. "Yeah, Micheal Jackson. Too bad you look like you're as graceful as a fucking nuke. Your parents must have hated you. Were you a mistake, or were they hoping for something with tits?"

Mathison was caught slightly offguard by it, and Smith simply shrugged it off. "Don't really know what my parents wanted, they died when I was six. Pretty sure yours intended you to be a squid though, the way you shoot your mouth off."

The woman laughed again. "Nah, not Navy matieral, though it would have been nice. It's far easier to get laid on a ship when you're the only thing that's able to bend over and spread your legs." She stopped for a second, appeared to be thinking, then sighedand sank in her seat. "Nevermind. They'd probably enjoy cornholing their bunkmates too much to notice I was around."

Mathison was dying on the inside, this chick was nuts, and amusing at the same time. A good combination, as long as they weren't in the same tank as you. "Name and rank?"

She leaned her head back and lazily responded. "Senior Airman Samantha Ruthers. Test Pilot for the Air Force."

Well, that explains why she's nuts. Again, Mathison nodded, and turned his attention to the scrawny kid, who was literally as white as a sheet at this point. Apparently he hadn't run into many GI Jane's. Mathison gestured towards him, as if to repeat his statement. The kid took a second, but got the point. "Specialist Henry Wallace. Army Corps of Engineering."

Mathison nodded, again, before introducing himself. "Corporal Joseph Mathison, Tank Commander for the First Armored Battalion, Army." He looked back towards Smith before continuing. "The truth of the matter is I don't know much more than you do. I was schedualed for leave for the next three months, but it was cancelled about 12 hours ago, I was given a very short briefing that consisted of little more than 'you're doing this' and 'don't talk to anyone.' " Mathison looked outside and saw the base creeping up in the distance. "I get the feeling we're going to find out shortly just what it is we're all here for though.

The truck pulled up to the gate and the driver could be heard talking to the guards at the entrance. He distinctly heard the words "Project MT204" and past that, not much else. After a few minutes of sitting there, the truck was motioned in. Out the back you could see some of the soldiers on the base rushing to get a look at the new arrivals. Apparently whatever they were here for, everyone on the base knew about it, and was eager to see just who it was the brass brought in for it. The truck drove into a hanger, and a tall, skinny man walked up to the back of the truck. He looked over the four briefly before introducing himself. "Ladies, I am Brigadier General Jack Harris. Welcome to Area 51."

All four saluted him in reflex, and started piling out of the truck. They were in a very lage, very empty hangar. Little more than a flag was on the wall, and all of the doors to the hanger were being shut, most likely from the command center on the base. As the four were looking around, the General decided they'd seen enough. "All four of you, follow me."

He motioned for them to follow, and they all walked directly to the center of the hangar, and stood, waiting. The General looked as if he was waiting for something, so Mathison spoke up. "Sir, we'd all appreciate knowing exactly what's going on here."

The General just smiled, and motioned towards a camera. "Watch your step."

As he said this, the unmistakable sound of hydraulics started, and the floor began to seperate, and then lower. The walls began to move up and the five lowered into the depths of the base. Artificial lighting took over the ambiance. The elevator took what seemed like 10 minutes to lower, and effectively stop. The General spoke quickly. "You four have been selected to participate in a joint military operation that will, ideally, thrust the United States Armed Forces back into total superiority when it comes to ground skirmishes. You have all been selected because you were at the top of your grade in your respective areas. What you are about to see is classified at such a high level that even the president would have a hard time getting clearance down here." Harris paused briefly before continuing. "Is that clear?"

Mathison took the liberty of responding for the group. "Yes sir, crystal."

Haris nodded and spoke into a radio he apparently was concealing in his coat pocket. "Raise the blast doors."

Shortly after he spoke, the walls started rising again, and light escaped from underneath. As the blast doors fully rose up, the group was staring out over a wide underground cavern that was suprisingly well lit and ventilated. What caught everyone's attention were the four very large metal structures on the far side, that looked similar to science fiction robots of war.

As the blast doors came to a halt, Haris spoke again. "Ladies and Gentlemen, what you are looking at are the four prototypes of a new type of tank, called a Massive Tank, or MT for short. All four of them are intended to work as a unit, to unleash total dominance of any battlefield. Please follow me."

Haris began walking towards the machines, with the foursome in very quick tow. "This project has existed since the late eighties. Fourty years from conception to actualization. All four branches of the military have had their hand in the design of the MT's. Each one is specifically designed to preform a specific squadron function, from recon, to long range firepower."

As the group got closer, they began to realize the size of these machines. The smallest one stood at least 40 feet high. Mathison began to give the MT's a once over, noticing one of them was covered in what looked to be solar panels, and a wide array of antenna's, while another was more aerodynamic, and yet another looked like it could get hit by an entire payload of bombs and walk out without a scratch.

Haris continued, as the group stopped in front of the machines. "Specialist Wallace. You place at the top of your class in radar dynamics, field engineering, electronic signal analyzation, rangefinding, and electronic countermeasures, as well as being one hell of a field mechanic." Haris pointed to the machine loaded down with antennae. "You will be test piloting the MT Cloak. Your role in the upcoming exercises will be total battlefield analysis and responsiveness. Your information will be what your command officer bases his decisions on."

Haris pointed towards the sleek and aerodynamic MT. "Airman Ruthers. You are the Air Forces finest test pilot. Able to withstand GForce that is impossible for any other human being to withstand. Your lightning reflexes and ability to pilot will put you in the cockpit of the MT Zephyr. With a top speed of 175 kilometers per hour, unique radar canceling skin, and a never before seen fusion lift generation system that will allow you to `jump` and sustain lift for over 10 seconds before being forced to land, you will be the forward eyes of your unit.

The general smiled before moving onto the third MT, which looked incredibly vicious when compared to the other three units. "Now we come to my personal favorite. Gunnery Seargant Smith has logged more time in a tank than the entire second armored battalion pilots combined. He can shoot a fly off of the head of a kid with ADHD at a range of 2 miles with a 100mm depleted uranium shell. You will be piloting the MT Desolation. This unit is designed for total erradication of the enemy. You will have several weapons available at your disposal including a 275mm howitzer, Hellfire rocket clusters, and a newly designed railgun." Haris turned back towards the group and smiled wickedly. "I am very, very jealous of you, Smith."

Smith just stood there taking it in, and didn't really appear to hear what the General had said. Haris, not wasting any time, looked towards the fourth and final unit. "Corporal Mathison. You have successfully led armored units in the neutralization of the Neo-Soviet incursion into China, and more recently, the third germanic incursion into remaining European settlements. The fact you survived is impressive. The fact that you never lost a single soldier is why you're here. Your abilities in a tank are miniscule compared to your ability to command a battle to victory. You will be piloting the combat balanced MT Dominion. The unit is designed to be a balance between speed and power. You will be the Commanding Officer in this squad. You also report to one person, and one person alone. Me."

Mathison reflexively saluted. "Sir."

Haris turned back to his subordinates. "Get familiar with your MT's and your squadmates. You`re going to be working with them closely for the next six months. Assuming you all do well, you'll be together for a lot longer than that."

The general turned and walked off, leaving the group that would eventually be referred to by the rest of the world as "The Horsemen" to get familiar with the machines that would come to change the world, in a way that many never could have forseen.