Thanks to those of you who have left reviews.

Also, go back and re-read all of Adler's lines with a Bronx accent. No, really. It adds an accidental new dimension to him, and in fact, to any of the characters, to give them an accent.

---Berlin, Germany, July 30th, 1940---

The original plan, an entirely German seaborne invasion of the British Isles from the south, had been modified at the request of Prince Maximilian, despite Hitler (quite vocally) demanding that only Wehrmacht units participate. Still, with the threat of withdrawing from the Axis powers, Imperial Army and Navy forces would take part in the invasion.

Hitler looked upon the general sent to aid German conquest of Britain. One of them held Hitler's interest, but he was still upset about the invasion not being all-German.

"I hope you realize, for the duration of Sea Lion, you will take your orders from German High Command. You will have no contact with the Imperial military aside from the units you bring with you, who will be equipped with German-made weapons."

"Humpf," an Imperial general said. "So be it. I will crush them even with inferior German equipment."

"France and Gallia would beg to differ, Brigadier," Hitler said, turning his back to the Imperial general who said the comment, "Imperial made weapons couldn't stand up to their British counterparts, remember? It was the German tanks and the German guns that won there."

A strange blue glow filled the room.

"Contain yourself, Brigadier." Hitler turned back to face the Imperial general, who seemed to be engulfed in a blue flame. "I do not insult you, nor your abilities; in fact, I am actually honored to have those abilities under my command. Whether or not my Field Marshals agree is a completely different story." Hitler contained his actual opinion on the joint force within his head; mentally adding, I don't really, I just need a buffer against the Soviets, should they attack, and the I.A. fits the bill quite nicely.

The Austrian madman studied the general. Despite looking quite young, her hair was white, as though it had been bleached. A pair of red eyes acted as the centerpiece of her face. Hitler swore that if such a woman was a bit older, he might have dated her in school at some point.

"I know you probably think quite lowly for understating the part you played, General Eles, but, unfortunately, it was, indeed, the German Military's efforts that won in Gallia. We ran many scenarios through our able generals of your forces versus those of Damon, British support not withstanding. Utter defeat. We added an air force fighter wing, two armored divisions, and three mechanized infantry divisions from the Wehrmacht, and Damon was crushed. An entire German force, consisting of about half of the Army's, Air force's, and less than a quarter of the Navy's strength, stomped Damon flat," Hitler stomped the ground, "like an ant."

Selvaria's look changed from one of total resentment to one of despair. If what Hitler said was true, and just an imperial force was sent to Gallia, then they would have failed?

No. Impossible; Damon wouldn't have been able to fend off a Valkyria. Selvaria didn't dwell on it; she had more pressing matter to attend to, namely Hitler passing her the orders for 'Sea Lion.'

"Here are your orders, Eles. You'll be in Army Group 'East', under von Bock. A good few groups of former Gallian..."

"You put them in the army?" Selvaria spoke suddenly, interrupting Hitler's orders.

"Yes; Just like with the Austrian Military," Hitler continued, skipping the Gallian units, "As I was saying, You'll command your own Imperial troops alongside the German troops of Group 'East'. Your overall objective is the capture of London. You have until September 3rd to make your preparations. You had better be prepared by then, General Eles."

---Northern France, July 31st, 1940---

Sargent Adler stood in civilian clothing, watching as the remainder of Groups von Groebel and Gunther played on the beach. The sole reason he wasn't down there, was because he had acquired a liking for French wines since the invasion began; Possibly stemming from his prior like of wines back in Austria, though he normally could never afford to buy any. He used to save little bits of pay he got from doing odd jobs here and there, and occasionally bought a bottle. Those same odd jobs had made him proficient in Northern German (which was more difficult than he'd thought), French, and a little bit of Czech and Russian.

He also went looking for a glass of wine in civilian clothing, since he was under orders from von Luck not to play conqueror.

Not that he would have, anyway. He liked France, far more than he liked Germany, possibly even Austria.

He found a nice looking log, and plopped himself upon it. He looked out to his comrades, tossing volleyballs and building sand castles; He almost thought that none of them had ever even seen a beach in their life.

Fritz found himself focusing his gaze upon one of the Sargents; he remembered her from Munich, and sighed a bit. The Sargent, Sargent Melchiott, had captured Fritz's mind when it wasn't distracted by anything else.

"You should talk to her, Fritz," a voice said from behind him. Fritz turned to the voice who had said this, and was somewhat unsurprised to see it came from Peter.

"Talk to who?" He said in reply.

"Alicia, or as you keep putting it, 'Sargent Melchiott.'"

The two of them chuckled a bit.

"Why should I? She seems so infatuated with lieutenant Gunther, a 'dirty Austrian' would have no chance."

"What, and you're a 'Dirty Austrian?'"

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not! What's the difference, but a life of work to one of pleasure?"

"That's one way of looking at it, Fritz. Perhaps that latter one would have made you a so-called 'gentleman,' but you wouldn't be Fritz Adler."

The two laughed at a joke not made by either one. They fell quite after a few seconds of laughter. Fritz spoke again:

"Perhaps you're right; I should go talk to Sarg... Erm, Alicia." The Austrian moved to get up and talk to the Gallian below, but was interrupted.

"Sargent Adler! Senior Rifleman Rothchild!" a familiar voice said; the two of them turned to see Colonel Hans von Luck.

"That'd be us, sir!" Adler and Rothchild said in unison, snapping into a salute.

"At ease. Were are the rest of your groups, aside from group Werner?"

"Down there, Colonel, sir. May I ask why, sir?" Adler asked.

"We have the marching order. Get back to camp and into uniform. Dismissed."

Adler and Rothchild left von Luck to his business, going straight to the camp. The Colonel walked down the slope.

"Lieutenant von Groebel! Lieutenant Gunther!"

The two lieutenants dropped what they were doing, as did the rest of their groups.

"High Comma... what is going on here?" von Luck interrupted himself, looking around at the fact that the women of both groups had barely any clothing at at all. "Are you doing something I should know about?"

Lieutenant von Groebel spoke. "Sir, we were just enjoying ourselves on the beach, sir!"

"I have a hard time believing that was it, lieutenant, but I have more pressing matters for you. I have received orders from High Command that all of you will be trading a beach in France for a boat that will take you to Britain."

A voice from the back said, "What, is Tommy giving up so soon?" The group identified it as Ted's voice.

"No, unfortunately the British are not giving up," von Luck continued. "Quite the opposite, actually. Tommy's decided he won't go down without a fight, so you can probably guess you're actually trading quite afternoons like this one for more... hectic ones in Britain."

The group quietly spoke amongst themselves.

"We have a marching order; Everyone, pick up your things, and head back to camp, get in your uniforms, and pack into the trucks. We have a long few days ahead of us."

Many a disheartened moan was heard in the group, as they picked up towels, packed up the volleyball net and ball, and left the beach.

---Back at Camp, about an hour later---

It was a cramped fit inside the Krupp trucks that had come to pick up the Infantry in the groups. Group Werner, predictably, had already moved out for the staging area. In total, six squads of five men each (three squads from each group) had to pile into two trucks, which was further complicated by personal belongings, and the fact that the four tanks (two from each group) were setting out by rail, which meant that the vehicle crews also had to pile into the trucks.

All told, that was about forty-eight (thirty infantrymen, four vehicle crews of four people each, and the two lieutenants) people attempting to stuff themselves into two trucks, not counting the truck's drivers, who added to the total for a nice fifty people.

Which, of course, translated into large amounts of complaining when the troops were just stuffed in a truck like pigs.

Even if the vehicles had their canopies down, that didn't mean that it was any less cramped.

"Look at that lucky son of a..." Adler started, but he was interrupted by von Groebel.

"Hey! Don't talk about the Colonel like that!" Lieutenant von Groebel shouted.

"Ok, fine. But why's he get his own car, and we have to ride in these, pardon my French, pieces of shit?"

"It's simple, Adler. He doesn't." the Lieutenant calmly pointed out, as both Varrot and von Luck got into the Krubelwagen.

"Oh, yeah, sure! Oh, it's so cramped inside that car, they might bump their heads on the non-existent roof!"

"Shut up, Adler." Lieutenant von Groebel said, moving towards the car, as did Gunther.

"Oh, look at that, guys! The officers get to ride in the car!"

A small outcry. Von Groebel turned his back to the unruly soldiers, and spoke to the Colonel.

"Colonel. I assume you'll lead, and the trucks will follow, right?"

"Of course. Isn't that how it worked when we redeployed to Munich?"

"Good point, Sir Colonel." Hans turned to Welkin. "You want to be 2nd?"

Welkin shrugged. "I dunno, but I figure we'd better go last, to pick up any guys your boys toss off."

Von Groebel smirked. "Ok then. Von Luck, we should be ready to move out. See you there, Sir Colonel."

The lieutenants headed for the appropriate trucks.

"Hey, any room back there? An officer should stick with his men, you know."

Adler, having seemingly run out of sarcastic remarks, remained silent.

Rothchild spoke up. "Well, if Bieber and Eichel moved apart a bit, we could probably fit you, lieutenant."

"Thank you, Rothchild," von Groebel said, climbing up into the back of the truck.

The trucks set off, towards the Staging area to the East.

---Group "Gunther" truck, a few meters back---

"What's your name?"

Ted Ustinov got no response from the driver.

"Hey, Driver, what's your name?" Ted poked the German, who was preoccupied with the gages on the truck.

The Driver jumped. "AH! I know noth-ing!" He looked over his shoulder, at the Gallian soldier who'd just poked him. "What do you want?"

"What's your name?"

"Schultz. Sargent Schultz."

"Aren't you a bit old for a Sargent?"

"Well, um, no?"

"Ok then..."

"Schultz, Time to go. Just follow the other truck." Welkin knocked on the side of the truck, motioning for Schultz to take off after the von Groebel truck.

"Affirm-ative! Lieutenant!" Schultz called out, shifting the truck into gear.

---Staging Area 'East', September 1st, 1940---

Alicia worked some kinks out of her neck, as they made a satisfying "crack" sound. She turned around, to see why they had came.

She hadn't seen so many drab gray uniforms since...

No. Never mind. She'd never seen that many uniforms of any color, period.

"Welkin," she started, "How many troops have been gathered here?"

Welkin shrugged. "I haven't a clue. There are so many of them, though, they kind of look like little gray ants..."

Alicia stifled a laugh. That was one of those things Welkin didn't let out when Lieutenant von Groebel was present.

"I'm going to have to concur, Lieutenant Gunther."

Welkin whipped around. "Ah, Colonel von Luck! Sir!" He said, turning to the officer and snapping into a salute. Alicia followed suit.

Von Luck saluted back. "At ease. I guess you're wondering how many troops are here, right?"

The two of them looked at each other, and nodded.

"At least a third of the invasion force, or about fifty-four thousand men, Imperial forces not withstanding."

That last part came as a shock to both the lieutenant and the Sargent.

"Clarify that for me, Colonel," Alicia said, "you did say, Imperial forces, right?"

"That I did. Seems Maximilian decided to threaten Hitler if no Imperial troops took part in the landing. They constitute about twenty-five thousand men, if you're curious."

Lieutenant von Groebel overheard. "Permission to speak, Sir Colonel."

"Permission granted, Lieutenant."

"Sir Colonel, there's a rumor floating about that Brigadier General Eles is leading the Imperial forces. Is this correct, sir?"

"Why, yes, Lieutenant," von Luck said in reply, "though, for the duration of Operation Sea Lion, they are unofficially part of the Wehrmacht, if orders from the Field Marshal von Bock are right."

"Thank you, Sir Colonel." von Groebel turned away, to return to his original Group.

---This Concludes Chapter 9---

This story is a far cry from what it was going to be originally. For one, Alicia would have wound up in a Gallian version of the French Resistance, and for some degree of irony, Welkin would have been the FlaK38 gunner that killed Alicia, but I decided against both.

For two, Isara would have been grabbed by the SS, which isn't too improbable to what would have happened in real life.

And for three, to justify the Imperials and Germans blowing eachother up, I would have made (wait for it)... Adolf Hitler part Darscen (and then I realized how dumb that was. It would have turned the world on Darscens for sure, and Maximilian probably wouldn't knowledgeably join forces with a Darscen, even if he was leader of a military superpower. And the fact that I was basing this off Hitler's hair, of all things.)

Also, read this story assuming that Gallians speak a dialect of German, which isn't improbable. ('Bruhl' sounds like a small town in eastern Germany, for instance. This spins from 'Koeln'/Cologne, a town in mid-Germany.)