"What cha' got Loo-tenant?" Burton's sudden appearance always surprised him, though he seldom reacted outwardly. This time, when he jumped, his CO grinned broadly. Keeping the troops on their toes was part of his job. Even when they were out in the field, like here in the desert mountains of the Great Ridge, the commandos of 1st Pathfinder-3033rd didn't know when Captain Burton would make a surprise appearance.

"The GLA have done a real job this time, captain," the pale-faced tribesman replied. Leading the way to the northern edge of the bluff, he pointed to the desert floor and continued, "The only way we found it was when the wind got under a corner to the north-west. Before they could tie the netting back down, lookouts spotted the cab of a mobile launcher." He pointed to their left. "All the welding and fabrication must be done. There's nothing bigger than human bodies warmer than the ambient. Nothing we could see. Even the engines are cold. No heat bloom under the net at all. I see that as good news. Quiet time is my guess."

Captain Burton lowered his high-powered monocular and switched off the IR detector to save battery power. The presence of far off heat blooms told him that GLA defense force vehicles were arrayed in an arc to the east and west of this well concealed missile installation. "Quiet time… gives us a chance to get organized. Any idea what they're using for power here?" he asked. Quiet time could stretch out between two to ten or more hours. During that time, the missiles would sit idle. At the end of quiet time, the cradles would be elevated skyward and the missiles would launch one after the other until all nine were airborne. If the missiles were not destroyed, maybe they could be disabled.

"Not sure… yet, sir," his lieutenant replied, "maybe power lines buried in the sand or a few generators here and there… it doesn't take much to raise the missiles and light up the boosters. Right now there's nothing running here. We've got some time. I don't think the sand fleas even know we're here yet…"

A ranger in desert mufti stepped up and cleared his throat. "Message… sirs-Priority one," he said, looking back and forth between the two officers. He then passed his PDA to Burton. "Addressed to you, captain. It's in code."

"What now?" the CO grumbled. He carefully read the text, his face growing more thoughtful. When he'd tapped out a reply on the tiny keypad, he passed the data-link back. "Well men, did you feel any change? It seems that the weight of the world has just settled firmly on our shoulders." He now had both the messenger and his lieutenant's attention. "Particle Uplink Cannon #2 just went down… indefinitely. # 1 will help, but it won't be enough. It's now up to us."


The soldiers from 1st Battalion were no-nonsense. After parking their Command Humvee outside, they wasted no time unloading their package-A long flat case with hinges along one side and latches on the other. Three cans of 50 caliber small arms ammo went with the delivery. These, they carefully set aside under a bench in the small armory repair shop squeezed into an unused corner of the 3033rd's War Factory.

They left as quickly as they'd arrived after getting a signature from the armorer on duty here. Feeling the press of time, he unlatched the case and went to work checking out the rifle.

"It's in pretty good shape for a salvage," the armorer commented to the Crew Chief who'd come to collect the package. "It's a real Frankenstein… none of the serial numbers match. It's got parts from three different rifles. But it works as advertised. I couldn't make it break. Too bad I couldn't light off a round or two…"

"So, what's new?" the Crew Chief, a grizzled aviation sergeant, interrupted. "You think we rate the front line stuff? We're damned lucky to get this spare."

The armorer nodded sagely, he knew the score. "So, sarge, who're you taking it to? Any idea?"

"Avery and McMahon have whiskers enough. They'll probably get it. They're in theater," he said, picking up one end of the case, while the armorer picked up the other. " 'Maggy' and Dixon should've. Even though he's green as grass, she's got a helluva lot better score than Avery. She outshot him with both 30 and 50 caliber. Trouble is, she's out rodeoing with the Green Bean crowd, got tangled up with the sand fleas to the west."

"Oh well, them's the breaks," the armorer commiserated, picking up the ammo cans and stacking them in the Humvee next to the rifle case.

The two lost no time locking up the shop and ran their cargo across the compound to the waiting helicopter.


"Don't it bother ya that Maggy outshot ya twice in qualifying now?" Jimmy's question was a lame attempt to get a reaction, any reaction. His partner had been oddly silent since summoned by a messenger about an hour ago. The last time Del'd acted like this was a month ago when his girl wrote him a letter breaking off their relationship. It took a week before he'd gotten a word from the corporal.

Del looked at his watch, a Rolex Oyster that was his pride and joy, and stood abruptly. "Pack everything, Jimmy. We're movin' out in fifteen minutes," he said in a distracted voice. With that he turned and rummaged in his rucksack like he was looking for something important.

Jimmy stood slowly and started collecting his gear. "Are you gonna tell me what's goin' on, or do I have ta guess?" Being left out was a new experience to him.

His friend's reply was so unlike him, it was cryptic, "Remember the saying, be careful what ya wish fer?" he asked. Without waiting for a reply, he said, "I'll brief ya in trans't. I can tell ya now that we're to meet a chopper at the south tunnel exit as soon as we can git there. Ya ready? …Let's go."


They were in a cleared area that had once been a stinger missile emplacement. A square of sand colored canvas staked between two huge boulders kept them out of the sun and away from prying airborne eyes. Jimmy couldn't believe their good luck. As far as he was concerned, they were the king-of-the-hill. Del just saw it as more work. They'd set up their 50 caliber sniper rifle on a high perch overlooking a GLA Scud missile installation north-west of the 1st Battalion. The netting that covered and concealed the installation was still in place-They had some time before the launch.

Two fellow Pathfinders, one to the west and one to the east of Del and Jimmy's long rifle, were there to provide flank security as well as cover fire for Captain Burton and two of his helpers, who would be placing demolition charges on the missiles themselves.


Tony snapped awake. Cat-napping wasn't forbidden, it just wasn't a good idea. Coming down from an adrenalin rush always made him sleepy. A look at his watch confirmed he'd been dozing for about forty minutes-Enough to refresh him, but not enough to slow his reactions. He wished he had a com-radio, but batteries were in short supply. Only his team leader, Corp. Magliore, carried one. She'd be in touch with their platoon, two Crusader tanks and two Humvees some twenty kilometers to their south. They were engaged in the ambush of a GLA Motor-Platoon sent to test the 3033rd's defenses.

The enemy infantry group, numbering twenty five Rebels, RPG Troopers, and Suicide bombers all told, were still here where the tanks had been just two hours ago. They were dug in in an arc facing the open desert to the south where the tanks had run to. To Tony's relief, they hadn't shown any interest in the ledge he was on or the Buzzard's Nest above him.

He was dozing off again, when the sound of an RPG booster lighting up woke him. The round arced up and out over the desert. The rock wall on his right prevented him from seeing if it hit or not. The concussion of the grenade was the only sound that followed, it was probably a miss.

The 40mm HE grenade seated firmly and he released the blooper's safety. The Rebels were quiet for a moment, giving him pause about triggering his weapon. Rachel was still on the ledge above him, he was sure of that, but her rifle hadn't spoken yet… He waited.


Lt. Jackson opened his hatch, letting in a breath of relatively cool air. A Humvee, painted desert tan pulled up beside and its driver looked up with relief. "It's over, Loo. Have you seen the Bean?" During the battle they'd lost touch with each other in the smoke and dust.

The Bean had made a run towards the Buzzard's Nest to pick up the Pathfinders when an RPG had driven them off. They made an end-run to the west to throw off the GLA. There was no need to tell the enemy where they were.

"They ran to the south-west, so the fleas'll be looking for us in the wrong direction." The CO had dismounted and leaned against BRAVO's roof. He raised an eyebrow and whistled, "You gettin' a little close, corporal?" He took a minute to look at the scarred side panels that were covered with scorch marks and bullet pocks. "What's that going to do to your insurance premiums, son?" he asked, shaking his head.

BRAVO's driver and its crew grinned. They looked so young to the Lieutenant. "Right, sir… we're the last ones standin'," he said to cheers from inside. "Besides…" his face was now serious, much too serious, "Our life insurance is PAID UP!" He bumped fists with his TOW-Gunner amid more cheers.

"Well done troops. Carry on. …and stay out from underfoot," he admonished, knowing the rivalry between tankers and their RECON units. They cheered and jeered in return as Jackson mounted up and plugged in to the Crusader's com-link. Switching to his radio, he said, "First Crusader CHARLIE to Sprout, OVER."

When he heard two clicks on the net, he replied, "We haven't forgotten you. Hang in there. CHARLIE, OUT."

Two final clicks told him all he needed to know. Corp. Magliore had heard him.


So far, the night watch had been uneventful. Except for the sound of wild life here in the western desert, nothing moved. Jimmy was off-watch, curled up on a bed roll in the lee of two boulders leaning together like long-lost friends, catching up on his much-needed sleep.

Del's look at his Rolex told him it wasn't much later than when he'd last looked-00:30 Eastern Desert time. With a sigh, he buried the wrapper from a granola bar and took a swig from his canteen. He couldn't shake a nagging feeling that the sand fleas were about to start their day. A slow scan of the GLA's missile installation and the area around it was the same; Nothing moved. No heat blooms on his night scope. There wasn't even a security patrol circling. Where were they?

His partner was dead to the world. The boy could sleep anywhere, anytime. It was a gift that the corporal wished he had. Jimmy should've relieved him thirty minutes ago, but Del let him sleep on-He'd need it.

A faint heat-shimmer in his night-scope drew his attention. A minute tweak of the focus knob brought the image up clearly. In spite of the other-world colors, a cloud was growing on the far-northern side of the installation-A heat bloom. Could it be one of the mobile launchers starting up, or was it a generator? He wasn't sure. Keying his radio head-set, he quietly called in a SIT-REP.

After getting an acknowledgement, Del went over his rifle and the emplacement one more time. It was all set. "Good mornin' James," he shook his spotter's shoulder. "It's showtime, son. Shake a leg."


He stood up and unplugged his headset. "It's all yours, Mac." The off-duty controller didn't want to linger. He had barely four hours rest before manning a missile console at the Strategy Center. "You got the picture? It's all clear for now. The SCUDs are still in quiet time." He slapped his friend on the back. "You're in the hot seat now-Stay sharp."

The replacement plugged in and sat in the swivel chair. He made a swift adjustment and settled in. "You know it," he shot back. "Where is First Crusader?" he asked after taking a quick look at the tactical plot screen.

"They're about thirty klicks west of here. Their Pathfinders are isolated at the Buzzard's Nest," he said with some concern.

"Can we recall them? What about the big push?"

"They're okay," he shrugged. "The snipers are under cover. The fleas don't even know they're there." he paused to think. "It's all in the log there. I'm relieved?"

Mac tried to smile. "You're relieved, now get out." This time the smile worked.


Second Crusader, as the roving security platoon, had a mess to clean up. A group of GLA Rebels had been caught trying to set charges to disable PUC #1. It seemed like they'd appeared out of nowhere. ALFA and BRAVO's 40 mm shot-shells did their work in short order, leaving six corpses for the Americans to clean up. Just as they were finishing up, an alert tone on their command-net radio called them to action stations-The GLA's big push was on.

ALFA's driver looked up after he'd started his engine. "Hey sarge, don't those damned fleas carry more than the three satchel charges we found on 'em?" He looked out his window into the darkness. "What if we interrupted them before they finished?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm with you," the non-com replied. "Let's swing by puke two on the way in." He reached up to key his head-set radio, but before he could say a word, three bright flashes followed by three flat-sounding cracks from the north confirmed their suspicions.

When they rounded the corner formed by two power stations, they could see that the lights were out in PUC #2 and the control cabin was a shambles. The satchel charges had done a good job.


Some-one was there beside him. Tony snapped awake when a voice he knew intoned, "It's just me, Dixon. Be cool!" It was Rachel. "I just sneaked up to the 'Nest," she whispered. "The big push is on. IR shows a big… a really big column coming through the pass and my damned radio is out. Sit tight and wait. When I fire, give the bastards all you've got… got it?"

He tried to swallow. "Got it," was all his tight throat could manage.

She swatted him on the back. "Okay," she smiled. "See ya on the other side."


"At ease… be seated." The general entered and made his way to the command chair, a station centered in the room with a view screen and communications port close at hand. His XO, Col. Parker, stood close-by, looking thoughtfully at the tactical display, ready to update his boss on the latest moves of the GLA in their AO.

"Morning Rob," he said, setting his coffee cup on a side table. "What's up?" He raised an eyebrow and scanned the busy room. Around the walls were radar consoles and camera-drone monitors set to watch key areas the 3033rd was responsible for. Each was manned by a trained army specialist. Their evaluations and input were presented at the bottom of the general's view screen.

"Good morning, sir," he returned. "I called you when word got to us from Burton's group. The SCUDs are powering up. They started about thirty minutes ago. Synching Burton's assault with the Particle Cannon is done, but there's… a hitch, sir." He pointed to the top of the display at the western pass.

The general pushed a button and zoomed the pass in closer. "Damn," he whistled. "That's some column. Can you give me some numbers, Rob?"

Parker looked up from his PDA. "Yes sir, total count is twenty-two mechanized units. Of interest is two Mobile SCUD Launchers, four Marauder Type-IIs, those have twin 95 mm rifles, and six Quad-Cannons on half-tracks. The rest are an equal mix of Scorpions and Technicals. The Scorpions have HEAT and surface-to-surface missiles, and the Technicals are armed with 30 caliber AP if our intel is up-to-date."

"And our defenses? Is Alert One still out?" He looked up from the Status Report at the bottom of his screen.

His XO looked away. "First Crusader's Pathfinders are hemmed-in by GLA infantry at the Buzzard's Nest. They'll have to stay put for the time being. Last we heard from their CO was they were going south to meet up with the Humvees in an ambush. They've been out of radio-contact since then. Tactical shows them just south of the western pass. The big push may be jamming their com-links."

"So, we're short one platoon, colonel?" he asked.

He had a ready answer; "I talked to Capt. Hewes, he's at the Strategy Center now, and he's confident that the three remaining platoons of armor and our missile sites can hold a first wave…" He looked around the room, collecting his thoughts. "Sir, we may need to consider diverting fire from the SCUD installation to the column. Do you think Burton's group can neutralize the SCUDs?"

"That, Col. Parker, is the sixty-five dollar question." The general shook his head and sat back in his chair.