Note: This chapter was first Published: 08-26-16 - updated June 11 2020

Present Day — Bridgeville Rifle and Pistol Club, Sussex County, Delaware

The constant, echoing thunder of gunfire grew in intensity as the old van descended into the valley, winding down the narrow dirt path. Pearl was behind the wheel, feeling every bump and jolt of the uneven road. Greg's aging suspension system was barely up to the task these days.

Sitting beside her was Steven, securely buckled in the passenger's seat. His face was pressed to the window, eagerly staring down at the municipal firing range which lay at the bottom of the steep hill they were currently coasting down. From the back row, Connie also shifted over to get a better view, craning her neck at the curious sight.

A few more minutes, and the beaten-down old vehicle was safely parked in the range's small lot. Pearl threw open its trunk, retrieving a long case made from black steel, containing her rifle, and a cloth musette bag filled with ammunition and range safety gear. With Steven and Connie in tow, she made her way into the range.

"The range is hot!" called the rangemaster over the loudspeakers. "Move up to your designated stations and fire your weapons!"

Pearl laid the black case down and snapped it open, slipping her rifle out from inside and holding it up for a brief inspection. Satisfied, she carefully placed it on one of the firing booths along with a few loose rounds of ammunition, then gently nudged Steven, distracted by the man in the next lane, who was reloading his long-barrelled revolver.

"Steven, here's some money for the rental fee." Pearl handed him a couple of folded bills. "While you're there, could you please fetch some of those sandbags from the office?"

Connie idly picked up one of the large .303 rounds on the booth, "I didn't really expect a bullet to be like this," she observed, turning it over and weighing it in her hand. "My uncle owns a twenty-two-caliber rifle, but his bullets are a lot smaller."

"I'm glad I was able to convince your mother to let you come today," Pearl replied as Steven returned from his errand with a pile of sandbags triumphantly held aloft. "With the proper training, a gun is no more dangerous to its user than a sword."

"Cease fire!" called the speakers, and the three stepped back from the station to wait for the next session. It was bad form to remain at the booth, even while not firing.

Pearl smiled warmly as she held her old Lee-Enfield once again. Connie and Steven stared at her, remembering the sorrow in her eyes the last time they had seen the weapon in her hands.

"As I said before," she began in response to their quizzical looks, "this rifle serves as a symbol of my bad memories from the war, but also some good ones. Once, at a firing range not too different from this one, I honed my skills with this weapon, until I was quite proficient with its use."

"I understand," said Connie. "It's kinda like how I'm not too thrilled with my tennis classes, but I'm pretty good at handling the racket, and that makes me feel nice about myself."

"Sounds about right, Connie." Pearl nodded in agreement. "Now pay attention, children. We need to review the safety procedures and handling rules that we discussed earlier."

A few minutes later, the range was again cleared for firing, and Pearl positioned herself for a demonstrative shot. Seated on a bench, she rested the rifle on the sandbags which she had stacked atop the booth and braced her shoulder against the wooden stock.

Her breathing began to regularize, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. She closed one eye, focusing down the iron sights and locking her aim onto the bullseye of the circular target sitting a hundred meters away.

Her finger tensed on the trigger for the shot...

January 1939 - Achnacarry Estate, Scotland

The rifle's sharp crack fractured the silence of cool air, and the surrounding trees rustled with activity. Disturbed by the racket, a gaggle of geese took wing, bursting into the early evening sky as they fled for more peaceful locales.

"Miss!" called out the lance corporal standing next to Pearl, squinting through a spotting scope. "That's a miss!"

"All right, soldiers, that's enough for today!" announced the lieutenant in charge of the camp's rifle range. "Everyone, get yourselves cleaned up and head back to barracks. Except for you, Lance Corporal." The lieutenant glared down at Pearl. "As the one with the lowest score today, you're in charge of cleaning the range before you head back. Come on, snap to it."

The rest of the training platoon broke apart and began to filter away in small knots, chattering among themselves. A few isolated snickers at Pearl's misfortune were thrown her way, but soon everyone else had disappeared, bound for the showers and soon the mess hall.

Well, almost everyone. The young lance corporal had remained behind, still sitting by his spotting scope and watching her intently as she safetied her rifle.

"Name's James, by the way." he said cheerfully, flashing her a boyish, toothy grin. "James Appleby."

By way of greeting, he reached over, handing Pearl the rusty old dustpan which was used to collect the empty brass casings scattered all across the range's dirt-packed floor. "Don't worry about Lieutenant Jamison. Keep practicing, you'll be hitting those four-hundred-yard targets soon enough. Besides, you're already nailing the hundred-yard groups, and I see that your rifle isn't giving you as much trouble as it used to."

Pearl glanced down at the stack of her perforated targets from the hundred-yard range as she swept the area with broom and dustpan in hand. Yes, she had managed to put a few rounds through the metal plates, but the groupings were still very loose; there was still a long way to go.

"Thank you, James, but you shouldn't flatter me. My score was the lowest today, after all. I've always fought with my sword and spear, and I'm still quite unaccustomed to this rifle."

"Honestly, the good Lieutenant's only picking on you," James murmured. The officer was long gone, but one could never be too careful. "Jamison's just feeling irate that there's to be a woman on his range. In fact, I think my score today was actually lower than yours. Hence why I felt honor-bound to keep you company out here for a bit."

With a rattle, Pearl tipped the dustpan's contents into an old burlap sack. "But you aren't feeling honorable enough to actually come and help out?"

"Ha, good one." James rose from the spotter's seat, dusting the day's dirt and grit from his uniform jacket. "Well, I'd best be getting along, before they think I've turned deserter. Maybe you can teach me a few things about sword fighting some time. See you about!"

Spotting scope under one arm, James departed the range down the gravel road that led back to the barracks areas, and Pearl was left in solitude to finish her assigned task. Though intended as a punishment, she actually found peace in the act of cleaning. It was almost like being back in the Temple again, meticulously tidying her room as a centering exercise.

The lights at the range flickered to life as the sun finally set, and the gentle swish of the broom and clink of spent brass faded into the background as Pearl reflected on the last few days.

The meeting with Brigadier Dudley Clarke two weeks ago had gone smoothly. Having read through Jack Churchill's recommendation letter, he had invited her to join him for afternoon tea, as if it was the most normal of things for a senior intelligence officer to meet so casually with a new recruit.

The two had talked for over an hour about military history and tactics, much the same topics she had covered with Jack a few days previously. The conversation was pleasant, but the occasional probing question and abrupt switches of topic reminded her that it was as much a test as it was a pleasant chat, arranged to assess her suitability for placement in special service.

Towards the end of the interview, Clarke had unexpectedly looked her straight in the eyes. His next volley of questions came in rapid fire, asking her perspective on oaths of nonviolence and religious pacifism. Caught off-guard, she'd briefly struggled to formulate a response, but recovered with a quick justification on the use of deadly force to defend a nation's people.

She had been much too nervous to remember exactly what words she had used, but her response must have been sufficient to pass the final examination. As soon as Clarke had been able to digest her answer, he had signalled for his aide, who placed an envelope in her hands.

As the aide ushered her out of the office, Clarke had winked at her. "You'll make an exceptional asset to the British Army."

The envelope, she later learned, contained a small wad of banknotes and a one-way train ticket to a small hamlet in the Scottish Highlands by the name of Achnacarry.

Pearl still shuddered a little at the memory. For the entire length of her meeting with Clarke, the intelligence officer's cold, calculating eyes had never left hers, as if he were searching for any weakness or hesitation in her answer.

There was something in the way of his parting remark and that jovial wink which made her suspect that Clarke knew more than he let on. It annoyed her somewhat that Rose might have connections in friendly governments that she wasn't privy to, but on the other hand, it was necessary for Rose to maintain a handful of human contacts in the right places, if only to allow the Crystal Gems to operate completely autonomously and to ensure the remnants of the old wars remained largely undisturbed.

How Clarke might've crossed paths with Rose in the past was a mystery, but right now, it wasn't important to Pearl. All that mattered was she was on her way to playing her part in the war, and that suited her just fine.

With the range finally cleaned, Pearl locked up the equipment and set off down the gravel road towards her quarters, the big Lee-Enfield rifle slung by its strap over her shoulder.

and headed down the gravel road back to her quarters with the large rifle slung by its strap over her shoulder. In the unusual circumstance of being the only female soldier on the base, she had been billeted at a small room in the female dormitories, where the handful of women working as base administrative staff, cooks, or nurses stayed. This arrangement was fine with Pearl, as it allowed her some privacy, where she could mediate or read endless manuals. It also provided her with an excuse as to why no one had seen her eat or sleep during her stay.

"Hello, Pearl!" hailed Anne from the kitchens as she walked through the dormitory's front door and shook a few flecks of snow from her coat. "How was training today? Did you show those boys how a woman can shoot?" asked Anne from the kitchen as Pearl walked through the front door of the building and shook the snow off her coat.

"I'm afraid to say it didn't go as well today. I finally figured out how to unjam my gun, but my groupings at mid-range are terrible and I can't hit anything past a hundred yards...yet," Pearl replied, flopping down onto a sofa in the common area and picking up a newspaper, rifle lying across her lap. The roaring fire in the hearth lit the room in a pleasant warm glow that was quite comforting, even though the actual temperature was meaningless to her.

"Aw, don't let that get you down," Anne said with a chuckle. "I heard from one of the girls that James seems to fancy you. Perhaps you can get him to give you some extra training."

"Is that what was going on? He had approached me earlier and offered some supportive words." Pearl turned the first page of her paper, continuing to read on even with Anne's eager gaze upon her. "I figured he was just trying to be nice."

"Are you going to take him up on his offer?" Anne smirked suggestively, batting her eyelashes.

Pearl sighed, lowering the paper to look Anne in the eyes. "Get your mind out of there. I'm not interested in anyone like that, and besides, I just got here and getting kicked out due to fraternization would be a big setback for me." She shook her head. "No, if I accept any help from him, it would just be as fellow soldiers helping each-other."

Anne snorted. "Whatever, I'm off to bed. I know you won't listen, but, just the same, don't stay up too late, Pearl. Girls need their rest to look their best!" With that, she was off down the hallway to her room. "Make sure you clean the sofa," she called over her shoulder. "I think you got mud on it when you sat down."

Taking up the paper again, Pearl's eyes drifted over the words without really comprehending what she was reading, too busy was she pondering the consequences of what Anne had been getting at. Eventually, she accepted that the whole exercise was pointless at this level of distraction, and she decided to retire to her room to clean up and meditate. Mercifully the dry mud she had tracked in was easily brushed off the couch, and soon she had left the common area behind.

Once inside her room, she took a moment to look at herself in the mirror. Her appearance was quite different now she had chosen to wear actual human clothing. She had briefly considered simply shifting the clothes on her form to match the dark brown khakis of the British Commandos, but figured that she would immediately raise questions if her uniform never wore out or got dirty.

She could modify them further in the field to keep up appearances, but that would involve an inconvenient flash of light every time she attempted it. Learning to do laundry had been a chore, but thankfully Anne had helpfully taught her how; oddly she found it was quite a soothing activity.

Shedding the dirty uniform, she sat down on her cot, laying the Lee-Enfield down at the small bedside table and began the process of servicing it with a cleaning brush and lubricating oil. One of the first things that had been drilled into the trainees' heads at the beginning of the course was to learn every single bolt, screw, and lever that made up the rifle, and they had all spent days stripping it down, cleaning it, and putting it back together until they could all go through the process in pitch dark.

Consequently, the human weapon had become so familiar to her over the past days that maintaining it was beginning to have the same meditative properties as polishing her swords did, and as she passed her brush down the barrel, her mind soon began to wander.

Anne is being silly, she thought, but she has a point. I do need to get out and socialize more rather than just hide in my room at night. Rose and the others aren't here, and I can't do this on my own.

From her own experience during the Gem War, soldiers that bonded together fought better together, and if she really was to make a definite impact on the war that was to come, she needed all the help she could get.

Her reasoning didn't stop her from grimacing at the prospect. Okay, Pearl. Tomorrow, you're going to suck it up and go meet the others!"

The next day

Pearl stood outside the camp's main hall, watching a private hammering the final nail into the bulletin board. All around her, the crowd of trainees bustled and jockeyed for position, trying to find out what the big announcement was, but she had already seen the message: today was the day when the trainees were to be divided into squads.

Turning away, she gracefully slipped back to the rear just as the private finished his task. The man threw aside his hammer, picked up a packet, and made his way over to stand beside the camp commandant, who had just appeared on scene.

"Troops!" barked the Lieutenant Colonel. "Fall in!"

Every man present jumped into action, drawing themselves up into rigid ranks and snapping to attention. For a few moments, the commandant eyed them all suspiciously, but satisfied that all was in order, he nodded to his assistant. "Private, begin reading the lists."

A few minutes later, once the lists had been read out and the commandant had left, the men had broken ranks once again. Pearl wandered through the throng of trainees and support staff, hunting for the rest of her future squadmates.

An unseen hand tapped her right shoulder, and she wheeled about. No one was behind her. There was a quick shuffle of footsteps, and she let out an involuntary squeak of surprise when her opposite shoulder smarted with the force of a heavier jab.

"Ha! Pearl, that was adorable!" cackled James, stepping into view. "We're in the same squad! Looks like we might actually get a chance to practice those sword techniques we spoke of, eh?

"Yes, that does seem to be the case," Pearl replied, a little warily. Anne's recent jokes were still fresh in her mind. "Have you met Darren Williams, Frank Wilson, or George Byrne? I can't put faces to the names yet."

"Oh, for sure." James pointed over to a man standing by the far end of the crowd. "That lanky chap over there in the trim coat is Darren. He played rugby back in Cumbria, but I don't think he was ever any good. To hear him talk about it, though, he makes it sound like he was some sort of world champion.

Darren must have seen James pointing, since he started to pick his way towards them as James continued with his introductions.

"The walking tree stump over there is Frank. I think he said that he used to work in the coal pits down in Lancashire. He doesn't talk about himself or his family much, and I figure it's best not to ask. Hold on a second, will you?" James held up his hand apologetically, then stood on his toes to holler over the crowd. "Oi, Frank! Get over here!"

"All right, but what about George Byrne?" asked Pearl, scanning the crowd for the last member of their group.

"George's on his way up from Hampshire. Had some personal and transportation issues that he needed to sort out first."

"Oh, Byrne?" The rangy frame of Darren Williams, finally through the dense mob, loomed over them both. "Rumor says he ended up on the wrong train."

"Heard the stationmaster was giving him bad directions," Frank piped up from behind the taller man. "The drill instructors aren't well pleased by him being so tardy."

"Hello, gents," James said, gently prodding Pearl closer to the other two. "This here lady is Pearl. She's been assigned to join the Commandos on recommendation by the one and only Mad Jack Churchill and Brigadier Clarke. Yes, it's unusual for a woman to join the Commandos, let's show our new little sister the ropes. You get what I'm saying?"

The other two shared a look, then stared at James as if he had sprouted an extra head. Darren gave Pearl a careful once-over, and she anxiously held her breath, trying to meet his gaze without flinching. For a few moments, they sized each other up in a silent test of wills, waiting to see who backed down first.

"Hey, Frank," said Darren. "She seems alright. Let's see what she can do."

Frank simply shrugged. Evidently, he had decided it best just to go along with Darren and James for now. He reached out, shaking Pearl's hand firmly, then backed away to stand alongside Darren without another word.

"All right, everyone," hollered an authoritative voice, one of the drill instructors, "training with your groups begins tomorrow! I suggest you all finish making your introductions and get yourselves sorted. Dismissed!"

The rest of the afternoon was spent at the mess hall, with the men exchanging stories of their lives and prior adventures before joining up with the commando battalions. Darren spent most of the time spinning tall tales of his rugby games to James, while Frank mostly sat back, with only the occasional interjection.

For her part, Pearl remained attentive to the conversation. If there was one thing a court servant knew to do, it was quiet observation. Through centuries she had stood in the halls of the Diamonds, ignored and near-invisible in the shadows of the empire's most elite. But she had witnessed everything, and committed what she heard to memory.

Though she hated having to rely on the skills she had learned in the imperial courts, they had been useful to her then, and remained just as useful now. And so she hung onto every word that came from the three others around her, trying to determine what kind of men they really were.

Over the next few hours and into the following day, Pearl had concluded that the group she'd been assigned to were a good fit to make use of her skills. They were one of the commando units that specialized in intelligence, sabotage, assassinations, and the testing of new technologies. A perfect unit that could really make use of having her about, as Brigadier Clarke had pointed out in his letter to the training camp's commandant that she had presented on her arrival.

The instructors had been wary at first, given her lithe frame and the male warrior culture, but a few runs through the obstacle course had silenced their doubts. Eventually, they had come to admit that she indeed possessed latent fighting ability.

Now, all she needed to prove before she could be deployed was her ability to integrate with her unit and work as a team. Around this table in the mess hall, that test had just begun.

A few days later

The rushing wind flowed through her hair and filled her ears as Pearl raced through the snow-blanketed forest at full speed. Dodging around trees and leaping over muddy holes, she pursued the other members of the squad as they charged through the trees towards their goal.

Bursting from the underbrush, they dropped to their bellies in the snow, raising their rifles to scan the treeline on the opposite end of the frost-covered rope bridge.

"Go, Darren!" shouted Pearl. "We'll cover you!"

Darren set off in a dead sprint, rifle swinging in his arms. The rope bridge swayed violently back and forth as his boots clattered over the boards.

"Smoke out!" James jumped up, releasing the safety lever from a canister in his hand. He hurled it overhand, and it sailed over the bridge to land on the other bank. Soon, a thin haze of white smoke obscured both the bridge and the figure hurriedly crossing it.

Across the way, an outline popped up out of the brush, just as Darren had nearly made it to the opposite side.

CRACK! Several rifle shots sounded out, and it dropped back down behind cover. Two more targets emerged, one snaking down towards the bridge and another just barely visible through the bushes.

Pearl brought her Lee-Enfield up to one shoulder, drew a bead, and squeezed the trigger. The target in the bush went down. To her right, Frank and James fired off a shot each, dropping the moving silhouette in its tracks.

"All clear!" called Darren from the other side. The rest of the squad hastened to follow over the bridge, mindful of the treacherous ice slicks on the wooden planks. One slip could send them all tumbling into the frozen river bed below.

Plunging back into the brush, Pearl resumed the race through the trees. The thrill of adventure and the hunt coursed through her, fueling her forward charge. In the pale snow, she was almost a ghost, a fleeting shadow flashing between the trees.

Soon, she found herself in a clearing. The obstacle course came into view, and she practically launched herself up the climbing wall. Reaching the top, she turned to offer her hand to Frank, pulling him up onto the platform.

James snapped off a shot at a target that had just appeared in the trees, then scanned the group's surroundings for more. Seeing none, he raised his rifle up towards the top of the wall for Darren to hold, then grabbed the rope to scramble his way upwards.

Another few hand-over-hand bridges were next, then a long, energy-sapping crawl in the mud pits under razor wire. With the final obstacle cleared, the last task was a straight hundred-yard sprint, and Pearl didn't look back.

With another flurry of loose snow, she dove into the rocky foxhole that marked the end of the course. Lying at the bottom, she panted heavily. It had been a taxing course, even for her. No wonder the others hadn't arrived yet; if she was tired, how were they faring?

"Time?" she asked.

The drill instructor eyed the stopwatch in his hand. Leaning over the foxhole, he scowled deeply, then turned to watch Darren, Frank, and James stumbling through the snowdrifts towards the finish line.

"Fifteen minutes for you, but eighteen overall. Remember, you're not timed on the fastest, but the slowest member of your team. You all live as one, move as one, and fight as one. With coordination like this, looks like you'll all be dying as one, too."

Wheezing, Frank dropped to the ground in front of the instructor. James was doubled over beside him, coughing and gulping in the chilly air. "Bloody hell," he gasped out.

With a sigh, Darren walked over to the foxhole and extended his hand. Pearl took it, and he dragged her to her feet. He elbowed Frank, who winced and pushed himself back to a standing position. Together, the four members of the squad formed a loose circle around the instructor.

"Thirty minutes of kinesthetics for finishing over the time limit." The instructor glared at them all again. "And shape up, because if it happens again next time, it'll be forty minutes of kinesthetics. Go on, snap to it!"

Half an hour later, the exhausted group was back at the small cafeteria. Sitting around one of the picnic tables, they began discussing the day's training and strategies on how to beat the clock next time. Each of them had a warm cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches in front of them, to help them rehydrate and warm their bodies up.

"Well, at least that turned out better than last time," remarked Darren as he bit into a cucumber sandwich. "Our little sister here certainly surprised me this time. Since when could you run like that and help lift this fat-arse…" he boxed Frank's shoulder, "...over the climbing wall?"

"Well, you all saw me thrash the Sergeant in a saber duel the other day. To be an accomplished sword fighter, you've got to have fast reflexes. Besides, it's exhilarating to be out there, so it must've been the adrenaline carrying me."

Darren didn't quite look convinced, but he decided to let it slide for now. "Okay, squad. How can we do better next time around? We've got the trail down pat, and our shooting isn't horrible, but we're still running around as individuals out there. Pearl was three minutes ahead of us, and Frank was dead last."

"Pearl should be first across the bridge," James suggested. "She's smaller and more agile than Darren, which should save us some time."

Darren and Pearl nodded their agreement as Frank took notes.

"James should focus on providing the covering fire," said Pearl. "Right now, he's the best shot out of us four, and hitting the targets quicker means we can clear out areas better and move forward faster."

Still reading his notepad, Frank raised a finger. "I can help out with our equipment. I used to manage the supply room back at the mines, and I had a knack for keeping it stocked and organized."

"Sure, sounds like a good task for you," Darren nodded in agreement again, taking a swig from his water mug. Smacking his lips hungrily, he glanced over at Pearl's plate. Her own sandwich was untouched. "You going to eat that?"

"No thanks, I'm not really feeling hungry yet." Pearl pushed her plate across the table. "I'll find something back at the dorm later. All yours."

"Cheers." Darren grinned, and without another word began stuffing his mouth.

As the group chatted on, James studied Pearl with some interest. She was an odd one, no doubt. Throughout the entirety of their training together, he'd never seen her without a field cap firmly jammed over her head, and that was the least curious thing about her.

Pearl was almost tireless, blessed with more endurance than Darren, an experienced athlete, and stronger than Frank, who'd worked down in the coal pits for most of his life. And while the rest of the lads were ravenous after their daily exertions, James had never seen her need to eat or drink.

All of this was definitely unnatural, but somehow, James didn't mind one bit. Instead, he felt drawn to this mysterious lady that he had good fortune to be lumped in with.

Pearl must have noticed him staring, and she met his gaze with a small, brief smile. Then she turned away again, seemingly invested in Darren's eager display of gluttony.

James flushed red, and he quickly excused himself from the table to check the schedule for the next day. As he tipped back his chair to leave, he sincerely hoped that this woman's talents didn't extend to reading minds. Those impure thoughts that had suddenly begun spinning in his head were best kept secret.

February

George's arrival at Achnacarry had been a memorable one. It had happened on the night of a howling blizzard, one that was doing its best to delay the arrival of spring for a few weeks more.

Outside the windows of the base club, the wind screamed, rattling the shutters with a constant volley of snow and ice. The roof creaked and groaned in agony as the snowdrifts piled up, the sheer weight threatening to bring the ceiling down right down on top of their heads.

The squad had been huddled around the blazing fire in the hearth when the front door was flung open in a flurry of flying snow and freezing wind. In stepped a stranger, all bundled in a dark coat. Without so much as a sideways glance, he marched straight up to the unoccupied bar, reached over the counter, and poured himself a whiskey and clotted cream.

Drink in hand, he strode back towards the fireplace and shucked off his heavy coat, letting it drop into a wet pile on the concrete floor. Then he plopped himself down on the ground by Frank's side and took a long swig from his mug.

"Evening, folks." He smiled satisfiedly and set down the mug with a deep thud. "Bit chilly out there, eh?"

Darren was first to react to the man who had just barged his way into their quiet evening. He held out his hand cordially. "Lance Corporal Darren Williams. I'm in charge of this squad. Whom do we have the pleasure of meeting?"

"Well, this is all awfully convenient." The stranger gave his hand a firm shake. "Name's George Byrne. Most just call me George. I believe I'm assigned to this team."

"Excellent, we've been expecting you." Darren turned to the others and nodded towards the newcomer. "Introduce yourselves, won't you?"

Pearl also proffered her hand in greeting. "A pleasure to meet you. Lance Corporal Pearl."

George stared at her in surprise, then looked back to Darren. "There's a woman in a commando unit?"

"Yeah." Darren smirked. "She's the quickest one out of all of us, and a pretty decent shot with the rifle. Quiet, too. She's ambushed more than a few hapless blokes during the infiltration drills."

"The boys have learned to stay on my good side," Pearl boasted, smirking as George turned to her again. "A woman's wrath can be quite deadly."

"Too true," said George, grinning. "You know, my former girlfriend taught self-defense classes for women. I think you two would've gotten along splendidly."

"Don't get any ideas, George," James blurted out. His eyes widened, and he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

"The scallywag over there is James." Darren chuckled at his embarrassed colleague. "And the one sitting next to him is Frank."

"Pleased to meet you," replied Frank. as George shook hands with him and James. "I heard you were a sailor. Got any good sea stories to share?"

George took a moment to think, then straightened up, beaming. "As a matter of fact, I do."

The rest of the squad leaned in closer to better hear the story.

"So, there we were out in the Atlantic, cruising off the Azores islands. The sun was high in the sky, and King Posideion had blessed us with calm seas. The ship's engines were churning along nicely, too, and even our crusty old skipper was in good spirits.

"It was just after teatime, and the whole ship shook like we'd hit a rock. At first, we thought we'd run aground on a shoal, when suddenly this great big beast burst out of the waves just off our port side! The thing hung fifty feet over the deck, glaring down at us all evilly. It had one giant red eye, clear as glass, and its mouth was open really wide, as if it was about to swallow us whole. It had these slimy tentacles for teeth, all twisting and whirling about." George jumped to his feet, waving his arms and twirling his fingers in imitation.

"Hmm." Pearl was only half-listening to the story, more interested in the artillery spotting manual which was open on her lap. "Sounds like a corrupted Rubellite gem. There were a lot of those in the area when the Diamonds released their corruption blast, and many of them took on much the same appearance afterwards."

"A corrupted what, now?" George's exuberant storytelling session suddenly ground to a halt, and he goggled at her. "Honestly, I'm surprised you believed my story so quickly—not that it isn't true, of course, but these bunch don't seem to trust me. And how do you seem to know exactly what kind of monster attacked our ship?"

Pearl looked up from her manual, wondering what all the fuss was about. "Huh, what?"

Then her conscious mind caught up with her subconscious. Oh, stars! Think fast, how did we know that? Dodge and deflect! Spying a nearby periodical sitting on a coffee table, she got an idea.

"Oh, that? I read something of the sort in an edition of Maritime Reporter & Engineering News. They had this interesting article on, uh…" she struggled for her words, feeling George's questioning gaze upon her, "...certain types of deep-sea creatures and a possible connection to extraterrestrial life. Very illuminating stuff indeed."

If it was possible, George's stare only grew even more perplexed.

"Oi, you're an odd one, little sister," Darren observed. "Happy as Larry reading technical manuals and nautical periodicals. Is there anything you wouldn't read through and learn by heart?"

"Bovine Dentistry and Husbandry." replied Pearl dryly, grateful for the opportunity to switch subjects.

"Ha, good one!" called James from the other side of the hearth, nursing a warm cup of cocoa. "Okay, George, where were we? What happened with that sea monster?"

George studied Pearl suspiciously for a little while longer. "You know, I have a subscription to that magazine, but I must've missed that issue. Oh, well." He shrugged. "Anyway, we were just about to capsize under the creature's onslaught when I got the idea to make a run for the ship's crane…"

As George returned to his tall tale, Pearl retreated back behind her manual, shifting in position to settle in more comfortably against the rough floor. As she began the next section, she breathed a mental sigh of relief. That was close. I must watch my words better next time.

April

Though spring had come and the white drifts piled on the hills had begun to erode away, the Scottish highlands were scarcely becoming a warmer place. The snow was soon replaced by freezing, driving rain, still wholly unpleasant conditions for camping or any kind of outdoor activity.

On a training exercise, the squad had found themselves trudging through the soggy terrain on a long march over the slopes and ridges, followed by a very uncomfortable night curled up in canvas tents. Owing to the stealthy nature of the mission, they hadn't been allowed a campfire. Everybody was exhausted and cold except for Pearl, who, while appearing mentally exhausted, never seemed to tire from either the weight or the distance.

They were practicing simple orienteering, infiltration, and sabotage. Hidden somewhere in these craggy hills was a simulated airfield, which they were supposed to locate. Once they had found the facility, they were to carefully note down everything they observed, call in accurate artillery fire to destroy the facility, and quickly extricate themselves from the area to begin the long and weary trek home to Achnacarry.

On this particular day Pearl and James were laying in the mud outside the target in camouflaged parkas covered with foliage to blend into the landscape and grasses surrounding the facility. Pearl had the spotting scope while James took notes on what was inside the facility, they would be graded on the notes later.

Pearl and James were bellied down in the mud two hundred meters west of the mock airbase. Wrapped in camouflaged parkas, they were nearly invisible amidst the craggy rocks and dull greenish-brown foliage that made up the terrain surrounding the landing strip. Poking through the tall grass was a spotting scope, and Pearl peered down its long lens. Beside her, James had his notebook open, pencil poised to begin taking notes.

"Three, the count is three fighters, in addition to the sixteen bombers already on the ramp," said Pearl. "The fighters appear to be Swordfish types. We have two separate ammunition depots to the rear at grid coordinates Ack-Four-Three and Beer-Two-Four, relative to Hill Four-Two."

Pulling her eyes away from the scope, she raised her head to survey the facility and its surroundings. Somewhere down in there were Frank and Darren, who were now slipping away after infiltrating the base itself, while George was sitting at the other end of the valley, on overwatch duty from atop Hill 42.

"How are you not freezing cold? '' demanded James. Despite the wool parka and the many layers he had on underneath, his teeth were chattering. "And why aren't you all burnt out and exhausted like the other three are?"

Looking across, he noted that she was dressed in an even thinner coat than what he had on, and she'd had a cumbersome radio hoisted up on her back for the entirety of the interminable hike into the target area. But neither factor seemed to register with her.

"Cold never bothered me before. I take after my parents, you see. "My mother was Norwegian. They call days like this in Lillehammer 'high summer'." Pearl casually slid the straps of radio from her back, gingerly placing it on the ground between them. "My father worked the railways over in Canada, and it seems I got my endurance from him."

Getting better at this, she thought as she extended the radio's handset to James.

"Gomorrah, this is Brimstone." James murmured into the handset. "Do you read, over?"

"Receiving you, Brimstone," crackled the radio.

"Fire mission." James glanced down at his notes and began to read out the coordinates he had just listed down. At the other end of the line was a distant artillery regiment, who were taking advantage of the exercise to practice some long-range gunnery.

As James wrangled with the radio, Pearl was back behind the spotting scope. Down in the valley, she saw two shadows sprinting down the rocky valley floor, hurrying east away from the airfield's perimeter. Darren and Frank's job was complete.

"Okay, that's a wrap. Let's start moving back to base camp." Pearl collapsed the spotting scope's tripod, dragging it along with her as she crawled back down from the crest of the hill. Radio set in hand, James followed close behind.

"Say, Pearl," he began, a little nervously. "Would you be up for getting some cocoa together once we get back to Achnacarry? I know a place not far off base which has an extraordinary view of the sunset against the hills. You must know some great stories from your mother and father, and it'd be a pleasure to hear them from you."

"Brimstone Two to Brimstone One," rumbled George's sardonic voice over the airwaves. "Leave the little sister alone, Jimmy-boy. I don't think she swings that way."

James glanced down at his set in surprise. The transmit button had been jammed down against the ground as he'd crawled off the hill, and everyone on the net had just heard his clumsy attempt to pull a date.

In the cold air, he blushed violently. "Up yours, George."

"Brimstone Three to all Brimstone stations, turn your bloody radios off already!" snapped Darren through a burst of static. "You want Fritz to triangulate on our positions?"

"Damn!" Darren and Frank had been listening as well, and as serious as the former was while out on an exercise, there would be no end to the mockery once they had gotten home.

The distant shrieking in the air signalled one blessed relief for James, at least. Though the regiment of field guns had also been on the same frequency, there was no way they could've heard him. They had all been too busy firing off their cannons.

On the other side of the ridge, a barrage roared in from the sky, and the earsplitting blasts of heavy artillery rent the relative silence apart. The ground quaked underfoot, and the airfield disappeared in a storm of heat and bursting shrapnel. With one final look back at the squad's handiwork, James reluctantly hefted the cursed radio and ran off after Pearl, who was disappearing down the way they came.

June - Stronlossit Inn, Achnacarry

The orders had just come down the night before, straight from the office of Brigadier Clarke. Their squad had been directed to begin preparations for immediate deployment. The time for practice was over.

For nearly half a year, the squad had toiled in these highlands as one unit. Though the teamwork had been awkward at first, they had all managed to work out the kinks in the end. By the end of winter, the obstacle course had been conquered in record time. Together, they had outwitted the rest in the ambush drills, posted the best scores in the reconnaissance and observation classes, and hiked further and faster over the mountains than anyone else. Over those long months, they had learned basic encryption, communications, marksmanship, sabotage, and even a bit of espionage tradecraft, to round things out. In short, they were ready.

They would be heading out to Warsaw in the morning to liaison with the Polish Army, part goodwill mission and part intelligence-gathering exercise. The Germans had been breathing down their government's necks for months, and command had thought it wise to position some assets in the region in case the situation deteriorated badly. With their broad range of skills, Pearl's team had been one of the first choices on the list, and they would be the ones heading to the capital.

Having double-checked the team's gear and reviewed the mission parameters for the umpteenth time, there was little else for Pearl to do but to join the others at the town pub, where the graduates of the commando course were celebrating the end of training.

They were gathered around one of the tables in the tavern, each with their drink of choice in hand as they belted out a favorite drinking song. Even Pearl, aided by a good spot of ale, was getting in on the fun. Much to the annoyance of the regular patrons, she was prancing about on the tabletop, exaggeratedly acting out the song's verses with James as a partner.

I'll place no happiness of mine

A puling beauty still to court,

And say she's glorious and divine; The vintner makes the better sport

And when I say, my dear, my heart,

I only mean it to the quart.

Pearl struck a pose with her arms around her chest, fluttering her eyelashes at James as he pretended to give his pint of Guinness his full attention.

Love has no more prerogative

To make me desperate courses take,

Nor me to an hermitage shall drive, I'll all my vows to the goblet make

And if I wear a capuchon,

It shall a tankard be or none.

James danced a little jig around Pearl, who was laughing at him, still frozen in her pose. The table pitched and swayed, threatening to spill them to the flagstone below, and the others hastily worked to balance it out.

'Tis wine alone that cheers the soul, but love and ladies make us sad;

I'm merry when I court the bowl,

While he who courts the madam's mad;

Then ladies wonder not at me,

For you are coy but wine is free.

The merry dance finished with a jilted Pearl pretending to slap an ale-obsessed James. He ducked to avoid the blow, and the table again tipped uncomfortably to one side. He lost his footing, and his flailing arms reached out to grasp the front of Pearl's coat for assistance, but all he succeeded at was dragging them both down together. Laughing uproariously, they crumpled into a heap on the floor, with Pearl atop a still-giggling and now very dizzy James.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" chanted the others, pounding their fists against the now-upright table as Pearl unsteadily untangled herself from James. The alcohol had really started to take effect on her system. She stumbled back over to the bench and dropped down on it, desperately trying to regain what little composure she had left.

"Bad show! Bad show!" The others jeered in disappointment as James began to struggle to his feet.

"Bloody hell, James," mumbled Darren over his pint, his face reddened from a few too many drinks. "If you're ever going to make a move on the little sister there, you've best get it done soonest. We'll all be back on duty again in a few hours."

Pearl's cheeks blushed a deep blue. James looked as if he was about to shrink back under the table in mortification.

"Leave 'em be," Frank admonished. "Can't you see you're making the lad lose his nerve? Pearl here seems about ready to die of embarrassment, the way you and George keep teasing them."

"Oh it's quite alright," said Pearl. "I know James isn't really that interested and we've all let the alcohol get to our heads tonight. Let's just drink and be merry for a little while longer, shall we? We won't get a chance to enjoy ourselves like this again for some time."

Having also resumed his place at the table, James reluctantly nodded in agreement. Then he quickly turned away to one of his seatmates, a man from another squad, and began spinning one of his old childhood stories. It was one the team had all heard before, and the rest soon left him to his own devices, finding some other way to amuse themselves. But Pearl was still watching James keenly. The other commando burst into laughter at the punchline of his tale, and that familiar grin was beginning to spread across his face again.

Over the last few months she had grown close to him, as she had with the other three men. They had helped guide her as she wrestled with learning the regulations, tactics, and equipment of the British Commandos, treating her as a favored sister. She knew, though, that things were different in James' case. Even with Pearl's limited understanding of humans, it was obvious that he was feeling something a bit more than platonic affection towards her.

She wasn't quite ready to explore that kind of human relationship. In what lay ahead, everyone on the team had to maintain professionalism, and fraternization would only jeopardize the coherent unit that they had all worked stringently to produce.

At any rate, that kind of interaction was more in Rose's sphere, no matter how much Pearl disapproved. Perhaps, one day, her leader would return her feelings. Until then, all the others would just have to wait.

Night before first deployment — Pearl's room

She was standing at the Temple's entrance under an overcast sky. Behind her, a biting gust blew in over the Atlantic, and a chill crawled up her back, despite the thick standard-issue overcoat draped over her. A normal winter's day in Beach City. Or at least, it should've been.

It took her much too long to notice the rumble of gunfire in the distance. After six months of hearing it on a daily basis, her mind had learned to easily push the sound away, dismissing it as little more than a nuisance. But this was no annoyance to be brushed away. The firing echoed from the west, in the direction of the town proper. Every so often, a distant shout interrupted the constant rattle of rifle shots, only to be drowned out by more fire.

Pearl set off in a sprint towards the sounds. Soon she was wandering the Beach City's boardwalk, desperately searching through every window, but was greeted only by empty storefronts and darkened interiors. The colorful lights of the penny arcade glittered at her as she ran past, but even as the machines clattered and rang merrily, the interior lay abandoned.

The shop on the opposite side of the boardwalk was her real goal, and she ignored the arcade in her frantic rush, hurrying across the street to search the establishment, hoping against hope that she would find who she was looking for and not another deserted shell.

The door of Deedee Fryman's diner hung ajar, torn halfway off its hinges. The glass facade was completely smashed in, the shards strewn across the pavement in front. Pearl carefully stepped through the doorway, squinting in the low light and looking around for a sign of life. All she found was a dark red stain, spread across the tiles behind the bar.

In the distance the shouting was getting louder, and the sound of rifle fire was joined by the deeper blasts of artillery. Pearl slowly backed out of the shop and again broke into a run, determined to find the source of the noise.

Cresting a nearby hill, she was confronted with a horrific sight. Before her, Nazi flags flapped in the breeze, hanging above a fresh battlefield. At the bottom of the valley were the missing townsfolk, their bodies littered across the dirt. As she watched, banks of fog began to engulf the field.

Striding calmly through the mist were shadowy figures, dressed in the uniform of Homeworld soldiers. Each wore a red band on their arms which bore a white circle with a black swastika emblazoned at the center. Methodically, they worked their way through the carnage, their weapons finishing off the wounded and the helpless without any mercy or even thought.

Shock and rage boiled within her, and she drew her spear. Roaring out a battle cry, she charged towards the nearest silhouette, obscured in the thickening fog. It was an easy strike on an unaware prey, and she slammed the spear home into the Gem's gut with one violent thrust.

But the mark failed to dissipate. Instead, it screamed in agony, and rivulets of red ran down the shaft of Pearl's spear. She pulled her target in close, staring into its eyes. Her anger fled, instantly replaced by deepest dread.

Deedee's lifeless body hung from the tip of her spear, a torrent of blood streaming from the gaping hole torn straight through her abdomen. Her body was limp, slumped over, and yet her mouth moved in accusation.

"This is on you, Pearl," she said, voice full with rebuke. "Never forget. This was your doing."

Pearl cried out, the sudden movement causing the disassembled Lee-Enfield clattered to the ground. Gun oil leaked onto the floor, staining the boards a deep brown. She sat on the side of her cot, breaths coming ragged as she regained her senses. "Was that a vision? A prophecy?"

A fist pounded wildly against her door. "Pearl? Are you alright in there?" yelled Anne from the other side. "I heard screaming and things falling. Do you need help?"

"I'm fine, Anne!" Pearl called back, but even to her own ears, her reassurance was unconvincing. "I just had a...a bad nightmare. No need to come in, I'm all right!"

"Okay," Anne conceded, voice muffled by the door. "But if it happens again, I'm going to have to come in, and you're going to talk to me about what's on your mind. It ain't healthy for a girl to be like that, especially one trying to play soldier. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Anne," Pearl replied meekly. She waited for Anne's footsteps to retreat back down the corridor before reaching for her folded uniform and beginning to pull it on.

Buttoning up her jacket, she knelt to reassemble her rifle and slung it over her shoulder. There would be no more rest tonight. Dawn wasn't too far off, and maybe she could squeeze in a little more practice at the range before the morning reveille.

Author's Notes
Historical reminder: The real British Commando's did not exist until 1940. We're cheating a bit to fit with the story but its not a big change and doesn't change the real history too much. Fellow author Rodsantos continues to be a huge help in re-doing these older chapters. With help and support it makes the impossible possible and a much nicer reading experience over-all.

Chapter 6 is the next chapter up for re-write; right now (as of this update on June 11 2020) its full of typos and bad-grammar.

History

* Bridgeville Rifle and Pistol Club: Located about thirty miles west of Rehoboth Beach, it's a highly-rated gun club out in the Delaware countryside.

* Achnacarry: A training camp in the Scottish Highlands established by Brigadier Charles Haydon for the express purpose of training commando units, it was placed under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Charles Vaughan.

* Dudley Clark: Officer of the British Army known as a pioneer and leader in non-traditional warfare, espionage, and special forces.

* British Commando Memorial location: undiscoveredscotland / speanbridge / commando /

* 'Maritime Reporter & Engineering News' - Maritime magazine that went mainstream in 1939.

* Artillery tactics of WW2 can be found with a google search.

* The Stronlossit Inn - The pub where the squad went drinking near the Commando Training camp. I don't actually know if this place existed in 1939 but it's a nice thought. .

* An Anthology 120 Of Drinking Songs - traditionalmusic / tankard-ale /