I hopped into the cockpit of the VHT-1 Spartas hovertank and pressed buttons and flipped switches to start up the engines. I made one last check of the instruments, and then I drove the hovertank out of the garage.

I looked around. The colonel had ordered the 18th ATAC Troop to take a forward position. I could feel myself sweat under my arming doublet; the air was warm. I was hoping that this was a drill.

"All troops, get ready," I heard the colonel say. "Enemy penetration has been detected."

I made a last minute check of my instruments. I knew that we would be in combat within minutes. I reflected briefly on how I came to be here.

Not long ago I was on a UNAF transport plane, heading to my first operational assignment. It was a crowded plane, and there was a lot of cargo stored in the back. The whole flight was about six hours. I had heard that there were suborbitals that could cross the Atlantic in less than two hours; those were reserved for generals and admirals.

"Attention, all passengers," said the pilot. "We are beginning our descent into Gibraltar Air Field. Please fasten your seat belts."

And so I did. Here I was, about to start my career for real. After my enlistment, I went to Oregon for Basic, and then Pennsylvania for Officer Candidate School. After that, I went to a three-month training course at the Hovertank School near Reno, Nevada. I can remember my transition from learning to follow orders to learning how to give orders and learning the ins and outs of the new VHT-1 Spartas hovertanks, which had been adopted for general use by the United Earth Forces just last year. After graduation, I took a one-week leave in my home in Jamaica. My orders were to report to Fort Gibraltar. I returned to Reno, making travel arrangements to fly from there to Gibraltar Air Field, the nearest Military Air Command terminal to Fort Gibraltar.

I soon felt the plane land, hearing the rumbling of the landing gears as they rolled along the surface of the runway. In a few minutes we had come to a complete stop.

I stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac of the air base. I had my duffel bag and my orders with me. I could see the hangar and the control towers. I also saw a suborbital jet; a general was probably visiting.

"Welcome to Gibraltar Air Field, sir," said an Air Force corporal, saluting me. "Please follow me to the terminal."

And so I did. The Military Airlift Command terminal was like a scaled-down version of a commercial airport terminal, with a waiting room with chairs and tables. Desks on the sides provided services for travelers. Air Force recruitment posters decorated the room. I waited for a few more minutes.

I then heard someone call my name.

I looked and saw this little lady wearing camouflage, which was much more casual than the Class "A" uniform I was wearing.

"Good afternoon, sir," said the little lady. "Corporal Mary Sue Hines, from Fort Gibraltar. I'm here to drive you to the base, sir."

We all entered this Humvee that was waiting outside the motor pool. Another man walked in. He was dressed in Class "A's", and his sleeve emblems showed that he was a buck private.

"It looks like everyone's in," said the corporal.

"Take us to the base, then."

"Yes, sir."

As Corporal Hines drove the Humvee out of the airfield, I read the brochure about Fort Gibraltar. It was located on the coast of Morocco, near Tangier, and was a sister base to Gibraltar Air Field on the other side. It had the usual amenities of a permanent UEF base- a commissary, Post Exchange, officers' and enlisted clubs, bowling alleys.

"We are going under the strait now," said Hines.

She drove the Humvee into this tunnel with three lanes in one direction. The Gibraltar Tunnel was over eight miles long. It is sometimes hard to believe that it was built with technology gleaned from an alien spaceship. After a few minutes, we were out of the tunnel and in the Kingdom of Morocco. I could see the city of Tangier from the highway, with its seaside resorts.

"Here we are," she said, exiting from the highway. We approached this gatehouse, with the sign "U.N. Army Base Fort Gibraltar" printed in bold letters. An MP checked our papers and then the corporal drove us into the base. The base looked much the same as other Army posts, with square buildings and signs. I saw a platoon of soldiers marching along the street, with an executive sergeant leading a chant.

"Here is the base housing office," said Corporal Hines.

I entered the base housing office. It has this waiting room with the usual decoration of chairs, tables, and recruitment posters. I walked up to the window where a corporal dressed in camouflage was sitting.

"How may I help you, sir?" asked the lady.

"I'm transferring in," I said, handing her a copy of my transfer orders.

The corporal typed into the keyboard of her computer terminal. "I have your assignment, sir. I'll be printing it out."

She handed me the sheet of paper. I read my new housing assignment. It was BOQ (Bachelor Officer Quarters) 33.

"The base has a shuttle service, sir," she said. "We've a map."

I took one of the maps, and looked at the route that the shuttle would take. The shuttle- a little bus- stopped near the base housing office and I stepped inside.

"Welcome, sir," said the bus driver.

The bus went around, and I looked around to become more familiar with the base since I would be staying here long term. Along the way, I stood up to salute a major who stepped inside the bus. Finally, the shuttle bus stopped next to the bachelor officer quarters, and I stepped off along with two hours.

"New here?" asked this young man.

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Second Lieutenant Michael Meyers," he said.

I introduced myself.

"No rank inside the BOQ," said Lieutenant Meyers.

The BOQ was this three-story brick building, with small trees growing a few feet away. We entered through one of the doors and into this sitting area with tables and chairs and a TV.

"This is our common living room, so to speak," said Lieutenant Meyers. "Quarters are down the hall. It's basically a bedroom with an attached bathroom. Much cheaper and more convenient than renting an apartment in Tangier."

"Better than what I had in Basic or OCS or Hovertank School," I said.

"Much better than when we go out to the field for field exercises," said Meyers. "We junior officers get to sleep in a Quonset hut, if we're lucky. Here, we also have a game room with a foosball set. No girls here; they are in a separate building. We take meals in the officers' mess, or we can go to one of the fast food places we have here."

"What about going out to town for a meal?" I asked.

"If you got some money saved up, fine. We're not on deployment, so we can leave the base whenever we're not on duty. Savor your relative freedom here, friend- you could be sent to the other side of the world or even out of the solar system on some extended deployment."

And so I went to my quarters- Room 33. As Lieutenant Meyers had said, it was basically a bedroom with an attached bathroom. I put down my duffel bag.

I sat on the bed. It wasn't much, but it was comfortable. I would need the sleep for I am scheduled to report for duty at 0900.

Ooooooo

I woke up at 0600 on my first day. After getting dressed in my Class "A's"- a coat, pants, dress shoes, and hat- I walked over to the officers' mess. Breakfast was served cafeteria style, and I had myself some scrambled eggs, bacon, and orange juice. After my breakfast, I caught a shuttle bus, riding over to the headquarters of the 6th ATAC battalion.

The headquarters was this three story brick building. I went inside, and the front lobby was a typical lobby, with a reception desk, tables, and chairs.

"I am here to see the colonel," I said. "I have transfer orders."

The corporal looked at my transfer orders. "The colonel is on the third floor, sir," he said.

I took an elevator to the third floor, and walked along the hallway. I entered this office. It was a smaller version of the main lobby, with a couch, a table, and a desk. A sergeant sat behind the desk.

"The colonel's not here right now, sir," she said, standing at attention. "I'll notify him that you're here."

"Thank you, Sergeant," I replied. I waited inside the office for an hour.

Then some people in camouflage uniform entered the room. I checked the rank insignia, and saw the silver oak leaves of the lieutenant colonel.

The lieutenant colonel stood out, for he had pale lavender skin. He was a Zentraedi. Twenty years ago, his people came to Earth looking for a crashed alien spaceship. One thing led to another, and the Robotech War started. The Zentraedi were defeated, and we made peace with most of them. Some of the Zentraedi veterans now serve in the UEF, like the colonel here.

I saluted and reported for duty.

"In my office, Lieutenant," said Lieutenant Colonel Lupon Kravshera.

We all entered the colonel's private office. It was more spacious that the front office. A wooden desk was the centerpiece. A window covered with blinds was in the back. To the right was a small bookcase, and to the left was a steel file cabinet.

"I've read your file," said Colonel Kravshera. "Excellent evaluations from OCS and Hovertank School. I will assign you to the 18th ATAC troop under First Lieutenant Jack Emerson here."

I looked and saw this man in his early twenties with close-cropped brown hair. "You will be under my command, Lieutenant," said Emerson.

"Yes, sir."

"My second in command, Second Lieutenant Michael Meyers."

"We've met, sir," I've said. "He showed me around the BOQ."

A dark-haired woman spoke up. "Executive Sergeant Rebekah Avital, senior enlistee with the 18th troop," she said. "I advise Lieutenants Emerson and Meyers and I supervise the other enlistees."

A dark haired man spoke up. "Major Yoon Shon," he said. "I'm the battalion XO. I take care of all the details."

"And I want to introduce Master Sergeant Tomas Cabon," said the colonel. "He's my senior enlisted advisor."

"Sir," the master sergeant said to me. "My advice is available to you- if no senior officer needs it."

"I guess I am last in line for your advice, Master Sergeant."

"Executive Sergeant Avital is a capable sergeant; she will assist you greatly."

"Lieutenant Emerson, I am sure you and your people can break our new arrival in," said Colonel Kravshera. "And the uniform for the day is camouflage. Get properly dressed ASAP."

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Dismissed."

We left the battalion headquarters. Lieutenant Emerson led me to this building just down the street. The ground floor had a garage. It was dimly lit, and several people were working.

"This is where we keep our hovertanks," he said. I looked around, and saw over twenty Spartases. "The troop office is upstairs." We walked up this flight of stairs and went through the door.

The office was this big room, with several desks and partitions near the wall. In the back was a coffee maker. A huge file cabinet was to the left of the office.

"We have three entrances," said Executive Sergeant Avital. "Aside from the one we just went through, another entrance leads directly outdoors, and there is also a freight elevator."

"This will be your desk, Lieutenant," said Emerson, putting his hand on a steel desk. "Come with me." He led me to the corner of the office, which was separated from the rest of the office by a partition. "This is my private office."

"Pretty big," I said. The place was only as big as a small closet.

"It's big enough," said the first lieutenant, sitting behind the steel desk. "It gives me enough privacy."

"What is my assignment, sir?" I asked.

"Your primary assignment is to drill in the Spartas hovertanks, to maintain your personal combat readiness," said Emerson. "Your secondary assignment is logistics. Logistics is one of the most important things in an Army unit, whether it is the 18th ATAC troop, the Southern Cross Field Army, or the entire United Earth Forces. You will get dressed in the uniform of the day, and then I want you to look over the logistics records. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," I said.

Oooooo

The rest of the day was like a routine day at the office, as I looked over the records of everything that the 18th troop had, from the Hovertanks to ammuntion to spare parts to fuel and supplies. I met the supply sergeant, Staff Sergeant Takashi Suzaku. I was also fitted with my arming doublet, which I would wear when driving the Spartas. I had my dinner break. There were two lunch shifts, and I had my dinner break apart from Lieutenant Emerson's dinner break. In the military, what we usually call lunch is dinner and what we call dinner is supper.

Lieutenant Emerson dismissed the troop at 1700, which was typical. Soldiers usually work eight hours a day, unless otherwise ordered. I decided to have supper at the officers' mess. I got my meal from the enlisted food servers, which was ground beef in this sauce, steamed broccoli and asparagus, with water to wash it down.

I sat with the officers of my troop. I told them that I was from Jamaica, and I decided to become an officer because I did not want a career as a food server catering to tourists.

"I was a military brat," said Jack Emerson. "My dad was one of the original officer candidates for the Army, and I moved around with him. He also took in two others whose parents were deployed on the Pioneer Mission; they are like a brother and sister to me. My dad is now a lieutenant general and he is the chief of staff at the Southern Cross Field Army headquarters in Monument City."

"And what about you, Lieutenant Meyers?" I asked.

"It's Mike in the mess," he said. "I'm an alien."

"You do not have gills or anything."

"My family resides on Glorie Colony. We were one of the original settlers."

"What is it like there?"

"Colder than Earth," replied Mike. "The ice caps are a lot bigger on the planet. We have two moons there, and we share the world with these four-armed lizard people."

"You met them?" I asked.

"I've met a few of them; they all have a high pitched squeaky voice, like when you inhale helium."

"You know," Emerson said to me, "we should go out to town sometime for supper. There's this place in Tangier that has this Italian-Greek-Lebanese fusion cuisine. I definitely enjoyed it, even if the food is a little expensive."

"Emerson," I heard someone say. I looked and saw this dark-haired man dressed in camouflage.

"Shirogane," said Emerson.

"Ready to get another ass kicking when the colonel assigns another war game?"

"First Lieutenant Isamu Shirogane," said Mike. "He's commander of the 17th ATAC."

"We'll be dishing it out," said Emerson.

"And who's this?" asked Shirogane.

I introduced myself.

"Emerson had better hope you can pull a few tricks up your sleeve," said Shirogane.

"Hey guys!" yelled this lady. "Look at the TV."

I looked at a wall-mounted Pioneer plasma television and watched. The caption read Monument City. The scene being shown featured smoke and fire.

"There is no word yet on the attack which happened just an hour ago," said a news reporter. "The Army had successfully repelled the attack against this yet-to-be-identified enemy."

I rushed back to the BOQ's living room. The television there was already tuned in to an English-language station. Reporters were on the scene, reporting on the attack on Monument City. All of us were glued to the set.

After about half an hour, the scene shifted to a press room. It was identified as the United Nations headquarters. This bald man in a green uniform approached the podium. A caption identified him as United Earth Forces Supreme Commander Anatole Leonard.

"Good afternoon," said Supreme Commander Leonard. "As you know, Monument City had been attacked by an as-of-yet unidentified enemy. We tracked the origin of the attack to a fleet of ships in Earth orbit. The design is different from that of the Zentraedi Nation. The design of the ships is consistent with an attack on a space station near Saturn about three months ago."

"Do you believe this is a new alien race, sir?" asked one of the reporters.

"The evidence would suggest that. Excuse me; I have a meeting to attend. General Emerson will take further questions."

A dark-haired man stepped to the podium to relieve Leonard. A caption identified him as Lieutenant General Rolf Emerson.

"What do you plan to do?" asked another reporter.

"We watch, we observe," answered General Emerson. "And we learn about our enemy. We should remember that during the Robotech War, the crew of the SDF-1 Macross learned about the Zentraedi, and we defeated them and later befriended most of them."

"Could the enemy be a rogue faction of the Zentraedi?" asked a reporter.

"We can only speculate at this point," replied the general. "We need intel. We are committed to gathering as much intel as we can."

"We're going to be very busy," said Meyers.

Indeed, we were. Colonel Kravshera had the whole battalion put on full tactical alert. I myself had to personally supervise the maintenance checks on the hovertanks in my troop.

And then came the message to move out. And here I was, anticipating first combat.

"Maybe this is a false alarm," I said. "We'll just hang out here. We'll be going home."

"We have incoming," said Jack Emerson. "Lock and load."

I tensely waited. The waiting was ended by a series of explosions, and we all took cover. Smoke was everywhere.

It was then that the enemy closed in. Looking through binoculars, I got a glimpse of them. They looked like suits of armor riding on sleds.

I pressed a button, transforming the Spartas into battloid mode, a configuration resembling a giant suit of armor. We started firing towards the enemy. A few of them were knocked out of their flying sleds.

Even so, enough of them landed on the beach. I had a closer look of them. They looked like giant suits of armor; I did not know if they were robots or piloted mecha. Almost all of them were blue; one of them was red. Maybe that red one was the leader.

There were more and more explosions even as I fired at the enemy. Everything felt somehow detached, as the rhythm of opening fire, moving, and opening fire continued. Smoke and fire were everywhere.

Even as part of me was engaged in furious combat with the enemy, I could understand the importance of this battle. The Straits of Gibraltar had been a major strategic area for the past few millennia, connecting the Mediterranean with the Atlantic. It was no wonder that alien invaders would try to take the straits.

The last time Earth was invaded, the invaders only wanted a restored alien vessel. This time, we did not know the invader's motivations yet.

"We're pinned down!" I heard Jack's voice yell.

I looked around, and I noticed that we were surrounded by the enemy armor suits.

There was a flash, and I felt knocked around.

And then darkness consumed me.