A/N: Retconned a few things, most notably the tankers' unit and the rank of Wooding to Captain. I've researched Army SF a bit more and realized, for one, team leaders are Captains, not Lieutenants. Two, the general structure of a team which I will take note of as I continue writing.

Back to the unit, I've been thinking that realistically, a full-on armor battalion is just not going to happen. Enough Bradleys or Strykers are not going to get across the gate in a timely manner and work properly. Maintenance is a huge issue in the mechanized world. As well, mechanization isn't really necessary to fight formations of swordsmen. In keeping with 7ID tradition, they are light infantry. The only deviance is the armored reconnaissance squadrons that a heavy brigade would have, fulfilling all the heavy vehicle impact that could be needed both Bradley and Abrams-wise (and they would have plenty of Humvees anyway). The other battalions are mostly Humvee-mounted light infantry, whose M2's, M240's, and Mk. 19's are more than enough and can take advantage of greater mobility and less/cheaper maintenance.

It was a couple days' journey from Italica to Alnus hill on horseback, and Princess Pina co Lada was prepared for such. The Americans had, however, given her a ride in what they called a "Humvee" which cut down travel time to hours. She had never traveled so fast before, and she looked with wonder as the landscape zoomed past her.

She had idly reminisced on the public celebrations earlier that day. Through the cheering crowds and under the handkerchiefs thrown by the grateful townspeople, the American army had marched in a parade through the Italican streets. They were in perfect form, like any disciplined force, and had broken step as they maneuvered through the streets, the cheering of the crowd too deafening to relay any verbal commands. They had each followed the man in front and smiled and waved at the nearby townsfolk they had saved.

There were various flags among them, which they called 'guidons,' each leading small blocks of men. A portion of the men involved wore a very green and black uniform which, as she viewed more carefully, was in fact a series of tiny squares, and the guidons they carried were red with gold lettering, as well as a gold symbol she couldn't make out. The other groups following behind, their uniforms more brown and green splotches, had guidons of red and white. They were led by a larger red/white guidon, which had a coat of arms comprised of an eagle and decorated shield. Underneath it was a lettered scroll she could not read.

The most impressive, she had felt, was the massive flag leading all of them, bordered by gold threads. One corner was blue with a field of white stars on it, and the rest of the flag composed of red and white stripes. She had no idea of its symbolism, and would have to ask later.

Down below from her perch in the manor, the crowds were less individual people and more a solid mass. Next to her, the young Countess had smiled weakly as she overlooked her city. As she studied the young girl closely, she noticed tears forming in her eyes. Her blushed face was hidden behind her hair, but was soon revealed as she turned towards the Princess.

"I'm just so glad this many are left to celebrate."

A large explosion snapped her back to the present. She nearly jumped out of her seat as the sound almost literally shook her, drawing sly grins from the other passengers, unbeknownst to her. "What was that!?" she asked, frantically looking out of the windows. Were they under attack again?

One of the passengers pointed to her left, designating an area off the side of the hill, a few hundred yards off from the edge of the road, down a slight incline. It looked like a massive archery range to her, only a mile and a half long, ending in a gigantic hill which she could not tell was natural or artificial. There, at the close end, were more tanks. Just how many of those things did America have? They were obviously reinforcements; they were green, black, and brown. The tanks that defended Italica were tan.

They shot with supreme accuracy. Imperial artillery was an area weapon, with accuracy impossible to rely on, instead fired en masse in order to disrupt enemy formations than destroy specific targets. The American tanks, however, had hit exact targets at the edge of her vision. They brought back images from the previous battle, where the tanks had wrought absolute carnage upon the raiders. And those projectiles, as Captain Wooding had told her, were simply training versions, just cheap lumps of steel and concrete shot at incredible speeds. She shuddered to imagine what the proper ones they used for war with comparable enemies were like.

As she looked around, she had noticed that on either side of the convoy rolled the tanks that were present at the battle. They must be the flank guard, she thought. She noticed the closest one to her position had the red and white guidon flying proud atop the top of the steel beast. Its predatory head swiveled slowly but purposefully from side to side and looking for anyone foolish enough to attack. On the sides of its face was a depiction of a hooded skeleton's face. As eerie as it looked, the meaning was lost across cultural lines.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

The princess turned towards the owner of the voice. Rory the demigoddess sat in the other rear passenger seat, cross-legged with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her head was cocked to the side as she gave the princess a piercing look, a sly grin creeping across her face.

"I had hoped to adopt a few of them as apostles."

Pina sighed before she answered. "They have their own god, your holiness. They are not like the Empire. They flatly reject any god but their own. They mostly believe in only one."

The demigoddess chuckled. "Then they better get used to having their ideas challenged, at least in this world."

"Smash."

"Smash."

"Pass."

"Sma- wait, what the fuck, dude? You gay or somethin'?"

Lance Corporal Rigbey looked back at the few other members of the platoon that had joined him underneath the roof of the particle board shack. The group of people way above the Marines' pay grades were on the main trail from the motorpool to the Army brigade's headquarters. Foreign nationals were being escorted along with the 'big officers' in the Army. A group of half a dozen plain-clothed individuals with short carbines and low-profile plate carriers were covering the flanks of the VIP's, giving themselves away quite obviously to the Marines as to who they were.

"Nah," Rigbey answered. "There's another chick. I saw her at the checkpoint."

"I wasn't at the checkpoint," Corporal Callaghan replied. He raised a water bottle to his lips and let another glob of spit slip into the container. "I think I know who you're talking about though."

A second group came around the corner of a tent, again escorted by Special Forces personnel, and as the woman in question came into view, the Marines aside from Rigbey had to consciously keep their jaws from dropping.

Callaghan spit again into his bottle. "You know, Rig, you don't have to choose just one."

"Yo, guys, I'm back," Private First Class Childs said from behind the small group, holding out a small stack of dip cans and cigarette packs.

"That was fast," one of the Marines noted.

Childs shrugged his shoulders. "They brought in a new trailer PX for the natives."

"Really? The fuck?" one of the Marines complained.

"Just for them?" another said.

"Nah, it's actually better. The old one is military only now so they don't run out of stock in hour after each shipment."

"Yeah, I guess so," Callaghan said. That did make sense, he thought to himself. Before they left on the mission, the refugee workers would buy up whatever they could just to bring back to their village, leaving everything from shelves of snacks to energy drinks to, most importantly, tobacco empty for the people the base was actually for.

He gave Childs the money he owed, and put one of the cans into his cargo pocket.

The layout of the American fort was just like any Imperial field fort, the princess noted. The outer walls were laid out exactly as she had seen the Legions construct them, and everything was ordered in neat, evenly spaced rows. This was the military section of their fort; on the way in she had seen a smaller portion occupied by not only American tents, but shoddy native constructions as well that were patrolled by small teams of soldiers.

The American military tents were large and tan, seemingly for an entire centy rather than a contube. The half-cylindrical shapes had doors with a small portal at the end and were stenciled with writing above the openings. Dotted around the fort, as well, were chest-high white boxes with large poles sticking out of the top of them, although she couldn't guess what they were for.

They had finally reached the tent at the end of the road. There were others next to it in the row, presumably for the rest of the Americans' command element, but the center one had a seemingly fifty foot flagpole near the door, atop which hung a navy blue and red flag, divided down the middle. In the center was a circular hourglass-looking shape with another number or letter beneath it. One of the civilian-clothed guards went up to the door, opening it for the group to walk in.

The cold air hit her like a smack to the face.

"Why is it so cold in… here," she ended up mumbling. The sight of the interior was utterly alien to her. Instead of a large, spacious room reserved for the comfort of the Camp Prefect and his servants, it was instead a cramped bureaucratic office. Thin, gray walls with parchment pinned to the sides formed small offices, with shelves and desks fit into whatever space the occupants could find. Soldiers of different shapes, sizes, and colors, to include women, scurried around carrying bundles of recorded information or sat at flimsy desks in front of magic glass frames.

"Ma'am," Colonel Fitzgerald said, grabbing her attention. "Please follow me to my office."

Pina nodded in agreement, before holding up her hand to Bozes to stay put.

The office was half way down the tent, sealed by a door made of the same fuzzy material as the walls. Pinned next to it, she noticed, were several signs of various bright and dull colors, one of which was a series of pictures of types of spectacles. She couldn't hazard a guess as to what that sign was for.

"Glad you agreed to come, Princess Co Lada," the colonel said as he opened his door, directing her to a padded seat in front of his desk. "I'm sorry we couldn't find a more comfortable spot to talk, but this is what we have on this side of the Gate."

"The pleasure is mine," the princess answered. She envied the man behind his desk. She was in her battle armor, still. While it was designed to look good as well as protect, it certainly wasn't designed for comfort. The Americans, meanwhile, go into battle wearing nothing more than colored cloth!

"I hope by coming to Alnus Hill, you agree to meet with my government and discuss peace terms."

"Of course," she agreed. "Peace is a preferable option to both our nations,"

Especially ours, she thought to herself. She'd seen what they did to nearly an entire Imperial legion in a matter of minutes, albeit a rogue and beaten down one.

"What we have planned is to cross through the Gate right after dinner time. We will come into the city of Los Angeles and head straight to an airport. From there we will fly directly to our capital of Washington DC and we will meet with a Congressional committee. We will fly back to Los Angeles and come back here."

Fly? she thought. They must utilize dragons or such creatures for mass transportation then. They must be incredibly rich, although it was evident considering their technological superiority.

"That sounds acceptable to me, Colonel," she said. "Who all else will be coming?"

Fitzgerald peeked at his small pocket book before answering. "Assuming everyone agrees, besides yourself and Miss Bozes, it will be Ambassador Evans, who was with us at the castle ball. The Special Forces team that has been accompanying us will continue to escort us. Village representatives Leilei La Leina and Miss Tuuka have also been invited for civilian insight, as well as Miss Rory. A few soldiers and Marines will also be brought along to give personal, ground-level testimony."

"So."

"Yeah."

"The fuck's up with your boots?" The two groups of tankers stared each other off. One group, clad in brown-green digital camouflage with pointed-crown covers, were in a small semi-circle. The other group walking up were wearing more traditional splotches and had rounder caps on their heads, save for one with the older blue-gray digital uniform. Both groups had a small camouflaged pack for each member.

Guererro looked down at his boots. They looked fine to him, if a blackened from recent work on his tank's power pack. "What?"

"What you got straps on 'em for?" the Marine tanker asked, pointing with his cigarette hand.

"Don't know how to tie knots." Guererro shrugged. "I guess Marines don't have tanker boots."

"Nah," one of the Marines said. Guererro could see the name "Hollin" on his chest. "We don't need special boots."

Nash shrugged. "Alright. Just a tradition thing, I guess not everyone has those."

Before a retort could be made audible another of the Marines spoke up. "So you guys are going back too?"

Warren nodded.

A voice from the side prompted the tankers to turn their heads towards the voice. Lieutenant Allen sauntered up to them, a few of his platoon's dismounts behind him. "Group, attention!" Warren called, saluting the officer, who smartly returned the gesture.

"Relax, guys," Allen responded. He cleared his throat and pulled out a small notebook. "Glad you're all here. Might as well start the brief early, so horseshoe around."

At his word, the men gathered in a semi-circle around him.

"Lieutenant Allen, OIC for this. We were picked for different reasons to go back stateside, but this isn't a fun trip. It'll be relaxed but we're still on duty, so don't be jackasses. Our primary goal is to give testimony, if anyone asks, at a committee hearing in Congress."

A few groans were audible at this statement, as well as a few muttered curses.

"You Army guys," he said, gesturing towards Warren's crew, "will be given a chance to go to your residences and grab your dress uniforms. Marines, for those in the barracks, your clothing boxes are being taken out of storage and sent here. Those married, your spouses have already been contacted about sending your things. For all of us, when we get our uniforms, we are being given a chance for last minute alterations at Pendleton. From there, we head to the airport and get to DC."

"Any questions?"

The visiting royalty were quiet as the Humvees rolled through the Gate. They stared out the windows of the vehicles, trying to comprehend the depthless yet infinite blackness that surrounded them. "You came to Falmart through here?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lieutenant Davis answered from the front passenger seat. He turned back to face the Princess and Bozes. "In fact, I led the way through. This place can get confusing if you don't know where you're going."

"What was it like?" Bozes asked.

Davis shrugged. "It was something else."

Sorry about the wait, but shit happens. Packed training schedule.

You may have realized I'm bad at characterizing. Well I do have some excuses. One, you already have the characterizations from the source material(s). Two, I'm not focusing on them as I'm not trying to just copy-paste in some American OC's into the original story. Three, I suck, straight up. Four, in a semi-realistic military operation, not everything will be in the hands of some douchebag 2LT with Ranger and SF tabs truckin' and fuckin' in the countryside. There's just too many characters that need to be involved for a coherent operation to happen.