Go Forth to War

by DebraHicks

The Ghostbusters and the Blackwood project team up to stop the aliens from changing history. Their first task throigh is to save their own teammates.

It was the kind of Florida storm that made natives happy and caused tourists to pull off the road. Lightning flashed in massive displays across the blue black sky as the rented mini-van pulled into the overgrown, muddy driveway. The dark gray two story rotunda was the only visible part of the house that belonged to the drive.

"Geez," Peter Venkman complained as the rest of the house came into view between the ancient trees. "Talk about stereotypes."

"It does sort of have that Hollywood haunted house look, doesn't it?" Winston observed.

The vehicle bounced to a stop. The tall, blond driving unfastened his seatbelt. The rain had slowed, for the moment, to a steady, unseasonable cold mist. Dr. Egon Spengler started to say something and was cut off by the parapsychologist in the back seat.

"I know," Peter quipped. "Let's transport the equipment indoors before the precipitation increases in output."

Egon controlled his smile, went along with the gentle ribbing by saying, "Concisely put, Peter."

Ray Stantz, youngest member of the famous quartet laughed. "Touche, Egon."

"Actually," Egon continued, "Even though the manifestation has been appearing on a regular schedule, it might behoove us to reconnoiter the house before entering."

"Sounds good," Winston Zeddmore, agreed. He slid out and opened the back gate.

Ray started to climb out of the front, sat back down with a bit of a thump, his hand going to his temple.

"Ray?" Egon reached across and touched one wide shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Headache," Ray said quietly. He straightened, smiling. "It's okay now. Must have been the change in climate."

"Yes. The humidity factor between Florida and New York is extremely different."

"Okay now, kid?" Peter asked, concerned.

"No problem."

They joined Winston near the back of the van, hoisting the heavy proton packs over their shoulders. It started raining again as Egon, holding his PKE meter, lead the way through the huge trees.

"I hate chasing ghosts in the rain," Peter mumbled.

It was only 5:00pm but between the massive oaks that lined it and the gray clouds that hovered over it, the street was evening dark. The white sedan pulled over to the curb, shielded by a solid wall of rain. The shadowy front outline of a large old house was just visible, one side obscured by drapes of soggy, gray moss.

"Looks normal enough," the driver stated.

A wide smile lightened his companion's face. "How can you tell? You can barely see it."

Black eyes flashed annoyance, which only made Harrison Blackwood smile wider. Then his amusement died. "It always looks normal." He glanced up through the tinted window. "This rain could last all day."

"Which is definitely not normal," Ironhorse said through clenched teeth. "The McDill weather station didn't report anything like this front moving in, and Fort Lonesome is too far from the coast for this to be coming off the Gulf."

"I hope this isn't part of whatever it is they're trying," The bigger of the two wondered quietly.

In answer, his companion pulled a Beretta from under his denim jacket. "There's only one way to find out, Doctor."

Without replying the doctor yawned, unimpressed with the powerful weapon. "It's still two hours until the next occurrence." He leaned back, pulled a battered fishing hat down over his eyes. "Let's give it half an hour. Maybe the rain will stop by then."

"And you're going to nap in the meantime?" the smaller man questioned in disbelief.

"Have you got a better idea, Colonel?"

"Blackwood!"

"Besides, I hate chasing aliens in the rain."

"Readings are normal," Egon shouted over the building storm.

The rain had grown impossibly cold for a March in Florida. They were squatted under a century old oak, the large branches blocking some of the water but doing nothing to help the increasing cold and dark.

"Okay," Peter said, "let's get this show inside."

"Go ahead," Winston told them. "I'll get the extra jumpsuits so we can change."

"You'll need help," Ray volunteered.

""We'll go in the back door," Egon said, "and open the side; it's closer."

The team split, each duo disappearing into the storm.

"Ready?" Blackwood asked his obviously impatient companion.

Lt. Col. Paul Ironhorse snapped around. "I've been ready."

"You do John Wayne so well, Colonel."

Silence answered him but he saw the glow of amusement in the ebony eyes. Once again Ironhorse checked the gun, then strapped a long knife on his thigh, reached into the back and slung a compact Uzi over his shoulder to complete the arsenal. It was raining harder than when they had arrived at the house, something Ironhorse wisely chose not to comment on. Harrison pulled out a Geiger counter, slid out of the car and they ran toward the house.

Using the trees as cover they closed to within twenty yards of the rotunda. Ironhorse shrugged deeper into his coat, turning to ask Blackwood about the readings he was startled to see Harrison staggered two steps and go to his knees.

"Harrison!" Ironhorse dropped into the mud next to him and gripped his upper arms. "What is it?"

A breath hissed through Blackwood's teeth. "My head..." He squeezed his eyes shut, as Ironhorse's strong arm moved under his shoulders, hoisting him to his feet.

"We have to get you back to the car," Ironhorse said firmly.

Harrison shook his head, rubbing ineffectively at his temples. "No,

it's getting better."

"Are you sure?"

Blue eyes, bleached gray in the stormy light, opened slowly to meet Ironhorse's concerned gaze. "It's okay. Must be the sudden change in altitude."

Looking doubtful, Ironhorse released him. "Alright, but stay close."

"Always, Colonel."

They moved behind an oak tree with heavy branches that almost touched the ground, only now noticing the van parked near the side of the old house. Harrison checked his Geiger counter, swept the area and shook his head. Ironhorse started to step out from behind the tree when two barely visible figures ran toward the vehicle.

Winston snatched the side door open, grabbed two bags and handed them back to Ray without looking. Something colder than the rain touched the back of his neck.

"Very slowly," a hard voice ordered, "straighten and put your hands on top of the car."

Winston did as told, a chill going down his back that had nothing to do with the weather. Ray was positioned next to him, looking pale in the sodden daylight. Winston gave him a hopefully reassuring look. Strong, thorough hands searched him, skimming around the pack.

"Doctor?" the voice asked.

A strange, almost inaudible clicking sounded over the storm."They're clean," a new voice informed them.

"Turn around."

Winston and Ray found themselves confronted by two men, the one with the gun gaining their attention immediately. He was Ray's height, slimmer than the fit Ghostbuster, dark, with eyes as hard as his voice. He was dressed in black fatigues with a stretch cap that almost covered his raven colored hair. Beside him was a tall man with storm darkened blue eyes, which regarded them neutrally. He was wearing jeans and a gray windbreaker, his hair covered by a soggy blue fishing hat. Winston recognized the instrument in his hand.

The smaller man had flipped open their wallets, studying the pictures. "Winston Zeddmore and Ray Stantz, New York."

"Alright, gentlemen, who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Is there anyone with you?"

The two Ghostbusters exchanged quick glances. It wasn't the first time they had been questioned by authorities. It was obvious though that the men facing them weren't police officers.

"We're Ghostbusters," Winston said levelly, staring at the gun. He didn't mention their two teammates in the house.

"Ghostbusters?" A dark eyebrow arched up.

"Of course!" The tall man said suddenly. "Dr. Ray Stantz."

Before the other could stop him, he stepped forward and shook Ray's hand. "I've read about your team, the advances and theories you've made in parapsychology."

A tentative smile started across Ray's face. "I'm glad to hear..."

"Look," Winston interrupted, "I'm not answering any more questions until we get inside and that," he pointed to the weapon, "gets put away."

"Colonel," the friendly one chided gently. Reluctantly the weapon was eased into it's holster. "Lead the way."

Remembering at the last minute to pick up their soaked bags, Winston and Ray lead them to the side door. As they made their way through the heavy downpour toward the house, the one in black suddenly moved ahead. His gun came out, pointing again at the two New Yorkers; with his other hand he shoved the taller man behind him, up against the wet wood of the old house.

"Who's in there?"

"No..." Winston started.

"Who? he repeated sharply.

Winston watched the dark eyes narrow, knew with complete certainty that the man in front of him would not hesitate to shoot if he thought they were a threat to his companion.

"Ease up," Winston said calmly. "Our other two teammates are in there, Dr. Peter Venkman and Dr. Egon Spengler."

Before anyone could make a move, the door behind them opened. The man whirled, gun coming in line on a startled Peter.

Peter backed up, shoving Egon behind him. "We're unarmed," he squeaked.

The man stalked in, the others behind him. Scanning the room, the tension around the deadly face gradually relaxed. The weapon went smoothly back into the holster.

"What the hell is going on?" Winston demanded.

"I'm Dr. Harrison Blackwood," the civilian replied. "My guardian angel here is . Paul Ironhorse."

Ignoring the comment, Ironhorse prompted, "You are?"

Egon, eyes wide behind wire-rimmed glasses, stepped hesitantly forward. "I'm Dr. Egon Spengler; this is Dr. Peter Venkman."

The two teams stared awkwardly at each other for a minute.

"So," Peter cleared his throat, "what brings the army out to the middle of Florida to investigate a haunted house?"

"Haunted house?" Harrison's question was a combination of enthusiasm and disbelief.

"The only thing haunting this area," Ironhorse said firmly, "is the

group of terrorists we're pursuing."

"Terrorists?" Egon questioned. "Are you certain?"

"We wouldn't be here, sir, if..."

"Gentleman," Blackwood calmly cut off Ironhorse. "I suggest, we combine our research and reason out exactly what is causing whatever brought us all here."

With a bemused smile, Ray said, "You sound like Egon."

Ironhorse gave the auburn-haired ghostbuster a look of absolute horror. "Two of them?"

Ray's laughter earned him a slight, lopsided smile from the colonel.

"I have a suggestion," Peter said. "Let's change clothes first."

The place had been elegant in its hey day, perhaps even in several heydays, but those days had passed when Sputnik circled the earth. White dust covered the floors, plywood covered several windows, and drop clothes turned the few pieces of furniture into ghostly lumps. Thunder rumbled ominously, echoing through empty halls.

Stantz had brought a second jumpsuit, which he graciously offered to Ironhorse. Glancing at Harrison, the colonel thought of refusing. Before he could say anything, Blackwood pointed to the suit.

"Put it on, Colonel, there's no need for both of us to freeze."

Sliding out of his wet clothes one arm at a time, Ironhorse managed

to never lay his gun down.

"Never put down your gun," Peter said seriously. The other's looked over at him. "That's always when the monster shows up."

Very purposefully, Ironhorse sheathed his gun. He finished dressing, then did a quick turn around the room, alert but with gun tucked under his arm. Deciding for the moment, it was safe, he started toward the rest of the house.

"Stay here," he ordered.

Blackwood was paying no attention, too engrossed in questioning Egon about the famous, illegal proton packs. Ironhorse unsnapped a flashlight hanging on his belt, flicking it on as he moved away from the sparse light offered by the broken windows. He frowned, it would be completely dark within another twenty minutes and he only had two lights.

"He's a little paranoid, isn't he?" Winston commented as Ironhorse vanished up the stairs.

"He has reason to be," Blackwood defended automatically.

"Blackwood," Peter mumbled under his breath. Green eyes lighting with recognition, he snapped his fingers. "You were in astrophysics at PIT until about two years ago."

Before Blackwood could answer, Winston asked, "What's an astrophysist doing chasing terrorists?"

"It's a long story," Harrison answered vaguely. "Are all the packs on the same oscillation or does..."

"Blackwood! Get in here."

Questions vanished and all four followed Winston's flashlight toward where Ironhorse had called from. The colonel was standing at the far end of a massive library, empty, broken shelves filled three walls, encircled a huge fireplace whose marble mantle had long since disappeared.

"Swing around near the wall," Ironhorse instructed.

They started into the room and were immediately hit with a drop in temperature. Despite the dry clothes an involuntary shiver hit the group.

"Classic case of heat reduction due to PKE expansion," Egon explained to Blackwood.

The scientist regarded him with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

Ray laughed. "Egon's finally managed to impress someone."

The Army colonel wasn't impressed, was in fact impatiently waiting. When they joined him he shone his light across the dusty floor. Footprints, human, marred the fine white layer; several large patches showed where something heavy had set.

"Someone, something," Ironhorse said tightly, "has been here, recently."

"If they're leaving footprints," Harrison observed, "they must be our guys."

Ironhorse shook his head. "Take another look. There's no prints leading in or out and no sign the equipment was taken out."

Winston's light joined Ironhorse's to sweep the floor. It confirmed what Ironhorse had observed, not that Harrison needed confirmation. He knelt in the dust, ran a hand lightly in the gritty material.

"Ghosts don't usually leave footprints, do they?" He directed his question toward Egon.

"Actually," Ray answered instead, "ghosts usually do whatever they want."

"Terrorists, Colonel," Harrison stood, "don't walk through walls."

Worried ebony eyes met the light blue. "Harrison, we both know that these terrorists are always a surprise."

"But what would terrorists be doing to create the effects that have been reported up here?" Winston wondered.

"What would ghosts be doing broadcasting on the frequency we've been monitoring?" Ironhorse countered.

"We don't have enough proof to support either theory conclusively." Egon moved in between them.

"So, what now?" Peter glanced at his watch. "It's only thirty minutes before whatever it is puts in an appearance."

"Can any of you handle a gun?" Ironhorse asked.

The New York team stared at him, then at each other.

"To what end, Colonel?" Egon wondered.

Ironhorse gestured toward the four Ghostbusters. "If it is ghosts, you four are more than capable of handling it. If it is terrorists, I'd feel better if at least one of you were armed."

"This particular group," Harrison explained, "doesn't believe in surrendering or in taking prisoners."

"I really hope they're ghosts," Peter said fervently.

"Colonel," Winston stepped forward. "I was in 'Nam."

Two set of dark eyes shared understanding. Ironhorse nodded. "Very well."

Winston took the Beretta Ironhorse held out to him with a frown. "I promised myself I'd never use one of these after I got home."

Ironhorse met his sad expression. There had been a time when he would have ordered him, civilian or not, to take the weapon and damn the pacifism. That was before Dr. Harrison Blackwood. "If you'd rather not, Mr. Zeddmore, we can ..."

Shaking his head, Winston said, "No, it's okay. This isn't the first time I've broken that promise. You do what you have to."

"You're only backup. If it's our group just stay ready."

"Yes, sir!" Winston saluted.

Ten minutes later the two teams had split up; Winston and Egon against one wall, Peter and Ray along the other, near the fireplace. In between the others, Blackwood and Ironhorse crouched near the room's entrance. Thunder rumbled outside and lightning blinked in the broken windows behind them. In the darkness the six men waited, each fighting the worrying thoughts of what they might be facing.

"You're taking this awfully calmly," Blackwood observed.

"Taking what calmly?"

"The fact that we might be chasing ghosts."

Harrison couldn't see the slight lifting of Ironhorse's mouth, but he heard the amusement in the deep voice. "Harrison, twenty four months ago, I didn't believe in aliens."

Other whispered voices didn't carry to them over the rain pounding

on the tin roof two stories up.

"There's more to this than terrorists," Peter mumbled.

"What makes you suspect that?" Egon wondered.

"Egon," the dark haired Ghostbuster chided, "don't be naive. Why would a Special Forces officer be working with a civilian astrophysist chasing terrorists?"Before Egon could refute the question, the room flooded with light.

Everyone ducked behind their respective furniture and doors. The bright glow was followed by intermittent flashes of varying colors, swirls of light, accompanied by a steadily building, almost musical tone that rattled the old walls. As suddenly as it started it ceased, leaving an ominous silence - and a room filled with a large machine attended by three humans.

"Interesting." Was Egon's only comment.

"Looks pretty harmless," Peter said. He stood up slowly, keeping his thrower aimed.

Across the room, Blackwood saw Venkman stand just as he spotted the radiation sores marking the 'humans.' And just as one raised a machine pistol.

"Get down!"

Gunfire exploded in the ancient building. Egon and Peter dove to the floor as a line of bullets chewed up the faded wallpaper above them.

Ironhorse sprinted forward, raising his weapon. Before the soldier could pull the trigger a tendril of gray ectoplasm materialized out of nowhere, slamming him hard into the wall, forcing his breath out and sending him to his knees.

"Goobers!" Winston shouted, as creatures began literally popping out of thin air.

"Fire 'em!" Peter ordered.

Power from four proton packs filled the room with flashes of light. The two aliens near the equipment opened fire, gunshots sounding small underneath the unleashed nuclear energy; Ghostbusters and their quarry scrambled for cover.

Blackwood was suddenly next to Ironhorse, hoisting him to his feet. The soldier shook off his help.

"Get back, Harrison! I'm okay!"

To his surprised relief the scientist retreated behind the wall. Shots dug into the wood at the colonel's feet. His Uzi shook, sending sparks off the equipment. The aliens ducked back, talking harshly in their guttural language. Ironhorse moved up.

He didn't see the ghost closing in on him until Egon yelled, "Colonel!"

Ironhorse dropped and rolled toward safety, coming to his feet near Stantz. Behind him, Egon's weapon caught the ghost in it's white-gold glow.

"Trap!" he demanded.

"Coming!" Peter assured.

Peter sprinted forward, unsnapping a containment unit from his belt and sending the trap in a smooth arc under the entity. The glow spread out, the doors snapped shut and there was one less enemy in the room.

Along the wall, Ironhorse moved to try and get a shot at the aliens' working the machine. One of the enemy surged up, going for the controls as the other two offered cover fire. At the same moment Ray's beam snagged one of the neither beings. He let out a yelp of surprise as the creature continued its flight across the room, dragging him along. Ironhorse grabbed for him, just missing and the Ghostbuster was yanked out of his hiding place and into the open.

The standing alien turned several dials and a strange swirling glow sprang up around the machine; a high pitched series of tones started up at the same time, rattling the remaining windows. As if that were a signal all the ghosts in the room intensified their attacks on the men. A burst of gunfire cut the building sound for a moment as Ironhorse's shot took out the controlling alien, another sprang up to take his place.

"Guys!" Stantz was struggling to hold even partial cover against

the stronger creature.

Before anyone could reach him the ghost took a sharp turn, throwing Ray against the rotted plywood over one window. The wood shattered, letting in an immediate deluge of water that drenched the youngest Ghostbuster.

"Heads up!" Winston yelled. A trap sucked the ghost in, freeing Ray to turn back to the fight.

A melodic rhythm began from the machine, a faint blue glow spreading slowly out. One alien continued to spin dials as the other fired toward Spengler. He ducked back. The aliens at the machine nodded to each other, one drawing aim on Winston, the other toward Ray.

Two pairs of blue eyes spotted the danger at the same time.

"Lookout!" Harrison warned.

"Ray!" Egon let lose a bolt toward the controlling alien but it bounced off the translucent blue glow.

Even over the building machine song, both shouts were heard, but not by the intended targets. Ironhorse made a long dive toward Ray at the same time as Peter did a low tackle around Winston's legs. The glow swept out from the equipment, enveloping the four men. There was a final, unresolved crescendo and everything -aliens, machine, ghosts, three Ghostbusters and one lieutenant colonel -vanished in a searing explosion of sound and light.

Silence, deep as a tomb, covered the area. Very slowly, fighting shock and disbelief, Egon walked across the room. Blackwood met him half-way. For the moment, neither man could say anything.

"Ow!" Winston landed with a thump, Peter's weight hitting him immediately after his own landing. "Did you have to hit me that hard, Pete?" he complained. "You could have..."

He stumbled to a stop as he realized two things; one, Peter was not listening, was in fact silently staring around him and two, wherever they were was very sunny, very hot and very dusty.

"What the hell?"

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," Peter quipped.

"I hate it when you say that."

The sound of boots on rough ground cut off any further discussion. Winston hoisted Peter up by one arm and slid them both into a dark crevice in a nearby adobe wall. Two men dressed in crude homespun marched wearily by. Long, black-powder rifles rested on their bowed shoulders; their boots, when they stopped level with the two Ghostbusters eyes, were covered with the yellow dust that seemed to permeate the landscape.

"Ya think they'll come agan?" One man drawled in a Tennessee accent so strong that for a moment Winston wondered if he were faking it.

"Nah," the other answered, "we hurt him bad."

There was a long pause, then the first man said, "Davy says Santa Anna got over 2000 men coming up. Reckon that's true?"

A pair of the boots shuffled nervously. "Well, if'n Davy said it, must be true." With fake cheeriness that sounded bad even to Winston the man continued, "But they ain't nothin' but Spainards. They can't do much agin us. And them Texicans ain't pups either."

The first voice, also filled with false hope laughed. "Yeah."

The two men moved on, leaving a very confused pair of Ghostbusters. Winston grabbed Peter before he could voice the questions that were crowding both of their minds. Scrambling up, they slipped toward the doorway of the nearest building. Flattening against the wall Winston peered in, relieved to find the place empty. They moved inside, keeping to the shadows.

"Winston," Peter forced lightness into his voice. "I'll tell you where I think we are if you'll tell me where you think we are."

The bigger man met his companion's searching green eyes. "Texas."

"Yes?"

"The Alamo," Winston admitted reluctantly.

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

A hot wind whipped the top layer of sand off the dirt floor, filling the air with choking clouds.

"Is this real?" Peter asked nervously, all trace of humor gone.

"I don't know."

The room was filled with mats and a few cots, all the same yellow color as the dust outside. Clothes and ancient, single shot weapons lay in neat piles around the room. Winston went toward one, picking up a very solid antique muzzleloader.

"I think we'd better treat it like it is."

Ironhorse had been cold before, winters on the reservation and special forces 'cold training' had seen to that. But looking across the deadly white, wind swept landscape, he knew he had never been this cold before and hoped he would never be this cold again. He pushed on through the knee deep snow, the world and his perception narrowed down to forcing his way toward the small building that he had spotted on the vague horizon.

There was a soft moan from the man next to him and Ironhorse kicked himself for his selfish inattention. He turned to find Stantz shivering beside him, auburn hair sprinkled with snow flakes, eyelashes spiked with ice chips, his white hands tucked under his arms. Ironhorse turned Stantz toward him.

"Gloves," he shouted over the wind. "Do you have any gloves?"

The hazel eyes were blurry but Ironhorse's intense question edged through the cold. Ray nodded, teeth clenched too tightly to let him talk. He fumbled into his suit and pulled out a pair of thick work gloves. It took him several minutes to slide them on. Ironhorse resisted offering help, hoping that the effort would focus the man's wandering attention.

Worry tightened the colonel's jaw. Stantz had been wet when whatever had hit them had left them in this frozen wilderness. Ray stumbled and Ironhorse caught him, wrapping strong arms around the stout body.

"I've got you."

The wind picked up, cutting through Ironhorse's borrowed jumpsuit. Ray stiffened in his arms, shaking so hard he could barely talk.

"Shelter?"

"Not far," the colonel assured him.

Sliding his arm around the man's waist under the pack, Ironhorse moved them on. They covered the distance, the shape growing with agonizing slowness.

Stantz's knees gaveway and he slipped out of the soldier's weakening grasp. Ironhorse struggled to keep him up and they both went down in the wet snow. The colonel pushed up immediately, brushing as much snow off as he could. Reaching for Ray's wrist Ironhorse realized that, despite his gloves, he had lost all feeling in his hands.

"No..." Ray swatted weakly at his hand. "Too sleepy... go alone..."

With another sinking feeling Ironhorse realized that his companion had stopped shivering.

"Hypothermia." Leaning down he shook the other man. "Stantz! Ray!

Get up!"

"Peter..."

Stantz tried to curl away from the hands tugging at him. Ironhorse straightened, checking the distance to the house. He knelt, tightened the straps on the Ghostbuster's proton pack, grabbed one wrist and with a grunt of effort pulled the bigger man up and over his shoulders. There was a barely audible mumble of protest which he ignored. Staggering under the weight, he forced himself onward.

An eternity later Ironhorse's boot crunched against something under the loose snow, snapping his wandering attention up. He was standing in what had been a farmhouse, now it was a pile of rubble; the roof was partially gone, the walls tumbled, blackened timbers standing like bones out of the snow. He scanned the small ruin, a large stone fireplace dominated a partially standing wall. Wanting nothing more than to sit down and go to sleep, he managed to stagger toward it.

"We'll get through this, kid."

Ironhorse was startled by his use of a nickname not spoken since 'Nam, it's sound bringing back memories good and bad. Kids too young to the world, some learning, some dying. He remembered the piece of innocence he saw in most of them, an innocence that he had to kill, quickly and brutally, or they would not have survived their first fire fight.

A few feet shy of the crumbling wall, Ironhorse's constant desperate prayers were answered, a partially burned trap door marked the entrance to a cellar. Lowering the auburn-haired Ghostbuster to the stone floor, he lifted away what was left of the door. His flashlight showed that the stairs were solid. Using his last reserves, he managed to get Ray over his shoulder and down the five steps. The immediate absence of wind cheered him considerably. His boot touched the dirt floor and he lowered Stantz against the wall, unsnapped the flashlight again and brightened the artificial darkness.

What his light showed him sent relief crowding out the fear he'd been carrying; piles of blankets, stores of food in glass jars and a stock of firewood.

"Thank you, Grandfather."

"The extraterrestrials," Egon theorized, "would seem to be using the ghosts for something, possibly protection."

Blackwood nodded, staring darkly out the smashed window. He had levelled with the New York physist over the last, lonely, two hours, giving him all the information he had on the aliens.

"I think it's worse than that," Blackwood said grimly. "From what I've read of your adventures, there are some things out there as bad as the aliens."

"There are entities that, if allowed to enter our dimension, could wrack widespread death and destruction," Egon admitted, shifting his pack up more securely.

Harrison moved away from the window. "What if that's what the aliens are attempting? To unleash something that will destroy humans more effectively than they can."

Sky blue eyes went very wide behind red-rimmed glasses. "A dimensional gate? Yes, we have encountered something like it before. I've built one myself. And that would explain the netherbeings willingness to work for the aliens. There are several creatures trapped in less hospitable environs that would go to extreme lengths to escape into our world."

"Ray was wrong," Blackwood smiled quickly, "you're worse than I am."

The lines of loss around Egon's eyes faded a little. "If that is the theory behind the blue field, it is very possible that all of our friends are still alive."

Harrison sighed in relief. "I was hoping you would say that. But the big question is - how do we get them back?"

"Getting them back, even finding out where they are is going to take more resources than we have available here."

"Resources, Dr. Spengler," Harrison said enthusiastically, "is the one thing the Blackwood Project has in abundance."

Ironhorse knew he didn't have long, his shivering was getting worse, soon his mind would start to wander, leaving them both dead men. Dragging the proton pack to him, he examined the unit with unsteady fingers. He had not been prepared for a survival mission, as the current state of his hands testified. There was no time to make a fire, even if he could find the sticks to try it. He had seen the power put out by the proton pack knock down a wall; he prayed that at a lower level it would also start a fire.

Turning all the dials he could find to their lowest setting, he flipped on the power. He flinched as the whine built then leveled out. Staggering to his feet, he laboriously climbed the stairs high enough to clear his head and shoulders. Taking aim at a nearby singed timber Ironhorse pressed the trigger. A pencil thin ray of red lanced out, blackening the wood at once, a second later a flame licked up.

"Alright!" Ironhorse cheered hoarsely.

He cut the beam and tossed a snowball weakly at the small fire. It took three tries to hit it.

Within minutes Ironhorse had a small fire going in the center of the cellar and had heated some of the rocks in the wall behind it. After warming his hands carefully, he climbed the stairs once more and pulled what was left of the door back in place, holding the heat in. He turned to check his charge.

A faint, slow pulse let him know that he still had a companion in his exile. Stantz was breathing shallowly, skin frighteningly cold. It took Ironhorse twenty minutes to get his tingling fingers to strip the unconscious man. As he spread out half the wool blankets, Ironhorse absently noted that they were homemade. Rolling the cold body onto the pad, Ironhorse covered Ray with the other half then pulled him a little further from the fire, knowing that in his present state, warming too quickly would kill him as fast as the cold.

By the time Ironhorse had finished moving Ray, he was covered with a fine film of sweat. The long torturous walk had exhausted him more than he had realized and now the lovely warmth was pulling him down to sleep. A wave of dizziness hit him and he blinked rapidly to dispel the attack. He looked worriedly at the small fire. The wood would only last a while, the glow from the walls only a little longer. After that the temperature would drop rapidly, leaving them both in trouble if he slept too long.

The best way to warm a human body was with another human body. Ironhorse sighed, accepting the inevitable and stripping off his ill-fitting jumpsuit but leaving the black t-shirt. He spread the two blankets he had saved for himself on top of Stantz, lifted the whole pile and slid under them, wrapping himself as close to the chilled form as he could. His last thought as he let sleep claim him was that he was glad Harrison couldn't see him now.

Sweat ran like small rivers off Winston's broad back, soaking the stolen shirt. It had taken three tries to find something to big enough to fit him but twenty minutes later, with their proton packs carefully hidden, they emerged into the harsh sunlight. A long rifle rested in each of their arms, Peter's awkwardly, Winston's like a M-16. They walked slowly into the main yard.

Men rested in the shade around the walls, small groups milled near an open arch barricaded with overturned wagons. As they causally joined the nearest group a man on a rangy chestnut reined to a stop in front of them. The rider was big, board shouldered with blue eyes that sized up every man in the group with one sweeping glance. His gaze lingered for a moment on Winston, flicked to Peter before moving on.

"Who here hasn't been assigned a position?" His voice was deep, had the slightest trace of a Tennessee accent.

The two Ghostbusters exchanged a quick glance and Peter raised his

hand. Winston stayed still, letting him lead.

"We're new, sir."

The man studied him closely, obviously noting his younger appearance and New York pale features. Peter had to resist the urge to fidgit, like a school child under the teacher's gaze. A single nod released him and the cold eyes switched to Winston.

"Freeman?"

Confusion touched Winston's face and he glanced sideways at Peter. The intent of the question hit them both at the same time but Peter answered first.

"He's mine."

The parapsychologist was immediately hit with a puzzled look from Winston and a hard look from the commander.

"I won't have slaves in my command," the man stated strongly. "Join Bowie at the south wall."

The officer pointed to several other rough looking bearded men and the two Ghostbusters followed them toward their assigned post. Once there they proved that armies hadn't changed even in a hundred plus years; they were told to wait. Winston sat down with a thump, glaring over at Peter as he sat down beside him.

"What the hell made you say that?" he said hotly.

"I didn't want them to separate us," Peter replied levelly.

Winston's anger and unease vanished at the barely hidden fear in Peter's green eyes. He forced a smile. "Good thinking."

They sat in silence for a minute before Winston observed. "That weird blue light did this."

"Ray and that gung-ho colonel," Peter added. "I couldn't tell if they were hit with it or not."

"One other thing, Egon and that crazy Dr. Blackwood weren't anywhere near the ray. If anyone can get us back, it's ol' Egon."

"Yeah, and what do we do in the meantime?" Peter wondered, surprisingly sparse with the smart comments this time.

Winston, who didn't have an answer, wished he could remember more of his high school American History class. Before worry could take complete control, a deep, Southern accented voice took their attention to an other man in the nearby shadows.

"Your boy, you rent him out?"

Two pairs of eyebrows shot up, but before either of them could answer the man continued.

"If we're going to fight soon, I want a good shine on these boots when I do. You know, looking fit for the Lord and all that."

Winston looked over at his companion and was shocked at the dangerously familiar mischievous glint in Peter's green eyes. He held his breath, wondering just how far Peter would take this, knowing that Peter would see it only as a grand joke.

Peter smiled at the man. "How much?"

"Peter," Winston warned dangerously.

As the man dug into a worn leather pouch, Peter said quietly out of the side of his mouth, "Lighten up, my man. So far this place hasn't lived up to the travel brochure."

The man pulled out a handful of coins and put them in Peter's hand. A frown creased Peter's forehead as he tried to figure out if it was too much or too little. The look made the man squirm.

"That's all I got, mister." Defensively he added, "You ain't in no place to argue."

Winston put as much menace as he could into the look he gave Peter, but again it was ignored.

"Okay, but only the one shine." Peter turned to Winston and smiled. "Take care of the nice man, Winston, then you can fetch me some water."

Winston came to his feet. "Damnit, Peter, if you think..."

His voice trailed off as he realized that all the men in the area were staring at him. "Yes, sir," he said tightly.

Warmth was the first thing that seeped into Ray's mind, followed by the feeling of something heavy on his chest. Fear followed that awareness and he shifted, fighting to get his arms lose.

"Stop! Stantz!"

He didn't know the voice but the commanding tone made him cease his struggles. More sensations started up; there was a hard floor under him and soft blankets wrapped around him. Even though he had stopped moving his body continued to shake with a chill he somehow knew had been worse.

"Peter?"

"No." The voice took on a gentle quality. "Come on, kid, open your eyes."

It took several tries but he at last managed to focus on the man holding him down. A lean face, raven colored hair hanging in disarray, black, deep eyes that were both commanding and understanding.

"Colonel Ironhorse?"

A final sensation crept up on Ray; he could feel every inch of the blanket under him. Fearing the worst he cast a quick glance down the length of his body, close pressed under the nearly nude body of the colonel. Ray could feel the blush start at his toes and work up. To his relief and surprise Ironhorse also turned a shade darker, rolling off without comment. The older man tucked the blankets back around him quickly, saving one to wrap around his own shoulders.

Despite his embarrassment, Ray immediately regretted the loss of the warm body. His teeth started chattering. "Cold."

"I'm going to build up the fire," Ironhorse explained. "Stay still, getting too close to it could do more harm than good."

"Hypothermia." Ray's eyes tried to drift shut but he forced them to stay open. "Where are we?"

The soldier shook his head, started to answer when another thought hit Ray's clearing mind.

"The others?" He tried to sit up, only to fall back before Ironhorse could push him down.

"Easy. I checked all around where we... landed. There was no sign of anyone else."

Ray lay quietly, thinking back over what had hit them. "Peter and Winston were closer to the blue field."

Ironhorse nodded. "Yes. And, fortunately, Blackwood and your weren't anywhere near it."

It took a moment for Ray's hazy memory to confirm this. When it did he felt a wide smile start across his face. "You think they'll be able to get us back?"

He saw the hope in the onyx eyes, and the realism that almost crowded it out.

Hesitantly Ironhorse said, "I think that Harrison can figure out just about anything, given time."

The implication of the statement didn't escape Ray. Time was the one thing they didn't have a lot of in this deadly white world.

Peter groaned as he sat up. The dirt floor had proven to be as hard as it looked, making his night's sleep too short and very little help. On the blanket next to him, Winston continued to snore softly. Several of the other men were stirring in the room. Peter rubbed his face, sweat already beading on his forehead. Against the wall nearest the door some of the men were lined up at the water barrel.

Winston stirred next to him, shifting groggily. He sat up, looked around, frowning.

"No," Peter said softly. "I already went through that. It's not a dream, or in this case, a nightmare."

"Oh, man." Winston sagged back to the ground.

"Why don't you fetch me some water there, Winston." It wasn't a request.

Winston's attention snapped over at him, and Peter smiled at him. "And when you finish that," he motioned toward a pair of socks, "these really need washing."

Silence answered him. After a minute he worked up the nerve to look over at the other Ghostbuster. Winston was regarding him coolly.

"What the fu..."

A shorter man came up beside them cutting off the fast building anger. He dropped his rifle to Winston. Winston stared blankly up at him.

Peter smiled sheepishly. "I told McNarma here that you would clean his rifle."

"Might want to hurry on that, boy," McNarma said moving off. "Libel to be shooting soon."

"Going back to the original argument, Peter cut Winston off by saying, "We have to keep people convinced that you're really a..."

"Slave, Peter," Winston said shortly. "You can at least say it if you expect me to act like it."

"Hey," Peter said lightly. "Look at it this way. In two days everyone in this quaint adobe motel is going to met their maker, so we really won't be testing your acting ability that much."

The other men where starting to file out and Peter pushed up to follow them before Winston could reply. Dawn was just starting to color the sky to the east as they stepped into the courtyard. Winston grabbed Peter's arm, immediately letting go as some of the men gave him a strange look.

"What are you talking about?" Winston demanded. "What two days?"

"I'm not real good at history, Winston, but I remember the date, the Alamo fell on March 6th." Peter stepped away and stood up very straight. "I heard one of the men mention the date. Today is March 4th."

"I thought maybe we were here before the battle started," Winston admitted to Peter. "You're saying that we came in..."

"During the lull before Santa Anna's final push."

The implications left both of them with nothing to say.

"The packs!" Peter said suddenly, interrupting Winston's gloomy silence.

"What?"

Peter closed, gesturing intently. "We can use our packs to stop the attack. All we have to do is cut furrows in the ground or shoot in front of the horses and..."

"And change history." Winston finished.

The flat tone of Winston's statement stopped Peter's argument. "Oh. That's probably not a good idea, is it?"

"I may not have Egon's brains but I'm pretty sure that it's not a good idea," Winston nodded sadly, staring at the ground.

Peter sighed, closed his eyes against the raising sun. "Which means it's up to Egon."

"Hey, Peter," the man with the boots that Winston had shined came up to them. "Think Winston can groom my horse later? Two eagles for it."

Smiling, Peter said, "Sorry, bucko, he's got my washing up to do later."

The man moved off after the rest of the unit, heading for the food tent. Still thinking about their deadly problem, Peter was unprepared for the strong hands that grabbed both his arms and shoved him against the dirty wall.

"Peter, if you think this is funny..." Winston's rage choked off his comments. Peter flinched, only now seeing the anger flaring in the deep brown eyes.

"Winston, I didn't..."

He was thumped hard against the wall. "Shut up! I'm gonna do all this shit for you, so nothing else goes wrong but when we get home, I am first going to take you apart then I don't ever want to see you again."

Peter had no chance to reply, to apologize or even think about the deadly anger in his friend's expression. A shout echoed off the top parapet, halting any further conversation. Everyone began to move, several of the men running up the lashed ladders to the wooden platform that ran along the length of the wall. Shouts and shots began to echo through the small mission. Winston and Peter stood in stunned confusion.

The man they now knew to be Commander Bowie ran toward the ladder nearest them. He paused with his foot on the first rung, rifle in hand, large knife on his belt.

"Don't just sit there, boys," he said over the building gun fire. "Get your asses up there and put those guns to use!"

Reluctantly they went up after him, following his example and staying low once they reached the top. Lead balls thudded against the soft adobe in front of them. After a long minute of huddling in the cover they found courage enough to edge up and look over the wall.

"Oh, shit," Winston said with disbelief.

Clearly visible under the sparkling new sun, stretched out for a mile in front of them, the Mexican Army stood, polished, poised and ready to attack.

Thunder rolled across the open fields surrounding the small sheriff's office.

"Nothing," Egon said with a frown, pushing his glasses up. He moved aside to let Harrison and Norton lean in over his shoulder. "There is nothing inherently interesting in this manifestation. No indication of anything more than a small cluster of class twos."

The Ghostbuster let Norton take over the terminal to reestablish the uplink with the Cray supercomputer back at their California headquarters.

"We're not getting anywhere," Harrison paced away.

Norton reached up and squeezed his forearm. "Harrison, you've been up almost thirty six hours." He cast a quick glance at the New York scientist slumped in the stiff office chair. "You both need some sleep."

"The machine will make another appearance in just twelve hours, now is not the time to..." Spengler's speech was cut short by a long yawn.

Suzanne moved next to Egon. "Let's face it, none of us are in any condition to continue."

"Suzanne, I didn't mean us," Norton started to protest. "I'm not..."

"Norton, Omega broke several of it's own air speed records getting

us here but..."

"Ms. McCullough..." Egon again tried to speak out. He was drowned out by a combination of a loud clap of thunder and Harrison.

"Enough!" Harrison nodded to Suzanne. "You're right. But we can't spare the time. I suggest that we take it in shifts. Egon and I will sleep a couple of hours while you two wait for the Cray's reply."

There were reluctant nods all around. Egon stood, joining Harrison as he approached the door. "Sheriff Henderson, our contact here in Fort Lonesome, volunteered to put us up in the absence of a hotel. I'm certain the invitation will be extended to you."

Another flash of lightening filled the window above them.

"Oh man," Norton complained. "I wish the rest of the equipment would get here. If this storm gets any closer I'll have to shut down."

"Do what you can," Harrison said, turning to follow Egon.

But Spengler wasn't moving toward the door; he wasn't moving at all. He was staring at a spot just over Harrison's shoulder.

"Dr. Spengler?"

"Power?" Spengler questioned himself quietly. The blue eyes lit with excitement. "That's it!"

"What?" Suzanne demanded.

"The aliens aren't using the ghosts as protection or to turn some entity loose," Spengler surmised. "They're using the alternating PKE levels as their energy source."

"Would the level changes be enough?" Harrison questioned.

"Perhaps, with modifications or some sort of feedback circuit. It would also offer an explanation for the class twos appearing substantially more powerful than they should."

Harrison snapped his fingers. "The storms. That would explain the storm that preceeds each manifestation."

"Exactly. And why the storms are increasing in frequency and severity."

"So." Harrison sat down and began to doodle on a pad. "We know why..."

And we know how to stop them," Norton cut into the two scientists stream of consciousness.

"Yes. Containing the entities will stop their power source." Egon stared at Harrison over the top of his glasses. "But until we have everyone back..."

"To bring everyone back we have to know how to control the machine," Harrison said softly.

Behind him Suzanne added, "And we have to do it while the ghosts are still in the room."

A frown creased Ironhorse's face and he shivered. Snow was still falling, getting heavier; the wind had died down but the temperature was dropping. There was no way they would be able to get more than a few hundred yards under the present conditions. He scanned the horizon and could make the very distant outline of dark buildings. It was too far away to even think about.

Giving up on hope of moving soon, he started searching the remains of the house, trying to find anything that would give him a clue as to where they were. His first find were several pots near the collapsed fireplace. The place was small and he moved further into the single room where the remains of a curtain, tangled in the snow, marked a bedroom. His foot banged into something under the blanket. Digging in the snow made him realize that his hands were getting numb through his gloves. The scattered snow revealed a square wooden box which he bundled in the curtain along with the pots and two copper cups.

Walking back toward the cellar he stood for a moment staring at the ruins around him. He was beginning not to like what twenty two years of military training was telling him. Closer inspection revealed that the walls bore few burn marks despite that the roof had fallen due to flames. He waded a few feet out into the knee deep snow, feeling carefully forward with one foot. After a couple of tries he found what he was looking for -a shell crater.

The house hadn't burned down; it had been hit with mortar fire. Suddenly very conscious of his dark jumpsuit against the white world he turned quickly, scooped up a panful of snow and went downstairs. He felt the amber eyes that watched him from the bottom as he very carefully covered the entrance, leaving just enough room for the slight bit of smoke that the fire was giving out. Coming across the floor without looking over at the other man, he knelt next to the fire, dropping the items and stripping off his gloves, waving his hands over the low flame.

"What did you find?" Ray asked hoarsely.

For a fraction of a minute Ironhorse wanted to lie to him.

"Not a lot. An iron pan, I can at least melt some snow for water." After a moment, Ironhorse came over next to the bundled figure and sat down. "I'm still not sure where we are but the house above us didn't burn. It was bombed."

"Are you sure?"

Ironhorse started to snap an impatient answer but stopped at the sight of a face lined with worry. He gave Ray a quick single nod. "I'm sure."

The snow melted quickly in the iron pan and Ironhorse took it off and poured the liquid into the two cups. Stantz struggled to sit up.

"Stay still," Ironhorse colonel lifted Ray gently by the shoulders and slipped in behind him, leg on either side of the blanket wrapped form, back against the cold stones. He shifted, letting Ray rest against his chest, enjoying the warmth of another body against his.

"Slowly," he warned.

Ray sipped, drinking his fill a little at a time. Ironhorse had made sure the water was slightly warm to finish taking the edge off the cold that had tried to claim the younger man. After a minute Stantz sighed, obviously relishing the warmth as much as Ironhorse did.

"How far did we come?" Ray asked suddenly. "From where we landed?"

The right side of Ironhorse's mouth twitched. "In actual distance or what it seemed?"

Ray chuckled hoarsely. "Distance."

"Two, two and half, miles. Why?"

"Dimensional doors," Ray yawned. "It's usually better to stay close."

"Not in this case."

Ray sighed, relaxing back against Ironhorse. "What else did you find?" he asked blurrily.

"Feel like sitting up for a minute?"

Ray nodded and Ironhorse slid out, resting him against the wall. Ironhorse stoked the fire just a little more, casting a worried eye toward the broken chair he was using. It was more than half gone; he would have to go for something else soon. The box he had brought down took his attention and he slid it over between the two of them. It was plain pine, without a lock and Ironhorse flipped the lid.

On top was a limp bound, small black book. Ironhorse pulled it out, thumbing through it. His eyes widened, the constant worry he'd felt since going outside flaring high and hot. It was in Russian. A shaky hand reached out for it. Ironhorse gave it to Ray and turned back to the box. On the bottom were three photos, two old ones, yellowed around the edges and one new, still clear. They were all wedding pictures, each couple stiff and unnatural, the newest dressed in pre-World War II clothing.

"It's a bible," Ray said softly, his eyes barely focusing on the tiny print.

"How can you tell?"

"I picked up a little Russian from my aunt."

The auburn head bowed over the holy book and Ray's mouth moved as he tried to read the differently worded passages. Ironhorse let him read, delving back into the box. The only remaining item was an old handgun wrapped in oil cloth, and a few bullets. With a shrug Ironhorse cracked open the cylinder and loaded it. He had learned early never to turn down any kind of weapon.

"Dedicated to my... something... wife," Stantz mumbled quietly. "In the year of our Lord nineteen thirty nine."

When Ironhorse looked up, Stantz was frowning. Despite everything they had been through, this was the first time Ironhorse had seen the man frown. It hilighted the feeling of wrongness that was bouncing around the back of his mind.

"What?" he demanded a little more harshly than he intended.

"This bible is new," Ray answered.

That fit, and Ironhorse didn't like the growing theory it fit.

"Colonel?"

He looked up into an open, searching face that had seen more than he had intended. The innocence that had marked his first impression about Ray Stantz was both intensified and changed. The Ghostbuster might have been naive in a way but he was very astute. He glanced down at the gun, at the pictures, at the bible.

"I think I know where we're at," Ironhorse said quietly. "But I don't know how..." He took a deep breath. "We're in Russia, best guess would make it sometime between 1939 and 1944."

To his surprise, Stantz accepted this easier than he had the news of the house's bombing. A slight smile touched Ironhorse's mouth; it seemed the Blackwood team wasn't the only group use to dealing with the strange and unexplained.

Winston held out the damp, warm cloth to Peter, waiting in silence as he wiped his mouth. With a groan and a sigh he leaned back against the wall. He was pale and shaking.

"Oh, God, Winston..." he mumbled finally.

Despite his earlier promise, there was no way Winston could ignore the sorrow tearing at his friend. He laid a steady hand on Peter's quaking shoulder. "Easy, Pete. It's never easy the first time."

Terrified green eyes met his. "The first time?"

Taking an unsteady breath himself, Winston said levelly, "I... it gets easier to ignore."

For a moment Winston was afraid of looking up, afraid of the condemnation he thought he would find on his friend's face. What he found was a combination of sympathy and partial understanding. Peter reached up and covered the hand that gripped his shoulder.

A long shadow blocked the sun, making them both look up. Winston jerked his hand away. Bowie towered over them, flicked the slim cigar away, stared down.

"First time?"

Knowing that Peter's pallor had already given them away, Winston nodded. "For him... sir."

"And you?" The voice was softly accented, gave nothing away.

"No, sir."

The man suddenly knelt in front of them, smiled slightly and put a hand where Winston's had rested. "War's a dirty business, son. Don't feel bad that it didn't sit with your stomach."

Peter nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Standing, the man told Winston. "Take good care of him, boy."

"I will, sir."

The commander moved away, leaving two depressed men sitting in the deepening shade. Winston stared at Peter, knowing there was very little he could do.

"Want some water, Peter?"

His only answer was a nod.

He was almost reluctant to leave for even the few yards it would take to reach the barrel but he finally stood and moved away. Peter, who was staring at a small spot in the dust, didn't seem to notice his leaving.

The ladle was hot from lying in the direct sun but they kept the water barrel under a cloth lean-to to stop evaporation. There was a fine film of dust on the water and Winston stirred the liquid before taking a scoop out. He took a slow sip before turning toward Peter.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. The water splashed to the ground, pooling on the sun-baked rock. A man Peter's height, clean shaven and only a little younger than Winston, stood in front of him.

"What the hell you doing, niggar? You drinking out of that?"

Winston's eyes narrowed, anger, unlike anything he'd felt in a long time flared along his nerves. He took a half step back, and swung, connecting a solid blow against the man's jaw. Before the man could recover, he moved in again. Someone grabbed him from behind, someone else grabbed the other man.

Winston whirled, ready to take on whoever had stopped him. Familiar emerald eyes flashed a warning at him.

"He was bringing it to me," Peter explained to the gathered men.

His matter of fact manner did nothing to cool Winston's heat. He tried to jerk away.

Peter held on, grip tightened. "Bring the water, Winston."

Seeing the men around him staring, Winston fought his emotions down, struggling for control against an inborn sense of injustice. Several deep breaths regained his composure. He jerked away and retrieved the ladle without a word.

Egon sighed, watched as the dawn colored the window pink. Behind him he could hear Blackwood's breathing lighten. While Egon had managed a few hours sleep it seemed that the astrophysist had only gotten an hour or so.

"Dr. Spengler?" the sleep roughened voice questioned.

"Egon," he urged.

"Did I wake you?" Blackwood asked politely.

"No."

For the first time the sound of thunder was absent, draping the world in eerie silence. Egon forced himself to roll over, away from the feelings of lose and loneliness that had claimed his attention all night. Several times in the short, intense history of the Ghostbusters they had faced the possible loss of one of the team but until now, only Peter had faced the lose of all three of this teammates. It was not an experience Egon had wanted to try. Peter had held on, rescued his companions from Nexus. Egon wasn't about to give up either; he would get his friends back.

He heard Harrison sigh as the man climbed out of bed. Guilt joined Egon's unusual depression. While he could try to justify his pain as deeper, his loss greater because of losing his whole team, he had sensed the bond between the scientist and the soldier, and knew the sorrow for one would be just as deep as the sorrow for three.

Blackwood started for the bathroom door. Egon reached out and touched the man's forearm.

"We will get through this," he said firmly.

Blurry blue eyes regarded him for a moment, then Harrison nodded, unconvincingly. "Just keep telling me that."

The tall scientist went quietly out. Egon stared at the door for a moment, then wandered to the window. It was going to be a beautiful morning, warm and soft. The key was finding the control method the aliens were using, beyond even finding out what the machine did, that was the secret to getting their friends back. He tapped his chin, letting his mind drift for a moment, hoping for some insane inspiration.

From inside the small bathroom came the clear, sharp, metallic sound of a single note. Egon jumped as if he'd hit a live wire.

"That's it!" he yelled.

Without regard for protocol or manners, Egon jerked open the door. Harrison was standing just inside, still dressed, staring at the tuning fork in his hand. Before he had time to react, Egon grabbed him by the upper arms.

"Harmonics!" Egon fairly shouted. "They're using harmonics. That's what the tones meant."

The fire that flooded the blue eyes staring at him was a reflection of his own. "Of course!" Blackwood confirmed. "If we can find the keynote, the one that sounded just before they disappeared it should be possible to reproduce the effect."

Egon started out, both of them pushing each other toward the door. Harrison threw his arm around Egon's narrower shoulders. "Egon, did I tell you that the Cray, under the maestro Norton Drake, can make absolutely beautiful music?"

"I'm going with you."

Ironhorse shook his head. "No."

"Colonel, I'd really like to go outside," Ray shifted a little

uncomfortably, preparing to stand.

"It won't take me long to find something to burn." Ironhorse started toward the stairs. "You may be feeling better but freezing nearly to death leaves you open..."

"I really need to go outside." Ray made it to his knees.

"No one needs to go... Oh."

Ray smiled in embarrassment at him. Ironhorse sighed, offered a steadying hand down to him. The younger man took it, levering himself to his feet; he swayed and only Ironhorse's strong arm around his waist kept him on his feet.

"We won't be able to stay out more than a few minutes," Ironhorse warned.

It took a few carefully balanced moments to get Ray into his jump

suit. They were both sweating by the time they were ready.

Minutes later, Ironhorse leaned Ray against part of a wall. "I'm going to gather some wood."

Ray blinked, one arm straight out against the icy stones. Ironhorse continued to hold his arm, asking his condition with a single raised eyebrow. The auburn hair reflected the winter bright sun as Stantz nodded.

"Okay."

Ironhorse studied him for a moment before easing his grip slowly. "Don't move any further than necessary."

The wind had died down, making it even more dangerous. A person would get colder slower, not notice it as much. The colonel went toward the kitchen again. The earlier wind had shifted the snow, changing the landscape. The luck that had been coming and going like the snow reappeared and Ironhorse stumbled over a broken table as soon as he started toward the fireplace. He bent to retrieve the wood -and a cry of alarm carried through the frigid air.

Ironhorse moved without thinking, Uzi in hand. His companion wasn't hard to find. Ray had moved to the outside wall his arms thrown up against the wall, his face buried in the warmth. He was shaking, and Ironhorse knew immediately it wasn't from the cold. Closing the distance carefully, every sense sharper than the cold, Ironhorse swept the landscape. Nothing moved. Slowly he lowered his weapon and neared the young New Yorker.

It was then that he saw the body. She had been maybe ten or twelve, with long blond hair done up in braids. The blood surrounding the two gapping holes in her chest had dried long ago but the snow that had hid den her, had preserved the pain of her death. Ironhorse now noticed the other two large mounds close by, the bullet holes in the wall above them, evidence that two more bodies lay in final rest.

There was a muffled sob from the man behind him. Ironhorse turned, Ray's pain cutting through him. In silence he holstered the weapon and slipped his arm around the broad, quaking shoulders. Ray didn't resist as the colonel lead him back to the cellar, detouring only long enough to grab the wood.

By the time Ironhorse eased the man down onto the makeshift pallet his quiet crying had stopped. As Ironhorse started to remove his arm, Ray reached out and grabbed his wrist. Confused, dazed eyes stared up at him, grip nearly painful.

"She was just a little kid," Ray whispered.

There was nothing Ironhorse could say.

"Who? Why? Why would anyone...?" Ray's voice broke and he brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

Ironhorse sat down, offering the only thing he could, the same thing he had offered his men in the past, in never forgotten jungles, the nearness of another human being. It was the only thing that any man could do, because there was no answer for the question Ray was asking. Ironhorse wrapped his arms around the other man and let him cry.

"Everything is secured, sir," Coleman reported to Harrison.

"Good work, Sergeant."

Norton rubbed his hands together as the power from the portable generator let him crank up the PC. "We'll have this baby up and running in no time, Doc." The satellite connection clicked in and he started typ

ing, making the link with the Cray.

Suzanne was standing next to them, tightening the straps on her borrowed proton pack, standing a little awkwardly under the surprising weight. Harrison gave her a doubtful look.

She returned a disbelieving look. "You're not going to tell me it's dangerous, are you?"

Harrison tried to cover his initial reaction by shaking his head and giving her a wide smile. "I wouldn't even consider it."

"But you will still be staying in the background, right?" Norton prompted.

"I will, if you will."

It had been a long night. Only had Norton kept busy, loading the musical information into the computer, their main hope in retrieving their missing teammates. The door opened and Derriman came in to the accompaniment of a roll of thunder. The stout sergeant was wearing the last borrowed proton pack over his uniform, resting the barrel of the weapon across his arms. The attack was three fold; Suzanne, Egon, Derriman and Coleman wore packs and would hold off the ghosts; leaving Norton and Harrison to discover the symphony needed to control the alien machine. Two Omegans stood close by to guard against the aliens.

Thunder echoed. Harrison looked out through what was left of the back window. Dark clouds lurked like wolves on the horizon. The team leader glanced at his watch.

"Five minutes," Harrison mumbled to no one in particular.

"Time to take positions, sir," Derriman warned.

A strong, disturbing sense of deja vu hit Harrison. He looked worriedly at his two remaining teammates, then over at the New York scientist. Egon gave him a confident thumbs up before joining Coleman to take up a position near the fireplace; Suzanne took the back, near the door to protect Norton; Derriman stayed with Harrison. The first drops of rain started pounding on the roof.

Blinding light was their first warning. Around the room, hidden recorders and cameras clicked on. At the computer, Norton began tapping keys.

Derriman reached for his radio, shielding his eyes. "Get ready. Coleman, Spengler - on my word."

The haunting hum of power started to build, vanishing in a flash, leaving the same machinery, and the same two aliens, even more covered with radiation marks. Everyone held to their hiding places. Near the machine, the aliens began spinning dials while talking into what looked like small recorders; various tones and tunes filled the ancient house. There was no sign of any ghosts.

Derriman looked over at Blackwood, waiting for a signal. Harrison shook his head. Minutes passed as the storm continued to build; outside the wind howled around the trees. On the platform one of the aliens motioned to the other. A different musical formula took over.

"Ghosts!" Egon yelled in warning.

Proton packs fired up, slashes of light cutting through the gloom in the room. Harrison ducked as a tentacle of gray slammed the wall next to him. In the exact move that Ironhorse had used, Derriman pushed him back and fired a ray of red at the entity. The ghost took a dive into the nearest wall.

At the machine, the aliens calmly began pushing buttons again. The familiar, unearthly scale started.

"Everyone back!" Derriman yelled, falling back toward the entrance hall while taking another shot at a ghost that swooped in at him.

The blue glow appeared. Harrison watched in horror as the blue swept out toward Egon and Coleman huddled against the termite ridden wall. With only inches of safety remaining the glow vanished, taking only aliens and ghosts this time.

Very slowly, the teams regrouped at the entrance hall.

"Damn," Coleman swore. "That didn't gain us anything."

"Wrongo!" Norton said cheerfully. He reached up and patted the small computer. "It gained us enough data to figure out how to crsh their little jam session."

"Not only that," Egon said quietly. "I have a theory about why they're utilizing the ectoplasmic entities in lieu of a normal generator."

Egon touched the proton pack's controls, studied them thoughtfully, said to no one in particular, "A change in tone is equal to a change in oscillation."

"Yes," Harrison confirmed, shrugging slightly to Suzanne.

"After collecting data during several of our inter-dimensional travels, I'm convinced that several dimensions exist simultaneously, the only difference being that they exist at different oscillations."

Suzanne and Norton stared blankly. Harrison frowned. "You mean at different speeds?"

The tall blond answered with another question. "Did any of you experience headaches upon your arrival?"

"Me," Harrison admitted.

"Ray as well. Which could be a sign that the two dimensions at this

intersection are very similar in vibration."

"What does all that mean?" Suzanne finally gave up and asked.

"It means," Egon stopped pacing, "that the machine may still be in

that room."

"Which means," Harrison picked up, "that we can try taking controlwithout the ghosts interfering, since they appear at regular intervals."

Ray looked up as Ironhorse came down the stairs, shivering in the sudden blast of cold wind that followed him in. "What do you have?"

Laying the large bundle down on the bottom step, Ironhorse sat next to the dying fire. Despite keeping it just high enough to stop the worst of the cold, it was taking more and more wood. Ironhorse looked up, dark eyes shaded.

"I found some clothes."

Ray wrapped the two blankets close around his shoulders and joined him at the bottom of the stairs. He touched the large pile of wool material; the things were still partially frozen.

"They were under the snow," Ironhorse explained.

"And?" Ray prompted.

Ironhorse's attention snapped up, surprised by the question. He wanted to lie, remembering kids in 'Nam, of murdered innocence and of his false hope that he wouldn't have to do it again.

"There were two more bodies under the snow near the north wall. I stripped them."

Ray nodded like he'd already known the answer.

There were two heavy coats, one shirt, two pair of pants and several scarves. Ironhorse stood up and hung the clothes along the stairs. He took down one of the jars of food, sniffing at the contents.

"Corn."

He added a jar of potatoes to the corn and they ate the warmed contents in silence. After eating, the warmth and the food threatened to drag Ironhorse down into sleep. He fought it off; there were things he and his companion had to decide.

"I think we'd better try for the city tomorrow."

Amber eyes widened in surprise. "Do you think that's a good idea? We'll be even harder to find when Egon and..."

Ironhorse met the green eyes. "We don't have any choice." There's plenty of food, but we're running out of wood."

"Colonel, if this is the winter in Russia in the middle of World War II then getting to the city may not help that problem."

"I know," Ironhorse admitted. "But there is also the possibility of getting to the underground and getting... back to America."

Ray leaned back against the cold stones, said softly, "But not home."

Without warning, Ironhorse clapped his hand over Ray's mouth, motioning shortly for silence. Ray's eyes narrowed in concern. Ironhorse moved his hand and slid in graceful silence to the stairs, climbing them without a creak. He was back before Ray had a chance to change positions. Carefully controlled fear colored his black eyes.

"Three German soldiers," Ironhorse explained in a tight voice. "In a jeep."

Ray watched wide-eyed as he eased the Uzi out of the blanket he had wrapped it in then pulled the ancient handgun out. Before the colonel could say anything Ray cut him off.

"No, Colonel, I'd rather not."

A ghost of a smile played along Ironhorse's tight mouth. "I hadn't planned on it." He lay the gun aside and lifted Ray's proton pack toward him. "Take this, maybe you can create enough fireworks to distract them."

He threw a blanket over the small fire, smothering it then quickly scattered the remains, trying to blend the new charred wood in with the old that had fallen with the roofs collapse. Grabbing Ray's arm, Ironhorse motioned toward the dark crevice under the stairs. Ray looked at it, then at Ironhorse.

"You first."

Ironhorse's response was to raise his gun. "Those are not ghosts up there. And I don't mind using this."

There was no arguing facts. A crash at the top of the stairs made Ironhorse shove him toward safety. Ray squeezed into the small space; Ironhorse moved in front of him. Low voices carried down on the chilled air. Ironhorse's hand tightened around the Uzi.

Bright light flooded the cellar as the protective cover was moved, a shout of discovery followed. Ironhorse pushed further into hiding as heavy boots hit the wood over them. A flashlight illuminated the places not reached by the sunlight. Laughter and relieved voices warned the two Americans as the others came down.

The Germans didn't spare a glance at the rest of the small room, going directly to the wall covered with canned food. Talking excitedly, one picked up a blanket. They loaded all the jars carefully into it. Two of them carried their prize out while the third gathered up the rest of the blankets. He paused, glancing at the clothes draped along the stairs, dangerously near the small hiding space. With a shrug the man moved up the stairs to join his companions, taking Ironhorse and Ray's supplies, and only hope of survival.

The graph blipped across the high-resolution monitor, just above the slowly moving figures on the video tape playing at the bottom of the screen. Two anxious stares watched its progress.

"There," Harrison said firmly, pointing to a single high point on the graph.

Norton shifted the mouse, re-running the sequence. On the video the blue field appeared. A touch to the mouse froze the graph and the video.

"An octave higher." A tone sounded and Harrison nodded, smiling. "That's it."

"Are you sure?" Egon questioned.

"Hey, hey," Norton interrupted. "Never question a man with perfect pitch."

Harrison pointed to the graph. "The first is the tone that was used last night. The one Norton just sounded is the one was used when the others vanished."

"There are really two different tones running, one just under the other." Norton leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "Okay, we've got the beginning sequence and the finale. What's say we let the Cray cook it around for awhile."

"That would seem to be the approach to take," Egon agreed. "I would suggest that we utilize this time to prepare the PKE generator."

The squat, homemade power unit, shipped in from New York, sat behind a pile of sandbags near the repaired front window. Harrison held one of the proton packs while Egon adjusted the dials on the large unit to match its readings to the packs readout. He nodded to Harrison.

"This setting will allow us the same power oscillation as that currently being produced by the ghosts."

"I wonder why they're using ghosts as a power source," Norton mumbled. "Why not just buy a generator?"

"It may have to do with the nature of the alien technology," Harrison speculated.

"Wow," Norton exclaimed quietly from the computer. "This is too much."

"What, Norton?" Harrison leaned over his shoulder.

"Two tones equals two dimensions."

"Two dimensions?" Suzanne questioned.

Harrison took it easily, musing quietly, "Assuming there are four, which ones?"

"If we use our cases as a database toward a reasonable hypothesis, time and space are the ones we have encountered most often being manipulated," Egon elaborated.

"A time machine?" Suzanne scoffed. "That's impossible!"

"Agreed," Harrison said and looked over at her. "Just about as impossible as aliens and ghosts."

Suzanne frowned. "Point taken."

"It makes sense," Harrison said thoughtfully. "If you could move enough, or even one alien into the right spot in history you could change things drastically."

"Under current conditions there is only one viable way to test this theory," Egon informed them. "Take control of the unit."

An occasional shot sounded over the low snap of the campfires. No one was doing much talking. Peter glanced at Winston, unable, for one of the few times in his life, to think of anything to say. It had only been when the other man had refused to drink after Winston that Peter had realized how harsh a situation his friend had been in. Though circumstances had forced them into the role, he had been taking advantage of it. Now, the guilt was like a nagging tooth ache.

The tall man that had first assigned them came into the square, his rugged face was grim as he moved with a rolling stride into the center of the gathered men. He was wearing the trademark coonskin cap. Peter knew with a sinking feeling what Colonel Crockett was about to tell them.

There was no preamble.

"Word's come from General Houston. There's no help coming." The group was silent.]

"Boy, is that a surprise," Peter tried hard to joke. Winston ignored him.

His attention went back to Crockett. He was speaking in a soft, powerful voice.

"...so that Texicans can decide their own destiny. You should all be proud to be here. Your childern's children will be proud of you."

Crockett started to move off, and Peter stood up.

"Colonel, sir."

"Yes, son?"

Peter came into the main area, very conscious of the men watching him. "I'd like to say something, sir."

The commander's eyes widened but he swept an arm around the square, the fringe on his buckskin waving. "All yours."

"Uh," Peter started hesitantly. "Colonel Crockett was speaking of freedom, of the reason we're all here, of letting people decide their own lives."

He turned to Winston, spoke only to him. "If it were possible I would grant Winston his freedom. I can't -he already has it. He's always been his own man. And my friend. And no matter what happens, I hope he stays my friend."

There were mumbles of both approval and several low curses of disgust. Peter ignored both. All he saw was Winston's hard look fade into reserved acceptance, and slowly into a forgiving smile. Peter returned the smile sheepishly, nodded toward the frontiersman and rejoined his companion.

"Sir," Derriman came up behind them. He was wearing a proton pack; there was a high-powered sharpshooters rifle across his arms. The stocky sergeant handed a pack to Suzanne. Coleman already had hers on.

"Five minutes, sir," Coleman told them as she went by.

"Thank you," Harrison nodded.

Egon and Harrison exchanged nervous glances then like two gunfighters at high noon they moved to the section of the floor where the alien device had appeared, standing just at the edge of the marks in the dust. Across the room, Derriman raised the rifle, checking the sight; Coleman powered up her pack. There was a pause, like the world taking a deep breath.

The wailing song started and the light flooding the room made them both squeeze their eyes shut. They sensed a solid presence in front of them, even before their vision cleared. Egon yanked Harrison behind the machine as the aliens spotted them, raising their weapons. Two shots rang out, and both aliens were going down in a pile of foam. The music stopped.

Derriman lowered his weapon as the two scientists edged around the alien contraption. Coleman kept hers up, so did Suzanne near the door. Nothing appeared, nothing moved. Egon stared at what was left of the aliens.

"Fascinating."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Harrison said.

The familiar buzz of Norton's computerized wheelchair Gertrude turned Harrison's attention around. Norton cracked his fingers. "Gentlemen, let the expert in, please. Forward, Gertrude."

The other two stepped aside as the chair rolled smoothly forward, bumping up onto the low metal platform, allowing Norton to the controls. Harrison stared over his right shoulder, Egon over his left. After a few tense minutes Norton looked around at them with a gaze that would have melted granite.

They drew back instantly. "Right," Harrison said cheerfully. "Why don't we go get a cup of coffee, Egon?"

"Yes, I think that..."

"Don't," Norton ordered. "I've got it."

"What do you mean you've got it?" Harrison demanded.

"I didn't say all of it. But I can see how the control panel works. Two connections - one bass, one treble."

"An inter-dimensional stereo?" Egon questioned.

Norton only shrugged. "We won't know until I disconnect their input and hook up ours to repeat the sequences."

"How long will that..."

Egon never finished his statement. Norton leaned forward, pulled a wire loose. "Suzanne," he yelled, "I need a direct audio cable."

While Norton finished his work, Coleman turned her pack over to Egon, who shrugged into it with the ease of long experience.

"Done," Norton announced. He pointed to the escape key. "Push that and it will re-run the last sequence they ran." He smiled. "I'm playing it safe, Doc. Two minutes and an automatic return sequence will kick in, snag you guys back."

"Okay," Harrison said, "We'll confirm what this thing does then go rescue our friends."

Harrison turned, and with a brave smile that wasn't at all believable, slapped Norton on the back. Suzanne grabbed him into a quick hard hug, which he returned. Without warning, she did the same to Egon, and was rewarded with a blush more noticeable than any she had ever caused from Ironhorse.

Everyone moved away.

"Do you want to do the honors?" Harrison asked.

Without answering, Egon reached over and pressed a single The computer began to repeat the last recording. The blue screen flared up, obscuring the others from the two scientists. As it spread out the area that it swept over changed. The hard, dusty floors vanished, becoming tall grass, open blue sky replaced the damp ceiling. Close by a cannon thundered and all around them the grass yielded ranks of men, armour glinting in the relentless sun, flags hanging limp in the humid land. The soldiers marched by without a glance at the strange sight they offered.

"I do not believe they can see us," Egon speculated.

A knight galloped by and was knocked down by a close cannon shot. The horse screamed in pain and thrashed on the ground, kicking its already dead rider. Egon paled and pressed with recall key. The machine began to hum out a new tune and the world flashed away around them. As easily as that they were back in the house, being stared at with wide eyes from their companions and guards.

Slowly, Harrison stepped away from the machine, fear etching across his face. Suzanne ran over to him, touched his arm.

"This is incredibly dangerous."

"We have to retrieve our companions at once," Egon explained quickly. "It is too easy for them to change history with the slightest thing they do."

"Not to mention," Harrison said, shaking himself out of the shock, "that they could have been dropped in the middle of a very deadly situation."

"I thought," Egon said matter of factly, "that was obvious."

The music started just as dawn touched the eastern sky. It was a slow, haunting tune on guitar and trumpet, that drifted over the cold desert plain and filled the souls of the men in the mission with longing for home and family. Peter sat against the still warm stone wall, nervously fingering the long rifle that rested across his legs. Winston sat in silence next to him. As often as they had faced the unknown together there had never been this kind of quiet desperation.

After a long minute, Winston said quietly, "In 'Nam sometimes someone would actually be able to play an instrument. They'd start out with something slow and sad, almost like they'd seen too many bad war movies. Everyone would start getting real depressed real quick and usually someone would tell them in, uh, kind of basic terms to liven it up."

Peter smiled. "Think that'd work here?"

Winston shook his head. "I don't know enough basic terms in Spanish to properly relay the message."

Silence again.

"Have you ever read "The Lord of the Rings?" Peter asked suddenly.

"No."

"At the end of the book, the hero is about to die in the middle of this world blowing up and his best friend is with him, and he says that he's glad they're there together."

"Yeah?"

"Well, when I read that," Peter explained, "I thought what a stupid thing to say. But now..."

Winston eyed him in confusion. "Now?"

Peter stared hard at the far wall. "Now, I think it's really stupid. I'd rather you were anywhere but here."

For the first time all day, Peter forced himself to meet Winston's gaze. Winston smiled at him, an open smile that made Peter feel better despite the growing light around them.

"Here they come!" Someone yelled.

Something slammed into the wall behind them, knocking Peter forward. Winston grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him back into the disappearing safety. There was nothing left to say. They both stood up turned and fired into the final assault on the Alamo.

Ironhorse eased out of the hiding place and slipping his knife out of the black leather case. A strong hand stopped his move. He turned to find a pair of frightened eyes regarding him.

"Where are you going?" Ray questioned softly.

"We need that food - and that jeep," Ironhorse shrugged off the hand. "Stay here."

He moved before Ray could protest. He reached the top of the stairs and smiled ferally. Just to the side of the wall one of the soldiers was unbuckling his pants, out of sight of the others. Ironhorse grabbed him from behind, hand over his mouth. He thrust up, knife slipping between ribs; blood splashed over Ironhorse's hand and colored the pristine snow. The body bucked once and was still. Ironhorse lowered it into the frozen ground.

There was the ominous rattle of an old bolt action rifle. Ironhorse threw himself forward, rolling toward the nearest wall. He came up on one knee, firing at the sound. A shot sprang off the wall next to him, sparks and chips struck his cheek. The burst from his Uzi caught the German full in the chest, throwing him several feet backward.

Ironhorse moved before the dead man hit the ground, tucking behind the stone wall. Silence claimed the area. He held his breath, listening for the slightest sound to give away his enemies position. He wasn't sure if the soldier would try hunting him or go for the jeep. Deciding that it was too dangerous to risk losing the jeep, he turned and headed toward it.

"Stop!"

Whirling, pressing back against the ice encrusted wall, Ironhorse saw Ray standing at the top of the stairs. The Ghostbuster had the ancient handgun pointed dead straight at the last German soldier. The man stood at the edge of the destroyed fireplace, one arm and part of a leg visible but Ironhorse could see that the rifle in the man's grasp had been pointed at his back; now it was raised halfway between him and Ray. The gun in Ray's hand started to shake. At the same time, very slowly, the enemy's gun came up toward the auburn-haired Ghostbuster. The moment stood still, flash frozen.

With sudden insight Ironhorse knew that Ray would not be able to shoot, not even to save himself. Raising his gun, cursing, he pushed off the wall, put himself between the two guns.

"No!"

Ray's yell was drowned out by the rattle of Ironhorse's Uzi and the bark of the German's rifle. Ironhorse watched the enemy go down in a spray of blood. Vaguely, he registered the slam of something against his chest, pain took his breath away and he was knocked off balance. He never felt the snow that he fell into.

The transponder in Harrison's hand beeped steadily. It was repeated by the unit firmly attached to the time machine. "Well, now we can at least find our way back."

"Here's the show card," Norton explained. It will play the sequence up to Venkman and Zeddmore's disappearance. It will stop there, hold for fifteen minutes then play the return chord. To get back sooner, hit the return key."

Harrison turned to a silent Suzanne. She was chewing on her lip, a sign he knew meant distress. With a warm smile he hugged her, she sighed in his arms. When she eased away the worry had been replaced by determination.

"You may have picked up a few looks from me," he teased gently, "but that one is definitely Ironhorse."

"Just get out there and get them back," she said firmly.

The pain was an old, unwelcome companion. Ironhorse fought his way toward the voice mumbling in the distance.

"I'm sorry." Ray was whispering over and over as he shifted Ironhorse like a fragile doll. It didn't help, agony shot through his chest.

He sucked in a short breath. "Not... you're fault."

"Yes, it is."

He was laying on the same pile of blankets that he'd nursed Ray on, still wearing the jumpsuit. Ray pressed a pad of stripped blanket over his wound. The pressure sent fire along his cold nerves and Ironhorse had to struggle to stifle a cry.

"Why didn't I shoot?" Ray continued to berate himself. "I should have just shot him. Why didn't I just shoot him?!"

The darkness faded from the edges of Ironhorse's vision long enough to let him force his hand up to touch Ray's. The amber eyes stared down into his, barely controlled tears deep in them. Ironhorse took a slow, deep breath.

"Not easy... not everyone. That's why I'm here."

Ray flinched away from the truth. Ironhorse tried to speak again but he could taste blood in his throat and couldn't get the words past it. This time the groan wouldn't be controlled.

A cold hand rested on his shoulder. "You'll be okay. They'll get here. I'm sure of it."

Ironhorse knew nothing he could say would make Ray feel better. The only thing he could do was fight for each breath and pray that help came in time, otherwise the loss would be his life and Ray's soul.

For the second time the familiar tones echoed from the alien machine; it's tune evoking hope and dread in the two men standing near the unit. The floor turned to hard packed, yellow dusty stone. Even before the scene registered, the sounds around them carried: cannons boomed, high rifle shots pinged off stone, and over all of it came the sound of men screaming in pain and fright.

"Dear God," Harrison mumbled as the scene came completely into view.

Around them the Alamo was dying. Crumbled smoking walls blocked their view of the closing Spanish Army but another cannon ball took out the flag pole next to them. They both ducked involuntarily. Egon looked over at Harrison.

"We don't both have to go," Egon offered.

Harrison only frowned at him. "As Norton said, "Let's do it.'"

With a deep, calming breath, they charged through the protective barrier and into hell. Shots sounded like firecrackers over the constant roar of the cannon.

"We need a pattern," Egon stated as they ran for the cover of the nearest wall.

"We'll follow the wall around then work through the buildings."

They started to jog, flinching with every cannon hit. Their strange dress didn't attract any attention, everyone too busy trying to stay alive. Half-way down the first side another cannon shot slammed the wall next to them, sending both of them diving to the ground. Egon grabbed Harrison's arm as they climbed unsteadily to their feet. Egon felt the tremors along the arm he held but wasn't sure if it was Harrison's fear or his own.

In a tightly low voice, Harrison said, "If we don't find them on the first sweep... we'll have to check the bodies."

Egon took a short breath, cast an involuntary glance around him at the wounded, dying and dead. He swallowed, the reality of the situation just now flooding him. With a nod, he moved on. Shoulder to shoulder they forced their way through the battle. They ran barely twenty yards before a cannonball blew a crater in front of them, Egon went down, arms over his head. Harrison hit the ground next to him but not before Egon heard a grunt of pain from his companion. The sound died and Egon scrambled up. Harrison pushed himself to his knees. Egon helped him up the rest of the way; the taller man stood swaying on unsteady legs, a tickle of blood colored one side of his face.

"Incoming!" The shout sounded down from the battlement above them.

Egon nearly dropped Harrison as he recognized the voice screaming a warning to them. Pulling Harrison away from the wall so that he could see the top of the battlement, Egon squinted against the high noon sun. Dark figures moved against the glare, none that he could make out clearly.

"Winston!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Winston froze as he reached for another loaded rifle. Before he could check the area a shot sent him diving to the wooden floor.

"Winston! Peter!"

Peter grabbed his arm, yanking him up. "Are you hit?"

Winston didn't answer, but held onto Peter and scanned below. It wasn't hard to spot the frantically waving figure in a familiar jumpsuit. Winston smiled, waving back. He watched the smile matched on Egon's face as he saw them. Peter whooped thumping him on the back.

"Yes! Yes!"

They scrambled for the nearest ladder.

Egon dragged the still unsteady Harrison to meet them. Peter grabbed Egon first, lifting him to his feet, hugging him and without putting him down, handing him to Winston for similar treatment.

"I knew you'd do it!" Peter yelled. "I knew...

A shot took the wall out next to them, showering them with stone.

"I think," Egon said, "it would behoove us to retreat now."

They turned to run, Harrison flipping on his locator. Half-way across the open square a tall man in buckskin slammed into Winston, nearly taking them both down. Winston pulled back, met the gaze of the Tennessan that he had fought with. They stared at each other for a fraction of a second, then the other man saluted quickly then ran for the nearest cover. Winston watched him go. When he turned to the confused others, Egon spotted the tears in his eyes.

"Let's go home," Winston said hoarsely.

"Wait!" Peter grabbed Egon's arm. "The packs! We left them. This way."

They followed him toward a building nearest the only wall still solid. Ten yards from the door Colonel Crockett staggered inside, tossing a torch before him.

"Magazine!" Winston screamed. "Down!"

The roar was unbelievable, knocking them flat. They stayed down long after the debris had stopped flying. When they peeked from under shaking arms, the building and the area around it had vanished.

"Can we go now?" Harrison questioned.

His only answer was everyone pushing off the ground.

Twice they had to hit the ground, twice they had to dodge a group of men as they ran to reinforce another fallen section of wall. In front of them Harrison slid to a stop, staring at his beeper. He extended his hand, watched it vanish into the alien field. He turned, started to say something, what came out was a harsh yell.

"Down!"

Egon whirled, saw the four Spanish soldiers make the top of the wall and aim toward them. He didn't have time to see anything else. Winston surged forward, massive arms sweeping the other three through the field and into safety. They landed with a thump, rolling up immediately. All except Winston.

"Winston!" Peter reached to turn him over but Egon grabbed his arm.

"Bring him!" Egon ordered.

With a jerk and a grunt Peter got Winston over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. The first note of a vaguely familiar melody sounded from the strange machine, and they stepped onto the platform. The Alamo and it's legendary defenders faded from their vision.

"Coleman! Medical!" Derriman yelled as the machine flashed back into sight.

Suzanne ran up, steadied Harrison. They turned together toward Peter and Winston. Peter eased Winston to the floor and ran his hands along the man's ribs, searching for the wound.

Winston giggled. Peter jumped.

"Stop that," Winston demanded, putting a hand to his head. "That tickles."

Peter's knees gave out and he sank down beside his friend. "Oh, man! You scared the hell out of me!"

"You deserved it," Winston said firmly. A smiling Egon helped him up.

"I apologized," Peter said indignantly as he climbed to his feet. "We were even."

Winston's fist sailed out and slammed very solidly into Peter's jaw, sending him several feet back and to the dirty floor.

Egon stared between the two of them, not sure what was going on but obviously deciding to stay out of it.

Winston walked over and extended his hand down to Peter. "Now, we're even."

Rubbing his jaw, Peter stared at him for a moment before taking the offer. Once on his feet, he smiled, "We'd better be, I don't think I could take another shot like that one."

"Are you both uninjured?" Egon questioned.

Winston again touched his head. "Yeah, just a bump."

"I hate to interrupt this," Harrison cut in, "but we are still two teammates short."

"Two?" Winston scanned the area. "Ray and Colonel Ironhorse?"

"Shit," Peter said lowly. "We couldn't tell if they were caught in the field or not."

Coleman ran in, started to kneel by Winston. Winston shook his head, pointing to Harrison. "I'm fine, check him."

The sergeant reached up to examine the cut on Harrison's temple, the team leader smiled at Norton still seated at the computer. The computer genius returned his smile.

"You called it perfectly," Harrison told him.

Norton bowed. "Of course."

"It's doesn't look bad, sir," Coleman assured him. "Do you feel dizzy? Blurry?"

"No." he added with a wry smile, "But I have a feeling I'm going to have a hell of a headache as soon as the adrenaline wears off."

"Do you want to stay here?" Egon asked. "Winston or Peter could..."

The worry in Harrison's sky blue eyes stopped his question. Egon nodded his understanding, glanced over at his rescued partners. Peter's intense curiosity had already taken over and he had moved to the large machine, carefully walking around it. Winston stood near Suzanne.

Harrison touched her shoulder. "Suzanne, why don't you do introductions while we check the next trip out with Norton."

Norton was busily tapping.

"How soon can you be ready for the second trip?" Harrison asked, gently touching the bandage over his right eye.

Norton tapped a key. "Five minutes."

Harrison sighed, felt the adrenaline threaten to give way to exhaustion. He wandered toward the boarded window; through the cracks he could see the warning clouds. Behind him Peter was demanding explanations from Egon. A hand touched his shoulder.

"Harrison?" Suzanne asked.

He smiled sadly. "War situations both times."

At her puzzled expression he could only shake his head. He couldn't explain the quiet nights by the fireplace, Paul's wavering voice filled with pride and horror as he remembered 'Nam.

"Strange, huh," he said softly. "Of every dangerous place he could be the only thing I can think of is I hope he's not back there, not in Vietnam."

Understanding lit her eyes. "Not strange. Here you're with him. There he was alone."

Peter and Egon came up behind them. The blond scientist checked his watch. "We have two hours before the next paranormal appearance."

"How will that affect what we're doing?" Suzanne questioned, giving Harrison time to recover.

For once, Egon looked uncertain. "With the proton generator supplying the necessary energy requirements, the ectoplasmic entities should revert to a simple class twos manifestation."

"Ready!" Norton yelled.

Buoyed by their first close but successful rescue, Egon and Harrison smiled at the others as they moved back to the unit. Suzanne again was the last to let them go.

"I don't seem to be doing much besides saying good luck," she complained.

"Suzanne," Harrison gripped both her upper arms, "sometimes that makes all the difference."

They stepped to the platform, Harrison pushed the key and the second part of the extraterrestrial symphony that had spirited their companions away filled the room. There was the blue, the spreading and the brown world turned white.

Harrison and Egon stood staring at the sparkling deadly world around them. The field held the cold at bay, as if they were in some strange reversal of an old-fashioned snow shaker. They stepped off the metal plate, the field extending out as far as where Ironhorse and Stantz had vanished. Harrison's outstretched hand exited the protection and he snatched it back with a muffled curse.

"Shelter," he started searching the icy horizon.

They separated, walking the circle.

"Harrison!"

Harrison joined the other man in three long strides. Egon pointed to the very distant horizon. "There may be something out there."

Squinting against the glare, Harrison could see the fragile outline of a building.

"A house, or something. Ironhorse would have headed for it."

He immediately stepped forward, only to be stopped by Egon's surprisingly strong hold. The blond shook his head.

"We are not prepared for this type of terrain. Even if we were to be able to traverse the distance, it is entirely possible that they may not be in a condition to manage the return trip."

Taking a deep breath to control his impatience, Harrison nodded his acceptance of the truth. "Okay, let's go back."

Present reality returned with the touch of the single key and the now familiar blinding flash. Harrison could see the disappointment and concern that filled every face in the room. He refused to give into the negative thoughts. Striding purposefully across the room, he leaned against the computer.

"Norton, you have to move us two miles south of our present location."

Deep brown eyes stared up at him in disbelief. "What?"

"Snow," Egon explained quickly, answering everyone's questions. "The nearest shelter is a considerable distance from the original site."

"Doc, I've figured out the basics, but all I've really been doing here is playing the top 40. You're asking for an original composition."

"You have ascertained which notes control space and which control time," Egon confirmed.

"Yes, but not to what extent. Which means that changing one note could throw you a dozen years or a dozen miles off. That's not even considering the question of direction."

Harrison paced away to stare out the window. "We'll just have to go on foot."

"If this were New York we could bring in a snowmobile and you could just zip over there," Winston suggested quietly.

"Of course!" Harrison whirled around to Derriman. "But in Florida the thing to use is a jet ski." "Sergeant, we need two jet skis in here immediately, two seaters. And round up as many heavy coats and blankets as you can. ASAP."

Derriman came to attention despite Harrison's civilian status. "Yes, sir."

Again the beam hit the stones, turning them dull red. Ray turned to kneel next to Ironhorse. The pad of cloth resting on the board chest was soaked again. Ray closed his eyes, reached for another pad, gently removed the old one and pressing the new one down. He ignored the small moan from the unconscious soldier. Ironhorse's breathing was growing more labored.

The wound wasn't fatal - not in New York, not even in Fort Lonesome. But in a cold Russian winter ...

"Ray."

The voice was soft, forcing Ray to bend closer to hear it. Ironhorse's eyes were open. Shock and sad acceptance had overridden the pain in their dark depths. Ray moved his other hand to Ironhorse's shoulder squeezed hard enough for the wounded man to feel.

"Right here. Are you warm enough?"

A slight smile lifted the right side of Ironhorse's mouth. He nodded. A deep breath moved the chest under Ray's hand, bringing another choked sound from the slender body.

"Later," Ironhorse managed, "get to the city."

There was no need to define later. Ray admired the man for not asking him to leave sooner, for understanding that he couldn't do that. Thoughts of denial and comfort flickered though Ray's mind, promises of rescue, assurance of the Ghostbuster's famous luck.

"I will. Later."

Ironhorse sighed, letting his eyes close. With one hand Ray quietly laid a little more wood on the fire, at the same time tugging the blanket up around Ironhorse's shoulders. His constant pressure over the wound hadn't helped, warm blood still seeped through his fingers.

"God..." he muttered quietly, starting a soft prayer.

He glanced down, directly into the bottomless black eyes. The strong shoulder under his hand shifted as Ironhorse tried to move.

"Up," he requested breathlessly.

Ray pushed him down. "No. Stay still, Colonel."

The man's waning strength was no match and he lay back. Without a word Ironhorse slowly raised his hand and gripped the wrist that rested on his shoulder. Ray gave into his curiosity and allowed Ironhorse to shift the blood covered hand until it touched something under the ruined jumpsuit in the center of his chest. It was a small, square object held by a cord of some kind.

"Off," Ironhorse begged.

Using both hands, Ray shifted the dark head up enough to slide the leather cord off and tug the object free. It was a leather bag, body warm and lumpy. Ray took a deep breath, knowing what it was.

"Medicine bag," he said quietly.

Ironhorse nodded, his head still resting in one of Ray's large hands. "When you get... back. Harrison..."

With a sigh Ironhorse gave into the darkness and passed out, head rolling limply in Ray's palm. Ray squeezed the bag tight, fighting against the tears that threatened. At the last there was no way to control the depression and guilt that swept through him. With one hand back on Ironhorse's wound, he pulled his knees to him and let his head fall against them. The tears were hot as they fell against his chilled arm.

After what seemed like an endless ride through an almost unworldly landscape the structure they had been headed for loomed up before them. Egon clamped down hard on the disappointment that filled him at the sight of tumbled walls and partially collapsed roof. Then he saw the jeep. He slowed, stopped the jet ski behind one of the walls and jumped off quickly. Harrison followed suit, also staying close to the wall.

"Someone's here," Harrison whispered needlessly.

"They'll know we're here," Egon reminded him. "These things are noise..."

There was the slight sound of movement from the other side of the wall. Crouching, they slipped toward the opposite end from where the sound had come from. Harrison threw out his arm and stopped Egon, pointing toward a dark body in the snow.

Egon glanced nervously around. "Perhaps we should have brought the packs."

The sound of a motor brought Ray's head off his knees, killing the last of his hope. They had been found. He looked down at the dying soldier and an overwhelming sense of rage at his own helplessness gripped him. He put the bag in Ironhorse's hand, picked up the Uzi, and scrambled for the surface.

Peering cautiously over the edge, Ray moved as carefully as he could, very conscious of the noise he was making compared to Ironhorse's prior movements. He couldn't see any sign of a vehicle but the sudden movement at the end of the wall caught his eye. His hand tightening around the grip of the machine pistol, he moved behind his target.

The two figures were within a few feet of him, both with their backs to him. There would be no warning this time. Raising the gun, he took careful aim. Very slowly, his finger tightened on the trigger. Cold seconds passed. He couldn't press it down. Not this way. It wasn't in him.

"Hold it!" he demanded.

The men whirled, pressing against the frozen stones in terror.

"Don't mo..." He saw the familiar blue eyes staring wide at him.

"Ray!" Egon ripped off his parka hood.

The Uzi in Ray's hand dropped unnoticed into the snow. He was suddenly holding Egon, revelling in the feel of the warm, living body in his arms, taking comfort from the strong arms that wrapped around him. Egon's hold nearly took his breath. As good as it felt, he shoved away quickly.

"Ironhorse. Come on!"

He lead the way down the cellar steps, stopping at the bottom. Ironhorse lay still and pale near the fire. Ray started to take a step forward, was shoved out of the way by Harrison.

"Paul..."

"Dear God," Egon mumbled beside him.

"We've got to get him back, right now!" Ray ordered.

"Come on," Egon grabbed Ray's arm. "There're coats and blankets on the skis. We'll need them."

Ray ignored him as he watched fear drain the color from Harrison's face. The tall scientist fell to his knees, put a shaky hand on his wounded friend's arm. Behind him Ray heard Egon leave.

"Damnit, Paul..." Harrison whispered.

Tears blurred Ray's vision as he watched Harrison tenderly lift Ironhorse into his arms, resting him carefully against his chest, dark head on his shoulder. The absence of any sound from the soldier scared Ray more than the fresh blood that stained the blanket wrapped around him.

Ray went to his knees opposite Harrison. He picked up the leather bag that was almost hidden in the folds of the blanket and held it out to Harrison.

"He wanted... said you should have this... if..."

Harrison glanced at the bag, took it in silence without meeting Ray's gaze.

"My fault," Ray whispered brokenly, swiping at the tears running down his cheeks. "I couldn't shoot. I couldn't..."

He expected hate in the crystal blue eyes that looked up at him; he wanted Harrison's hate, deserved it. What he found was sympathy, even concern pass the fear the scientist was feeling for the man in his arms. Harrison freed one hand from the tight grip on Ironhorse's shoulder, and touched Ray's arm.

"I'm sure..."

"Ray?"

Ironhorse's soft, hoarse voice filled the cold basement. Ray looked down into barely focused onyx eyes. The dark gaze touched him, shifted to Harrison, and a lopsided smile brought a light back into the pale

face.

"Took you... long enough."

"You were a long way from home," Harrison returned with an unsteady smile.

Harrison looked over at Ray, motioned slightly toward the wounded man and Ray knew immediately what he wanted. Gently, he shifted Ironhorse's head, holding him while Harrison lowered the leather pouch over the raven hair.

"With your luck, pal, you need this more than I do," Harrison said softly.

Ray settled Ironhorse back against Harrison's shoulder. Ironhorse touched the bag, color tinging his cheeks at the sentimentality of his gesture. He smiled at both of them, eyes starting to drift closed.

Ray's breath caught in a quick sob. "Sorry..."

"Let's go home," Ironhorse whispered as he gripped Ray's hand.

A blanket was draped lightly over Ironhorse's chest and Ray looked up to find Egon smiling reassuring at him. The tall blond wrapped another blanket around his young friend before bending to help Harrison with the wounded soldier.

The white was overpowered by the blue, then the flash. But instead of drab brown walls and dusty gray floors the room glowed with the green streaks of ghostly apparitions and flashes of proton power. Lightning crackled in the humid air.

"Down!" Peter shouted as an entity whipped in close to the startled group.

Derriman stepped out of the doorway, beam knocking back a creature that was aiming for Harrison and his downed commander. Ray grabbed his proton pack from beside Harrison and sprinted with Egon away from the machine, trying to draw the ghosts away from the others. From the door Coleman sprinted past them, crouched low, field aid kit in hand, heading toward the two men still on the floor.

Egon held out his hand for the last proton unit. Suzanne gave him a cool glare.

"Not now! I've been sitting here for two days and now it's my turn!" she said firmly.

The tall New Yorker blinked. "Very well."

Ray tightened the straps on his pack. "I'll get the traps!"

"Please do," Egon said through a tight jaw. "Now that the energy source is not needed, I see no reason to tolerate this haunting any longer."

From behind the protection of the computer, Norton yelled, I thought you said they would be harmless once the aliens were gone!"

"They should have been," Egon defended himself. "I can't understand..."

A strange, too high hum interrupted him. He spun toward its source - the generator. The dials on the system flickered erratically.

"Oh, no," he mumbled quietly.

"What?" Suzanne demanded.

"I should have realized."

"What!" Ray repeated Suzanne's demand for an answer.

"The generator is causing the same effect the alien's unit was, magnifying the ghosts power. But a feedback circuit has been inadvertently set up."

"English!" Norton yelled.

"The PKE energy is building beyond the capability of the machine to regulate. This area is in danger of being disintegrated."

"That was enough English for me," Norton rolled out of his hiding place. "Derriman! Clear the area! It's gonna blow!"

Everyone, including Norton, started toward the three people still held down in the center of the room.

"I'll get them!" Ray shoved passed everyone. "Start out!"

Derriman dropped his attack, grabbed the handles of Gertrude and Suzanne's arm. They both tried to slip away but his grip was too strong. "Sorry, folks, but the colonel will kill me if anything happens to you."

Across the room, Winston saw Ray head for the three people on the floor under the mounting ghostly attack. Harrison was holding the unconscious colonel, partially covering him. Coleman was prone next to them, frowning as she put the finishing touches to a pressure bandage on Ironhorse's chest.

A creature swooped in, knocked away at the last minute by Ray's beam. He slid to a stop next to them. "We have to move! Egon says this place is history in just a few minutes."

Harrison glanced down at Coleman. "Go! We'll need an air lift."

With a single short nod, she sprang up in one smooth move and ran in a straight line to the entrance. Winston's beam sailed over her head, sending one of the entities back and through the nearest wall.

"Okay!" Ray cheered. He turned to Harrison. "You'll have to carry him while I cover you."

Harrison licked across dry lips. "Right behind you."

"One, two, three."

In a move that would have surprised the colonel with its speed and grace, Harrison shoved to his feet, hoisted Ironhorse over one shoulder and ran in a broken field pattern for the door. Ray was right beside him. Half-way across the endless room, two ghosts popped out of the floor in front of them, grabbing for Harrison. Ray shoved him sideways just enough to change his direction and fired at the first ghost. Harrison and his burden reached the door just as the second ghost grabbed Ray.

Peter shouted a warning from the door, too late.

Ray was lifted off the floor and swung toward the nearest solid wall. Two beams flashed out of opposite corners, striking the creature dead on. The entity howled in dismay and dropped its prize. Unhurt, Ray scrambled to his feet and ran to Peter and Winston's side.

"Let's get the hell out of Dodge!" Winston urged.

Shoulder to shoulder the three sprinted to the door where Egon had taken Ironhorse's legs and was helping Harrison carry him toward safety. Rain drenched them as they stepped outside. Ahead of them Derriman had the van started. They left the car. Ray took Ironhorse's shoulders, allowing Harrison to climb in then he and Egon handed the wounded man into Harrison's care.

They followed him in; Egon slammed the door.

"Go!" Harrison yelled.

Derriman hit the gas just as the area was lit by a small sun. The van continued its backward escape; Derriman pushing it despite being blinded by the explosion. In the cramped quarters everyone ducked, covering their eyes. Harrison wrapped himself around the body in his arms, waiting for the buffeting and the heat. Nothing else hit them. This registered and Derriman eased off the gas and let the van slow to a stop.

The light had vanished - so had the house. There was no sign, no crater, no scorched earth to mark it passing. Even the grass that had grown beneath it stood untouched. The two teams in the van remembered to breathe.

"You know," Norton spoke finally, "maybe the aliens aren't that bad."

Everyone laughed in nervous relief. All but Harrison, he glanced down at the helpless body in his arms and waited in silence for the air ambulance.

"-So the city is threatening to sue the Army for destroying the house," Norton finished his story.

Ironhorse smiled a little blurrily. "General Wilson's going to have his hands full coming up with something to cover this one."

"Not to worry, mon colonel," Peter's cheerful voice brought the Team's attention to the door; the Ghostbusters stood just inside.

"You can just blame it on us," Winston volunteered.

"Yeah, things are always vanishing when we're involved," Ray finished.

They moved over to join Harrison and Norton around Ironhorse's bed. Ironhorse smiled at them; he was obviously feeling no pain. An IV was still connected, feeding clear liquid into his arm, but there was color in his lean cheeks and the bruised circles beneath the onyx eyes had vanished. Harrison stood beside him, reflecting his friend's returning health.

Winston extended his hand to Harrison. "We were just on our way to the airport and wished to say goodbye."

"Good," Suzanne said, "because I have a question. If that thing was a time machine, why didn't Ironhorse's killing of those three German soldiers change things?"

"I have a theory," Egon and Harrison said together."

"You first," Egon urged.

"I believe that when history is changed in small areas, it is self- repairing. That's why the aliens were interested only in large conflicts."

Egon frowned. "I disagree. My theory is that every change, no matter how trivial, causes an oscillation change, thereby setting up another dimension."

"No, no," Harrison started. "I think..."

"I think I'm getting a headache," Ironhorse said quietly.

Both blue eyed scientists were immediately contrite.

"Sorry, Paul, I didn't..."

"Please accept..."

Ironhorse rolled his eyes toward heaven and everyone laughed easily.

"I was planning on calling you," Harrison told Egon, "once certain people healed up enough to go home."

"For what purpose?"

"Don't be unsocial, Egon," Peter chided. "Maybe he just wanted to say hello."

"Not exactly," Harrison corrected. "To discuss establishing a two- way hotline between our teams."

Peter's green eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Because," Egon picked up, "it is entirely possible that the aliens may try to use ectoplasmic energy for a power source again."

"Oh, man," Winston groaned.

Out of the corner of his eye Harrison noticed that Ray had moved up next to Ironhorse. "Um, why don't we go out into the waiting area and exchange information."

There was a quick exchange of good wishes for Ironhorse then both teams headed out - all but Ray. Ironhorse looked over at him, knowing what the man was going to say.

"Colonel," Ray started, staring uneasily at the floor. "I want..."

"Thank you." Ironhorse cut him off.

That snapped the younger man's attention up. "What?"

"I understand you came in under fire to get Harrison and me out."

Ray stared wide-eyed at him. "That wasn't anything... brave. That's just ..."

"Just what you do," Ironhorse said firmly. "You're good at what you do. So am I. I can't do your job and don't expect you to do mine."

Ray frowned, obviously understanding what Ironhorse was saying but refusing to accept it. "You nearly died."

"And that ghost could have killed you."

Ray glanced up into his eyes. "But..."

Ironhorse held the hazel gaze, letting Ray see the truth of his statement - truth about what they both did and were. After a minute Ray nodded his acceptance, smiling slightly.

"Thanks, Colonel." He extended his hand. "If what Dr. Blackwood and Egon think is true, we might be working together again one day."

Ironhorse returned the firm grip. "Maybe next time we can try for somewhere warmer."

"I hear Anartica is nice in the summer," Ray said with a smile.