May 4, 1982:
Andrei rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to stay awake. He had not slept in close to forty-eight hours and only prodigious amounts of coffee and military discipline kept him from succumbing to dreams. He wasn't the only one, far from it.
Ever since it had been confirmed that aliens were on a direct course to Earth, the Soviet Union had been preparing with every resource available. Not that it was an easy feat, with the structure looking more fragile by the day, but none of them knew what their enemy's capabilities were. Nor was there any consideration that this was a peaceful missions. If this was peaceful exploration, they wouldn't be sending hundreds of ships. Andrei scoffed to himself.
One thing they did have, though, was bodies. Lots and lots of bodies. They were conscripting as many able-bodied men as they could in preparation for what was about to come. They gave them whatever training they had but they did not have the luxury of time, meaning that many of the men they were calling up were likely going to die. Close to 700,000 men had been called up for service within the past month, a pace not seen since the Great Patriotic War.
Sad, but necessary. They fought the early stages of the Great Patriotic War under the same circumstances. If you could carry a gun, you were a soldier, regardless of how unqualified you might be considered in peacetime. He himself became a partisan when his town was overrun and every other member of his family slaughtered. "Prayed we'd never go through that again," Andrei sighed to himself before remembering that he was calling out to a God that he technically wasn't supposed to believe in.
In fact, they were using it to prepare their overall strategy to make sure that the Soviet Union survived. Not that most soldiers actually knew they were facing an alien threat. Most assumed that they were mobilizing to fight NATO; Andrei was one of the very few people of his rank to know the truth. In preparation for nuclear war, the military was spread out throughout the country in order to minimize how many of them a thermonuclear bomb would be able to kill at once. Of course, the aliens might have even deadlier weapons.
War plans were also complicated in the fact that nobody knew just where the aliens were going to land, what part of the country would be considered ideal for them. Andrei expected that they would land in great force in numerous locations, likely positioned so that they could link up with one another and conquer the Soviet Union one section at a time. Which means they will likely be able to destroy our divisions piecemeal. Andrei realized. Nichevo. It was a risk they would have to take. If they placed too many soldiers at any individual part of the nation, it would hinder their redeployment if the aliens landed elsewhere.
The latest reports from both the Americans and their own astronomers indicated that the fleet was currently passing Mars, meaning that they were running out of time. However, they were all but in a wartime economy. Against the Americans and their current buildup, it was on course to bankrupting the Soviet Union. Against their unwanted visitors, it was a major advantage.
He decided to see if he could get some sleep. Andrei knew he would do his country little service if he was too exhausted to think coherently. His body shut down the instant his head hit the pillow.
It seemed as if he had barely slept at all when his adjutant, Mikhail Bendlin, woke him, informing him that there was a meeting he was ordered to attend to. Because he was expecting it, Andrei let his screams die in the back of his throat. A stiff glare was more than sufficient. "I apologize, general, but my orders..."
"Never mind; tell them I will be there promptly." Andrei ordered, and Bendlin ran off to obey. His body was weak, but sheer willpower had been enough to advance in the Red Army to where he was today.
In order to hasten his trip, he swallowed his pride and took his wheelchair. Their current predicament was far more important than any pride he might have had. Even so, it took him longer than he would have liked.
He found himself to be among the first Soviets there. In spite of everything the Soviet Union had done, in spite of how urgently they had to prepare for extraterrestrial invasion, some of them simply could not take the idea of precise time seriously. He let out a small sigh and observed that the generals, admirals, and diplomats that had arrived were feeling similar irritation. Most of the European officials had arrived as well.
Gradually, the others showed up, not even being aware that there was a problem. Getting down to business may have been a capitalist phrase, but it felt appropriate.
"So let us be frank, gentlemen: how do we defeat the alien menace?" British General Andrew Maddox asked, getting right to the point. "We're running out of time."
"I believe we're going to have to tell the public the truth eventually." Tristan White pointed out, a representative from Canada. "Our efforts at recruiting soldiers for defense has gone... less than stellar." Andrei had heard the reports of riots and protests all throughout NATO against conscription.
"No doubt they believe the Cold War's about to go hot." Henry Lloyd nodded. He was a relatively new general in the U.S. and as such, the Soviet Union's information about him was limited. "Not an entirely unreasonable assumption, but if we tell them the truth, we'll have less trouble with recruitment."
Even the Soviets were having trouble with it. They had suppressed all riots and all major cities were under Martial Law, but even so, protests continued. Andrei's first response was to advise suppressing it, believing that news of an imminent invasion would cause a panic, doing almost as much damage as the aliens themselves.
"I believe that may be necessary." A diplomat from France nodded. "They've gotten close enough to where even amateur astronomers are beginning to detect them. We're going to need every advantage possible to defeat them."
"In that case, why are you abandoning us?" Arturo Vercetti of Italy demanded of the Americans. "We are in an alliance, just in case you've forgotten." Andrei had read those reports and looked at the general with barely concealed scorn. They had 400,000 troops in Europe and were in the process of withdrawing some of them, although they couldn't remove them all even if we wanted to.
"We need more in order to defend our own homeland, being that our recruitment efforts have not gone as smoothly as we hoped." Benjanim Cox, the American's most senior diplomat pointed out. "Moreover, we are still keeping troops in your country, and providing your forces with technical assistance."
"How many of them can we expect to be fighting?" Maddox asked them. "All this talk about strategy is grand, but if we don't know how many there are, it's not going to mean much."
"At their current position, we've detected close to 1,000 ships from our observatories and the telescope we launched into High Earth Orbit two weeks ago." Lloyd informed. "Their ships are approximately 6/10ths of a kilometer in diameter and based on their dimensions... probably between 15 and 35 million extraterrestrials."
Gasps and looks of horror filled the room. Between 15 and 35 million? Even at full wartime mobilization, it would take a couple of years to recruit that many soldiers. And they only had slightly more than a month to prepare before they arrived. Doubt about their ability to successfully resist began to surface.
Only the Soviets stayed calm. "This is not the news we wanted, but are you really going to give up so easily?" Andrei asked them. "Are you going to let your country, your people, the human race be subjugated simply because you are afraid? No shots have been fired as of yet, and half of you look like you're ready to surrender! The Soviet Union is ready to fight, despite the odds against us. What does that say about the rest of you?!" With their attitude, they would have lost the Great Patriotic War.
"I believe... he is correct." White admitted. "The situation is not optimal, to put it mildly, but we have faced overwhelming odds before and triumphed. We can do so again."
"We will not give up and we will not surrender." Lloyd declared. "Our president has made this clear in the strictest possible terms." Gradually, the others came around, though there was still uncertainty.
"So... how are we going to coordinate our defenses?" Vercetti asked. Soviet satellites were confirming that Italian troops were moving into the mountains, likely a wise strategy on their part.
Nevertheless, we will fight on. Andrei thought. All of us know the consequences of failing to do so.
XXXXXXXXXX
May 12, 1982:
Just leaving their home was becoming an increasingly dangerous thing to do. Melanie was no stranger to the peril of wandering around a rough neighborhood, but things were worse than ever now.
It seemed as if many people believed with nuclear war imminent, they decided to do whatever they wanted. Cleveland was in a city-wide riot; there was no place to hide. Even the wealthy communities were being hit with violence, even though it was less severe.
"Seems to be getting worse every day now." Thomas sighed. Gunshots echoed throughout the neighborhood, proving his point. Their stockpile of food was running low and they knew that sooner or later, they would have to venture out again. He always insisted on coming with her; even Melanie did not argue against that now. "When people get scared, they get stupid." Police sirens were heard in the distance.
"You can't really blame them from being scared." Melanie sighed. It'd been over a month and the crisis was just as great as ever. Their parents were calling every day, worried that they had been among the victims in the city. She didn't know the exact death toll, but knew that it was now in the triple digits. "Maybe... maybe the world really will end." She hated voicing her fears, as a part believed that by doing so, she was making it more likely to happen. It didn't make sense, but a lot didn't make sense anymore.
"The world itself, no, but a lot of people will end up dead." Thomas informed with an irritatingly precise voice. "I've been reading some weird things on the news, though."
"Like what?" Melanie inquired.
"Apparently the Soviets are completely out of Afghanistan." Thomas stated. "They were committed to that war, despite all of the obstacles, and now they've withdrawn in less than a month. That's just plain weird, to put it mildly. And withdrawing all their support from Iraq at the same time as us? Not only that, but two divisions were withdrawn from Europe. You'd think if war was imminent, we'd be sending more troops over there, but they're all being recalled."
"So does that mean... there's a resolution?" Melanie asked, pondering the new information. He spent most of his spare time watching the news and reading the paper ever since it began.
"I'm not sure; could be some tit-for-tat exchange." Thomas stated. "All of this is just speculation, though. Reagan's not even talking to reporters, making this even more strange. Just have to hope for the best, I suppose." At the moment, though, there were more immediate danger, like being robbed, mugged, or killed.
Every criminal in the city's taking advantage of this. Melanie thought. They weren't the only ones, either. Even ordinary, law-abiding citizens were out there, settling scores or just causing chaos. New York, Chicago, New Orleans, and Baltimore were among the cities where the National Guard had come to restore order. In Cleveland, however, the mayor was stubbornly insisting that the police force alone could keep the streets safe, something that looked highly unlikely given the massive riot.
They heard a knock on the door. Thomas immediately grabbed his baseball bat, while Melanie held her switchblade in her hand. She initially thought about just pretending nobody was home, but with the lights on, it was unlikely to fool anyone. "Are you there, Melanie?" she heard a voice asked.
"Yeah, hold on." She responded, breathing a sigh of relief. It was Mark Toreno, one of her friends from High School. She opened the door, still prepared to fight if it came to that. He wouldn't be the only decent person to turn into a monster.
"Hey, Melanie, good to see you." Mark hugged her briefly. He was 6'3, towering over both of them. Upon closer examination, she saw a cut on his eyes and his ragged appearance. "Glad to see someone can survive out there."
"What the hell happened to you?" Melanie wondered, hearing her brother put down the baseball bat.
"Some assholes burned my apartment down; only sheer luck that I wasn't inside it at the time." Mark explained. "I was... I was hoping I could stay with you guys for a while."
"Suppose there's strength in numbers," Thomas shrugged. "You hear about all the cities calling in the National Guard?" Close to half a million men around the country had been drafted... not including the ones who had simply dodged the draft, which was likely a large number.
"Yeah, doesn't look like such a bad idea at the moment." Mark admitted. "Things are just nuts out there."
"Yes, we've figured that out." Thomas replied dryly. "Why do you think we're staying inside?"
"All right, come in." Melanie gestured. "You can stay with us for a while." She decided to overlook her brother's annoyance at that. "How is everyone?"
"My girlfriend's with her parents now that we don't have a home anymore." Mark sighed. Melanie didn't bother to ask about his. She knew he came from a dysfunctional family, even if he always declined to give any details about it. "One thing's for sure: I'm not going to be able to make it to my interview tomorrow."
"Yeah, that's disappointing." Thomas stated, trying and failing to hide his contempt. He'd always disliked her friends, ever since they were kids. Not that he didn't sometimes have a reason to; Melanie still shuddered at some of the people she hung out with back when she was a party girl. Both Mark and herself managed to pull themselves out of that lifestyle, but Thomas still judged him on it nonetheless.
Either Mark didn't notice it or decided to pretend he didn't. "Still, good to see you guys are doing all right. How's your job going?"
"It's all right, at least on the days I'm working." Melanie responded. "I like the people there, but honestly, like some of these customers are just stupid. I mean... I'm pointing to the menu and they still don't know how much anything costs."
"Yeah, I do that a lot." Mark chuckled. "Anyway, thanks for letting me stay here for a while; I appreciate it."
"Yeah, don't mention it." Thomas waved his hand in dismissal. "There's food in the kitchen if you want anything." He grabbed the remote and turned on the television.
"Do you have to be so rude to everyone I bring over?" Melanie hissed when Mark was out of earshot.
"What are you talking about?" Thomas inquired.
"I'm tired of you treating my sh... my friends like shit." Melanie snarled. "You could at least pretend to get along with him; he's a cool guy."
"He also broke into my room and stole my wallet last time he visited." Thomas reminded her.
"Look, I know what he used to be, but he's changed." Melanie informed him, trying hard not to lose her temper. "I mean, like, he used to be an alcoholic, but he quit freaking two years ago! Can you at least give him a chance?"
"And I still think you're too trusting, but fine." Thomas sighed. "You're going to do it regardless of what I say, anyway." He sighed and turned on the television. Hopefully, there was something decent on to watch, although that was always dubious at best.
But where the trio were expecting to see a sitcom, they saw Ronald Reagan in the White House instead, looking unusually somber. "My fellow Americans, I regret to inform you..." All three of them looked at each other with horror. This could only mean one thing: World War III. Melanie had the urge to look outside to see if any ICBMs were about to land on Cleveland, not that it would do any of them any good.
When they at last began to pay attention, they heard him say: "On March 6, unusual objects were detected in the solar system. After weeks of careful examination and debate, we determined them to be extraterrestrial in origin. Experts believe that these are interstellar spacecraft headed for Earth with the intention of colonizing us."
"Has that old man lost his mind?" Mark demanded.
"Either that or aliens really are headed for us; not sure which is more frightening." Thomas stated.
"All attempts we have made to communicate with them had been met with silence. Ever since, we have been coordinating with both NATO and the Soviet Union about how best to defend this country. Whatever our differences, we are all human and have allied together to face this nemesis from the stars.
"Our estimates indicate that they will arrive in three to four weeks. I ask all Americans to resist the invaders in every way possible and not to give in to despair. We will hold firm, we will resist, and we will stand united! America has never been forced to submit to a foreign power, nor will we ever."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Melanie snarked. "Would be nice if they told us earlier so we had more time to prepare."
"Since when do they tell us anything?" Mark remarked, but decided to listen to the rest of the speech.
"As commander-in-chief, I have decided to declare a state of emergency throughout the nation. All measures necessary will be taken in order to withstand the coming invasion and preserve the greatest country this world has ever known.
"I will not mince words. Our nation is in great danger, the likes of which we have not known since our war of independence. But I have faith in the American people, I have faith in our cause, and I have faith in humanity. No matter how long this great struggle may take, we will fight on, to our inevitable triumph. Thank you and may God bless the United States of America."
"Aliens are coming for us?" Melanie asked in astonishment. All of a sudden, the Soviets didn't seem like such dangerous foes. They knew their enemy and how to counter him, but who knew what their unwanted visitors were capable of?
"Least now I know what all those mysterious objects in space are." Thomas stated. When the other two looked at him, he explained: "I read a few articles about it; I just figured they were asteroids, not alien ships. Never would have expected any kind of First Contact situation."
"You think there's any way they could be coming in peace?" Mark wondered, clutching at straws.
"Doubt it, if they came all this way." Melanie mentioned.
"A fleet that size can't be here for any other reason than conquest." Thomas reasoned.
"That's assuming he hasn't simply gone senile." Mark reminded. "Aliens from outer space? Sounds like a bad science fiction story."
"I read a couple articles in the paper about objects detected from our observatories in our solar system." Thomas reminded. "It was buried on page 65, but I read that they were going far too fast to be a comet or meteor, and we had not yet identified what they were made of. Sounds crazy, I know, but they might just be aliens."
"So what do we do now?" Mark wondered.
"Pray," Melanie replied simply.
XXXXXXXXXX
May 14, 1982:
"Do you understand me?" A voice repeated. From the sounds of me, whoever it was happened to be repeating himself.
"Yes, I understand you, superior sir." Wuppah declared. Even though the Race had been perfecting Cold Sleep for tens of thousands of years, there existed a possibility, however remote, that something could go wrong with the procedure. "Is the conquest about to begin?"
"Actually, you have been woken up earlier than you were supposed to." the physician informed. "The Fleetlord had ordered that all combat pilots be woken up early in order to prepare."
"So... where are we exactly?" Wuppah hissed, undoing the straps on his belt. It took a couple minutes, but he managed to do so. The instant he did, he immediately floated up, hovering just a few inches below the ceiling.
"We will be passing Tosev 5 within a few days." The physician replied. "Once you have recovered from Cold Sleep, the commander wishes to speak with you."
"It shall be done." Wuppah agreed. His fingerclaws gripped the ceiling as he headed to the commander's briefing room. He kept both eye turrets out for any approaching males in order to avoid a collision. Seeing none, he grabbed the nearest metal bar he could find and propelled himself to his destination. Wuppah moved methodically, carefully, always on the lookout.
When he finally arrived, he saw that only a few of his fellow pilots had been awoken. Wuppah strapped himself down in one of the chairs and waited for the others to arrive. Obviously, this was important enough that this was news that everyone needed to hear.
He was looking forward to an easy conquest. Just before he had gone under, he and all other males who had volunteered during the Soldier's Time had been informed of the level of technology they were face. Swords, arrows, spears, and animals. Wuppah doubted the conquest would take even a tenth of the year, claiming a fourth world for the Race.
Could that be different, though? Wuppah wondered. He had expected one last brief just before they went into action, but not while they were still hundreds of millions of kilometers away from Tosev 3. Maybe they've advanced faster than our probe indicated. For a male of the Race, he had an unusual amount of imagination. Still, it seemed impossible that they could have advanced significantly over the past 1700 years.
Other pilots wandered in, looking just as confused as he did. Some were excited, believing that they had arrived and were about to depart. Not that there was likely to be much need for aircraft; with such primitive foes, the ground forces would be more than sufficient. Still, he couldn't help but wonder.
He waited as patiently as he could for the others to be brought out of cold sleep. However, he wasn't as patient as he would have liked and after a while, found himself drumming his fingerclaws against the arm of the seat. Based on the concerned look that their Supreme Group Leader had, Wuppah was beginning to think that his suspicion was correct.
After what wasn't far from a daytenth, the last of the pilots on the 42nd Emperor Jonsed arrived and the Supreme Group leader began to speak. "Males of the Race, you have been woken prematurely because the situation is not what we had expected." Due to discipline and the ingrained training to obey a superior, there were no muttering looks. Even so, there were a lot of curious glances.
I think I might be right, Wuppah thought. He wondered if any of his fellow pilots had come to the same conclusion. Apparently not. Most of them simply looked mystified.
"Recent scans of Tosev 3 have indicated that the natives are considerably more advanced than we believed." their commander informed, using an empathetic cough to state how much they had advanced. "Indeed, we have even discovered that they possess killercraft, albeit more primitive. We have yet to discover all the details, but even the ones we do know have informed us that this conquest will be more difficult than anticipated."
A hologram of Tosev 3 was put on the screen. The planet looked simply... strange to Wuppah. He had seen it before, but it still looked odd. Home had only eight percent of its surface covered by water and Rabotev 2 and Halless 1 had a similar composition. Tosev 3 was... different, to put it mildly.
Next were holograms of some of the killercraft that the Race observed. There were few exact details, but based on its shape and armament (An F-16, a fact unknown to Wuppah) wasn't much less advanced than the killercraft possessed. Its only serious disadvantage was that it ran on hydrocarbons, giving it a much shorter range.
"This is the most advanced killercraft that we have yet detected and what all of you can expect to face when the invasion begins." The commander informed them. "As of now, we do not know how many of them the Tosevites possess, but we are being forced to change our strategy considerably. We have less than two-tenths of a year to do so, however."
Almost everyone froze when they heard that. Even Wuppah did not expect the Tosevite's technological advancement to be so great! When they went into action, they would be facing killercraft that could come close to watching them in combat. You wanted action; you got it. Before Wuppah had left home, he complained that he wouldn't really be able to participate in the invasion before ground forces had completed the conquest. Be careful what you ask to hatch from an egg.
"With this being truth, how are we going to defeat the Tosevites?" Wuppah inquired. He did not fancy being shot down by the enemy; he was being forced to realize that he and all his other fellow males were not nearly as invincible as they previously believed themselves to be.
"The fleetlord and his subordinates are currently planning a rebalance of our strategic forces." The commander informed. "It is fortunate that we have a numerical advantage, even if our killercraft are still superior. Beyond that, I am not yet authorized to say anything."
The briefing continued, with certain sections of the northern hemisphere lightning up, indicating where the most advanced civilizations of Tosev 3 lived. How many different empires did they have? Wuppah knew Home had been the same way before The Unification, but he still had a difficult time imagining the concept of multiple governments. Why were some more advanced than others? Why were most of the advanced ones apparently in the Northern Hemisphere? All the questions were unanswerable. Nevertheless, the Emperor has ordered it. He cast down his eye-turrets at the mere thought of his sovereign.
"Means we'll be able to play a role after all." The male next to him hissed. It was Ventro, who was assigned to hovering killercraft. Wuppah felt the same way, but he knew that the Tosevites could just as easily kill him. "Still, it's too chilly an egg for my tastes. You wouldn't think a planet so far from its star would even be habitable."
Wuppah agreed; some parts of it would be pleasant, but too much of it wasn't. His mind was mostly on the briefing, though. The commander had moved on from military forces of their opponent to the information they had gleaned from their probe 1,690 years ago. Its distance from its sun, the natural resources, and its age. Not that it had much relevance to what they were about to get themselves into, but the information was good to have.
"So what do you think about all of this?" Wuppah heard a killercraft pilot ask a comrade.
"It sounds like they're jerking our tailstumps." He responded. "It just isn't possible; I'm telling you!"
I have a bad feeling about this. Wuppah said to himself.
May 23, 1982:
For the first time, Atvar was beginning to think it would be wise to turn back. The news just got more discouraging the more they learned of Tosev 3.
They detect radio signals coming from the planet, aimed directly at their fleet. It meant that the Race had completely lost the element of surprise, and the Tosevites knew they were coming. They had even sent messages to them, which as of yet, their researchers had not been able to translate.
"The Tosevites capable of going from swords to space travel in the blink of an eye; who would possibly have imagined this?" Kirel stated.
"Truth," Atvar agreed. Should they turn back? Should they simply abandon the conquest of Tosev 3? It would mean that he would gain the notoriety of being the first fleetlord to abandon a conquest. He wanted to be remembered, but not for infamy. On the other side, it was his duty to care for more than his individual glory. He needed to take into account all the males of the Race under his command. "To make matters even worse, our scans have indicated recent nuclear tests all over the surface. We have never before faced a foe with explosive-metal bombs of their own to use against us."
"We have 3,000 tactical and strategic bombs." Kirel reminded. "I... have trouble believing the Tosevites could build so many of their own."
"That was what I thought at first... until we intercepted this." Atvar informed his subordinate. It was video of a very large missile, larger than any the Race had ever built. Within two minutes, the missile had entered the orbit of Tosev 3. "This... this changes everything. If they can hit us even from orbit, our conquest is in grave danger of failing."
"Even so, the computer projections do show us defeating them." Kirel pointed out, though that was before they knew even starships were at risk. "While their technology is comparable to our own in military terms, ours is the greater quantity, both of equipment and soldiers."
"Yes, I have seen the computer projections." Atvar reminded. "Even before we learned of these... orbital missiles, we stood to lose between three and five million males conquering Tosev 3, many orders of magnitude higher than we anticipated when we left home."
"It is quite horrifying and much more difficult than we imagined when we left Home." Kirel mentioned in a dramatic understatement. He looked his superior over carefully. "Do you... intend to cancel the invasion?"
Atvar wished that his subordinate did not vocalize his private doubts. Yes, he had been thinking about it, thinking about it ever since they discovered Tosevite probes in their solar system. Why they had advanced in the blink of an eye, he did not know. Could they successfully overcome them?
"I am considering it, yes." Atvar was forced to admit. He wished more than anything that they could simply go back into Cold Sleep and wait for orders from Home. After forty-eight years, however, who could tell what the Tosevites would have invented by then.
"It will be difficult, yes, but I do not believe that all hope is lost." Kirel decided to speak his opinion once he was sure Atvar would not get angry at him for doing so. "Based on the specifications, these missiles can be hunted down and destroyed; their size makes them difficult to conceal. If we wipe out whatever fortifications these are stored at, we will be in a much better position."
"I hope we can find them," Atvar worried. The missiles would be relatively easy to shoot down, at least in orbit where the Race still had an advantage. Providing, of course, that the Tosevites did not have a great number of them. Starship defenses were effective, at least while their orbital antimissile stockpiles lasted.
"The final decision is up to you, of course, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel gave the posture of respect. "If you give the order, we will refuel at Tosev 5 and return home."
Atvar stayed deep in thought, weighing his options. No other fleetlord had ever had such a dangerous responsibility, and the future of the Race could depend on what happened next. "We will proceed," Atvar finally decided. "Left alone, the Tosevites could pose a threat to us; we must subdue them before that happens. The Emperor has ordered us to bring this world under his dominion."
"It shall be done, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel bowed.
"Plans will have to be changed, of course." Atvar stated. The original ones were completely unsuited to the changed situation. "We will have to be more aggressive. Scans of the surface will be limited to two days."
"Exalted Fleetlord, that will not be nearly enough time to detect everything." Kirel worried.
"I know, but if we wait too long, it will give them more time to prepare, which would be even riskier for us." Atvar replied. Ideally, they would be able to eliminate all explosive-metal weapons the Tosevites possessed, but even he knew how unlikely that was. "We will use the remaining time to discuss the details; have the intelligence officers intercept and translate as many messages as they can." And pray to the spirits of Emperors Past that it does some good, Atvar thought.