Robotech: The Enforcers' War

by GVincent

Sequel to- "Robotech: The Ashes of Empire" & "Robotech: The Smoldering Earth" The renegade Te'Dak Tohl Zentraedi forces of Supreme General Krymina launch their campaign to seize Zor's Battle Fortress and The Invid Flower of Life on an Earth in internal turmoil in their revolt against The Robotech Masters. Earth forces struggle to unite and to repel this new Zentraedi threat.

7. Iago

Chapter Six

Iago

"There is no strategy, no scenario by which we can defeat the Te'Dak Tohl by conventional means."

"This is not the voice of demoralization, or defeatism-. It is simple fact; arithmetic that a school-child can be taught to sum out on a sheet of construction paper with a crayon."

"They are too many, and we are too few."

"Attrition on an almost unimaginable scale has been the strategy upon which The Robotech Masters through the Zentraedi have built their empire."

"And when, like The Robotech Masters, you have created the infrastructure to allow the near limitless supply of warriors and material to dedicate to attrition warfare and are prepared to accept the inevitable, heavy losses- it is and has been a flawless strategy."

"I have no intention of conceding defeat and resigning from the fight, nor do I tolerate even the discussion of the possibility that this war will be lost."

"So it follows that what remains is achieving victory by unconventional means."

General Breetai,

Military Chief of Staff,

Robotech Defense Forces

Artoc

Flagships and command ships, whatever their class, were like every other vessel in the Zentraedi inventory in that they were ruggedly designed with the underlying intent of battle capability.

Where the vessels that bore the standards of units from the battle group and task force level, to those that carried the Flag of a Grand Army- like Artoc- differed was that their capabilities for battle were seldom applied directly during battle.

Like the senior officers filling the top billets of an army's major units, these vessels were reserved from battle- sheltered in most cases behind concentric spheres of defense at whose core they were the cell's nucleus.

Like the nucleus of a cell, their purpose was not to immediately join the battle, but rather to direct their subordinates in battle.

For this reason the compartments, facilities, and spaces of any of these command-level vessels had within them, like any other Zentraedi vessel, the potential for conducting the most brutal operations conceivable in war- but remained pristine in the fact that the potential was seldom if ever realized.

Artoc in this respect was no different than any other command ship, and unquestionably the clearest example of the paradox of potential versus performance in the role of combat.

It was on the deck of an amidships hangar, no different in dimensions or configuration from scores of others aboard the Nupetiet-Vernitzs Class vessel that was command nexus to The 7th Grand Army of the Te'Dak Tohl that Sub-General Caldettas found himself. Here, Caldettas was at peace with the paradox personified in the Fleet's mightiest warship.

Along the inboard compartment bulkhead stood staggered rows of Gnerl Fighter Pods, aligned and spaced perfectly. They had not seen combat, nor had their crews since those units had rotated aboard as recognition and reward for performance in battle sometime before. Like all units rotated to the flagship, they would continue to train and exercise for battle but never join unless the improbable should happen and battle should range into the proximity of Artoc. This would continue until they fell from favor by an inevitable dulling of their edge, and they would be returned to active operations- replaced by other razor-like units.

By contrast, and a cause of unease to Caldettas, was the presence on deck of a detachment of Kevtok's Serhot Ran warriors in their Nacht-Rau combat suits.

The power armor from Kevtok's unit bore like badges of honor the nicks, chips, and marring of constant combat deployment. Active engagement of his elite troops was something that Kevtok insisted upon, even if their base ship remained far removed from the fight.

Fiercely loyal to Supreme General Krymina and a precision tool of extreme effectiveness for her, the senior commander grudgingly permitted Kevtok's request routinely to allow them to maintain their proficiency.

Kevtok and his warriors were fiercely loyal down to the individual, but still the presence of the Serhot Ran in their combat suits made Caldettas uneasy- even if distantly so. Even in an "unarmed" state, the powerful Nacht-Rau combat suits were still capable of rapidly causing great carnage- especially when under the control of elite warriors like the Serhot Ran.

All of the senior commanders of the 7th Grand Army were present on this very deck and if Zentraedi history taught anything it was that loyalties were subject to change. Supreme General Krymina herself was a testament to this.

Still, even though the thought of recent purges were still sharp in Caldettas's memory, there was the question of character.

Action Commander Kevtok was loyal because of his nature- not because of political convenience.

If there was danger in having Serhot Ran warriors armored in their combat suits mingling with the nerve center of the 7th Grand Army, it was soundly offset by the loyalty and obedience of Kevtok's warriors to him.

-And still, much as his role of executive to the commander demanded, Caldettas's mind returned again and again to the dangers remote but inherent to gatherings such as this.

In a single hangar, aboard a single ship- though be it the most securely guarded ship in The Fleet- were present all of the officer grade warriors whom the micronians would have to kill or incapacitate to effectively decapitate a Zentraedi grand army.

It was only the fact that the micronians did not know this, and were far from being in a position to act upon the information if they had been in possession of it that brought the 7th Grand Army's executive officer any peace of mind.

Yet, Caldettas fretted over the potential dangers of such a gathering- it being his cautious nature that Krymina used to complement her far bolder personality.

Caldettas was also aware that Krymina was cognoscente of the peril she was courting in assembling her command's leaders as she was. The executive officer knew the message that she intended to send, and that this for Krymina was worth the modest risk.

Others were aware too of the underlying purpose of this ceremony and its implied message.

For Caldettas, there was the admittedly self-indulgent distraction of seeing the discomfort being suffered and poorly masked by Sub-General Jekketh..

The ranking commander of ground forces should have been aboard his command ship overseeing the ongoing landing activities on the alien world and initiation of major operations. These were the endeavors to which Jekketh was best suited, or at the very least most eager to engage in. It was through these duties after all that he was able to report (boast being the term that Caldettas preferred when the subject of Jekketh was broached) to Krymina his accomplishments.

By contrast, observing and honoring the achievements of others, and standing witness to their reward from the supreme general stood at the other, far end of the scale of Jekketh's personal preference.

-Especially as it applied to Kevtok.

Caldettas had sensed readily that Jekketh was in a personal dystopia.

He had not known how penetrating the discomfort of the ground force commander was until he forced himself to withdraw from his own distractions and give the gratifying matter his undivided attention.

Jekketh's face remained stoic as he visibly stood off from those who he conceded to be peers, and was abrasive to subordinates beyond the norm. Even his physical movement was stiff and labored- as though the torment had transcended the mental and had become a physical affliction.

It was delightful.

Caldettas could not have hoped to ask for more to serve his own amusement until he actually got it.

Jekketh approached him, overlooking his normal consideration that Caldettas was his chief and arch rival in competition for Krymina's favor.

"I'm certain that you've spoken to the supreme general about the unsettling precedence she's establishing here, Caldettas.", Jekketh said while looking anywhere and everywhere except directly at the other sub-general.

An involuntary act, and one that Caldettas was fairly certain that Jekketh was unaware of doing for the third time in the space of the time that they had shared company in the hanger; Jekketh adjusted the ceremonial sash bearing his rank that was worn over his otherwise standard uniform of tunic and trousers.

"I have not.", Caldettas replied sounding intentionally unconcerned and striking the nerve in Jekketh that he calculated it.

"Supreme General Krymina is fully in possession of her faculties and therefore not in need of my counsel on matters for which she does not solicit it. Besides, Jekketh- the supreme general has not proclaimed her intent formally-. You're reacting to rumor- warrior's gossip."

Jekketh adjusted the seating of his sash about his powerful frame again at the executive officer's words- his face tightening with contempt for himself at attempting the dialogue with Caldettas, and contempt for Caldettas at so easily and readily taking best advantage of it.

"She favors him too much for too little.", Jekketh concluded, "You would think he had fought and won the entire campaign alone."

Caldettas, submitting to the enjoyment of probing the open wound he had found replied as benignly as he could manage, "Perhaps you are defeated in recognition from Supreme General Krymina by your success, Jekketh. She's grown accustomed your regular and outstanding performance, and it has become commonplace."

"Don't be threatened at any rate. You still have several significant steps in rank over Kevtok."

-And then, unable to resist, added, "Though I'm inclined to ask- for reasons of comparison- how long did it take you to ascend from action commander to action general, first grade?.."

Jekketh, understanding at once Caldettas' motivation in asking, and fearing revelation that his armor had already been penetrated, answered bluntly,

"Less time than you, as I recall-."

"Form ranks and stand to attention!"

The order from the deck officer who was considerably junior to all but a few in the congregation was nonetheless obeyed quickly.

The officers formed neatly into squares that were grouped by unit affiliation and ordered from the front rows to the rear ones by descending order of rank.

Quickly all fell in to be standing to rigid attention with eyes locked forward as Supreme General Krymina led Kevtok to the head of the compartment with a junior aide taking up the rear of the small procession.

Once before the assembly of top billets, Krymina situated Kevtok as the focal point of attention while retaining her overall command of the proceedings and began to speak.

"Te'Dak Tohl were created by The Robotech Masters for the singular purpose of achieving what they themselves could not- direct dominance and control over complex and fluid situations, and governance over many by a few."

"Assurance in purpose, improvisation and creativity in thought and planning, and swift lethality in execution were the tools that they provided us to fulfill that role."

"For generations, our predecessors were content in the application of these tools for their benefit- but now is our time- and we stand here witness to the evidence that these tools serve us just as well."

"Action Commander Kevtok, you have exemplified these principles and attributes that are core to our being and have in no small measure prepared by your actions the first battlefield on which the Te'Dak Tohl will fight for themselves- to claim our inevitable and rightful place in the universe."

"Kneel please-."

Kevtok sank to a single knee in a display of fealty and obedience, bowing his head as his fists met the deck.

"Let it be known-.", Krymina said, receiving a sash from her aide that displayed the badge of rank that when bestowed would mark Kevtok as having overleapt a large number of the gathering standing at attention behind him, "-that you have earned the honor and the obligations of action general of the first grade-."

As the sash was moved to be placed on Kevtok by his superior, his hand rose swiftly, reflexively, and with the urgency that might have been expected had he been defending himself from a falling blade.

"Liege, I beg you- no."

A singular gasp of horror was drawn by an assembly of warriors who had only known and had grown familiar with the very real terrors of battle.

Still kneeling, and with a reasonable expectation that he might never rise again, Kevtok lifted his head to speak.

"I understand the honor that I beg your forgiveness to decline, and it is not done as an act of ingratitude… -But I know in my Warrior's core that this is not the path that will allow me to best serve you, or best serve the Te'Dak Tohl-. Fate has made me for a different method of service."

Caldettas, inwardly reeling still from the unspeakable refusal he had just witnessed saw in that moment what he might have as easily missed- what he knew Krymina guarded vigilantly against.

Sub-General Caldettas saw a fleeting glimpse of genuine shock in Supreme General Krymina's expression. -The unexpected confrontation with something of which she had not even conceived.

As quickly as the stunned expression had appeared, it was gone and Krymina's countenance resumed its masterful impenetrability.

"If not the honor of command, Kevtok- then what do you seek?"

Having crossed the threshold with no possibility of return, Kevtok said in earnest, "Liege, I have the honor of command. I seek only to command in the role that best suits my abilities and best serves you. I continue to beg your forgiveness, and humbly request that you allow me to resume the role that Fate has guided me to for all my life of Service."

"Allow me to take my Serhot Ran back to the alien world and serve you as Serhot Ran."

The sash bearing the badge of declined rank slipped from Krymina's fingers and settled in a heap on the deck before the still-kneeling Kevtok.

"Granted."

With the single word Krymina terminated the ceremony which arguably had been ended moments earlier by Action Commander Kevtok and made for the nearest exit from the compartment at a brisk but not a fleeing pace.

After the senior officer had departed the company, a weighty awkwardness remained. Even Krymina's aide, charged for the occasion with maintaining protocol was at a visible loss for what should come next.

Action Commander Kevtok, having retained his rank by the bizarre and unheard-of request he had made to Krymina, and having shattered the paradigm of ascent through the ranks by achievement in battle now dictated the protocol for the unprecedented event.

Kevtok simply rose from his knee and followed the path Krymina had taken just moments before, deviating only as he drew nearer to the compartment bulkhead to exit through a different hatchway- disappearing into a different interior space of the ship.

Crisp, perfectly assembled ranks in the company of officers dissolved immediately as the uneasy silence of commanders and the ever-present sounds of the ship were replaced by a common, troubled murmur.

Caldettas, still aghast by what had transpired was surprised to find himself more stunned by the event than Sub-General Jekketh who was smiling as he turned to face the army's executive officer.

As Jekketh was making only the cursory effort to conceal his pleasure, Caldettas felt no obligation to not observe it.

"For a warrior whose mishaps are meticulously planned, Jekketh- you are showing considerable delight at the unexpected."

Jekketh clasped and wrung his hands in the way he might had he been given the opportunity to finally handle a long-coveted and denied object, saying, "Caldettas, your position at Krymina's side has softened you to the hard realities of how regimes rise and fall in this army. With Krymina's favor and Fate's, in two year's time Kevtok could have been sitting at the same table as you and I-."

"Instead, the fool has cut his own throat."

Caldettas, not as softened to these realities as Jekketh assumed considered nonetheless what Krymina's senior ground commander had said, and found himself after a brief pondering of it- unconvinced.

"You seem very certain of that, Jekketh."

"Nothing is certain, Caldettas- you know this.", Jekketh said, not allowing his elevated mood to be taken down by the executive officer's non-concurrence, "-But rejecting Krymina's gesture-. That, I do not think will serve him well."

"I think you may not be seeing Kevtok's point, Jekketh.", Caldettas said, feeling comfortable that he was recognizing a possibility that Jekketh in his more linear and serial thinking had not even considered.

"That being?"

"He is a plain-spoken warrior, Jekketh- I believe that he said what he meant. The quality of his service is bound to his abilities and not his rank. I believe Kevtok was sincere in saying that a promotion to action general would remove him from the billet to which he is best suited, and diminish his service."

Jekketh, clearly recognizing what he had not seen before, indignantly replied, "That's yet to be seen, Caldettas. But I assure you, an action commander can only influence the course of a campaign but so much. I wouldn't concern yourself about being eclipsed by anything he does."

"-And if, as an action commander he does influence the course of this campaign- as he already has- then perhaps Kevtok has touched upon truly revolutionary thinking. We could both be eclipsed by a subordinate officer."

His elation having survived only the length of his conversation with Caldettas, Jekketh snorted indignantly, "-Not likely on a battlefield over which I have ultimate reign, Caldettas- not likely. He wants combat for himself and his Serhot Ran- so be it. I will give him precisely what he has requested."

Caldettas recognized the undertones of treachery that Jekketh was blatantly voicing. If this was the course that Jekketh intended to follow, it was also technically the one that Kevtok had requested. The executive officer had no footing to interfere, and for the lives of a single Serhot Ran unit-even one as accomplished as Kevtok's- there was little reason to make the pointless effort.

"A simple warning to you, Jekketh, and then I'll say no more. If Kevtok survives the peril you intend to throw his unit into, then you will have only increased his prestige and position. You will have thrust him into the very place in the light that you fear him reaching."

Jekketh replied speculatively, "Possibly, Caldettas- but Kevtok is a single warrior and his Serhot Ran, only a small unit. Small units in massive battles sometimes have a way of finding themselves in a bad place."

"Unfortunately, the outcome is often- regrettable."

Destroyer 2913

"Liege, the first landing ship is nearing deployment position.", Sub-Commander Gahl told his superior and the new commanding officer of the 5121st Destroyer Squadron, Action Commander Iyos.

Iyos had effectively assumed the role of the squadron commander the day before when Action Commander Trefna had relinquished it through the act of an untimely demise that coincided with the destruction of his own destroyer during the initial assault on the alien world. The official promotion had come later and in the form of a simple text communiqué from Action General Nohr which had been diminished somewhat by being dispatched as one message in a bulk dispatch sent to the entire battle group under his command.

Though significant for Iyos who still felt a rush when she reflected on her new, elevated rank- a promotion of this kind during combat operations was not uncommon.

The elation, however Iyos had found since, did have its cost.

The opening actions against the micronian world had been overwhelming by the battle plan's design, and as expected had achieved the tactical securing of the space surrounding the planet. Casualties among the vanguard units had been noticeably higher than predicted, but this was easily explained by the sophistication of the layered micronian defensive measures and by the lethality of the weapons they had employed.

Despite the disturbingly high losses to The 7th Grand Army, the micronian defensive shell had collapsed allowing landing operations to begin within the envelope of the established timetable.

Since that time, with the first landing ships moving into low orbit to sortie their transports ferrying combat units to ground- the depth of layering in the micronian planetary defenses had revealed itself. There had been of course the expected revelation of ground-based, fixed position anti-warship energy weapon batteries that had inflicted significant losses on landing ship groups that had passed unknowingly into their areas of engagement.

These gun emplacements had been quickly pinpointed and effectively reduced to an inoperative condition by the destroyer squadrons tasked to provide protection to the landing forces.

The waves of Re-Entry Transports making planetfall had subsequently met the waiting, final "ring" of the micronian planned defense in the form of aircraft and surface based missiles whose design had apparently been intended for the specific purpose of ravaging craft of the size of Zentraedi trans-orbital transports.

Though the effects of this last ring of defense and these weapons had been horrific and demoralizing at the tactical unit level- some ground units having been wiped out entirely before ever connecting foot and soil- this last measure had been ineffective overall in even slowing the onslaught of landing operation.

So had the landings commenced, and so it had been proceeding as the coordinated micronian defenses continued to wither and fail.

As Action Commander Iyos had come to recognize in campaigns against both the norghil and The Invid though, there was rarely such a thing as "definitive" victory, and it was at those moments when one's enemy was showing every sign of having been routed that they were in fact the most dangerous through unpredictability.

So it was appearing to be true of the micronians who refused to concede defeat.

Iyos divided her attention between the split holographic displays suspended weightlessly over the forward area of her ship's bridge.

In one division of the display area, the planet's largest continent rolled steadily toward her under the uniform drape of night. De-fold of the massive assault force in such proximity to the planet had shut down much of the planet's unshielded power grid, and precision energy weapon strikes had knocked out what had remained in all of the strategically significant regions- leaving the intact population centers dark and unidentifiable to the naked eye. Sensor overlays did outline these mass dwelling clusters, as they also identified other areas of operational significance to include the landing zones to which ground units were still deploying.

As useful as Iyos found the visual display for her sense of orientation, it was the tactical display that provided her the best, overall situational awareness as a commander. The three-dimensional holographic image showed the remaining destroyers of her squadron deployed ahead and flanking in low orbit the trailing element of landing ships that remained in a higher, medium orbit.

Positioned in this way and at this altitude from the planet's surface, Iyos was imperiling her squadron more than she would normally have considered prudent as they were not truly "orbiting" the planet. To hold station relative to the landing ships for which they were providing screen cover, the destroyers were actually traveling slower than the velocity that true orbit required and were having to dedicate a significant portion of their engines' output to keeping themselves from plummeting into the upper atmosphere.

Their position, the nature of their slow and sweeping movement, and the danger inherent was necessary however.

"Sensor Control", Iyos said, "Report scan returns upon detection."

"Sensor Control to Command-. Yes, Liege.", came the reply from the sensor officer in charge of the team of specialists who directed and analyzed the returns of the ship's active and passive detection systems.

Though a capable and competent warrior, the sensor officer's voice had an edge of unease to it, and for good reason.

As had been reported quickly from every other landing group, and across all of the major continents on which planetfall of forces was ongoing, a final and perplexing danger had been stumbled upon.

There was something unseen and treacherous below, and it was hunting Te'Dak Tohl landing ships.

Action Commander Iyos had seen such an attack hours earlier; evidence that the unidentified menace was more than the imaginative explanation of warriors for the mishaps that often accompanies large-scale landings. The 5121st Squadron had been providing high orbital screen from possible micronian warship attack for the progression of Te'Dak Tohl landing ships while there had still been the concern of an immediate micronian counterattack, when a landing ship approaching a landing zone had taken a single energy weapon bolt through its center mass.

Had the beam struck the landing ship four compartments back, it would have seriously damaged or pierced the ship's Reflex furnace reactor, and likely would have caused a catastrophic explosion destroying the vessel. Luckily, in this instance, only cargo and berthing spaces were penetrated. The damage had been severe, yes, and the ship forced to withdraw from low orbit before it had completed sortie of the unit it was landing- but it had not been destroyed.

Other landing ships, over all of the planet's continents had been less fortunate.

Reports from all incidents of this kind had been the same-. A landing ship on approach to its sortie point with standard destroyer screen would with minimal warning be struck by a single, high-intensity energy blast.

The key commonality of a minimal warning was all that Action Commander Iyos had to work with to provide a defense, and what she and every other destroyer squadron commander had been grappling with since.

From accumulated reports and hastily arranged conferences between commanders, what had been discovered was that in each instance of the ground-based energy weapon being fired- it had been preceded by a short, narrow beam, high-intensity sensor pulse directed at the target. It had been puzzling at first that the sensor pulse never coincided in general location with the origin of the energy bolt that inflicted the damage.

Then, with thought, Iyos and the other commanders came to the only conclusion that made any sense and that they could all agree upon.

There were multiple ground-based units in play to allow the energy weapon to operate effectively.

There had to be a micronian unit, much like the Regult Scout, that was responsible for identifying a landing ship target on approach- most likely passively. This unit then transferred this information to the unit operating the energy weapon itself. The sensor pulse detected immediately preceding the firing of the weapon was simply the gathering of last-moment target data for the fine-tuning of the weapon's firing solution.

The firing sequence of the weapon was too brief to accurately fix its position, as was the narrow-beam pulse that preceded it that might have provided the location of the micronian sensor unit.

Had Iyos had the free reign to execute all of her options, the situation would have been quickly resolved. In the absence of an identifiable, "hard target" she simply would have used her own guns to raze the region to a plain of smoldering, fused glass. As the campaign objectives outlined by Supreme General Krymina required the taking of the planet intact and with minimal damage to and cluttering of the atmosphere by ejected debris as was generated by orbital gunfire- Iyos did not have the luxury of this option.

Other commanders had attempted the firing of mass swarms of missiles in great spreads into the regions from which the sensor pulses and energy bolts had originated- but up to this time there had been no evidence that a single Zentraedi missile had found its intended target.

This was easily understood by Iyos-. Many times when this form of retaliation had been attempted, the attacking vessel had been forced to reposition itself to be within range of firing its long-range missiles, and those missiles required time to reach their target areas- even when released directly above them.

It came down to the response time.

There was too much of a lag between the micronian attack and initiation of counterattack. Iyos understood from even her brief interaction with the micronians in battle that they were shrewd enough to not squander that time standing idle. They understood that they could not grapple with their enemy. To survive their own victories, they had to strike swiftly and withdraw.

Fighter sweeps had been attempted also with the understood drawback that while more capable of conducting a prolonged search in an area Gnerls were slower to reach a target area than missiles.

Not only had the Gnerls not been successful in their target identification and neutralization efforts, but many a destroyer's fighter complement had become separated from its base ship when the destroyer had been forced to move off to allow for following waves of landing ships. Recovery of these fighters had been a time-consuming and complex task that had taken a good number of ships off of their escort duties. Some fighter squadrons remained even now, loitering pointlessly and waiting for the opportunity to return home.

Action Commander Iyos was nonetheless confronted by the same problem- defending the landing ships under her protection from this threat without impacting the deployment schedule of their forces.

Neither she, nor any other commander had yet conceived of a viable solution.

Still, the landings had to move forward.

The damage inflicted by this unanticipated menace was negligible- minimal at best- impacting morale more than reducing the overall combat effectiveness of the Te'Dak Tohl.

"Sensor sweep is clear.", the sensor officer reported as the landing zone rolled nearer, "No suspicious returns on metallic mass, no anomalous energy readings."

"Perhaps they have moved on-.", suggested Sub-Commander Gahl, "-Concerned at overhunting the same area."

Iyos wanted this to be true, but the suggestion did not fit the behavior of the menace.

"No-.", the action commander said, dismissing the suggestion, "Why should they have moved on? They are having perfect success operating as they are."

"Sensor pulse detected!", called out the sensor officer, his warning coinciding with a shrill tone from the suite of equipment operated by his team.

Iyos ignored the temptation to have the sensor specialists try to localize the pulse- it had happened too quickly and it was what would come next that was critical.

"Communications-…."

The visual display portion of the viewscreen flashed as a single beam of light, swirling orange and yellow through its shaft transected the image- passing clearly above and to the right of Destroyer 2913.

Iyos felt a surge of panic even as the energy stream went wide of her vessel- a natural response to a threat to which there was no time to respond. It was as much by realization that the weapon had not been targeting her ship in this attack as having come to understand that the intended victims of these ambushes were exclusively landing ships did Iyos quickly regain her composure.

"Sensor Control, can we localize the originating point for that beam?", Iyos asked as Sub-Commander Gahl issued other orders to multiple divisions on the command deck below.

"Calculating, Liege- though I-..", the sensor officer replied before the results of his team's feverish work was returned to him, "-Point of origin has been narrowed to an area fifteen atohls square, plus or minus three atohls."

As Iyos clenched her fist to take her frustration out on the arm of her command chair, the visual portion f the viewscreen changed to an aft view which showed the image of a ravaged landing ship staggering and struggling to maintain a steady course.

The bow of the vessel was gone, seemingly gnawed away leaving a hull-spanning stump of broken and twisted metal where decks containing storage compartments and hangars should have been.

An enormous and expanding cloud of smoke and debris was quickly falling astern of the stricken vessel- the inorganic gore that had been part of the landing ship only moments earlier.

Other ships of the same landing group could be seen maneuvering to clear themselves of the expanding ring of wreckage even as they began to deploy their considerable complements of Re-Entry Transports containing their planet-bound combat units.

Collectively, the squadron of landing ships appeared skittish and rattled- and indeed they were, Iyos knew as evident by the visibly rushed and panicked launch of their trans-atmospheric transports.

The 7th Grand Army of the Te'Dak Tohl had smashed utterly the meticulously planned defenses of this world in hours only the day before, but now warships of the same Zentraedi army were unable to defend the vessels under their protection from what had to be a comparative handful of micronians.

And over this single landing zone, those micronians had been claiming landing ships at the rate of one an hour, resulting in the deaths of thousands of warriors whose exact number had not yet been fully tallied.

"We could immediately deploy fighters, Liege-.", Gahl proposed, returning to the course of action that had been tried and failed, though adding, "They could fly a sweeping pattern. There is no assurance that our pilots would come across this weapon and its crew, but there is always the possibility."

Iyos considered the suggestion briefly- it being the best available, but ultimately dismissed it with a gesture of her hand.

"No, Gahl-. We could fix on the enemy- but I'm not inclined to risk the irrecoverable separation of our fighters while the operational area is still fluid."

Gahl's frustration was simmering just below the surface of his expression, controlled but still easily read by his superior.

"Liege, I'm having difficulty with doing nothing while this micronian weapon continues to knock our landing ships out of action."

Iyos shook her head, understanding that her intention had been misunderstood.

"I'm not suggesting doing nothing, Gahl-. I'm suggesting that we are not the right ones to be doing something about this. How long do we have until our next rotation through the escort cycle?"

"Just under two hours, Liege."

"Contact the commander of the ground unit that will be deploying to the surface. If the commander is agreeable, tell him I would like to request he apply his reserve forces to an unplanned task."

"Hunting the weapon from the ground?", Gahl said, grasping at once what Iyos had been contemplating .

Iyos gave a nod that was not an indication of certainty, but suggested a decision in which she had some degree of faith.

"Missiles can't seem to acquire this micronian weapon, and Gnerls can only loiter and search for so long. A ground unit, on the other hand-."

"I will identify and reach out to the correct commander to whom you will have to speak, Liege.", Gahl said brightly- elated with the prospect that a solution to the problem had been found.

"Do that, Gahl. And if this commander is not interested in my proposal, we may have to reach out to those who have already deployed. I'm not above appealing to an officer's healthy sense of vengeance."

"Yes, Liege."

Ukraine

The steppes beneath their thick blanket of snow were illuminated by a stream of energy that erupted like a geyser from the northeast. The irregularly braided beam of color that ranged from the palest yellow to the most vivid orange washed the plain and the low-hung canopy of clouds alike in a dance of terrible, warm hues before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

Captain Alexander Cherghuliev of the 5th Guards Armored Corps had chosen to watch the firing of the Synchro cannon through a direct, unenhanced video feed from his commander's viewer. For obvious reasons there had been no need to apply the viewer's sophisticated image intensification systems- and in fact the application of the integrated IR and light enhancement features would have spoiled the terrible and breathtaking sight.

Since the 301st Mobile Planetary Defense Battery Regiment had deployed under the protection of the 5th Guards nearly 24 hours before now, Cherghuliev had seen the energy weapon fire almost as many times. Like the previous firings, Cherghuliev felt no less captivated by this one than he had by the first.

A deep boom rolled over the steppes and Cherghuliev's Cavalier tank, causing electronics gear to tremble in their racks as the concussion wave swept the bitterly cold night like the report of artificial lightning.

The tank platoon commander had heard stories that even from several kilometers away that the radiant energy from the weapon when fired was enough to sunburn exposed skin. This of course Cherghuliev had no interest in personally verifying, nor did he want to test the warnings about looking in the direction of the firing gun with the naked eye. He was satisfied with marveling at the destructive beauty through high definition camera and high resolution LCD screen.

Besides, combat operations not to mention the sub-freezing temperatures that would cause frostbite to exposed skin in a matter of minutes demanded that he remain inside the turret of his tank and with the hatch buttoned up.

With the firing of the Synchro Cannon, the stopwatch had been started again measuring in seconds the mad dash the gun platform would have to make to displace from its firing position. While the Zentraedi somewhere far above were undoubtedly reeling from the damage done to or the destruction of one of their vessels- the shock would wear off.

When it did, all of the manifestations of Hell that one breed of mortal creatures could rain down upon another could be expected.

Could be expected- "could" being the operative word.

As devastating a weapon as the Synchro Cannon was against warships, its usefulness would have been seriously reduced had the expectation been that it would be destroyed by counter-fire after only a single shot.

Great effort had been made to ensure that these mag-lev borne platforms whose dimensions fit neatly but barely onto a professional soccer field could lash out at an enemy with only the most minimal warning and then vanish into open country with scarcely a bent grass blade left in their wake to mark their passing.

No small amount of this vanishing act was due to the well-rehearsed practice of the "shoot and scoot"- firing the weapon and then employing the admirable speed of the levitation platform and a series of well practiced maneuvers to quickly put the gun far away from the firing point and as quickly as possible.

Another portion of the gun's survivability was the so-called "tortoise shell" of micro-facetted radar absorbent material that shrouded the platform and gun when stowed for movement. Beneath this umbrella of poly-carbon fiber that swallowed or utterly fragmented the EM energy of even the most powerful active sensor systems, the Synchro Cannon was classified as "ultra-low observable" from all but a few angles.

The "tortoise shell", despite its name was deceptively fragile and insubstantial, accounting for less than 1% of the gun platform's nearly 200 metric ton weight. Absurd as the gossamer shroud was though, it was tested and its concept validated on many a test range and proving ground.

It had been tested and proven itself many times in the past day in the only environment that really counted.

Cherghuliev was aware of this by virtue of the fact that he was still drawing breath and not vapor mingling with the atmosphere. His tank, as well as all of the tanks and support vehicles of the 5th Guards skulked in unlikely stealth beneath tortoise shells of the same composition.

While the need for large numbers of armored vehicles in warfare had remained constant for a century now- longer if one expanded the dependency on armored vehicles in warfare to include the need of extraterrestrial species- the threats against armor had only increased.

With the possibility of space-going adversaries it had become probable that an orbiting weapon system would be developed to pinpoint and destroy armor, either individually or in mass. Humankind had been moving rapidly in this direction with the assumption being that nations of homo-sapiens would menace one another in this way, but the arrival of the Zentraedi had realized the threat somewhat differently.

Only reliable concealment could now protect the dreaded steel beasts of the battlefield.

Oddly though- and Cherghuliev made a point in being clear with God that he was in favor of this anomaly- the Zentraedi were making only the most minimal attempts to strike back at the Synchro Cannon from orbit and by extension the 5th Guards defending it.

Having been born into a "Russian" mentality of the nature of warfare, Cherghuliev understood how the Zentraedi might regard the warship-killing Synchro Cannon as an impressive but nonetheless mere annoyance. Even if every Synchro Cannon deployed operated to its utmost potential, the actual losses inflicted upon a force as large as that fielded by this enemy was negligible. As many Zentraedi as the Synchro Cannon could kill, there were multitudes who would never even feel the hint of its threat or pause to consider it.

Cherghuliev recognized that the Synchro Cannon was the proverbial flea on the dog's back.

Like the proverbial flea providing an annoyance to the proverbial dog though, Cherghuliev also knew that the time would come when the dog would have the inclination and find the time to scratch.

When that time came, Cherghuliev knew that he and the 5th Guards would no longer have the luxury of passively observing the dreadfully beautiful aspects of war from afar, and would have to carry the burden of it for their own survival.

That time would come- it was a certainty.

"Rabbit."

The code phrase was the one that Cherghuliev had listened for on the scrambled command frequency used by the 5th Guards after each firing of the cannon as it signified the order for the unit to displace from its large defensive ring around the Synchro Cannon and join the gun in a mad dash of maneuvers for a predetermined rallying point.

It was time to disappear again into the Ukrainian night like assassins fleeing the scene of the deed.

Cherghuliev shifted his attention to his commander's console that consisted of three touch-responsive multi-functional display screens clustered before his seat in the turret of his tank.

Anticipating the direction for force movement from his chain of command, Cherghuliev had left the force direction application on the large, navigational MFD open and waiting. Now, with a touch of the screen to the desired, pre-determined waypoint, and a selection of formation and speed for the seven other tanks under his command- clear instructions were issued to the other tank commanders and drivers without the need for a word spoken.

The captain felt a lurch as the thirty metric tons of steel and composite armor clawed into movement, headlong into the deepening snow.

Despite the cold radiating into the cramped space of the turret, Cherghuliev's gunner in the seat to the right of the gun breech was looking bored, and the loader on the verge of dozing, comfortable in the embrace of the vest through which the tank circulated warm or cold air to offset whichever climate extreme the vehicle might be operating in.

Cherghuliev knew that he should have roused the loader to alertness with harsh words, but he- they all had been actively operating for a full day now without a sanctioned pause to operations, and The 5th Guards were certain to be doing the same for the foreseeable future. Cat-naps had to be taken where they could.

The gunner would probably drift at some point too, and Cherghuliev would also let this go for a short period of time. He would let them enjoy their uneasy sleep until the platoon reached a longer leg of its cross-country maneuver at which time he'd wake them again to monitor for any impending threat while he had his turn resting his eyes.

It was an unauthorized but tested system, practiced with as much dedication as any force maneuver.

The GS-95 Robotech Factory

"Well, this has to be the place-.", commended LCDR Mitch Petersen to his superior as he took in the company assembled in the briefing room that was nestled deep within the Fleet Operations wing of Walhalla's OC.

If Commander Devereaux had had any questions that she and her executive officer were reporting to the correct briefing room after having to pass through two identification checkpoints and a pair of particularly humorless looking Marine guards outside of the room, then those within the room quelled any doubt.

At a glance Devereaux recognized two other frigate commanders and their executive officers whom she and Petersen knew personally. By patch identification, she spotted a dozen other frigate commanders, as well as a destroyer commander who kept company with four other officers whose unit affiliations Devereaux could not establish from the doorway.

Most noteworthy of the commanding officers present, by the coveted billet he occupied if not by battle record, was Captain Julian Hollenkamp who was master of SDF-3 under the flag of Vice Admiral Hayes-Hunter.

"This has got to be the place.", Devereaux parroted, unaware that she had done so as she was already lost in speculation as to into what she had volunteered the Gordon P. Samuels.

A yeoman who was grossly outranked by all in the compartment but who still held the charge of protocol announced with surprising volume as the door slid shut behind Devereaux and Petersen,

"Sirs and ma'ams, REF Expeditionary Fleed-."

The churning wash of a dozen or more overlapping conversations dropped to perfect silence with the exception of bodies coming to rigid attention as the slender yet intense form of Vice-Admiral Hayes-Hunter entered the briefing room from a side door.

As the assembled commanding and executive officers had been ordered to do, so too did the admiral, wearing her duty utility overalls- the only distinction between she and those who had been tapped and summoned being the three stars on her shoulders and the patches indicating her particular unit affiliations.

As Hayes-Hunter made her way to the podium to the right of the forward end of the briefing room, she made a sweeping downward motion with her hand- typically unpolished in style as Hayes-Hunter was known to be.

"Everyone have a seat please-. We don't have a lot to cover, but our time, even minutes are better spent not talking about our mission, but executing it."

Devereaux and Petersen, still at the rear of the chamber fell into the seats closest to them rather than closing ranks with their peers before sitting. It was practical and only felt uncomfortable to be seated in relative isolation after the deed had been done.

Hayes-Hunter waited for the lights to dim and the holographic screen at the front center of the briefing room to come on with the REF emblem at the center of a blue field bracketed by header and footer banners in orange, warning: "TOP SECRET", before she began.

"I know that I do not need to remind any of you that the following briefing is Top Secret and compartmentalized.", Hayes-Hunter said flatly the way a bored server might recite the day's specials in a restaurant, "A thumbnail of the mission briefing that is to follow is that we are to enter an angry hornet's nest, friends, and thrash it. Commanders can and should expect regular contact with the enemy with minimal warning followed by intense combat situations. Once on mission in the operational area, contact with Walhalla and the Fleet will be minimal and our expectations of external support must be minimal at best. We will be on our own."

"Now, before we get into any of the details,- if this does not sound like your game, then there will be no repercussions nor any ramifications or hard feelings- but I will ask you to leave now."

As though the slightest movement might be mistaken as doubt or reservation, the company of officers to whom Hayes-Hunter spoke remained deathly still uniformly, and with a deeper silence than they had held upon her entry into the briefing room.

Hayes-Hunter nodded her clear approval, "Good-. I asked for steely-eyed killers from the cream of the Fleet, and I can see those are the commanders I've gotten. Consider yourselves and your commands all attached to Operation Doolittle, and bound by the secrecy it demands."

The generic briefing opener image was replaced by a star chart of the Sol System whose outer boundaries were drawn at the Kuiper Belt. A tactical overlay of range gridlines laid out in light-minutes and Astronomical Units gave scale and distance reference, and standard iconography clearly laid out the locations of Zentraedi fleet massing.

"These concentrations of Zentraedi Fleet units are being relayed to Walhalla by the surviving, interplanetary sensor buoy network and are consistent with Zentraedi operational doctrine.", Hayes-Hunter said, motioning to the gatherings of vessels around Earth and then between Earth and Mars.

"As you can see from the latest compilation of data, a defensive sphere of warships has formed around Earth with the two-fold purpose of providing support and protection for landing forces, and to prevent any possible approach by our Fleet to assist our resident forces or land additional ones."

"Simultaneously, the Te'Dak Tohl have assembled the landing ships that constitute the bulk of their fleet just under a half AU from Earth. This puts them out of the range of Earth-based weapons, but still close enough to resupply and support their forces as needed."

"Understandably, another large portion of the enemy's combat units is performing picket and screen duty to defend these mission-critical assets. Our enemy may not be innovative in their deployment of forces, but they are not foolish."

"Passive sensors have detected in the past twelve hours a considerable amount of fold activity- vessels egresssing the Sol system in battle group strength. General Breetai suspects, and NavIntel concurs that this most likely represents the sortie of enemy units searching for us-. Us being Walhalla and the Fleet as a whole."

Hayes-Hunter paused, allowing the tactical situation in the home star-system to settle in on her audience, before continuing. She, like the rest of the military senior leadership had had the benefit of constant and detailed briefings of the situation as it had evolved to the extent that information was available. Many of those in the room had little knowledge of things outside of the preparation of their vessels for a battle that they knew would be coming.

"What this sums up to is, and no matter how you slice it- is that the enemy, this General Krymina, has elected to divide her admittedly large force into three tasks that each demand a considerable allocation of resources. She is beginning to spread herself thin in the effort to hold onto what she has, and to fix on and obtain what she still wants."

"We will exploit this because while she is for now holding back sufficient forces to mount a formidable defense of captive Earth, the rate and portion of warships she is deploying to hunt for us seems to indicate a belief that the fight will continue outside of the Sol system."

"Our counterattack, the first of this war, is simple in concept and purpose.", Hayes-Hunter predicated, "We want to bring the fight, even if it is a strategically insignificant one, to the enemy's doorstep where they don't believe it can happen- and we will poke Supreme General Krymina in the eye in doing so."

"Execution in putting our forces into place is more complex-.'

The three dimensional star chart expanded until the Sol system and its details while still visible only occupied the lower left, forward quadrant of the map.

Hayes motioned to an open area of space beyond the Oort Cloud that enveloped and dwarfed Sol and all of its satellites. At this point in space at the center of the chart, a flickering icon appeared signifying "friendly" forces in standard symbology.

"We will use a two-phase insertion into the operational area.", Hayes-Hunter explained, "The initial sortie from Walhalla will employ SDF-3's spherical field fold system to carry the entire strike force to this point- approximately ten AUs outside of the outer layers of the Oort Cloud."

CDR Devereaux was with Hayes-Hunter on each point, understanding the reasoning behind each detail before it was explained and rejoicing inwardly that she had volunteered the Gordon P. Samuels to participate.

While it was admittedly humbling to have her command "carried", as it were, to the operational initiating point by the REF Flagship- it was a practical necessity. In trials, SDF-3 had proven its design capability to generate a spacefold "bubble", or sphere, large enough to transport an entire battle group on a position jump. The original intent had been for this capability to be used to transport an expeditionary force to The Robotech Masters' home, Tirol.

Plans had changed somewhat since the finalization of SDF-3's specifications, though the capability was still of great value.

Devereaux also understood immediately the initial destination point for the fold jump. The subspace displacement, or "ripple", caused by the de-fold of SDF-3 and the task force would take roughly two hours to reach and be detectable by the Te'Dak Tohl in their present and known positions. Two hours was more than sufficient time for commanders of the caliber of those present in the briefing room to hide themselves in the nothingness of open space.

-But Devereaux was certain that Hayes-Hunter's plan did not revolve around hiding.

"-At this point, the task force will divide into its two elements.", Hayes-Hunter continued, "Doolittle One, consisting of SDF-3, the destroyer, Rampage, and four arsenal ships will linger long enough for Doolittle Two, with Commodore Tran's four Garfish carriers as centerpiece with accompanying frigates will re-deploy to the far side of Sol. At approximately the same time Doolittle Two is arriving at its first independent position screened in its arrival by Sol's mass, Doolittle One will fold in danger close to the massing of landing ships assembled between Earth and Mars."

"Doolittle One's first task will be to stage a surprise attack on the Te'Dak Tohl supply and support force, inflicting as much damage as possible in the time that our position remains tenable. This will not be long."

"Doolittle One will then withdraw outside of the Oort Cloud and detach the arsenal ships to return immediately to Walhalla. Our hope and expectation is that Doolittle One will draw out a large, enemy response force from the Sol system in pursuit of us. SDF-3 and Rampage's mission task will then become a game of cat and mouse with as many Te'Dak Tohl units as the enemy will deploy, and to keep them engaged in pursuit of us for as long as possible."

The holographic chart zoomed in again to its original scale with the Sol system out to the Kuiper Belt occupying the volume of the three-dimensional image.

Doolittle Two's de-fold point on the far side of Sol appeared and blinked for attention- the home star standing between the mission element and the contested space around Earth and mid-way to Mars.

With the appropriate image in place, Hayes-Hunter resumed her mission briefing, "As I said a few moments earlier, Sol's mass should shelter Doolittle Two's arrival from detection, assuming no coincidental discovery by a random enemy patrol. The chaos caused by Doolittle One's opening action will certainly aide in this."

"Doolittle Two's mission orders from that point are simple and with broad powers of interpretation and execution given to Commodore Tran and individual commanders. You will harass the enemy at your discretion for as long as your battle-worthiness, weapons load, and supplies will support combat operations."

"Specific objectives and target priorities will be set by Commodore Tran under the overarching guidance of Operation Doolittle objectives."

"When the commodore has determined that Doolittle Two has accomplished all that it can hope to achieve, elements will rally with SDF-3 and Rampage for mass exfiltration and rejoin Walhalla and the Fleet."

Hayes-Hunter gave a small nod to the yeoman running the briefing room who shut down the hologram projector and brought the overhead lights back up to full intensity. The vice-admiral stepped out from behind the briefing podium, reducing instantly the formality of the atmosphere.

As she spoke again, it was this time less as a senior officer, but as something softer and more easily related to.

"Before we break down into element-level briefings and preparations, I wanted to share a few thoughts that I believe..-. No, that's wrong-. –That I hold in my heart as truth and ask you to do the same-."

"First-. Having heard the scope and objective of this operation, I don't believe that anyone in this room is under the misconception that we are to make a great strategic contribution to this war with what we are to do. Any significant or lasting effect we have on our enemy will be psychological-. They will know that this war that they have begun is not the one that they anticipated or were prepared for."

"Second-. Though this highly dangerous operation will not bring the war closer to an end by a single day, I also believe firmly that it serves to a matter of the highest importance and greatest good. We will be demonstrating to our brothers and sisters in uniform, and to the population as whole that even in the direst circumstances that the Earth is our home and we will not surrender it to anyone under any circumstance."

"There are dark days ahead and there will be times of great sorrow, but in time there will be light."

The Mojave Desert,

The Western Outlands

An artificial wind stirred the dust on the surface of the parched earth as a dozen LAM-7 Scimitar tactical cruise missiles swept in a staggered column over the desert scarcely higher than the Joshua trees left swaying in their wakes.

Each weapon in their southeasterly course scanned the narrow corridor of space before them with rapidly pulsing microwave radar, ensuring that they would not terminate their preordained, brief life spans prematurely by coming into unrecoverable contact with the harsh terrain that they sped fearlessly over. Spurred on toward their own certain doom by the dispassionate but relentless drive of a computer mind executing a sophisticated series of autonomously selected programs, the flight of Scimitars deferred to the master judgment of the lead weapon receiving tactical information through a scaled-down InfoLink network formed within the flight.

The "leader" was no different in capability or configuration from any of the eleven clones that followed it. By cold, mathematical process it had been selected to lead the suicide charge by virtue of its position when a distant JSTARS had detected the crossing of an enemy unit over an invisible, longitudinal line and had ordered the missiles that had been loitering in a low orbit of two square kilometers of unremarkable desert landscape into action.

Any of the trailing missiles had the ability to assume the role of leader if the weapon on point were to be damaged or destroyed- but now, with the initiation of terminal guidance programs only seconds away it was unlikely that any of the eleven trailing missiles would ever ascend to the limited height of the leader.

Broad, flattened, capsule-like bodies of radar absorbent carbon fiber turned sharply left on swept, variable angle wings to present a minimal radar cross-section as the leading missile liberated its subordinates to execute the variation of a standard attack plan that it had formulated only nanoseconds before giving the final command

The time elapsed between the moment when the JSTARS commander had elected to commit the loitering missiles to this one had been just under thirty-five seconds.

The dust raised by the light mechanized infantry company of Regults at a full advance was significant and could be seen from every point on the horizon but was nonetheless dwarfed by cloud rising from the division formation it was pacing.

Acting as a screen element to its own 904th Division and, defending more broadly a middle portion of the right flank of the 16th Rapid Assault Corps, the company composed of an even mix of standard and artillery Regults was simultaneously one of the most and least important units in the drive to the southeast. Holding a measured distance from the main body of the 16th Corps- an increment learned and proven in conflicts with both norghil and Invid- the company was expected to detect and engage any enemy forces that might stage an attack on the Te'Dak Tohl unit's vulnerable flank.

While with its medium and short-range Artillery Regults and their ample supply of multi-purposed missiles the company could act as an effective spoiling force- the unit itself was not expected to survive in any measurable way should it have to perform its function. It was expected to simply buy other units the time to detach from the main body of the corps in sufficient numbers to meet the triggering threat.

It was an accepted risk of an assignment that was regarded in equal parts as an honor and as a potential death sentence.

This company had received its assignment before planetfall with the same blend of gratitude and resignation as many others that were performing the same role this day, and as the innumerable others that had performed the same role in countless movements in countless Zentraedi battles and campaigns.

What had differed this day from the vast majority of instances where similarly assigned units had been called into action was that the guard units that had engaged this day on the part of the 16th Fast Assault Corps had found themselves defending against an enemy that they were ill-equipped to engage.

This guard unit of Regults had witnessed the inability of another company assigned the same mission as they to counter a previously unknown micronian threat less than an hour before.

They became aware of the parallels between the opening moments of the attack that led to the demise of their counterparts and the evolving conditions facing themselves with scarcely enough time to become genuinely concerned.

Their warning systems had identified the pulse of microwave emissions at a frequency and intensity that could be interpreted no other way than as active sensors saturating them with their energy.

Skimming the desert as the Scimitars were, and with their negligible return to the Regults' own, less sophisticated sensors- the LAM-7s were virtually invisible until the final seconds of their attack when they performed a steep climb in a "pop-up" attack, fanning out to spread themselves out in the path of the galloping mecha.

Carbon fiber fuselage panels blew away as canister sub-munitions were fired free of the missiles' bodies in the widest possible dispersal. Free of their delivery system, the canisters counted down in nanoseconds to a common point and burst- filling the air with an invisible aerosol of combustible vapor that only required a spark.

The air itself over the Regult company erupted in a thundercloud of brilliant orange flame that endured for the blink of an eye before consuming itself and transforming into a dingy, brown smudge of smoke.

The instantaneous combustion of fuel in its brevity was almost unperceivable in its brevity- but its effects could not be missed.

An immense heat and pressure wave generated by the fuel-air explosion shook the desert and was felt by units in the 16th Corp's main element even over the quaking of earth caused by the rapid step and fall of mechanized feet.

Reinforced terilium bodies were crushed and twisted into the baked earth and sent tumbling with the force of the blast as the sparse desert vegetation and few unfortunate creatures around them ignited and was burned instantaneously into ash.

"Boom-. Dead dittos.", Vice said blandly as the puff of disturbed desert earth raised by the explosion was sucked into itself by the vacuum left in the wake of the massive combustion and sent skyward like an earth-toned finger pointing accusingly at Heaven.

"-Like the hammer of God comin' down on you-. Don't tell me that shit didn't hurt…"

From twenty kilometers away, the aftermath of the Scimitar attack could have probably been missed by Knight Hawk Squadron's A-Flight had they not been privy to knowing that it was coming. By comparison to the pawl of dust raised by the rapidly moving Zentraedi columns it had been miniscule at best- but knowing the cause of the smaller, localized disturbance made it seem that much more sinister when seeing it from such a distance.

Vice's blasé, play-by-play commentary of the eradication of roughly two hundred sentient beings- "enemy" though they were- made the distant spectacle of violence much less palatable to Winters. It was unsettling to the squadron leader to so soon be so callused and detached from what was being done by necessity.

The endurance of empathy and humanity was not threatening to exceed its potential with A-Flight, it seemed.

In Vincenz's outwardly apathetic prattling, there had been an insincerity that only those who knew the major would likely have detected. Like a joke told about real tragedy, it was a mind's way of dealing with the grotesque.

What worried Winters was the knowing that in time, at some point, and if he and his pilots lived long enough to reach that psychological milestone- the apathy might not be feigned.

He had seen it happen in conflicts less severe than this one was promising to be, and he understood it. The human mind did things to protect itself when no other means of coping met the bill- it was the sacrifice of humanity for the preservation of sanity.

Winters also knew and had seen the evidence that sometimes there was no coming back from that state of indifference. It was the embodiment of Faustian bargain in that what was preserved had no meaning with the loss of what was traded.

The dead, after all, were not the only ones destroyed by wars.

Knight Hawk Squadron was far from that point though.

Winters was far from that point.

As quickly as the thoughts had flitted through his mind, Winters drove them out and focused on his flight's mission- cursing the enemy he had pitied a moment before for not allowing him to engage in it.

The Zentraedi had to be aware that A-Flight was loitering in a broad and lazy wagon wheel defensive orbit within reach of their medium rang missiles- but they weren't even attempting to strike back. Their focus seemed to be to the southeast which Winters well-knew to be nothing but hundreds, thousands of square kilometers of desert wasteland.

They were in a hell of a hurry to get into it though.

Gratifying as picking a fight would have been, Winters was also cognizant that his orders forbade him from breaking the tension by instigating one.

His orders were to guard against the first signs of an enemy redirection toward Edwards, and Arnie had made it clear that violation of those orders would be dealt with harshly. It was no secret to even the most eager brawler on NORAMWEST's only remaining, viable base that the RDF did not have the resources in the AOR to win, or even survive in a meaningful way such a fight.

The lull, maddening as it was, was also quite necessary for the RDF-AF units operating out of Edwards.

A single night, and half a day of relentless sorties, first against the Zentraedi forces making planetfall, and later in strike operations mostly by Adventurer IIs against units that had either been intended to move against Edwards or appeared as thought they might have had seriously depleted the base's ordinance stockpile.

While not yet at a critical level, Major General Butler had shrewdly recognized that his wing's supply of weapons was finite and the likelihood of prompt resupply unlikely. NORAMWEST was going to have to choose its battles wisely, or risk expending itself into ineffectiveness for want of the tools of war.

The enemy was out there though, and probably similarly frustrated as Winters with orders preventing them from just getting at the business for which they had been bred.

Within 70 kilometers of where Marilyn idled in orbit over open desert there were loitering Zentraedi units aloft. Gnerls in several squadrons' strength ran a circuit almost due east- with only a small portion of them actively running their radars- apparently having learned the lessons that Valkyries could blind as well as kill.

Other Gnerl squadrons had positioned themselves and were patrolling areas far out into The Outlands, while low level top cover was kept over the advancing Zentraedi by units of the Queadlunn Rau variant like the one that had taken Gecko the night before.

If any combination of these Zentraedi air units elected to scuffle, Winters knew he would be forced to put up a brief and futile resistance before retreating before vastly superior forces- but the enemy appeared content to engage in a BVR staring contest.

For now.

The Mojave was also the stage for ground force movements other than those of the Zentraedi.

Diminutive by comparison in all respects to the corps-strength Zentraedi force that was advancing by great, parallel columns in a southeasterly direction, the RDF Army's 17th Combined Assault Division was massing to the aliens' northwest.

Winters and his squadron were aware of the fast response unit's presence as a "Blue Force" on reduced InfoLink run through the local JSTARS and AWACS aircraft. The division, by Major General Butler's quick brief on the subject, had been three weeks into a training rotation at Fort Irwin when the war had begun. Already a proficient unit in the skills and tactics of open-field, mechanized warfare- the 17th had been just at the point of restoring a razor's edge to its fighting prowess when the shooting had started.

Around the time that Winters and the intercepting "Militia" force had been engaging the Zentraedi landing force bound for the NORAMWEST AOR- the 17th CAD had been melting into concealment in the terrain of Fort Irwin having attached the resident Opposing Force, or "OPFOR" units, into its ranks. Having nearly doubled its size with the additional training units whose assignment as such was based on their combat skill and aggressiveness, the 17th CAD had emerged from concealment in the pre-dawn hours and had begun a movement toward the enemy in the best condition that could have been hoped for to join battle.

There was only the issue of disproportionate forces.

As Winters had recognized he was significantly outnumbered by enemy air units, so the 17th CAD's commander- a General Weschler whom Winters had seen in passing before his sortie- had to be grappling with the fact that his formidable unit was hopelessly outnumbered by Zentraedi ground forces.

It was the RDF's common reality of the day.

"Sucks to be The Southern Cross today.", Pinball commented- possibly voicing a thought prompted by Vice's statements of several seconds earlier.

"It sucks to be The Southern Cross any day, Pinball.", Major Tomas "Maverick" Cruz replied with a snort fraught with an air of superiority.

"Today more than most days though.", Ott countered without disagreeing and in an attempt to provoke conversation for lack of anything more destructive to do, "Figure that horde of dittos is headed for South America- or someplace closer to South America than here-."

"Them and God knows how many others.", Skinny chipped in.

"-And God knows how many others-.", agreed Pinball, "And between here and there is every ASC major installation and industrial center. I don't think the dittos are gonna just brush by those."

"Better them than us.", Winters said sounding more bitter than he thought he would. With all that had gone on in the past thirty-six hours, his ability to hold a grudge had remained unshaken.

"At least they are still the home team.", "Blitz" Rechtberg pointed out, blunting Winters' comfort with his own prejudices somewhat.

The squadron leader lost sight of the Zentraedi as Marilyn turned in her constant left bank into the westward leg of the wagon wheel.

Rechtberg had been right, of course-. Opposed as Winters had become recently to even the existence of The Army of the Southern Cross and its internal policies and practices in its region of control- they were technically human.

That had a stronger measure of importance today.

-And some- many- of those humans were either in harm's way or already embroiled in it.

"Damn if that isn't a sad comment on the state of the world when a bloody German has to remind us of our humanity-.", Winters grumbled.

Apparently he had some deep-seated grudge against Germans too- but that may have been an English preoccupation.

Winters had always prided himself on being able to hold multiple grudges simultaneously.

The Panama Canal Joint Military Zone

There was no 433rd Engineers anymore.

There did not even appear to be an RDF-Army-.

-Not from Lieutenant Khoa Nguyen's brief captures of his surroundings.

Certainly there was nothing of what a trained and disciplined Army should resemble- only a rabble in uniform behind the wheels of RDF Army vehicles, at the controls of RDF-Army mecha, or simply fleeing as fast as RDF-Army issued boots would carry them.

This was the panicked flight eastward along the general path that the Autopista de Sur followed toward La Puerta de Las Americas- the "withdrawal" never having been a formalized order, and now not even having the cohesion to warrant the military moniker of a "retreat".

The Autopista de Sur burned 150 meters to Nguyen's north as RDF, ASC, civilian contractor, and civilian non-combatant surged in a torrent of stumbling terror through undergrowth and the obstacle course standing and fallen trees.

A constant moan hovered over the dank jungle floor like an audible mist, coming from the trampled and broken forms of those who had fallen underfoot. The roar of vehicles on fire along the Autopista was too far to cover it, and the smaller fires that had broken out within the tree cover where randomly fired Zentraedi missiles had gnawed trees down to mid-trunk and had opened the canopy to soot-smudged sky did not do enough in their crackling to conceal the sound. In these mauled spaces, shrapnel-shredded corpses lay in the precise order and interval in which they had been moving east. Some were missing limbs, others were unrecognizable with the wounds and explosive trauma sustained.

These were at least silent though.

Elsewhere, the piercing screams of the wounded rose over all other sounds, entering the ear like the point of a dagger and corkscrewing icily along the already terror-numbed spines of those who were still in a state of mind to be able to hear and register these sounds of agony and distress.

Like Nguyen and Sergeant Gabe- one of only seven of Nguyen's unit that he could positively account for anymore- the waves of the driven had abandoned the Autopista several kilometers back when joint RDF and ASC air cover had finally collapsed entirely leaving the choked roadway completely exposed as an inviting target to Zentraedi Fighter Pods who had quickly begun taking advantage of the opportunity.

Nguyen had ordered the engineers in his vehicle, and those around him to abandon the road within moments of seeing a plasma-napalm strike against the roadway in their path close enough to feel the blistering heat of the artificial fire and to witness the sublimation of cars, trucks, and all of their occupants.

Nguyen's order had been at best only approval after the fact of an action already in progress.

That order had been the last of any real meaning- the situation was far beyond that now.

Roughly twenty engineers had left their gridlocked vehicles in conjunction with Nguyen's orders, and by the time the lieutenant had penetrated the jungle to this depth he found himself followed by only eight.

"Leadership" had been reduced in the span of a minute to leading anyone capable of following to the east- or in some cases, keeping up with them.

Military personnel, both superior and subordinate were all around, certainly, but all were being carried by the same invisible current toward the sea.

The situation ruled the day now, and only its imperatives had any authority.

Nguyen's last witnessing of the semblance of any resistance to the Zentraedi had been a rearward glance as had fled into the jungle. Some thirty meters in, where the tropical growth was just becoming thick enough to veil the chaos being left behind, he had looked back long enough to see through the opening of trees the lower body of a sole Gen-1 Raidar-X, halt in its retreat east and turn to again face west. In turning, it crushed beneath its massive weight a battered civilian mini-van that had at the time that Nguyen had passed it contained what could have been three generations of a family too petrified by their surroundings to conceive of leaving their gridlocked vehicle.

The rapid and distinctive crack of the Raidar-X's lasers firing mingled with the chorus of mayhem as the air above ripped with the thunder of Gnerl pulse jets.

At that point, a knobby protrusion of tree root had seized the toe of Nguyen's right boot, pulling him down and hurling him over a small rise into a deeper depression in the jungle floor. An explosion that was more felt than heard had been right at his heels as he'd been sent tumbling, and only by his fall had the blast of dragon's breath not engulfed him.

When Nguyen had emerged still in flight from the depression, a wall of smoke from incinerated metal and vegetation was billowing toward him- masking mercifully the foundational act of destruction that had caused it.

"Oh Jesus, forgive us for this day!.."

Nguyen had recognized the voice instantly, but had to visually confirm that the words had indeed come from Sergeant Gabe who either by coincidence or intent had also found himself in the depression in the jungle floor.

As the wall of smoke overtook the lieutenant and his sergeant they were again on the move. It was in this thickening air that they had come across the seven enlisted of Nguyen's twenty that had left the Autopista de Sur. The rallying was completely coincidental, but it allowed the group to move under some false sense of safety in numbers.

"We gotta keep goin', Lieutenant!", Gabe hollered into Nguyen's ear, possibly for the third or fourth time before it registered, "It can't be far!"

"-It can't be far-.", Nguyen muttered back, affirming to Gabe and his engineers that he was still in the game and would take them the final distance to sanctuary.

"It"- sanctuary, was an easy concept to envision and cling to- a solid destination to move toward. At times, they had all seen it and been there when "it" had not been sanctuary, but simply the ports that served the JMZ.

They were there, and were regularly filled at every slip and every berth with ships and boats of all sizes and configurations that could carry out to sea any who could reach them.

Carry them out to sea away from-.

The threat being retreated from was not allowing itself to be forgotten because the carnage of the Autopista de Sur could no longer be beheld.

Behind, to the west, the emanating tremors of mechanized footstep could be felt and could be felt growing stronger with proximity. The crunch of metal under the feet of Zentraedi mecha could be heard, as could the splintering crack of trees breaking before mecha bodies. The report of energy weapons firing relentlessly began to rise over the crackle of fire in the jungle, and the periodic hiss of an energy bolt passing overhead reasserted the reality of the danger.

Escape was ahead, to the east with only the dip and rise of the jungle floor an obstacle.

One more hill… A dozen more hills… A thousand more hills…

It did not matter, Sanctuary was a place and it was ahead.

Sergeant Gabe, with his stocky frame that suggested that he should be slower on his feet than Nguyen, had somehow managed to pull ahead and hold the length of at least a dozen running strides over his lieutenant. Even as geography asserted its last bit of cruelty in making the final ten meters of the hill a seemingly impossible incline, Gabe maintained his lead- scrambling like a woodland creature on all fours in the company of dozens of others clawing for the summit in the same fashion.

Nguyen was certain that he had lost Gabe as the sergeant vanished over the top of the hill that the lieutenant had ascended only mid-way.

Nguyen found himself fighting his own failing limbs as much as the last three meters of the hill. Holes gouged into the rich jungle earth by hands and feet preceding Nguyen's that should have offered ideal purchase seemed to crumble under his ever-increasing weight, while tree roots that did hold fast for his hands seemed to demand payment in return by snagging his leaden feet only moments later.

It was at the crest of the hill when Nguyen's strength was on the cusp of deserting him entirely that the trees opened inexplicably, and that the lieutenant found a blockage that was inconceivable given the situation.

Sergeant Gabe had joined the uneven rear ranks of a growing mass on the leeward side of the hill. Nguyen's first impression had been that his sergeant had stopped to wait for him.

It became immediately apparent though that Nguyen's sergeant was completely oblivious to his presence, even as Nguyen's shoulder touched Gabe's as he joined him in gazing east.

No more than five kilometers distant, the Atlantic Ocean glittered all around the last tongue of land as its swells caught the descending sun on their west-facing surfaces. Near where the land surrendered to the sea, smoke was rising from La Puerta de Las Americas and its burning wharves and yards.

Mostly intact but empty, piers and ship berths could be seen continuing to accumulate mecha, vehicles, and throngs of people arriving on foot.

If ships of any kind or affiliation were to come in- these souls were at the head of the long line seeking rescue.

-If.

Looking back to the west, Lieutenant Nguyen could clearly see the pawl of black smoke that accompanied battle moving steadily toward him.

Yellowstone City

Commander Anne Weitzel had been drifting between the depths and shallows of unconsciousness for she knew not how long.

Like a swimmer seized by successive riptides, she would get within reach of full consciousness only to be dragged down into the swirling murk again. Though with each rise, she did find herself closer to the light.

Each time her mind functioned just a little more, the pieces awakening and the connections reasserting themselves.

She knew that she had tried to speak.

There were important things to be communicated- she knew that much.

The thick, syrupy sounds that had escaped her lips though did not even remotely resemble the form of words. Even in the haze that she could not emerge from, she was aware of that.

For that matter, no sounds that she was aware of around her had made much if any sense. She could distinguish voices from other sounds, and knew that the voices carried with them words. The meaning of those words would not come to her though, and Weitzel quickly grew frustrated with trying and tired from the attempt.

She had drifted off.

Weitzel became aware of that too after the fact, and had a foggy recollection of her last failed bout with near-consciousness. She remembered vaguely the struggle to communicate, and that it had been important to do so.

It demanded another attempt.

Voices were still not making sense, but sounds that repeated, and smells that lingered were easier to work on with a sluggish cognitive process.

The clues that she was in a hospital gelled at once- the smells of antiseptic and sterile plastics fitting suddenly with the rhythmic beep that was an EKG monitor of Weitzel's own heart.

Weitzel was no stranger to hospitals, surgery, or its after-effects as she had as a teen gymnast undergone surgery to repair the shattered tibia and fibula in her left leg with steel rods after ungracefully dismounting a balance beam during competition.

Building upon this foundation, she was able to recognize the grogginess and mild nausea she realized she was feeling as her body coming out from under sedation.

What was different this time from her teenage experience was that the pain was not localized to any one part of her body. She felt the throbbing of drug-blunted pain radiating from almost every region that she knew a name for.

It was worst in her right leg though- a pronounced burning and tingling that started mid-thigh and became more pronounced further down.

Unlike her left leg where movement of her toes and foot rewarded her with stabs of sharp pain that penetrated the prescribed numbing agents, her right toes would not answer at all.

Weitzel heard the rate of her heartbeat increase in the beep of the EKG- giving voice to the panic she suddenly felt and the unwillingness to open her eyes and confirm a suspicion she dreaded realizing.

She did not want to open her eyes, but forced the leaden lids up enough to peak in the way that children risked a quick glimpse from under the covers into the darkness to find out whether or not the boogeyman was really lurking at the foot of their bed.

Beneath the loose draping of a hospital blanket, Weitzel could follow the contours of her left leg up to the clear protrusion of her left foot.

Her right leg made for a perfect matching set until it reached the knee where the blanket settled in loose folds to the level of the mattress.

Weitzel felt a shudder run through her body that escaped her as a shrill lamentation that might have been trying to assume the character of the word – no.

The irrational urge to flee hit Weitzel solidly and she made every effort to fling herself from the bed. Muscles either failed to respond or answered out of order and she managed only to thrash with her arms, nearly pulling the intravenous tubes from catheters taped to both forearms.

Strong hands were suddenly on her and were surprisingly gentle in their persuasion to remain in bed.

"Commander Weitzel, relax- you're safe-."

The voice was a man's- a stranger's- but somehow comforting in its tone and volume.

Weitzel found that her eyes would not stay open despite her best efforts, but in glimpses of the world around her she became aware that while her surroundings had all of the trappings of a hospital, she was not in a proper hospital building. She also became aware of more people gathering around her and attending to her.

There was soft tugging on the IV tubes in her right arm as an unseen person manipulated them and as the velvety sensation of a mild sedative spread through her body, Weitzel understood distantly that chemicals had been applied to calm her- the pharmaceutical version of a bedside manner.

"-You cut off my leg-."

Even in a dazed state, Weitzel realized that the words had come across more harshly and accusative than she might have otherwise wanted- but she was communicating at least.

"Ma'am, your leg was badly crushed.", said the male voice, "It would have been a long shot to save it in fully equipped and staffed hospital facility- and we're not fully equipped or staffed. You're one of the lucky ones- you're alive."

Weitzel could feel that her body had only so much energy available to it, and that the energy was quickly draining. She felt herself being drawn to focus on the stump where her right leg should have continued in the way that a child would obsess on blood and the sting of a scraped knee- it was the natural reaction.

She groped deep within looking for that trait that had served her so well for so long- the ability to rise above what others might find impossible and to press on.

It was more of a struggle right now, but Weitzel still could feel that defiance within herself. She broke through and found focus beyond her disfigurement. There would be a time to deal with that later.

"-I need to speak to Ephraim.", Weitzel managed to get out, hearing in the process that her voice jittered and jumped as though she had been immersed in ice water.

"Who?"

It was a herculean effort to open her eyes again, but Weitzel managed to do so- making every effort to look everywhere and at everything except the lower half of her own body.

Highly trained and rigorously exercised regions of Weitzel's mind were beginning to work again and get traction. They registered data elements captured by her senses of sight, hearing, and smell- began to collate, and then assemble the pieces.

The wall behind the head of what she found to be a cot approximation of a hospital bed was not even a wall in the traditional sense. Ribs of grey, inflated rubber ran vertically, arching to form the bowed ceiling of the room before descending in the same curve to the floor on the opposite side of the chamber.

Aluminum frames supporting LED light fixtures as well as bundles of electrical cables stood within the arch of the chamber, though clearly bore none of the structure's load.

At least a dozen other beds occupied the room, all with occupants who were bandaged to one degree or another and inert if not unconscious.

The clues quickly yielded the only sensible answer to Weitzel- field hospital.

Where the chamber joined another, or possibly an inflatable corridor, Weitzel could see blurry human forms passing by the curtain-door of heavy, translucent plastic.

The embodiment of the voice with whom she had been speaking sat on an aluminum frame stool by her bedside, strangely wearing the dark blue utility slacks and shirt of civilian emergency services- not the garb of military medical personnel.

"You're not a doctor?", Weitzel asked, clearly surprising the athletically-built man in his mid-twenties.

"No-. EMT…", said the civil servant, rubbing his bloodshot eyes whose dark circles were substantial enough to make him look as though he'd been in a fight. "They were short on staff here, so I'm doing a turn as orderly and nurse before they send me out into the city again. –I even lent a spare hand in two surgeries-. …Something for the resume´, I guess…."

"I need to speak to Ephraim…. Brigadier General Shiloah….", Weitzel said, feeling her head clear slightly as her mind began to work at assessing and prioritizing. She made an effort to raise herself slightly, expecting to look over to the next bed to find her friend and superior.

With a groan and a surge of sharp pain all throughout her body, Weitzel failed and settled limp into the cushion pad of the cot again.

Apparently the EMT had not been the only one who had lost a fight recently.

"-He was the officer who must have come in about the same time I did. About my height…. Short, curly grey hair…"

The EMT shook his head, saying, "I don't know-. I didn't see you come in and we've got a lot of injured here. I can ask around at least-."

"Do that.", Weitzel said, her officer's persona making a resurgence, "And I had a bag with me-. It contained external memory drives. You need to see if that was brought in as well. Once that's found, I'm going to need coms- an uplink to Fleet-."

The EMT laughed irreverently- not an intentional slight, but rather a reaction of utter disbelief.

"Lady, are you fucking kidding?.. We're scrounging for working radios to communicate across town. The city is crawling with Zentraedi, so I'm not even sure we have a fleet anymore. –And even if we do, and even if we had the ability to reach out to them, the doctors wouldn't let you leave that bed to try to call them."

Of course, only part of Weitzel's demands had been about performing her duty.

It had also been a fight to leap over coping. –Coping with the loss of her leg, coping with the loss of order and sanity, coping with the loss of the world that had been firm reality when she had lost consciousness in the collapsing hallway outside of Ephraim's office.

Structure crumbled around her.

Weitzel caught a last glimpse of the bulge of a single foot beneath her blankets before she let her head drop to her pillow again and allowed her eyelids slam shut. A profusion of tears that she had not expected ran hotly down her cheeks and wetted her hair at her temples.

The EMT's voice was wearily apologetic in the darkness.

"-Hey, sorry.. I… Look, I'll see what I can find out for you before I have to go out again. I just meant to say that you're not in any condition to go off fighting the war right now. Just stay put, and I'll see what I can find out- okay?"

Weitzel nodded, succeeding in holding in the sobs she was fighting a losing battle to restrain.

She felt the EMT leave her bedside and heard the movement of the heavy plastic curtains that separated this inflatable hospital ward from whatever it was connected to.

Weitzel allowed a whimper to carry out on a shaky, exhaled breath- nothing that would be heard beyond this chamber.

Somewhere in the room she heard a body shift its weight in a nearby bed and reply with a whimper of its own- perhaps a sympathetic sound.

Perhaps it was only the sound of someone else grappling with their own nightmares.

Edwards Air Force Base

Shadows were beginning to stretch to distortion away from the objects casting them as Winters drew Marilyn's throttles back to a mere idle in the slot he had been directed to on the tarmac. Once in place, the pilot keyed the auto-shutdown sequence, taking the Valkyrie's plasma reaction engines down completely.

A-Flight in its entirety was pulling in line off of the squadron leader's right wing with a ship's wingspan space between them to prevent the loss of all to a chain explosion should a surprise attack take place.

Winters barely had his helmet off, air, life support, and electronics interface lines disconnected from his suit before Lyle was at the top of a ladder he'd pushed into place at the cockpit's side and was inserting the safety pin back into the fighter's ejection seat.

Both men were working to release the pilot from the snug, five-point embrace of his seat harnesses when the ordinance crews swept the tarmac to safety missiles that were still secured to the rails of the fighters' drooping wings.

Despite a patrol of four hours and with the enemy in great abundance well within striking range- not a single weapon had been fired for reasons of ROE on the Valkyrie pilots' side. What was preventing the Zentraedi from engaging was a greater mystery to Winters as he had witnessed several incidents of provocation from the RDF side- complements of the Army- that had cost the Zentraedi the lives of several hundred of their warriors.

It was a curious period of restraint on both sides, and one that Winters knew would cease with spectacular violence as all of the tension and fury being accumulated was released.

There were clues that the moment Winters was predicting internally was not a distant one.

Ordinance trucks, heavily laden with deadly loads stood just as far back from the tarmac as regulation demanded during combat operations and probably not a centimeter more. The nervous glances of flight line safety officers spoke volumes in confirming the trucks were indeed carrying the cargo for which they were intended, and not there as some kind of bluff or diversion to distract an enemy who might have eyes on the area.

Lift carts stood by in abundance, ready to move weapons to waiting aircraft at a moment's notice when the call came.

Marilyn and the rest of Knight Hawk Squadron's A-Flight would be disarmed first though- even as the potential for sudden action loomed.

They were out of the immediate cycle for fast response, and as such ever-present regulations demanded that they not stand idle with a full weapons load.

There were indications of multiple plans on the cusp of execution all over Edwards. Winters had seen the evidence in parts from the air and in rolling across the runway apron to return to the fighter hangar complex.

Adventurer II squadrons, having suffered moderate damage to several aircraft and no losses despite an entire day's relentless combat sorites were now being armed again with the tools for ground attack.

EA-9D EW/ES variants were being no less laden than their A-9C ground attack siblings, only theirs were loads that were not intended to leave the aircrafts' hard points. Jammer and directed energy countermeasure pods capable of setting the Mojave aglow with electromagnetic energy were undergoing final checks for functionality by the flight crews themselves. Like the "walk around" that fighter pilots were accustomed to performing, the Adventurer crews were readying themselves to do the business for which they were trained.

A less common sight by virtue of their numbers rather than their presence at Edwards were the UAVs and UCAVs which in their entirety occupied a tarmac and hangar area themselves. Winters had witnessed their preparation and in the case of the UCAVs, their arming, with a modicum of both respect and pity. Though a valued asset, these warrior automatons had the unique distinction amongst the RDF combatants of being remorselessly expendable at a commander's whim.

Reflective of considerations made for the combatants who were not deemed expendable, the preparations of SAR crews and their helicopters were also in progress. These pre-flight activities were concealed somewhat though, as much as possible from the sight of those whom they would rescue if the call should come.

They were angels of mercy- but also reminders of what could be.

Winters expected that the call would come for someone- and God bless SAR for the sake of that unlucky bastard.

-But like all fighter pilots, Winters was certain it wouldn't be him.

"Fish ain't bitin' today, eh?..", Lyle asked as he helped Winters extract himself from the confines of the Valkyrie cockpit.

Winters could not hear over the general noise of the flight line but rather felt the pop of joints and of his spine as they were given room to move and employed the full range of motion that the cockpit had denied for hours.

A dull but persistent ache gave his body a second pulse beyond that of his heart. It was the lingering physical after-effects of the previous night's action and repeated exposure to high G-forces.

Like a hangover followed alcohol, when the flood of endorphins and adrenaline slackened and then dissipated- the bill came due.

Winters had once likened the sensation to coming out on the wrong side of a prolonged bar brawl. Dalton, having been party to the conversation explaining the "down side" of a fighter pilot's existence to some bright-eyed glory seeker barely old enough to shave had refined Winters' description by pointing out that even the best brawler could only punch and kick you in so many places.

Sir Isaac Newton was more gifted in an even distribution of punishment.

"Not a nibble.", Winters replied as he followed the plane captain down the ladder gingerly, aware of every muscle in his legs and lower back, "I get the feeling there's something tastier to the southeast."

"And a feedin' frenzy going on there.", Lyle replied having a cigarette he'd lit swiftly in the corner of his mouth ready for the squadron leader before he was aware that he wanted one.

Even with the breeze over the tarmac and the various smells of equipment and activity around him, Winters could smell the pervasive odor of cigarette smoke sweated from the senior NCO's pores. Lyle had been awake and in almost constant activity as long as, if not longer, than Winters or any of his pilots. It was not just the combatants relying on chemical assistance to stay sharp as they were approaching the 48-hour mark of the time since they had last slept.

Without hesitation Winters had the cigarette and was drawing deep and greedily for the needed rush. There was a hint of coffee to the taste of the smoke- a sign that someone in the hangar complex had a pot going somewhere. If he had a minute, Winters decided that might be his next pursuit before reporting in to Flight Operations to debrief.

"-You've heard news?", Winters asked, responding to Lyle's vague reference to battle somewhere outside of the AOR.

"Bits `n pieces.", Lyle said, lighting a cigarette for himself as he and the pilot wove around and through the movement of ordinance crews headed for A-Flight's Valkyries.

"Bastards're rollin' right over anythang in their path, sounds like."

Winters shook his head dismissively, responding to the news as he might have responded to Lyle reporting that the sun was expected rise again the next morning.

"No surprise in that. If you took all the armor we have in California and combine it, you might get a couple of divisions. The dittos are moving an army at speed. We've got no density like that north of Guatemala- maybe."

"Well, Ah figure someone's thanking `bout havin' it out b'fore they getyt that far.", Lyle said looking at the destructive force massing around him, "Word `round the campfire is that the Southern Cross is plannin' on goin' head-to-head with `em, and asking for our support-. Operational Initiative Gemini- y'might'a heard of it-."

"Sounds vaguely familiar.", Winters grumbled darkly, "-Zentraedi versus the Southern Cross-. It's going to be hard to know who to root for. I suppose I should go with the home team, but I'm not quite feeling it yet."

"Who're ya less fond of?", Lyle said, coaxing Winters in the "right" direction of thought.

"Jury's still out.", Winters replied, steadfast in his disdain, "Is Freddy around?"

"Talkin' ta Colonel Mumuni, last Ah seen `im.", Lyle said, "She wanted me ta send ya her way when Ah saw ya. Y'all got a briefin' in `bout thirty minutes or so."

A finger of irritation jabbed Winters, "You might have wanted to have led off with that one, Lyle."

"`N miss a chance to converse?"

Winters tossed away the cigarette which had quickly burned down to the filter with his assistance. The rest of A-Flight was in trail now and closing having put eyes on their commanding officer.

"Priorities, Lyle- priorities."

The walk to the pre-flight building that was "home" to Knight Hawk Squadron was not a long one, but one abnormally rich with obstacles and moving hazards this day. Rather than taking the shortest route between points that would have moved the whole company of A-Flight through a maintenance hangar, the pilots without a word deciding it opted to cut around the rear of the cavernous structure.

The walk would not have normally been necessary as under standard operating procedures the flight returning from patrol would have been routed back to their HAS structures for post-flight disarming and turn-around.

Today however, additional squadrons were in the rotation for flight operations which necessitated accommodating Valkyries not part of 623rd Squadron in the nest normally reserved for Knight Hawks.

The guests of necessity would move out before long, and birds familiar to those roosts of reinforced concrete would come home again.

The walk did allow more time to stretch and indulge in another cigarette though.

"So, did Lyle have anything meaningful to say?", Vincenz asked as some of the noise of the flight line was dampened by the hangar behind which A-Flight was passing.

"Lyle always has something meaningful to say-.", Winters replied without reservation, adding the caveat, "-You just need to translate it from Lyle to English."

"Well, as you've already done the heavy lifting-?.."

"Haven't a clue.", Winters said, "Though keep your schedule open for later- we might have a fight in our future."

"Think I can wedge it in between my charity work and dinner with Miss California?"

"Tell her you might be a little late.", Winters advised, "Will she mind?"

"No- but I might."

"Well, we're all subject to requirements of the Service-.", Winters reminded his wingman.

"-So does this mean that the civilians aren't leaving?"

The question had come from Captain Pete "Dodger" Lindsey who was toward the rear of the migrating flight by chance rather than any hierarchal order of rank.

Winters understood the junior pilot's concern.

An attractive Asian girlfriend whose name the squadron leader had learned once in a quick exchange with Lindsey and had forgotten just as quickly had appeared some three or four months before. Whether things were getting "serious", or if the anonymous young woman who appeared with Lindsey from time to time at Roxanne's establishment was just who the pilot had to cling to in these times- Lindsey's question doubtlessly connected back to her.

"Haven't a clue, Dodger.", Winters said with a note of exasperation, "I've been on the same patrol as you. I imagine they'll move the civilians out as soon as they're certain that they won't come under fire out in the open-. Though I can't imagine keeping them on post is any safer-."

"It just makes sense that if we're gonna move them we can't dedicate all of our squadrons to attacking the dittos- and it sounds like that's going down soon-."

Winters stopped at the corner of the hanger beyond which lay the HAS structures and preflight building that were home, half-turned to glare at Lindsey, and snapped, "What part of I don't know wasn't clear?"

Lindsey, always able to find a dozen sides to any two-sided issue was visibly taken aback mildly.

"Sorry-. Just couldn't think it through-."

Winters suddenly remembered that Rio was part of the civilian population that had suddenly found itself "behind enemy lines" today. A deep-seated pang of concern over this let the squadron leader know that he had been too short with Lindsey over a matter of legitimate worry.

Winters had no answers though.

"I warned you about thinking. You could spread the condition if you're not cautious."

Leaving the paved footpath behind the maintenance hangar for another expanse of concrete tarmac, Winters could see through other Valkyries of adopted squadrons the fighters of B-Flight still "tucked in" within their HAS buildings.

Whether it was Lindsey's prattling moments before or just his own mind at work, Winters wondered if maybe the briefing Lyle had alluded to wasn't to lay out the particulars of using the aircraft now being armed to cover the movement of civilians and that the balance of air and ground forces at Edwards would remain in a guarding capacity.

Seeing flaws in this plan immediately, Winters shook the speculative effort off altogether. There was no need in guessing at what he would be told to him shortly.

Around the time that A-Flight had passed through the staggered line of visiting Valkyries on the tarmac and could see the door of the preflight building, the door came open with urgent speed to allow Dalton and Phillips to spill out at a jog.

His first thought being that there was some emergency, Winters was two steps into building to a run to meet them when something in Dalton's expression told him to hold his ground.

Winters concern intensified as Dalton gave him the "wave-off" gesture as he approached.

"Jack-. Best if you don't go in there", Dalton said coming to a stop just short of where A-Flight had halted on the tarmac, the concern having spread quickly through the other pilots.

"What's wrong?", Winters asked, sounding more the part of a commanding officer requiring information than a man trying to make sense of a warning.

"Everybody's in there-.", Major "Scooter" Phillips said.

"Everybody who?", Winters asked, legitimately puzzled by the vague warning from Phillips.

"Everybody as in our families-.", Dalton explained, and then added separately to emphasize that the point of tension was what followed, "-Including Catherine and the baby-."

Winters stomach dropped so that he was sure that he heard it plop onto the concrete. If he was being warned to stay away by Dalton, then there was a good reason and it almost certainly had to do with Gecko's newly widowed wife.

"Well, what the hell are they doing here, Freddy?!"

"They got on post with about a thousand other people with military ID, Jack!", Dalton shot back while minding that he technically was speaking to a superior, "Civilian broadcasting was spotty at best, Edwards City was dark, and the base was closer-."

"-And base security just let them walk in?"

Dalton gestured unexpectedly to Major Bruce from Witners' flight, "It's fucked up, Cisco's second cousin was working the gate and wasn't going to turn Pam or the kids around to go to a civilian shelter He let `em in-. What do you want me to say?"

Bruce's jaw slackened slightly as though he'd taken an unexpected right cross to it, but managed to stammer, "Roddy?- You stupid son-of-a-bitch…."

Winters spoke around Bruce as though his voice had not been heard, "So who told Catherine?"

"She went right to Rebound and cornered him when she saw Gecko wasn't around.", Dalton explained, "I was out in HAS-4 getting a post-flight check report from Lyle when they showed up, Jack- I didn't even know it was going down until it was over. I mean, Jesus- what was Rebound supposed to do?"

Winters shook his head in resignation.

All of the official and required activities that had followed the previous night's engagement in which Captain Alan "Gecko" Home had lost his life defending his world, while non-negotiable in their exercise, seemed a very frail excuse for not doing what decency had demanded.

"He did-..", Winters conceded, "-exactly what I should have done, Freddy. –I should have done it."

Dalton's next words sounded of pure warning, dire and sincere, "Well, I don't think this is the time-."

Whether all in the group of pilots on the tarmac sensed the impending danger simultaneously, or if it was one and his sensing it spread rapidly to the others- it did not matter. All were suddenly aware that malevolence was bearing down on them rapidly from the direction of the open doors of the nearest HAS.

"YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!"

Catherine Home, all 50 Kg of her, passed at a full run without interference through the outer ring of pilots around Winters before they could react and made contact with the squadron leader behind a clenched fist.

The shock of the assault more than the physical collision sent Winters staggering backwards, arms pinwheeling for balance as a successive barrage of blows were landed on his chest and to his face at a rate that rivaled some professional fighters.

The lieutenant colonel finally lost the battle for equilibrium on the retreat and hit the tarmac with a heavy grunt only to have the assault of fists replaced by feet as Catherine Home's rage coalesced into a blur of aggression and obscenity.

"BASTARDFUCKINGSONOFABITCH!-YOU KILLED HIM!"

A sneaker-clad foot flattened Winters' nose into his upper lip, filling his vision with stars and his sense of taste with the salty splash of blood as he tried to roll out in the opposite direction to escape.

There were feet and bodies in motion all around him- far too many to be just A-Flight, Dalton, and Phillips. Female voices collided with and overlapped the voices of Winters' pilots- wives and girlfriends who were desperately trying to separate the shrieking Catherine Home from the object of her wrath nearly twice her size.

Winters was able to get unsteady feet beneath him again as the bright spots of light were dissolving from his vision. To his surprise, it was the wives and girlfriends of his pilots who were keeping away the fury that the day before had been one of the most benign and unassuming souls Winters had happened across in his days.

Hands gifted in maternal and sisterly touch moved over face and body of the young woman who seemed as though she would shake out of her freckled skin, taking turns stroking her hair and embracing her through a ceaseless wash of consoling words.

For every consolatory act of tenderness and empathy though, an equally caustic glare was cast in turn toward Winters.

The pilots of Knight Hawk Squadron kept their distance wisely, no more trying or able to enter the circle of bereavement created by their spouses and significant others than the women were able to enter the world that was theirs.

Men of split-second decision making and action stood helplessly by as Catherine Home was coaxed and gently ushered back toward the preflight building that was now clearly theirs until they were ready to surrender it.

The mourning procession was not at the door yet when Linda Dalton stiffened in their midst, half-cocked her head as if to a calling unheard by anyone else on the tarmac, and turned sharply to return toward the pilots in a determined gait. Her husband put out a hand to intercept her, or possibly deflect some of what he knew had to be coming next- but Linda smacked it away and closed head-on toward Winters, stopping just outside of the range at which she too might be tempted to strike him.

Strangely, when she spoke it was in Winters' direction, but she was speaking through him, around him and in doing so to all the pilots of the squadron.

"Go on now and do what you have to do, but you let this set deep and hold fast. You're not just watching out for each other when you're up there. –Just remember, there are consequences."

Linda Dalton's eyes locked on Winters in what he expected would be the disdainful way in which they had so many times before.

Her glare was different now though- worse.

There were no longer signs of contempt that a person might feel for another. It had devolved into unapologetic disgust exhibited for baser things- unfortunate and repugnant happenstances incapable of helping themselves be more than what they were.

"You're a fucking mess, Jack. –Can't even bother to know to take care of your own…", Linda said without even a hint of passion or regard as she fished a worn and faded red bandana handkerchief from her pocket and tossed it in a wad against the squadron leader's chest, "-Keep it."

Without another word Linda Dalton reversed on her heel and rushed to rejoin the wives and girlfriends who continued to hover around Catherine Home as they brought her back indoors.

Winters stooped to pick up the handkerchief and several sizable drops of blood that pattered onto the concrete reminded him as to why he needed it. A quick pass of his right palm and fingers across his lower face found his hand slick with a coating of blood.

Major Wayne from Dalton's B-Flight approached guiltily, offering a second handkerchief from the breast pocket of his flight suit as Winters quickly bloodied the one in hand.

"Jack- that's my fault-. Rebound and I were trying to sit with Cathy and talk it through but when Buster saw you, she said that she had to go to the bathroom to clean up and-. Heck, she must've slipped out into the HAS through the pre-flight room. I'm sorry."

Holding the faded red handkerchief to his bleeding nose and swelling lip where it was quickly regaining some of its former color, Winters replied sullenly, "No, it's not your fault, Preacher."

"She was wrong, you know-.", Scooter said, wanting clearly to sound more convincing than he did.

"No she wasn't.", Winters said, "No, that's the damnable thing-. The dirty little secret that no one admits to. She wasn't wrong at all."

Unobligated by marriage, Vice stood in closer to his wingman and squadron leader as the other pilots closed ranks in something like the circle the wives and girlfriends had formed for Catherine Home moments before and grumbled, "Well, maybe she's got a point- but what the fuck?.. No one here keeps a secret from the women in their lives-. They know what we do for a living and that shit can happen-."

"Yeah-.", Dalton agreed peripherally, "-But we chose that life. We forced them to choose to ride along or get the curb. It's complicated when rings are involved-. You'll see one day when you're wearing one."

Vincenz scoffed at the suggestion, "I think you just gave me another good reason not to."

Winters was well into staining Preacher's handkerchief with the effort of staunching the blood flow when Linda Dalton's parting shot slammed home and penetrated.

"Freddy, what did Linda mean by I didn't know to take care of my own-. Where's Rio?"

An uneasy silence swept the squadron.

"We're not sure, Jack.", Dalton said bluntly, "Linda said that she and Roxanne left the club in Roxanne's truck with the rest of the caravan, but they split off headed toward Edwards City when everyone else headed to the base."

"-And you were going to tell me this when?", Winters snapped as his stomach began to knot in a way it normally did not outside of the cockpit.

His gaze went out past the parked Valkyries that stood idle on the tarmac in the direction of Edward City- and then pulled back to the Valkyries again.

"I was going to tell you as soon as I warned you off from the nest, but that didn't go so well-.", Dalton answered, "-And stop thinking what I know you're thinking right now. You go and pull a fool stunt like that when we're on the verge of a major mission and Arnie will have you locked up in a room, and then throw away the room."

Winters reminded himself of the hundred reasons why if he decided to take a Valkyrie for an unauthorized jaunt into the nearby city that he would probably not make it across the outer perimeter in one piece.

Logical and concrete as his reasoning was, the reckless urge still had its appeal.

Reason prevailed though.

"They're in a civilian shelter by now Jack, or at a collection point to be relocated.", Maverick assured him, sounding genuine in his belief.

"They're fine.", Dalton seconded, "The only dittos that have come close to the base or the city are the ones that we aired out. And even if the place was crawling with `em, there are New York City subway rats that don't have half the survival instinct of Roxy or Rio. They're fine- I'm sure."

Winters forced himself to let go- outwardly- because the rational part of his mind knew that Dalton was correct. If there was anyone in The Antelope Valley who could be counted on to make it by instinct and wit, it was Roxanne and Rio.

It would be dark in only a few hours though.

Very dark on the desert.

The GS-95 Robotech Factory

The atmosphere in The Situation Room had changed since the last meeting of the heads of Government and the military.

The weight and tension of "ongoing events" (no one had yet referred to it yet as the "war") could still be sensed in all around the table, but the edge had dulled some.

Government and military representatives in the room had now had the advantage of at least several hours of sleep- substituting the nicotine and caffeine that had sustained them through the termination of their last session with genuine and much-needed rest.

How much sleep each person at the table had actually been able to indulge in varied- but what had been had, and the taking of an actual meal had clearly benefitted all.

There was also a broader representation of Government at the table at President Valterven's direction. While not all of the ministries of The United Earth Government were required for the briefings and discussions that had been hastily assembled into an agenda for the morning's meetings, it was The President's overarching conviction that all areas of the Government were affected and therefore had a legitimate seat at the table that had them there this morning.

All would have the ability to contribute as their experience and predilections guided them.

Of the additions to the gathering since the last, the most immediately noticeable was one that had been conspicuous somewhat by his absence at the initial gathering.

Appearing every bit the personification of physical age, Breetai's original counselor on all things scientific, cultural, ethical, and not linked directly to the former Imperial warlord's vast military experience, Exedore, was again at his former lord's side.

Micronization which had done little to reduce the imposing physical presence of Breetai did not serve Exedore as well. His decimation in stature had not been complimented with a similar reduction in the deep furrows of age that gave the pale green flesh of his face the appearance of a rough and broken landscape.

They eyes nestled within the innumerable creases and wrinkles were still bright and aware- keen as any at the table and perpetually drinking in with the aide of his other senses all that could be delivered for processing to his perpetually knowledge-ravenous mind.

Though his age had been determined with a high degree of accuracy through genetic testing as over four –and-a-half Terran centuries, none who had ever had the occasion to speak with the ancient Zentraedi on any matter in which he was supremely well-versed could argue even the slightest hint of senility.

It was for this vast resource of knowledge, particularly as it applied to Zentraedi history that the advisor was now resuming his long-performed role- his more recent as scientific and cultural advisor to the planning of SDF-3's expedition to the homeworld of The Robotech Masters having been made indefinitely moot.

All in The Situation Room found their seats quickly as President Valterven entered and moved in his normal, brisk, business-like manner to his place.

Valterven without voicing a word on the subject set the tone for the entire assembly of men and women spanning the functional areas required to run a world. As a silent statement of professionalism, he had appeared immaculately attired in one of his trademark, pressed, grey silk suits with hand-folded handkerchief and matching tie knotted in a perfect Full Windsor.

It was not vanity or an ostentatious display- it was a conscious effort to look the part of responsibility. A war was on now, and while decisions that were to be made had acquired an additional magnitude of weight and urgency, the practice of Government would go on undeterred and unfettered.

Brigadier General Keenan, head of RDF SIGINT found himself sitting closer to MCS General Breetai than he ever had been to the senior military officer with the exception of three briefings he had personally conducted for the Military Chief of Staff. Much as Council Advisor Exedore's presence was indicative of the morning's agenda, Keenan's proximity to the MCS had much to do with a briefing from an area of SIGINT on that agenda.

SIGINT had assumed oversight of all aspects Cyber Warfare while discussions determining the scope and mandate of a formal RDF Cyber Warfare command were held. The defensive aspects of the proposed command were concise in purpose- the defense of Earth and its civilian and military UE entities from cyber threats terrestrial and extraterrestrial- but were questionable in practical need.

Current events not withstanding, projections of The United Earth's primary defense threats for the next half century had identified The Invid as the greatest danger. Being a species whose "technology" (though some argued it to be more akin to a non-organic extension of the biological Invid forms) was incompatible in every way save perhaps the Protoculture fuel source sustaining it with Terran technology, The Invid were even argued by some to be a Cyber "non-threat".

In this light and in times of limited resources, the argument to maintain funding for even a limited cyber-warfare program had been difficult.

Only the agreement between budget planners and the military oracles tasked with seeing the threats of the future that "violent but limited" threats from Zentraedi and The Robotech Masters had to be considered justified the comparatively meager funds provided for defense in the cyber arena.

Offensively speaking- stronger arguments for application had been made and as the briefing about to be presented was evidence of- heard.

"I have heard rumor that they call her, The Shark.", General Breetai said without warning to Brigadier General Keenan, "Why is that?"

Caught off guard by the question, not so much in its asking but in the foundational knowledge of scuttlebutt within the closed community upon which the question was based, Keenan replied, "Colonel Nath has been under my command for three years now, sir-. I see her in the hallways almost daily and am briefed by her weekly in MARPA program-focused meetings. She makes her salutations, she gives her briefings and she answers questions that I have…"

"I don't know if she has family, I don't know what she does in her spare time- if she indulges in spare time- or if she even sleeps. She is, to the best of my knowledge, just involved with her program-. Every aspect of her program."

"A pseudonym made all that more curious then, General-.", said Exedore, leaning around the bulk of his long-time comrade Breetai and speaking as Keenan was aware that he often did, as an extension of the same.

"The shark, an indigenous species to Earth, as you know is an apex predator whose success in that role is due in no small part to its instinctive, primal nature. –Hardly commensurate to the intellect required to run a vanguard project in MARPA, I would argue."

Keenan hesitated before attempting to correct the powerful and razor-edged alien intellect, "Yes, Advisor- but like many human expressions and aliases for people and things around us- the name's literal quality can only be taken so far. I think you'll understand the qualities that earned her that alleged nickname in short order."

Breetai took a moment to process his subordinate's answer to him, as well as his exchange with Exedore and found that there was still a disconnect.

"Colonel Nath sounds dedicated, General. You seem taken aback by that."

Keenan paused in calculation on what to say next and then said, "Dedicated might be an insufficient description, sir- in many ways. Reserve your judgment. -Though for myself I'd say she's about the most frightening person I've ever met."

Breetai's reply was almost immediate and as skeptical, "Her?-."

At a place at the table ring reserved for no particular functionary or person, the subject of Exedore, Keenan, and Breetai's short exchange rose abruptly to speak.

On her feet, Colonel Surt Nath's head and shoulders were not remarkably higher than they had been when she had been seated. A thick growth of pitch-black hair crowned her, pulled back and secured in a tight bun from which not a single hair had escaped nor had been left astray. Equally practical and devoid of aesthetic ornamentation as the keeping of her hair were the military issued, utility-frame eyeglasses with their black plastic frames that stood out boldly against her dark complexion common to her origins in southern India.

Behind the lenses eyes nearly as dark as the eyeglass frames whose irises were almost indistinguishable from the pupils fixed all before them in an inky, glittery hold that was nothing short of menacing.

"I am Colonel Surt Nath, commanding officer and project manager of Project Iago under the mandate umbrella of the Military Advanced Research Projects Agency, Cyber Warfare Directorate, Offensive Capabilities Division.", Nath said, her voice not powerful by any measure but it filled the chamber nonetheless. As it carried it was most notable in the near-automated pacing of her words as though Nath spoke to an invisible metronome set for fast measure.

It was more than the mechanical mimicry of her voice that was immediately if not subtly jarring to the audience. There was little if any inflection or character to her words that suggested ethic or even human affiliation. Her words flowed like a stream of informational output generated by processors of the highest order and efficiency.

"Project Iago, is so named for the closest lieutenant to the Moorish general, Othello, in the play of the same name."

"Iago itself is a cyber-based force reducer, using selected sets of computer viruses, Trojan horses, worms, and logic bombs that we customize into what we refer to simply as modules that when introduced into the Zentraedi information systems architecture will attack enemy information and software-driven systems at the levels we predetermine."

President Valterven, having received a thumbnail pre-brief of the material Nath was to cover in detail from Breetai who had in turn been given a quick synopsis by Keenan was clearly prepared with general questions that had come from what could not have been more than a several-minute presentation by the MCS.

"Colonel, please elaborate on the levels you're alluding to."

Though her countenance remained predominantly unchanged, which was to say completely null in expression, there was a hint- a momentary flutter- of annoyance on Nath's face at being interrupted for a question that would be addressed in its proper sequential place in the serial reporting of her presentation.

Military training maintaining their governance of Nath, or perhaps just her own unwillingness to apply the energy required to show her indignation at the needless interruption, she continued much as though the President had not interjected with the question at all.

"We have the ability to adversely affecting enemy software-driven systems ranging from the strategically significant, automated manufacturing processes that are the primary purpose of The Robotech Factories down to the tactically-relevant sensor and control systems of individual warships, vehicles, mecha, and field equipment."

"True to the character from the play, Iago, when it has been released into the enemy infrastructure wreaks maximum havoc by taking the very resources that hold the enemy's highest confidence and upon which they are most dependants and turning those assets against them."

"Iago is a high-gain, moderate risk cyber warfare asset that has undergone extensive and rigorous testing in simulation and controlled environments, and continues to be refined for deployment at the direction of the command authority."

Nath returned to a seated position, set her hands down on the table before her folded into one another, and before any at the table could interrupt again by way of inquiry, said.-

"I am now to answer your questions regarding Project Iago."

President Valterven, aware if not swayed in action by his earlier question that had caused a minor ruffle with its prematurity was quick to pursue the thoughts that Nath's brief presentation had provoked in him.

"Colonel, you claim that Iago has the ability to adversely affect enemy computer-based systems at all levels. I am still unclear as to what is meant by adversely. Please expand upon this."

For a moment, Nath could be seen calculating the appropriate level of and collating her response. It was clear that she was prepared to speak extensively on the subject, but better if not pejorative judgment guided her words.

"The question, Mr. President, is what would you like Iago to do?"

"As I said, Iago can be scaled and customized for the desired effect. At the strategic level- the manufacturing of war material by The Robotech Factories for the enemy- we can introduce innumerable, random flaws in production. We can introduce a combination of random and specific flaws if that is the desired effect. We can even go so far as to shut production down altogether- denying the enemy of one of their most constant, foundational capabilities."

Admiral MacManus, commander of the GS-95 and its multitude of operations was quick to challenge Nath on elements in her explanation that had struck him as contrary to his perception.

"Colonel, while we will assume that Iago can, as you state, introduce flaws into the war material produced for the Zentraedi by The Robotech Factories, it is also a fact that any Robotech Factory also possesses an enormous stockpile of material that is simply warehoused for immediate resupply of units in port. The enormous volume of material that these Te'Dak Tohl would have to consume before getting tainted goods into circulation would limit the immediate and mid-term value of the effort."

Logical, cause-and-effect thinking being Nath's nature, she was prepared with her response before MacManus had finished voicing what he found to be a flaw in her premise. Like a spider glad to find a fly in its snare, Nath descended on the ranking officer.

"Admiral, I was speaking in a narrow sense to the potential impact of Iago on the manufacturing aspects of the enemy war-making capacity. Provisions have been made to similarly reduce the viability of and enemy confidence in the standing material stockpiles."

"As you are aware, the distributed complex of Robotech Factories throughout the galaxies is designed to offer refuge and support to Zentraedi units in a timely manner, regardless of their location. Their function understands that they must have the ability to support at a moment's notice with a high volume of ready-use war material and the ability to independently resupply those stockpiles."

"It is also understood in the design of The Robotech Factories that there may be great time intervals between when these abilities are actually called upon by the Zentraedi. It can be in the order of decades or longer. It is believed that since their construction, that there are some Factories that have never been called upon to actively support Zentraedi or Robotech Master forces."

"In those great time intervals, even with the most careful storage practices, time has its effect. Fuel cells for vehicles or mecha deteriorate in viability. The chemical composition of explosives in missile warheads, or the composition of their fuel breaks down."

"The Factories regularly and routinely perform automated checks on stockpiles of vehicles and weapons. Through this interface, the software of these weapon and vehicle systems can be infected with either immediately manifesting flaws, or sabotaged to react to a triggering action by use of logic bombs."

"Iago is an active, offensive system in every aspect to which cyber-warfare can be applied. We have recognized the capability gap you touched upon, Admiral and have addressed it."

Likely unaware of ruffles caused to Nath by the questioning of perceived incongruities in thought, Council Advisor Exedore eagerly joined the intellectual melee building in the chamber.

"Very astute, Colonel, and well-thought- however The Robotech Factories do possess a measure of protection against just the sort of tampering that you are describing. In addition to performing routine internal assessments of not only their material stockpiles, they also perform checks on their own information system processes using a collaborative, cross-referencing checks of common systems between multiple Factories. In essence, a majority rules audit is performed and anomalies corrected."

Nath gave small indications of approval, or at least did not show signs of disapproval at the point voiced by a kindred spirit.

"Advisor, all that you said is accurate and true- however the deployment of Iago is not simply the introduction of malware into the enemy's information system infrastructure, it is a phased approach. The first phase of any deployment of Iago is the introduction of a root kit to the enemy systems. As you are likely aware, though some at the table may not be- a root kit creates a hidden directory, or in the case of Iago, a hidden virtual machine within the enemy computer architecture that provides for the clandestine implementation of the following phases of attack."

"We create a secret and unseen base from which Iago does its work. The Factories, once they are infected will continue to perform their collaborative audits, but because of the root kit and several other elements of Iago that will be in place at that time- they will be collaborating only with themselves. Naturally, the results of the audits will come back clean when compared to a corrupted database and system scans of their own networks that they will believe to be control images from other Factories."

"We have anticipated this problem and addressed it."

"In a similar manner, Iago can also achieve a disruption of the communication network created between The Robotech Factories and afforded to remotely positioned Zentraedi units. We can monitor, alter, reduce, or even halt all communications between Factories. We have anticipated that need and can tap in as we see fit."

No more animated, but with a fractional increase in the perceivable ease with which she spoke, Nath continued as though resuming her initial briefing.

"These are the high level, broad strokes of Iago's capabilities that would affect the enemy at the strategic level."

"At the operational and tactical levels, Iago is no less capable or debilitating."

"Iago has the ability to corrupt the systems of Zentraedi warships, forcing their removal from service or at least reducing them to operational and combat ineffectiveness. Iago can corrupt and skew the algorithms central to stellar navigation and spacefold computation. Iago can in the same way introduce random and changing error into sensor and fire control systems, rendering them ineffective."

"Iago can also deliver comparable force reduction in the active battlespace at a unit level. Flight and mobility controls of vehicles and mecha can be corrupted. Missiles can be infected with flaws in their homing and guidance systems, or simply be triggered by logic bombs to detonate upon firing or even while in a ship's magazine."

"We have anticipated virtually innumerable scenarios and applications for Iago and addressed them to varying degrees."

Awash and visibly intrigued by the revelation of vast possibilities, President Valterven applied the rigor of healthy skepticism as he inserted himself into Nath's monologue on Iago's potential.

"Colonel- on face value, it would appear that you have provided us with not a single silver bullet, but a case of them."

"However, I am a statesman and politician by profession, so I know that few things are in reality what they appear to be in advertisement."

"Am I to believe that The Robotech Masters, in their dependency on the Zentraedi for both defense from The Invid and expansion of their empire allowed such an egregious gap in the protection of the technological foundation on which that defense and expansion is based? It strains credibility."

Nath's reply was almost instantaneous- sharp, but not insubordinate.

"General Breetai may have input on this security vulnerability ignored by The Robotech Masters, Mr. President."

"The Robotech Factory support and manufacturing complex does possess a measure systemic security. Much like a turtle, it has a hard shell with few access points. Beyond that, there is some layered security. Technological and cryptographic authentication is present, as is the unique biometric authentication aspect that The Factories can recognize and will only respond to commands of Tirolians or Zentraedi based on bio-recognition systems aboard those facilities. All other organisms are eliminated or repelled by automated defenses."

"This is the shell."

"Like a turtle though, once the shell has been penetrated successfully, there is little defense from what internal damage can be done."

"The defensive countermeasure chiefly replied upon by The Masters to defend their information and computer infrastructures has little to do with cyber-warfare at all. The defense is predicated on two basic assumptions-."

"The first is that potential adversaries will either possess no compatible IT capabilities, like The Invid, or that the adversary's information technology will be sufficiently alien as to be immediately incompatible."

"The second assumption is that any adversary with substantial IT foundations will require exposure and time to study, comprehend, and then find vulnerabilities in The Masters' computer systems and software."

"Humans have had the unique benefit of having both a foundation of technology, and time to study the systems designed by The Masters."

Breetai was both quick and blunt in his concurrence.

"Colonel Nath is absolutely correct in her assessment, Mr. President. The Zentraedi have engaged in many campaigns against various enemies of The Robotech Masters. With the exception of The Invid, all have possessed independently developed technologies- some, arguably, even more advanced than the technologies of The Masters."

"In each case, again excluding The Invid, these civilizations were crushed under the weight of numbers fielded by The Masters through the Zentraedi, and devoid of any technological victory."

"They were simply beaten into submission before they had a chance to react or adapt."

"Humankind is unique in the history of the Zentraedi's adversaries in that our initial imperative was not to utterly destroy the civilization."

"Beginning with the salvage of Zor's Battle Fortress and the adoption and indigenous, continued development into your own variant of Robotechnology- humankind was both equipped with the primer and given the time to do exactly what Colonel Nath's team has apparently achieved."

"I am in agreement with my friend and colleague, General Breetai.", Exedore asserted without prompting, "Colonel Nath's Iago does appear to have benefitted from the improbable convergence of circumstances."

"The Robotech Masters, in adopting a growth model based on constant, rapid, and violent expansion created at the same time the means by which another culture could find and exploit their vulnerabilities. As they paused in their expansion, they defeated their own best defense. –I believe the term is cruel irony."

Valterven shrewdly held to his skeptical stance.

"-And yet, Colonel Nath I have the distinct feeling that we've heard only the benefits of Iago and not the cost. If Iago were a panacea for the Zentraedi threat, then certainly it would have been brought prominently to my desk sooner for implementation against the fractured, rogue elements we've been most concerned with until recently. And Iago clearly did not provide the foresight to mitigate the grave danger our civilization is now in."

Nath was unapologetic but respectful in her reply, stating the facts as plainly as she might read the ingredients on the back of a soup can.

"Iago is not a panacea, nor was it ever intended to be, Mr. President. Iago is a set of tools for complementing a Terran war effort from the cyber battlespace. It is in the advanced stages of refinement, but in the reality of only days ago was without a situation that warranted its application."

"This has changed."

Brigadier General Keenan clarified with a greater air of deference to The Executive's office.

"Mr. President, as Colonel Nath's team continued through the development process and the scope of what could be achieved began to be truly understood, it was felt and agreed upon in MARPA and SIGINT that it would be ill-advised to present Project Iago as simply another cyber-warfare too. Military strategists, planners, as well as even properly cleared members of the professional ethics and philosophical disciplines have been consulted to provide the recommended situational context for applying Iago."

"There has been no effort to conceal this project from either the chain of command or the civilian command authority- but rather it has not been broadly advertised since the full implications and potential of Iago have not yet been realized."

"You're insinuating that there's more than what Colonel Nath has briefed, General?", asked CNO Admiral Coolidge, "Iago seems to do everything short of tie the enemy's shoelaces to one another."

General Keenan, having reached the moment in the revelation of Iago that he knew would come, resigned himself to what would follow and directed Nath simply with, "Tell them, Colonel."

Nath, with no more hesitation than she had shown in any of her briefing up to this point said, "A shortcoming of Iago that we have not yet been able to overcome is that we cannot limit its effect to a specific Robotech Factory, or Zentraedi unit. When deployed, at whatever level of implementation is decided upon, Iago will affect all Robotech Factories and Zentraedi units uniformly."

"This", Nath added, showing for an instant a hint of defense, "is not a result of shortcomings in our design or development, but rather in the design of the targeted systems. Because of the interoperability and stress on uniformity engineered into the systems designed to support the Zentraedi, there can be no creation of boundaries. Iago will infect the entire Robotech Factory support complex in a matter of weeks and all Zentraedi units thereafter depending on their level of contact and interface with that network."

As comprehension struck the room, silence descended momentarily like a wave receding from the shoreline.

And then the next wave broke.

No less than a dozen ranking civilian Government officials and military officers fought to be heard by and over one another in various protests over the detail of Iago that had just been shared.

President Valterven was preparing to silence what was nothing less than conversational chaos when MCS General Breetai quieted all others simply by voicing his own thoughts.

"This limitation you speak of, Colonel Nath-. This could pose a more serious threat to The United Earth in the long-term than a conventional campaign against the Te'Dak Tohl does in the short."

"It is commonly known that in order to face The Invid threat, The United Earth is investing great resources in the paced but massive build-up of military forces. The timetable for that build-up and the corresponding budgeting of resources is predicated on the understanding that there are presently Zentraedi units engaged in ongoing campaigns against The Invid."

"If Iago performs as you predict, we will be hobbling those Zentraedi whom we are depending upon to occupy The Invid while we prepare to meet their threat."

"For those at the table who have never met The Invid in combat, I can only lend you a shadow of my experience in saying that I find this possibility disquieting."

"And what of the GS-95 Factory? What level of risk does this present to Walhalla and the production capacity it provides for UE forces?"

"That risk has been recognized and addressed, General. The GS-95 is not in any measurable danger for the reasons that its Hypercomp has been partially lobotomized- for lack of a better term. As Admiral MacManus can confirm, it is disconnected for all practical purposes from The Robotech Factory network as fielded by The Masters. Both the Hypercomp main computer and all of the subsystems have been severed from the automated communications processes. Additionally, the manufacturing subsystems have been selectively disconnected from the Hypercomp itself. For Iago to infect Walhalla would require a deliberate effort of sabotage from within our own ranks, requiring considerable time and the penetration of multiple layers of defense that we have put into place since the capture of this facility."

Nath then readily conceded, "-And to your initial point, General, I have never fought Invid. For that matter I have never actually engaged in combat. This is my first time off of the Earth if that has any relevancy to this discussion."

"My function has been to develop a weapon, a tool to add to the available arsenal."

"I have presented this audience with an outline of Iago's capabilities, and have not attempted to conceal or misrepresent its shortcomings."

"It falls upon the chain of command and the command authority however to decide whether Iago is to be deployed, and at what level it should be implemented."

"Consider, however, that in the time that will be required to prepare an effective conventional response to the Te'Dak Tohl threat- Iago can already have created most of the required conditions for a quick victory. Following that victory, and with far fewer human and allied Zentraedi lives lost- the support complex for the Zentraedi combating the Invid could be restored-."

"Iago can be shut off then?- Reversed?", Valterven asked, his mind having hung on the concerns voiced by Breetai.

"Yes.", said Nath, "According to simulations and compartmentalized testing- normal function of The Robotech Factory support complex can be restored with full capacity of service restored in an estimated eighteen to twenty-four months."

"-And in that time", said Exedore, his voice having lost its joyfully philosophical air for a more solemn tone, "how many Zentraedi will have died combating The Invid? How much advantage will The Invid have gained in those campaigns? -And, if the Zentraedi have come to suspect a flaw in their supply base- will they even attempt to return to it once it has been restored, as you claim it can be?"

"Risks that will have to be assessed and weighed before Iago is deployed.", Colonel Nath admitted quickly.

"If Iago is deployed.", Valterven stipulated, "And that is far from decided by a single briefing, Colonel. We will want far more information on Project Iago before any decisions are made. General Keenan was correct that there are philosophical and ethical factors to be considered."

"As I am sure they will be.", Nath said, "But I am only charged with developing Iago, and at the end of the day, it is only a tool."

Valterven allowed a minor deviation from the critical path of discussion.

"I wonder if Robert Oppenheimer ever claimed that the atom or hydrogen bombs were only tools."

"No.", Nath replied, unsolicited, "Oppenheimer was a genius, but given to dramatics and sentimentality. He placed himself at the same level as Prometheus in giving fire to the mortals."

"Oppenheimer was anchored enough in practicality however to understand that whether it was he or someone else, both the atomic bomb and the hydrogen bomb would be built."

"The benefit of building a weapon first is that you have the ability to first dictate how and when it is used. Would the Te'Dak Tohl hesitate to use Iago on us if they had it? After action reports from SIGINT suggest strongly that they have a similar tool that they may have been attempting to use on Earth's forces during their attack."

"We could justly consider use of Iago as symmetric retaliation."

"We are not the Te'Dak Tohl though, Colonel.", Valterven said with finality, "And the ability to cause mass slaughter will not be misconstrued as the necessity to cause mass slaughter so long as I hold this office."

"And that is your decision to make, Mr. President.", Nath agreed, "I only offer capabilities. The more complex, ethical deliberations are yours."

"Consider this though, and I borrow from General Breetai's statements of only a few minutes ago. The Zentraedi as a whole- to include this new faction, the Te'Dak Tohl- have left in their wake innumerable extinct civilizations."

"Is moral superiority to one's enemy a desirable attribute if none of your own remain to appreciate it?"

"This is only a thought."

Visibly finished with the debate, but governing himself and permitting the voicing of the opinions around him, Valterven concluded the matter with-.

"So noted."

"I will want a follow-on briefing in greater detail for myself and my advisory staff, General Keenan. Only after hearing all of the details of Project Iago and discussing the full ramifications will any decision be made."

"Yes, Mr. President.", Keenan replied.

Valterven was directing the opening of the next item of the morning's agenda when Breetai leaned over slightly to Keenan to speak in a moderated voice.

"I understand her nickname now."

Keenan nodded his agreement, "Colonel Nath is something, isn't she?"

"Yes, but the question is what that something is. There are often fine lines between fighting with dedication for a just end and bringing about an unjust one."

"In any case, I would like to review the relevant materials and be briefed in advance of meeting with The President. Have your office set a time with my administrative staff before fourteen-hundred today."

Keenan nodded and jotted down a note on his computer tablet that he sent promptly to his own administrative staff as an electronic memo.

"The materials will be ready for your review by the end of this morning's session, sir."

"Thank you.", Breetai said, returning his attention to the new matter being briefed in The Situation Room.

"General Breetai-.", Keenan added, implying great importance in his voice that gained him his superior's ear for a moment longer.

"Yes?"

"Before you review all of the high-level Iago materials, I'd like to speak with you-. As early as our first recess this morning if I may, sir."

"Regarding what?"

"Regarding elements of Iago I asked Colonel Nath to withhold from the general briefing this morning."

"There's more?"

"Much more, sir- and I want you to hear it from me first."

Breetai paused with contemplation and then said, "Very well, at the first recess then."

RDF-AF Base Salamanca, Spain

This was not Andrew Eric Johnson's first time in Spain.

When he had been younger, six or seven years of age, his parents had taken the whole family on summer holiday on the Mediterranean coast.

Andy could remember flashes of it, but like many of his age had difficulty remembering with clarity past The Zentraedi Holocaust which had divided time for a world into the two distinct portions of before and now.

It had happened though, the family holiday, because Andy had seen the photographs in one of his mother's many albums repeatedly. By the smiles on the Johnson boys' faces- Dexter Jr., Howard, and Andy- and even on the faces of their parents, it could be inferred that a good time had been had by all.

It was just that these were to Andy like the memories of someone else's life, and that he could only enjoy them vicariously- like seeing something desirable through a shop's front window.

This was however the first time being in Spain for newly confirmed, Officer Candidate, Airman Andrew Eric Johnson, Robotech Defense Forces- Air Force.

And thus far in his trip to Spain, there had been little nor was there likely to be excessive smiling.

It had been a whirlwind since Collins, Cattermole, and he had dragged into Falkirk exhausted and damp from the herculean effort of simply getting back to RTC 32.

Series after series of forms had been filled out, part of the post-basic training service selection process. And following those series of forms, there had been more forms still punctuated only by an unexpected and coldly invasive physical exam.

Sometime in the late night, or perhaps the very early morning though- the enlisted who had spent three months living in one another's pockets were divided into smaller groups and put onto trucks to leave Falkirk with no more ceremony than if they had been going away on a weekend's pass.

That truck ride had led to another post somewhere around York, and another further division of the occupants of the truck. A second truck ride brought those who had kept one another's company from the first to an airfield where they were joined by other enlisted from other trucks- all looking equally spent and adrift.

As a mass of the lost, they were ushered and packed into the cold belly of a cargo plane and the loading ramp shut.

When the ramp opened again, light penetrated the windowless, aluminum shell that had encased them for endless hours with a merciless and blinding intensity that seemed inconsistent with the first currents of warm, fresh air that swept over all.

A much needed walk through of the lavatory- an actual lavatory and not the closet-sized, stainless steel mockery shared by all on the cargo plane- and then a pass through the mess hall for tea or coffee and a large cinnamon muffin still warm from the industrial grade ovens concluded the "welcome" to RDF-AF Base Salamanca.

Within an hour of setting foot on Spanish soil, Andy found himself in one seat of forty, divided into five rows eight deep in Classroom 7 of Training Building 3.

All of the seats around Andy were occupied- Cedric to his right, and Cattermole somewhere to the right and rear. They had stayed by coincidence or design together through the various sortings and transportation legs, and now like all of the others in the room they sat blank-faced and silent waiting for whatever came next.

His senses and perception dulled by the same fatigue that seemed to plague all in the room, Andy was aware of one other commonality-.

All could be seen quietly questioning exactly how they had arrived here and whether or not a grievous mistake had been made somewhere along the way.

Andy had mulled over the question many times in the eternity since he had submitted his selection request for the RDF-AF back at Falkirk.

Try as he might to convince himself otherwise, the answer was inescapable and therefore, he determined, best to be embraced and accepted.

Andy Johnson's reason for being in that seat, at RDF-AF Base Salamanca- in the RDF-AF at all- sat right in front of him.

Pamela Dunn had not said much since they had landed in Spain, but she was fortunate that in the flight over she had benefitted from several short naps using Andy's shoulder as a headrest. This was primarily the reason that Andy had not slept- not wanting to disturb her rest while at the same time not enjoying the luxury of someone else to slump against. There had been an element of nerves as well, he had told himself- sleep likely wouldn't have come even if conditions had been ideal.

Now though, Andy found himself wishing that he had tried.

After all, it hadn't been impossible for Cattermole whose impressive and distinctive snoring had begun less than five minutes after the cargo plane had been buttoned up.

It didn't matter at this point, Andy resolved as the morning sun assaulted him sadistically. He would just muscle through it as he had in any number of things before.

He and Cedric had willed their way through adversity before and knew how to watch out for one another. In this way, they actually had an advantage as they sat side-by-side.

Glancing to his right though, and possibly bordering on hallucination, Andy swore he heard Cedric's generic warning to him-.

You're in it now, Andy Johnson.

Forty bodies in forty chairs started at the same instant, some more violently and impressively than others as the rear door to the classroom was silently opened and then slammed thunderously shut.

"Good morning, Nuggets! Don't get up-."

Andy Johnson's skin crawled.

A Yank.

Three words betrayed the speaker as a member of that odd, irreverent species that uniformly and vehemently believed themselves governors of as well as a gift to all Creation.

Of all the regions of the world from which the RDF could have drawn his first indoctrinator to the Air Force, Andy wondered which cruel Fate decided that it would have to be a Yank.

The sharp but simultaneously alluring smell of cigarette smoke followed in wisps of white the dark-haired man of medium age, stature, and build to the front of the classroom. On the instructor's console he deposited with a clatter a computer tablet, and then more caringly an ashtray of chipped and dirty glass.

Next, and inexplicably, the man set a worn tennis ball on the table- situating it in such a way as to be sure that it would not roll off.

As he went to the windows in the classroom's east-facing walls and began to open them one at a time- presumably to help mask his defiance of the large "No Fumar / No Smoking" sign hung beside the clock- Andy noticed that among the patches on his flight suit was that of a Valkyrie driver.

For Andy, still recovering from his initial, gut-reaction- things were taking a decided turn for the worse.

"Today is the first, long, grueling day of many…", said the man in the flight utilities who wore major's oak leaves on his collar, "-And of course, of the rest of your life- how ever long that's gonna be."

The man spoke much as he moved from point to point in the classroom, deliberately and with great energy- though no wasted energy.

Andy was sure he was a Yank now- certainly not of the Kingdom, Canada, or Australia by the way he spoke- but with that odd, non-descript accent that flew brazenly for all to hear the flag of "Yank".

"I'm Major Branch- you'll call me, Twig- and since this is the classroom portion of Basic Flight, I can only assume that you all intend to be pilots. You'll find I'm very perceptive that way."

Branch sat on the edge of the table at the head of the classroom beside the instructor's console and tapped the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray. The smell added an additional agony to the litany being felt by Andy as his body remembered that it had been nearly twenty hours since a sacrificial fag had burned to placate the demons within.

"I called you all Nuggets a moment ago-.", Branch continued as others stirred around Johnson, suffering in the same way as he apparently, "That's not slanderous or derogatory. You got past that crap in Basic, and it would appear that you're all parallel tracking the Green to Gold program. You're now Nuggets because the Air Force has determined that you're rare and precious with potential."

"Don't get full of yourselves just yet though, because you still need refining and forming- and that's why you are here."

"Let me be the first to congratulate you in being part of the first class of its kind. This is Basic Flight, of course, but with emphasis and a curriculum geared toward Veritech Fighter School and Advanced Multi-Space Combat Training."

"Let's be honest- no one who dreams of or pictures themselves as a pilot sees themselves flying a cargo plane."

Branch was off the tabletop and around to the instructor's console in single, flowing movement. He tapped at the touch-screen controls that were not visible to those in the student seats, but the effect of his activities was quickly apparent as the smart board at the front of the classroom as well as the smart tops of the desks came alive.

On the board at the front of the classroom, a montage of still photos began to cycle through as a slide show. Men and women of all ethnicities and cultural backgrounds within a clear age range graced the smart board in turn with their smiling faces.

"Veritech pilots- all of them.", Branch said, leaving the instructor's podium to begin walking up and down the rows of desks amongst his Nuggets, "Highly intelligent, highly trained, mentally and physically capable all-."

Branch passed Johnson from behind, paused at Pamela Dunn's seat, and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Do you want to be one of them?"

Dunn, shocked by suddenly being on the spot looked up, saying, "Yes, Major Branch-. Yes I do."

"NNNNNNNTT!", came the noise from Branch's clenched teeth sounding remarkably like a penalty buzzer.

"It's, Twig, my callsign, and no you don't."

"You, Nuggets, do not want to be like any of the determined and dedicated individuals that you see before you because they all have two things in common. First, it turns out that they were mediocre Veritech pilots; and, second they are all dead. –There is a clear correlation between these two."

"Nuggets, I'm going to warn you right now- mediocrity, loss of focus, and stupid mistakes are lethal in the occupation you are attempting to enter. If you don't think you've got what it takes to do the job, walk away, and ensure that those depending on you to walk away from combat actually do- then do everyone a favor and get up and slink out the door back there, right now."

Branch waited in silence for a moment with no reaction from the room.

"I'm not joking. This isn't to humiliate you. There's no shame in deciding that this isn't your cup of tea. There are many important and fine jobs in the Air Force- many different kinds of pilots…"

"-Veritechs just require the best."

None of the forty moved, or even dared to breathe heavily as Branch surveyed all around him.

"Fair enough.", said the pilot returning to the front of the classroom, "So, now the ugly truth about the training you're beginning. Neither I, nor any of your instructors are going to take you at your word that you're stellar. From this moment on, we will do everything to weed out the mediocre amongst you, mentally, physically, academically, and in application of the skills that you'll be taught."

"Take a moment to look to your left and you're right. Remember those faces fondly. Today is the last day you will see all of them. You're now on a track that is highly demanding at every level, and easier to drop out of than a greased tree."

Branch paused again, and when he resumed speaking his tone was more fraternal.

"-So you all want to be Veritech pilots…. Okay, let's get started…."

The major drew a board stylus from its holder and began to write in large and fast strokes on the smart board at the front of the room. When he stepped away a moment later, the output of his work remained visible to all:

1- SEE THE OTHER GUY FIRST.

2- MANEUVER TO ATTACK.

3- COVER YOUR WINGMAN.

"-There you go.", Branch said, returning the stylus to its holder, "You are now masters of the concepts at the core of being a Veritech Fighter pilot. We're just going to have to bring you up to speed on the how to-."

Brasilia

Quick concealment was not a challenge for a Ranger normally- it was a skill taught early, taught well, reinforced, and practiced routinely in the field.

Maintaining a concealed position without compromising its integrity in the prolonged and proximal presence of one's enemy was somewhat more difficult, required cool nerve and patience, and least appealingly a degree of luck.

Maintaining a concealed position in proximity to a large number of the enemy with the hours of darkness quickly dwindling was not only an exercise in skill, but a test of faith.

As positions went and given the circumstances, the sole standing corner of a collapsed, low-rise brick structure that by the presence of glass-top refrigerators and crushed shelving jumbled into the rubble had probably been a neighborhood store at some point in Brasilia's ancient past, this position was not bad.

Lieutenant Whilite with Private Rodriguez had been the second pair to bound the open street following Staff Sergeant Byerly and Private Miller's path to this point while the rest of the Echo Company probe covered from various positions.

All night, since the storm drain system had entered Brasilia proper and Captain Nguyen had elected to abandon its cover for the ability to maneuver and survey more freely on the surface, this bounding movement by pairs had moved the probe along at a steady clip without sacrificing caution unduly.

The probe had moved in this way through desolate and smoldering neighborhoods, through commercial and small business areas, and even around a two-block area that had been a heavily occupied malcontent encampment which Echo Company had assisted in clearing nearly a month before.

Things had been going smoothly and within expectations as they often did in an operational area- until they didn't.

Near the center of the area of Brasilia through which Nguyen had expected to move to reach Homestead Base- inexplicably, there was a Zentraedi presence.

It was not puzzling to find Zentraedi in Brasilia- neither BBG ("Big Blue Guy") regulars either in battle armor and field gear, or in mecha, or their micronized, malcontent LBG ("Little Blue Guy") counterparts who seemed to flock to the full-size warriors like newly-found followers of Earth-fallen saviors.

It wasn't puzzling- these were the enemy and this was a war, and Brasilia was once again occupied territory.

What was perplexing and frustrating to Echo Company's detachment was the finding of the enemy here.

The Rangers had known the Zentraedi to be in the city. They had known since the first firefight while the planetary assault was still ongoing that the malcontents who had evacuated Brasilia were as hastily returning.

On their approach to the city, Nguyen's probe had seen the regular coming and going of alien transports, presumably landing Zentraedi ground units and possibly extracting the long-marooned malcontents to other locations, possibly even to their fleet for size restoration and rearming for the fight.

If this were the case, then rallying areas would be needed, but the transport LZ appeared to be the city's west.

This made the crossing of paths with mix of Regult Battle Pods and a large number of malcontents the dumbest of dumb luck.

It had happened though.

No sooner had Whilite's trailing boot come off the sidewalk for this side of the street than the first heavy thud of mechanized feet had been heard and felt.

The Rangers had concealed instantly, hunkering down into shadows and where possible into physical cover- all praying fervently that the mecha would not come their way, or that if it did that the warriors at the controls were not scanning in the infra-red spectrum.

The first prayer had not been answered favorably by The Almighty, as a leading Regult had trod heavily straight up the center of the street that Whilite had just crossed and had come to a halt bisecting almost his exact path.

The four isolated Rangers had spent an interminable thirty seconds trying to control the volume of their own breathing and galloping hearts within a stone's throw of the Regult that they could easily look up at and see in clear detail over the broken upper fringes of the building corner in which they sheltered.

A second Regult and a third had followed until a platoon's strength had passed between and around the divided Rangers.

Four had lingered as the others had moved off, staying at a position some three hundred meters further along the street in what had been a city park.

By this time though, micronized warriors had begun to pass through, abandoning noise discipline with their loud conversations and careless shuffling as they enjoyed the psychological comfort of protection from their mecha-driving comrades.

These Zentraedi, the malcontents who in their exile on this world had developed a sense for their surroundings and who would be the quickest to pick up on indications that they were not alone- these Zentraedi did not move through.

In small groups and large, they had stopped along the street that Echo Company's probe had been trying to cross- three even parking themselves against the street-facing wall behind which Whilite and his subordinates covered. By the different voices, Whilite was able to identify three were no further away from him than the bricks that separated them for over ninety minutes.

An ongoing conversation between the two individuals whom Whilite had taken to calling Voice #2 and Voice #3 inside of his own head had burned heated, and then almost turned violent with shouting.

Probably only a "soldiers' fight", or the alien equivalency to it, it had gotten animated enough for #2 and #3 to grapple and bump the standing brick corner with enough force to dislodge a high brick from its place, and bouncing it off of Rodriguez's rifle with an accompanying shower of cement dust.

Voice #1 had intervened though, as had two other voices- one speaking with a clear tone of authority- and the confrontation was ended.

Voice #1 and Voice # 3 had remained as #2 accompanied the others away, still grumbling loudly in the Zentraedi dialect.

Whilite and Byerly were both able to breathe again as they lowered their side arms from the ready, having silently drawn them from holsters and screwed on sound suppressors in anticipation that they might have to be used at close-quarters.

The fight between #2 and #3 had been averted for less than a minute when shouts- commands- began to carry up the street and the sound of many warriors getting to their feet and starting to move could be heard.

The malcontents were moving out- at last.

A kink in the small of his back that had developed over an hour before was now screaming at Whilite to be attended to with a good stretch from the squatting position he'd been keeping behind the wall. To move more than the little bit possible to keep his legs from losing blood flow and falling asleep seemed like a reward greater than winning the lottery, and was within his reach.

As #1 and #2 were heard to pick up weapons and carrying gear of some kind from where it had been leaned against the exterior face of the wall, one of the Rangers in the darkness moved. A foot, or a hip, or the stock of a rifle nudged a brick in the wall that faced what had been an alley between the crumbled structure and the mostly intact one that stood still beside it- and a cluster of four joined bricks fell out- loudly.

Yet unseen, the Zentraedi that were Voice #1 and Voice #2 could be heard, perceived to pause at the disturbance.

A quick and hushed exchange between them confirmed it.

Not knowing a word of Zentraedi outside of the six or seven commands of use he'd picked up while in The Zone, Whilite's mind translated the alien exchange flawlessly for his understanding, as the exchanged progressed:

Did you hear that?

Yes- something on the other side of the wall.

Well?

Well, I guess we'd better get to it-. It ain't gonna kill itself.

Whilite and the other Rangers had shut off their night vision systems as soon as they'd been pinned. Keeping the optics running while remaining sedentary had promised to do nothing but drain batteries that might be needed later.

-And there was that gnawing dread also that the soft, shrill tone of the working optics would somehow, incredibly be heard by the enemy sitting less than a meter away.

It was no matter, their eyes had since adjusted to the deep darkness- well enough at least to be able to put on in the brain of targets that would come into the open less than an arm's length away.

The suppressed muzzles of Whilite and Byerly's pistols tracked along in the darkness in sync with the sound of footsteps on rubble and debris.

Whilite tried not to think about how they'd deal with the hundreds of malcontents probably moving on along the street at that very moment if the two entering the alley needed to be dropped.

Whilite made out a the outline of a head with long and wildly unkempt hair passing beyond the upper edge of the broken brick wall as it made its downward slope along its run further back into the alley. If the Zentraedi had looked just slightly left of center, Whilite was certain that he would have seen the bore of two pistols pointed at him, but he did not.

He was distracted by and focused on something else- possibly a sound from the mostly intact building standing beside the Rangers' cover, and one of the gaping holes in its walls that gave the promise of better concealment than what Whilite and the others enjoyed.

A second head, and then shoulders appeared in trail, also looking in the same direction.

The second head did turn though.

Whilite could not make out the fine details of the Zentraedi warrior's face, but he could clearly see the whites of his eyes- especially when they widened at seeing the Rangers.

The mouth opened as though to give a cry of warning, but the only sound was a heavy, hollow, pop- followed by the wet pattering of blood and tissue exploded from an exit wound.

Neither Whilite nor Byerly had fired though.

The body went down heavily from the silenced sniper's shot.

From somewhere across the street, the team of spotter and shooter for Echo Company, Harris and Fuller had clearly taken an overwatch position and had been diligently at that task.

The fall of the Zentraedi was known to his companion almost as quickly as to the covering Rangers.

He spun to face the perceived threat, and Whilite's finger was tightening on the trigger when the second warrior gave a strained gasp that mingled with a grisly thud of splitting flesh and bone- but not from the impact of a bullet.

The giant frame teetered in the shadows and began to crumple before it appeared to be snatched back into the shadows of the building the warrior had been investigating moments before.

From the dark, the whisper came, "70th Gurkha Rifles…"

Abandoning the practice of challenge and response, Whilite replied, "Rangers."

Rodriguez and Miller grunted with the effort of moving great weight as they dragged the body of the sniper-felled warrior out of the alley and behind the cover they had occupied for an hour and a half.

Heavy footsteps could be heard passing by, still only meters away.

"Wait for my word, and then move to my position.", directed the voice now identified with the 70th Gurkha Rifles.

Whilite lifted his knee just enough to take up his rifle from where he'd laid it, and slung the safetied weapon over his shoulder as he prepared to move. Byerly and the two privates were crouched and equally prepared to abandon the cover they'd occupied for far too long. The Staff Sergeant made gestures in the dark dictating the order of movement.

Whilite found that he would go third from his trusted NCO, with Byerly taking up the rear.

"Now!"

Rodriguez, then Miller bolted into the dark. Whilite was behind them, cringing in flight at the loud pop emitted by his left knee- an act of protest no doubt for the time it had been forced to remain immobile.

The lieutenant was a foot through the gaping hole of the building's wall and into the inkiness beyond when two pairs of strong hands grabbed him by the left arm and right carrying harness, guiding him and pulling him powerfully into his new refuge.

The hands released Whilite in the dark, and a moment later Byerly was beside him.

On the suspicion that they would be moving again shortly, and eager to put a face to the vaguely familiar voice that had spoken in the darkness, Whilite turned his night vision optics on again.

Through the green film, Whilite found himself nearly nose-to-nose, or rather nose-to-upper chest with Naib Subedar Sri Rawal Singh of the 70th Gurkha Rifles' C Company. With his turban and flowing black beard, he looked an odd union of past and future warriors wearing most of the components of his Cyclone CVR-3 riding armor.

"Sri?"

"Ed?"

Singh's massive hand took in Whilite's entire right shoulder and gave him three jubilant shakes.

"We were beginning to think that we might be the only survivors."

Two of Singh's men, whose faces were familiar but whose names Whilite could not recall stood just inside the hole through which the Rangers had entered the building, guarding and at the ready with sound suppressed HK sub-machineguns. One of the men was bearded and wore a turban like Singh, but the other was clearly of European descent and remarkably clean-shaven.

Staff Sergeant Byerly had by this time moved Rodriguez and Miller into a second firing position from which they could support the two martial Gurkhas.

At a barely audible whisper, like Singh, Whilite replied, "We thought the same, and that's what we're here to find out."

"How many of you?", Singh asked.

"Here? A small detachment.", Whilite replied being intentionally vague. There was still a possibility of capture and interrogation- rare as that was for malcontents, the malcontents were clearly not calling the shots for the other team now.

"The rest of Echo Company is still in the field. We're here looking for survivors and for supplies."

Singh's expression showed for a moment a hint of both anger and sadness before returning to its normal, impenetrable stoicism.

"You'll find much more of the latter than of the former I'm afraid, my friend."

Whilite happened to glance down where the body of the first Zentraedi warrior lay face-down in the urban detritus strewn over the floor. A large kukri knife, the sacred and traditional weapon of the Gurkhas (though Whilite knew from first meeting Singh, that he and his men were not ethnic Gurkhas at all, but Sikh) protruded from between the alien's shoulders, its blade buried easily twelve centimeters deep and nearly to the forward curve of the weapon. Singh and two of his subordinates had once demonstrated their proficiency at throwing the odd looking knives, splitting boards with ease from up to ten meters as naturally as some threw darts in a bar.

This particular Zentraedi had received a single, all-inclusive lesson on Gurkhas and their warrior prowess.

"We can't stay here.", Singh said abruptly as he sank with a knee to the dead alien's back and retrieved his kukri with a soft, sickly, sucking noise as the blade left the fatal wound.

"There is safety nearby."

"Roger that.", Whilite said, keying the mike on his radio. General orders for the probe had been to maintain radio silence, but this had been while visual signal been viable. The benefits of a short, coded radio exchange outweighed the risks at this point.

"Echo Actual, Echo Three. Contact made with friendlies-. Moving to secondary position. Stand by for rally details on my next trans. Over."

"Three, Actual.", replied Nguyen's voice, "Roger that. Over."

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