King Quinn the Last Heir & Sgt Frost5: Well, time will tell just how things will go down. Right now, it's a race to see if the Separatists will even be able to get there in time to help the Axis. Remember, the estimates were that it would take a month for them to get there and the superweapon that the Allies are working on still needs to be completed and tested.

JJAndrews: Imagine what another fleet of droids would do to the Allies. Even though they lack any sort of tactical ability, the sheer numbers they have at their disposal would certainly make things difficult for them, and yes, Heydrich is going to have lost some prestige because of this debacle. It mught have some repercussions further down the line. The men of Easy Company aren't the only people who are going to make an appearance. I've actually been taking requests from people who want to have a small tribute to an family members who fought in WWII, and I've been taking cameo appearances also.

Dan: I actually had forgotten about the Red Tails, but they will be making an appearance.


Year 14, Month 05, Day 20

Outskirts of St. Lo

Brittany System, Getov-occupied Floevis

Hauptmann Carl Wapnitz of the 130th Panzer-Lehr-Division took a drink from his canteen as the Sd Kfz 251 speeder rocked from the debris that was littering the road. He didn't look to see what it was, but he did know that it was some fragment of something that had crashed from the last several days of fighting. Looking up in the sky, he kept and ear open for anything that could be coming. Sensors would normally detect anything from farther away, but sometimes the Mark One eyeball and your ears could get lucky at times.

He could still see flashes in the sky from the orbital stations that were still fighting to hold back the Allied invasion, though he was unsure just how effective they would be. They weren't able to move to different locations and what fighters they had were probably destroyed. One flash caught his attention, as it was soon followed by a larger explosion.

"I wonder what was that?" an Untteroffizier asked, to no one in particular.

"If it was one of the Republic ships, it means it was a victory for us. If it was a station, then we're one more defeat to losing the system," another answered. "Did you hear what's happening in Calais?"

"What's happening there?" a junior enlisted asked.

"I heard that the Allies invaded the system. Launched an even bigger invasion than here."

There was a round of swearing from inside the vehicle. Wapnitz knew that you didn't have to be on the General Staff to know what would happen if Calais fell. And this was supposed to be an easy assignment, he thought.

Carl Wapnitz was a man who had been fighting for the Reich for years. He was there in the Affrikana Region of the Sector, where he had served under Rommel as a Lieutenant, in his push to secure the Mediterranean from the Allies and seize the Suez Route, one of a only a few safe and artificially created hyperspace routes in the sector. He was there when Rommel retreated when he face General Montgomery and when he was defeated by General Patton. What had surprised him, was when he heard that Rommel had defect to the Allies after being defeated. He wondered how he could do that. How could a man with such a reputation for duty and honor betray his country, even with a defeat?

After the Getov military had pulled out of the Afrikana Region, he had been stationed in Sicily, where he had been promoted to Senior Lieutenant for his fighting in Afrikana, to help hold off the invasion there. That had been a difficult fight, he remembered. The mountainous terrain, and the volcanoes and earthquakes that were far too frequent at times. It was there that he had learned that Rommel was to command one of the invasion forces. That had been one of the largest surprises that he had heard in his life. The man had become a traitor to the Getov people. He had heard the propaganda, and how the man had joined the Allies to save the Fatherland from the madness of the Nazi Party, but he never could see the justification in it all. He just considered it fortunate that he never had to face his forces on the planet. Instead, the regiment that he was part of fought against Patton, and the man's tenacity was every bit as accurate as the rumors has said. Thinking back, he realized just how lucky he had been to have been wounded when a bomb went off a couple dozen meters away. He had been put on a hospital ship that had been one of the last ones to leave the system. It was during his recovery that he learned the planet had fallen to the Allies and the loss of the Herman Goering Division.

After recovering and going through physical therapy, he had been transferred to the 130th Panzer-Lehr-Division, and had been promoted again, this time he was now a Captain. It was made up of some of the most experienced and capable commanders that were in the Getov military, and it had been stationed in Floevis. Wapnitz had considered Floevis to be a vacation compared to the other places he had been to, and even though they were to prepare for the inevitable invasion of Brittany, he didn't lack any confidence that the Reich would be able to hold them off. After all, the Fuhrer had rarely been wrong. Except he was wrong this time, he thought.

The initial invasion by Republic forces had been difficult for him and the men he was fighting with, but with the enhanced weapon systems that they had, and the increased number of hypervelocity guns, they had inflicted heavy casualties on the Allied and Republic landing forces. The landing zones had been correct and the number of casualties that had been inflicted on the invaders had been heavy in the first have, and the second waves, but it was when the third wave came that things started to go badly. The Jedi general, who supposedly had lived for centuries, had assisted in destroying one of the hypervelocity guns batteries that guarded two of the approaches. With it gone, the Allies were landing more soldiers and equipment, and so the slow withdrawal from the Normandy region to the city of St. Lo had begun.

"Everyone off!" a voice shouted.

Looking over the edge, he could see a colonel beginning to give out orders. Grabbing his rifle and motioning the others in the speeder to disembark, he leaped to the ground and stretched to get the kinks out of his back. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, and looked around. St Lo was a key point in this region, as it stood on a crossroads for two roads that lead further across Brittany and the securing of the planet. However, the city had several tactical advantages. There was a river that ran along its western border and the city center was on a large hill that overlooked the surrounding area.

"Good defensive area," he said as sergeant was walking up beside him.

"The only problem is that the Allies will be heading straight toward us, with everything they've got," the sergeant finished. The non-com pulled out a pack of cigarettes and took one out; he then offered one to Carl, who gladly accepted.

Taking out his lighter, he lit his and took a slow drag, enjoying the small moment of peace as the others around them began their assigned tasks.

"This isn't going to go well," the sergeant said finally. "Even if we hold them here, we'll pull back unless we want to be cut off when Calais falls."

"Careful what you say, sergeant," Carl said between puffs. "What your saying could be considered defeatism."

"Bah," he waved a dismissive hand. "I never took you for one of those SS fools. You're a straight shooter, and you have too good a head on your shoulders to be one of them." He turned to look out over the foxholes and other defensive positions that were being erected. "This is my second war, and everything is beginning to look familiar."

"Two front war." Carl said finally.

"Exactly. Too many enemies at once."

"I never got your name by the way," turning to face the non-com.

The sergeant removed his cigarette and smiled as he turned. "Oberfeldwebel Jager of the 901st Panzergrenadier-Lehr Regiment." He extended his hand when Carl grasped and gave a good pump.

"It's good to meet you. Hauptmann Wapnitz: 902st Panzergrenadier-Lehr Regiment."

"Hey!" a voice called out behind them. The two of them looked behind them to see a major yelling at them. "The two of you stop standing around and get back to your assignments. High Command says that the Allies are going to be heading straight for us, so it's our job to stop them. So get to work!"

"Yes, sir," both men answered, giving the customary salute.

"Good luck to you, Jager," Wapnitz said, putting out his cigarette.

"You too, Wapnitz," the sergeant replied, "and may God watch over us."


Year 14, Month 05, Day 20

Outskirts of Pas-de-Calais

Calais System, Getov-occupied Floevis

Sergeant Frank Bess waved for the construction vehicle to move forward and place the equipment to its designated area. The power generator for the long-range sensors was supposed to have been up the previous day, but the surprise raid by Getov forces yesterday had caused everything to be delayed while they were fought off. Since then, the 850th mobile engineer battalion, had been working non-stop in expanding the various landing zones.

He hadn't heard much, but from officer country, but he managed to gather that the Getov fleet that had gone to Brittany had hit the invasion fleet in Calais. Bess could remember seeing the flashes in the night sky as shots were traded between the Allies and the Krauts, though the damn Krauts had taken that moment to increase their activity and push some of the landing zones to the point of almost being overrun. After everything had calmed down, he had noticed that the movement of supplies and equipment had slowed considerably, about to what he estimated to be half of what it had been before.

Giving the proper hand motions, Frank watched as the equipment hauler lowered the generator and turned to head back to the LZ. "You three," he barked, pointing at three technicians walking toward the generator, followed by a droid pushing a cart. "The captain wants the sensors up and running in an hour. I intend to have them up before then, so get off your asses and get moving!"

Having the satisfaction of the men and droid moving faster, he looked down at his datapad to see what else needed to be done since operations had somewhat returned to normal. It was while he was reading about the building of another temporary spaceport that he heard an all too familiar shout.

"Incoming!" was cried out by many and Frank ran off to the neared foxhole. Leaping in feet first, he narrowly avoided hitting another man who had chosen the same place.

"Shit! Find your own," the private shouted, quickly noticing the stripes on the man's uniform. "Sarge."

"Stop complaining and start digging," Bess ordered, taking out his entrenching tool and beginning to expand their small shelter. Digging like a man possessed, he continued to go deeper, and by the time the bombardment ended, they had themselves a larger hole in the ground with better protection. Looking down at his chronometer, he realized that it had only been a few minutes.

Gripping his M1 Blaster Carbine, he slowly peeked over the edge of the trench to see the damage around him. What he saw was bad, but not as bad as it could have been. Several of the haulers were damaged. One was even on its side, a large crater only a couple yards away. Careful to not expose too much of himself, he got out of the foxhole and began to survey the wreckage when he heard another sound.

"APC!" someone shouted, and the familiar sound of a Getov MG-42 light repeating blaster going off. On the far side, Frank could see three of them racing toward the recently built spaceport.

Frank wasn't sure if it was the first to fire, but he was far from the only one. Diving behind cover, he took aim and fired several blasts as three Getov speeders raced into the compound. Using the artillery to daze everyone, the Krauts had used it as a chance to cause mayhem behind the lines, something that he had heard was happening all across the planet.

Looking down the sights, he saw the APCs stop and unload their soldiers. Each one carried ten men, and from what he could tell, these were armed with weapons that he hadn't seen before. Firing at any possible threat they could find, Frank could see the blaster rifles they had had a higher rate of fire than their normal rifles, and had a longer range that the sub-repeating blasters. He fired a quick succession of bolts and ducked behind the containers he was using for cover.

"This is Colonel Duval," a voice came over his comlink. "I need a SITREP. What's hit us?"

"Lieutenant Franklin from the Motor Pool," a voice replied. "Two Getov APCs are attempting to push us out."

"Lieutenant Dover at the Ammo Dump. Three APCs and two speeders are trying to take it from us. I have men trying to hold them back—" The comm was filled with static as jamming flooded the various frequencies.

Frank muttered a curse and tried to find one that wasn't filled with white noise, but every one that he tried was flooded. Have to get the word out, he thought. "Where's a runner?" Looking around, he ran toward another pile of containers, dodging the bolts as they came too close to him.

Getting behind a destroyed Jeep, he saw a young private crouched on the ground and holding his rifle, a look of fear in his eyes. "Private!" he shouted, trying to get the young man's attention. Shaking him by the shoulder, the man looked at him as if noticing him for the first time. "Are you alright?"

The kid took several quick and deep breaths trying to stop the nervousness from overtaking him. "Yes, Sergeant."

"Good," Frank said finally. "You're going to be the runner. Go tell Colonel Duval that we've got three Kraut APCs with infantry trying to take the fuel depot of the LZ. You got it?" When the boy nodded, he told the kid to repeat the message to him, and after he had made sure the kid knew what it was, he sent him off in the opposite direction of the fighting.

Muttering a curse, Sergeant Bess watched as the remains of three companies and a couple of vehicles trudged back from trying to retake the supply depot. It had taken close to two hours to gather enough men to try and retake the place, but in the end, it had been a waste of lives and equipment. In the open field before him, he could see the smoking and ruined hulks of tanks and the bodies of dozens of men. Already, there were birds circling overhead. More Krauts had arrived and taken over the entire depot, and with the supplies and vehicles there, he was sure that much of it was making its way back to Getov territory.

"God damnit," an officer said as he walked up to Frank and sat down on a small crate. Frank, taking his canteen out, offered it to the man who gladly accepted and took a large pull. "Thanks. I wish it was something stronger, but I guess all of that is down there." he motioned his head toward the still occupied LZ.

"You're right, sir. How bad was it?"

"Terrible. The men we had should have overwhelmed them, but instead we get our asses handed to us by our own equipment. The damn Krauts were loading what they could into transports and it appeared that they were going to be leaving soon."

That didn't sound good at all. Sergeant Bess had wondered what they were doing. A normal raid would have been quick, but this was completely unexpected, and now the Getov bastards were going to have enough equipment to keep the fighting going longer now in this sector of the planet. "Shit," he said.

"You've said it, Sergeant" the officer replied. "Not sure if this is news to you, but the rumor is that they are going to conduct a strike on your spaceport."

"Fighters or ships?" With the loss of much of the artillery that the invasion force was supposed to have brought with them, the ships in orbit, specifically frigates and destroyers, had been entering the planet's atmosphere and providing ground support.

"Not sure, but it will definitely destroy your unit's project over there if we can't take it, or if the damn Krauts don't leave soon." He took another swig from the canteen and gave it back to the sergeant. "Thanks for the drink." Getting up, the officer turned to join his men as they continued to pull back.

Another hour past, and no more efforts were made to try and retake the spaceport. Instead, fighters and bombers were sent to try and destroy the complex, but the anti-air defenses were too thick. Over half of the craft sent to hit the compound were shot out of the sky, with the rest driven off by heavy defenses. It was shortly afterward that a destroyer appeared in the distance, approaching cautiously. When it came into range, the various weapon systems that had been unloaded earlier in the day unleashed a torrent of fire at the Albian ship. As the fire increased, he could see several transports and speeders leave the structures at high speed. Frank watched as the destroyer was tried to stop them, but several rockets were fired from the spaceport that drew its attention. It was at that moment that the entire area was rocked by an enormous explosion, and Frank was thrown back onto the ground.

There was a ringing in his ears, and he shook his head to try and dispel it. Trying to pick himself up, he looked around to see several others who were trying to do the same thing. Using his rifle as a crutch, he looks up as his eyes begin to focus again. His hearing soon follows and stare in awe at what is before him. The entire complex was gone. In its place was a large crater and an enormous dust cloud rising hundreds of feet in the air.

"Goddamn," a soldier muttered.

Frank wasn't going to disagree with him, and pulled out a cigarette. "Where's the ship?" He turned toward another soldier who was staring at the spectacle. "Hey, Johnson, where's that ship?"

"You think it was destroyed in the explosion?" another asked.

Gazing through his macrobinoculars that he taken off a dead solider earlier, he looked over at the large plume and tried to see anything that was manmade. For several moments, there was nothing, but the smoke and dust began to part and out came the destroyer that had tried to stop the Getov raiders. The hull of the ship was covered with scorch marks, and there were several breaches that he could see.

"How bad is it, Sarge?" a private asked.

"Bad," He brought the macrobinoculars down. If this is how the fighting will be for the rest of the planet, then they were in for a long and difficult fight, he thought, and wished that he had something stronger than water with him.


Year 14, Month 05, Day 21 (June 15, 1944)

P-51 Mustang Fighter 42-103645, 332nd Fighter Wing,

Hyperspace

Captain Wendell Archer did one last check of his systems. This would be the first time that he would be conducting a deep strike mission on the Getov Home Systems. Previous missions had been in Noria or Osterreich, but this one was to be onward to Getov Prime, the capital of their Reich, and home of that madman. The mission was to hit an orbital shipyard and space-dock that was assisting in the repairs of several ships that had struck the Brittany and Calais invasions. The intelligence briefing they had been given before their mission, stated that defenses should be lighter than normal, with the Getov military attempting to hold off the Allies on multiple fronts. Command wanted to ensure that those vessels wouldn't be returning to the front anytime soon. This was going to be a big moment for him and the rest of the 332nd Fighter Wing. This war was going to show that people of color, were just a good as other Americans.

The attitude was an unfortunate byproduct of the region of the sector that his family originally hailed from. The Afrikana Region was known for its backwardness and culturally inferior thinking, especially since many of them were still tribal in nature while a majority of the Europa Region was going through the Age of Colonial Empires. His people have been brought over as slaves originally, and since they were on the edges of what had been Republic territory at the time, there was nothing that could be done. It wasn't until eighty years ago that all slaves in the United Systems had been freed, and since then, his family had lived in the United Systems, but old prejudices and simple hatred of anyone unlike themselves had impeded any sort of social progress, and so he had to deal with being dealt as a second-class citizen.

When the war had started, he had joined almost immediately, with the hope of proving to everyone in the Sector that those of Europian descent weren't the only ones who were capable. With that, the Tuskegee Squadron had been formed, and were some of the most decorated pilots in the American Space Corp. Archer, and other colored pilots and crew, were hopeful that their performance would gain enough notoriety that the Republic would take notice and put pressure on the United Systems government to push for full integration. That was the hope anyway.

"Sixty seconds until exit," the squadron leader reported. "All pilots assume combat conditions and prepare for immediate engagement. Remember, our job is to protect the bombers; not seek glory, so remember that and we'll make sure that not a single bomber is lost." There were acknowledgements from everyone in the fight, and the starlines of hyperspace soon reverted to the normal points of light. In the distance, the capital world of Getov could be seen, along with the shipyard complex and defense stations. It was standard doctrine for the bomber force to exit hyperspace as close as possible without endangering the strike craft, giving as little time as possible to the defenders.

Switching his sensors to their widest range, Captain Archer maneuvered himself and his flight to fly over the Boeing B-170 Bombers while the other flights took their assigned positions. Powering on the weapons, he couldn't help but admire the P-51 Mustang Starfighter. It was a vast improvement over the Warhawk that he had flown in the Afrikana and early Norian campaigns. The Mustang was faster, more maneuverable, better armed, and had better sensor suite. Overall, a superior platform that outclassed the other fighters that were in Getov's arsenal.

"Bandits coming in three o'clock low!" a voice announced. Looking at his sensors, Archer could see a flight of four Getov Me-109s approaching the bomber formation.

"Archer; Williams: the two of you intercept those fighters. The rest of us will cover the rest of the assault," the squadron commander ordered.

Acknowledging, he and his wingman, Lieutenant Chester Williams, turned into the approaching fighters. Hearing his R2 unit warble nervously, he read the translation on the screen and assured him saying, "Don't worry, Hustler. We have the superior craft. We can handle them."

Pulling into a wide swooping turn, he and Williams pulled in behind the Getov flight. The enemy fighters saw them coming and split, broke their intercept and turned into their pursuers. Archer could feel the Gs pushing as he tried to pull in enough to get the fighter's cannons on the target. The 109 banked right, then left, and right again, and each time, Archer was on him, trying to get a lock on him. He waits patiently for the tone that he was hoping for: a sensor lock. Pulling the trigger, a barrage of blaster fire was unleashed, hitting the 109 until its shields failed and its wing breaking off from an impact. The 109 spun out of control until it exploded in a brilliant flash.

Looking down at his scanner, Archer could see that more Getov fighters had appeared and the battle was being joined by a couple of Getov light cruisers. Going full throttle toward the melee, he can see that the bombers were making headway, with those in the lead firing their payloads at the cruisers and other planetary defenses to help clear a way for the others.

Captain Archer plunged into the fray. His droid chirped, and on the screen, he can see that his R2 unit located a flight of 109s below him. Turning around behind them, his training took over. The Getov fighters continued onward, unaware that death upon them, and Archer fired a burst from his cannons, blasting one of them away leaving a debris field that he pushed through as his droid let out a cry of alarm. His wingman joined in, each scoring hits until the enemy banked away or was destroyed.

Glancing to his 4 o'clock, he saw another formation of enemy fighters. His droid called them out as Fw-190s, one of the most advanced fighters in Getov's military, with weapons and a durability that was better than the P-51. Archer saw the 190s were diving in on the bombers, and he turned his fighter to face the incoming threat.

The 190 pilots saw the Mustangs coming, and split up, with Archer picking one and going after it. The desperate Getov pilot juked and jinked and rolled, trying to lose its pursuer in a desperate bid to shake the Mustangs. Taking a desperate chance, the 190 made a beeline toward the planetary defenses, which had already been hit by the bombing force and were coming close to end their strike mission. He could see several of the orbital stations were damaged, with breached hulls and smoke. The light cruisers and other vessels that had been stationed in the system were beginning to converge on the bomber's vector. Moving through the damaged areas, the Getov pilot tried to lure it into a killzone that would kill his pursuer.

Archer's droid wailed as bolts of energy lanced by them, each of them coming close and draining small amount of energy from the Mustang's shields. "Hang on!" Archer said, assuring his droid and himself that they would make it through the gauntlet of fire. He rolled his fighter and corkscrewed, feeling the Gs as he pulled tighter maneuvers, throwing off the aim of the defense stations and gunners as he made his way through the strike zone.

"Archer, we have to pull out of this. We won't survive this much longer!" Lieutenant Williams called out, fear creeping in as he tried to stick close with his wingman, but having serious trouble maintaining his position.

Focus on his target, Archer saw the Getov pilot make a fatal mistake. He turned to the right, exposing himself to Archer's cannons. Hearing the lock from the computer, he fired a stream from his cannons, and was rewarded with the fighter rolling and crashing into a light cruiser that was docked with a defense station.

"All Red Tails, form up," a familiar voice came over the comm. It was their squadron commander. "Strike mission has been completed. Getov forces are en-route and I want us out of here before they get here. We are proceeding to make the jump into lightspeed; prepare to slave your fighter to your assigned or secondary bombers to make the jump."

There was a round of acknowledgements from everyone in the squadron and Archer and Williams sent their own. "Hustler, what's the status of the bomber fleet and our squadron?" asked Archer and he flew at top speed to rejoin the formation and began the slaving procedure.

Hustler displayed the information and from what ARcher could tell, it wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it was still hard. Fifteen percent of the bombing force had been lost or were seriously damaged and would need serious overhaul, while the Red Tails themselves had lost over ten percent. Considering it was one of the first heavy bombing missions on Getov Prime itself, and would no doubt be paraded as a great success by Command, the losses were still hard to accept. Many of those who would not be coming back were people that he was good friends with.

Looking down at his scope, he could see several Getov ships and fighters racing toward their location. He watched them come closer until the 332nd Fighter Wing, known as the Red Tails and the Tuskegee Squadron, the most motivated and experienced fighter squadron in the United States Space Corp, vanish in hyperspace, leaving a damaged infrastructure, and a furious Hitler.


Year 14, Month 06, Day 21

Berlin, Getov Prime

The Greater Getov Reich

It was a sunny day, with the air was crisp from the previous night's rains. One could almost forget that was war was going on, if they overlooked the rationing, the soldiers walking in the streets, and the feeling of the people that perhaps the war could not possibly be won. The previous day's raid had shown that the Greater Getov Reich was not immune to the horrors of war.

Carl Goerdeler sat at his table in the Zum Anbeißen, a restaurant that he came to a couple of times every month out of fact that it was probably one of the best in Berlin. Being a regular meant that no one would take note that he was here, much less speaking with company, which he did on many occasions. Across the table from him sat former Generalfeldmarschall Erwin von Witzleben, and Oberstleutnant Claus von Stauffenburg.

Both of them were enjoying the meal that he had paid for since he was the one who had brought the three of them together. "I take it that the two of you are enjoying the meal that I have paid for?" he asked humorously.

"I am merely a colonel, Herr Goerdeler," Stauffenburg said, a small smile on his face. "I cannot afford to turn down such a meal when someone else is paying for it."

"And you will not hear a complaint from me when a menu like this is available." Witzleben added. "This entire meal has been exquisite, though I do worry about some of the company who also frequent this restaurant, especially with recent events, Herr Goerdeler."

Goerdeler gave them an assuring smile. "I can promise you that we are as safe as can be, considering the circumstances."

Witzleben showed a concerned look, and subtlety looked around. Goerdeler couldn't help but feel pity for the once proud officer. He had been one of the first commanders to break through the Maginot Perimeter, and had earned the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross. He had been placed in command of all forces that bordered Albion and Hispalis. The command had only lasted a year, with the general taking leave from his position for health reason. However, the rumors were that the Field Marshall had been retired after criticizing the invasion of the Rarus Federation.

Stauffenburg, however, seemed more alert, despite the loss of his eye and replacement of a hand and a couple of fingers, there was an energy about him. A fervor that could be connected to his strong Catholic faith and general dislike for the Nazi Party, even before the war started.

"Don't worry, my friends. This restaurant is owned by a close family friend, and they know how to keep the place clean of pests."

"We can't be too careful," Stauffenburg said cautiously. "Admiral Canaris says that the Gestapo has been keeping close tabs on many of us. It's strange, but it's almost as if they know who to go after. He says that he's trying to find out more."

"Probably the Teutonic Knights," Goerdeler said. "The Fuhrer has been relaying on them more and more as of late. Is it true that he is planning on replacing commanders on the Rarus Front with SS and Knights?"

Witzleben sniffed at the mention of the Fuhrer's newest fascination. "His fascination with them are going to be the downfall for the Getov people. They shouldn't be in command when there are proper commanders who have far better combat experience than they do." He took a deep breath to try and relax his nerves. "How exactly is the war going? What friends I still have aren't able to share anything with me. Is it as bad as I think it is?"

"It's worse," Stauffenburg explained. "The Allies are pushing hard in Brittany and Calais. Best estimates are that they will take the systems by the end of the month."

"Leaving them open to either move to free Paris or push to try and take Belgian and Batavia," Witzleben concluded. He rubbed his chin while in deep thought. "What about the strike that we were hit by yesterday, Oberstleutnant? What was the damage?"

The General Staff officer took a drink from his glass of wine before he answered. "Preliminary reports are showing that we have one spacedock out of commission for the next few months, and the light cruisers that were sent to stop them will need another three months in the yards. On the surface, their strikes hit some of our munitions factories and refineries. We're lucky that most of the naval forces that were sent to hit the Allies were in other systems, except the Tirpitz was hit in the raid. She'll need at least a month in the spacedocks."

"Tirpitz's damage could be a blessing in disguise," Goerdeler said. The ship was probably one of the most powerful vessels remaining in the Getov Navy, and had seen her fair share of combat. So far, she had been lucky enough to survive everything with only moderate damage, and the crew considered her blessed. He looked at the other two before continuing. "Her firepower would be useful."

The meaning was implied and all three of them knew what it was. "Could the commander and its officers be trusted?" Witzleben asked carefully. "That vessel would be a game changer in Phoenix."

"I would have to talk with Admiral Canaris," Stauffenburg said, taking down a few notes on his datapad. He paused and looked up at the two other men, "It was the Tuskegee Squadron that was responsible for escorting the strike force to the planet."

Goerdeler inwardly smiled. "I am sure that the Fuhrer was upset at learning that." I wish I could have seen the man's reaction when hearing that those monkeys hit us so hard. It almost made the damage that Getov Prime had received worth it, but the death of his countrymen was something never to take lightly. "I was shown what the Allies would want from us in the event that we are successful. I can't accept it, and I don't think many others will."

A grimace came to Sauffenburg's face. "Those were conquests that we rightfully took, and they belonged to Getov in the first place. It was only after Versailles that we lost them."

"That is a problem after Phoenix has succeeded," Witzleben added. "We need to make sure that the objectives can be reached before we act, otherwise we lose everything and we know what the result of failure would be." He turned to look at Stauffenburg. "When would it be best to take place?"

"Most pieces are in place, Herr Witzleben," Stauffenburg explained. "There are still a few others that would take at least a month for them to be placed in position, but two might be better. The Gestapo is making things far more difficult."

"And that is not including changes in the war that we can't foresee." Goerdeler steepled his fingers in thought for a moment. "What about the field commanders? Manstein and all of them?"

Stauffenburg shifted slightly. "Model," and the name was said with a sneer, "is out of the question. We all know of his dedication to the Fuhrer and the Party itself. Busch… I am unsure." He leaned forward and propped his arms on the table. "No one has approached him, but with the Rarus building up after retaking Leningrad, he will be too busy to offer anything. Manstein said, and I quote, 'Prussian field marshals do not mutiny'. However, he has not learned of the Fuhrer is planning on replacing all field commanders with SS and Teutonic Knights, he may reconsider."

"Wounded pride," Witzleben said. "Action would have to take place before then, otherwise we may lose whatever strength we have on the Rarus Front in the confusion. What about the Teutonic Knights?"

"Admiral Canaris says that he has received something to help in neutralizing them, and it can be worked in with our method of delivery. However, it would be best if we discussed that later," Stauffenburg explained, taking a sip from his glass. "Some things should not be talked about in the open."

Goerdeler nodded in agreement and smiled. "I agree," he said and waved for a waiter. "Now I hope that you two gentlemen still have room for dessert. This restaurant has the best in Berlin."

The other two men smiled. "If you keep feeding me, I won't be able to fit into my dress uniform anymore," Stauffenburg said jokingly, and the other two laughed.

"Just consider it enjoying the finer things in life in these tumultuous times." And let us hope that it's not going to be the last one we have before we die, Goerdeler though and raised his glass. "Gentlemen, to Getov."