Hello Readers!
The author's notes are at the top this time, just this once, to announce that Chapters 1-4 have been completely and wonderfully rewritten with the help of the supremely talented writer Rodsantos. Chapter 3 now contains a scene that sent chills down my spine as it was being written and is now one of my favorites of this story.
Please stop by Rodsantos' profile here or on Ao3 to give his well-written story "Operation Eclipse" a read. It's a crossover story telling the adventures of a multinational group of WWII soldiers stranded in the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender. The descriptions of battles, the clash of cultures, and the narrative are top notch.
Anyway, we'll be continuing to re-write and clean up the older content, with Chapter 5 next up for review.
Take care, and I hope this story remains as fun to read as it is to write.
You are worth the effort.
Sincerely,
Pinhead
May 2020
WHAM!
HOOOOONNKKK!
FOOMP!
CLICK!
CLACK! Ding!
Mountains of central Greece — November 22nd, 1942
After over a week of complications in unloading the special cargo, Aldebert was relieved to finally leave the port of Piraeus behind. The delays had sprung up from the moment of their arrival, being placed last in the queue after their arrival coinciding with a new consignment of tanks for the 1st Panzer Division, and the necessary heavy-lift cranes had been kept busy offloading equipment bound for the Wehrmacht. In the meanwhile, he'd been forced to wrangle with piles of paperwork to appease the pencil-pushers. To make it worse, everyone from the dock-master to the local spies was curious about the mysterious shipment.
Finally, after waiting for days on end, the tubes were secured aboard the next available train, and the long journey northwest to the research labs in the German heartland was finally underway.
It was early in the evening, and the countryside beyond the passenger car's windows was bathed in lovely shades of reds and purples by the dipping sun. They rose into the mountains outside Athens, and Aldebert looked down upon the troughs and valleys, watching as olive orchards and scrublands skimmed by. The lights of the little villages twinkled in the settling dusk.
No wonder the local resistance is so fierce, thought Aldebert. This land is well worth the blood being spilled to liberate it from us.
He yearned for his camera, but it was tucked away inside his luggage, riding in the rear car. Instead, he concentrated on committing the view to memory. Someday, hopefully, he could replicate the vista with paint and canvas.
"Go to sleep, Aldebert," muttered a drowsy Schafer from the other side of the railcar. "You've been up for nearly two days straight."
"That's not entirely true," Aldebert protested, suppressing a yawn that threatened to disprove his claim. "I've been catching some short naps when I can to keep myself up."
Schafer's cot creaked loudly as he rolled over onto his elbows. "Maybe so, but you don't look so good." Concern was evident in his voice. "We need you to be functional."
Without reply, Aldebert turned back to the countryside. Schafer sighed, hiking his blanket higher to cover his shoulders.
The night was darker now, with the colors and features starting to blur together in the low light. Somewhere up ahead, the locomotive blasted a shrill whistle, and the view was suddenly replaced by the darkness of a tunnel wall. The dim lights within the car transformed the window into a mirror.
Aldebert studied himself curiously. Though he refused to admit it, he looked exhausted. He could see Schafer in the reflection, still watching him intently from the edge of his cot. Glancing to the other window, he noted that Waldemar was there too, contently clutching a warm mug of coffee in his hand. It really was quite amusing, seeing how much he enjoyed such a simple pleasure. Especially with the gaping hole in the side of his skull leaking out blood and gray matter.
Aldebert jerked upright in his seat and whirled about. Not seeing Waldemar, he clambered atop his chair to get a better view around the car. He saw nothing, just boxes, a writing desk, and the surprised stare of Schafer.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," commented Schafer, also looking around. Aldebert's wild eyes sent a shiver up his spine.
The whistle blasted again as the train exited the tunnel, running along a mountain ridge. The rhythmic clicking of the rails over the uneven tracks slowed as the train began to ascend steeply. Up ahead, the engine roared, dragging the train up towards the summit of the pass.
"Waldemar! Did you see him?" asked Aldebert breathlessly, still looking around. "He was right there a moment ago, sitting next to you, sipping coffee!"
"My friend, there is no one else here." There was concern in Schafer's eyes. "I miss Waldemar too, but he's been gone over a month."
Aldebert slumped down into his seat, rubbing his hands against his eyes and trying to wish away the image burned into his mind. I'm okay, he whispered quietly to himself. It's just the stress of these past few days. I'm okay.
Schafer crawled out of his cot and besides lid over to put himself beside his friend. Reaching over Aldebert's shoulders, he wrapped the man in an embrace. He could feel Aldebert sobbing softly into his chest, barely noticeable except for the ragged breathing. Then he began to tremble against his chest.
"I understand. I miss him too," whispered Schafer. "You need to let him go. He was a good friend, a loyal soldier, and a man we could trust." Pausing, he ran a hand across his eyes to dab away his own tears. "I lost my wife a few years ago, before all this madness began. It was a different kind of loss, but it hurt all the same."
Schafer waited patiently, allowing his friend his time to grieve as he cast his mind back to that lonely tent in Tibet. As much as he'd wished, there was no one to share in his sorrow, to help him through those cold nights. Now he could provide that comfort for one of his friends.
After a few minutes, Aldebert pulled away, his eyes wet and red from tears. "Thank you, Schafer," he croaked, wiping his nose with his coat sleeve. He tried again, more firmly this time. "Thank you. I'd been bottling it up and just…" Embarrassed, he flushed and returned to watching the landscape outside. It didn't matter that it was now too dark to see anything.
"Don't mention it, friend." Giving Aldebert one more reassuring pat on the shoulder, Schafer slid across the aisle, then dropped back into his cot. "I'm going to try and sleep. You should get some rest, too."
WHAM!
The earthshaking blast was instantly followed by the banshee screech of the wheels, struggling to bring the heavy freight train to a halt. The suspension creaked and groaned loudly in a desperate battle against the forces of inertia to keep the railcar upright on the sharply-curved track. Items of all sizes rained down from the shelves, pelting the occupants with flying objects that left bruises where they struck.
As quickly as it had begun, the swaying and the noise subsided. Soon, an eerie quiet fell over the train, broken only by the distant chuffing of the idling locomotive.
Aldebert was the first to recover. Wrenching a suitcase off his legs, he gingerly eased his sore body into a sitting position to collect his shaken senses. His legs ached painfully from where the luggage had landed on his shin, his back was jarred from some unknown impact, and his elbow tingled irritably. Fortunately, none of it was serious. Time to check on his friend.
"Schafer?" he called. "Are you alive over there?"
"Fine, thank you!" was Schafer's muffled reply from somewhere under the pile of clothes and knickknacks. "A little help, please?"
Aldebert vaulted over an overturned bench, stumbling over to the pile. Selecting what looked like the heaviest piece, he lifted the metal cot and flung it aside, where it skittered over the floor. He stifled a laugh at Schafer's disheveled condition, limbs splayed out all askew and a look of shock on his face.
Schafer noticed Aldebert's grin. "Oh, shove it up yours and help me up!" he hissed, extending his hand. Aldebert grabbed hold and pulled him to his feet. They both looked around, trying to process their surroundings.
The once-elegant railcar now looked as if a storm had blown through. The suitcases with Alderbert's meticulously cataloged documents had burst open, and the papers were now strewn all around the floor. Several of Schafer's prized artifacts also lay scattered among the chaos, a few even lying in pieces.
"Verdammte scheisse," snarled Aldebert, gathering up a few stray papers and hastily examining the contents. Each one was from a different year and concerned varying subject matters. "This is going to take me weeks to put back together!"
Schafer huffed irritably. "Grieve for your reports later. My artifacts were priceless relics! They were supposed to be the heart of the museum's collection!" Kneeling down, he took hold of the ornate scarab box from the beetle experiments. "At least the heavier metal items seem intact."
The box's hinge snapped. The lid crashed to the floor with a heavy thud.
"Scheisse!" the two exclaimed in unison.
A long time passed as the two stood silently amongst the wreckage of their belongings. Neither felt much like moving from their spots. So much exertion, so much sacrifice to get where they had been. And now only God knew how much of that had been wasted in a single moment.
"I suppose we should find out what happened." Aldebert muttered dully, finally breaking the silence.
Without waiting for a reply, he picked his way through the debris to the railcar's now-crooked door. A hard shove broke it down completely, and it clattered to the tracks below. Guided by the lights still glowing from inside the train, he jogged towards the front of the train, his boots crunching steadily on the ballast rocks of the track.
It was too dark outside to see his surroundings, but he could tell by the slope underfoot and the cold, thin air that they had still been ascending when the train had halted. A glance at his watch confirmed that he had only been asleep less than an hour so they hadn't quite reached the summit pass yet.
He could just make out the engineer's shadow in the dim lights of the forward cab, inspecting the engine. His assistant and the firemen were absent. Reaching the front, Aldebert peered into the darkness beyond the train's bright headlight, scanning for any reason for the sudden stop. Though he searched for minutes, he saw nothing.
A wave of anger washed over him, leaving him focused on a single thought. They had stopped for nothing. Reaching under his coat, he unbuttoned the strap of his holster. Someone would pay for this needless trouble.
Turning on his heel, he stomped his way back to the forward cab. In one swift leap, he pulled himself up the ladder and came face to face with the startled engineer.
Aldebert dug into his holster, and his hand came out with his pistol. He leveled it no more than a foot from the man's nose. The engineer stumbled backwards in an attempt to retreat, but his heels caught his seat pitching him over to land in a heap beside the boiler. He howled in pain as his bare forearm brushed against the red-hot metal of the fire box, leaving a nasty scarlet burn just below the elbow.
"What do you want?" he pleaded, holding up his injured arm in front of the handgun, feebly trying to ward off his attacker. "I have a family! Please don't hurt me!"
"Why did we stop?" roared Aldebert, pressing the muzzle against the man's hand. His eyes blazed from barely controlled anger. "Give me a reason not to blow your hand off!"
So many things had gone wrong over the past few months. The failed experiments, the promising projects cut short, the deadly cat-and-mouse game played against the British on the blazing desert sands. But he'd powered through. No one could prevent him from accomplishing his mission. Not reckless associates, nor enemy bombing raids. Not incompetent superiors, nor alien warriors possessed with inhuman abilities. Even in Tobruk, with Waldemar's brains soaking through his uniform as his friend's life leaked out onto the bare concrete, all his enemies were unable to stop him.
And yet his hard work was turned to chaos in an instant. This one stupid train engineer had done what an entire army had failed at.
"Why did we stop?" Spittle flew from Aldebert's lips, and the force of his question stung his throat. The barrel was now pressed hard against the engineer's forehead. Blood rushed in his ears, drowning out whatever pleas for mercy the blubbering man offered in a desperate attempt to stave off death.
"Leave him alone!" shouted a voice behind him.
"Someone has to pay!" The engineer and the cabin they stood in disappeared in a red haze. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Crack! Sharp jolts of excruciating pain exploded down Aldebert's arm. His hand went limp, and the handgun glanced off the metal floor with a discordant clatter.
Spinning around to confront his attacker a fist slammed into he jaw knocking him senseless, his vision starting to fade to black. Aldebert's legs gave way, and he sagged to his knees. The last thing he saw was a man standing over him, an iron bar raised in one hand for another strike.
"Bastard," Aldebert whispered, as darkness closed in.
Consciousness was slow in returning, and with it arrived a fresh wave of pain. The arm was the worst offender, and as Aldebert's memories of the past few hours began to come back, he realized that his limb was hurting far more now than it had been in the immediate aftermath of the train crash.
Carefully, he tried flexing his fingers, and winced. There was definitely breakage down there. His lower arm, maybe, or perhaps his wrist. The back of his head also ached, where his assailant had struck him. Shifting his weight, he determined that he was lying down on something soft. He couldn't detect any restraints, so that was a plus.
"Ah, you're awake," said a familiar voice off to his side.
Aldebert tried to open his eyes, but immediately snapped shut them again. With every heartbeat, he felt as though his brain were pounding against the interior of his skull. He groaned, shielding his eyes with his unbroken hand. Nausea swelled up from his stomach, spreading dizzily upwards, and he pulled his hand down to clap it over his mouth. He coughed and sputtered for a moment, trying to keep his last meal—which had been when, exactly?—down where it belonged.
"Take your time," soothed the voice. "You took a hard hit to your head."
He struggled to remember what had preceded the assault, but his memory was still fuzzy. Eventually, he gave up. "What happened?"
There was the sound of someone shifting in his chair, then the vaguely-familiar voice spoke again. "You went to investigate the train's emergency stop. I paused to put on my coat, then followed you to the front of the train. Do you remember what happened when you got to the engine?"
Aldebert nodded, but made no move to get up. The nausea was fighting back. "I remember standing next to the locomotive, trying to see why the train had stopped so suddenly. But I saw nothing; the track was clear."
"Anything else?" prompted the voice. It was starting to sound a bit like Schafer, but he wasn't quite sure about that.
Aldebert thought as hard as he could. A few detached bits of memory surfaced, but none of it was clear enough to build on. "Not really. Someone was holding a gun, and there was lots of shouting."
"You nearly shot the engineer after flying into a rage about the stoppage." The voice paused for a moment. "At least, that's what I was able to discern. There really wasn't time to inquire what all the commotion was about."
"Schafer! Was it you that struck me?" Aldebert nearly shouted, attempting to sit up far too suddenly for his body's liking. His hand flew to his mouth again, but he had finally lost the battle. A bucket appeared in front of him, and he desperately grabbed at it.
After a few minutes, he was staring down at the remains of his dinner. The receptacle was whisked away, and Aldebert wiped his mouth on his sleeve before collapsing back onto the bedding. Relievedly, the nausea had subsided, and his thoughts were now far clearer.
"So, what happened to the train? Did you find out why we stopped?"
"You owe the engineer an apology. The man saved all our lives, along with all the cargo we had fought so hard to bring back from the campaign."
Aldebert winced at a newly formed headache. "What do you mean?"
"A local resistance group blew up the mountain trestle. If the engineer hadn't been so diligent in his duties and spotted the flash of the explosions, the train would have careened straight off the tracks and tumbled down the mountain."
"Lord, I...I'm so sorry…" his voice failed him. Hot tears ran freely down his cheeks, and he made no effort to wipe them away. "Oh, God, I…"
"It's okay. You've had a difficult past few months. That burden was too much to bear for one man. " Schafer knelt down by the cot, laying a comforting arm around Aldebert's shoulders. "I've explained things to that unfortunate engineer, but it's going to be awkward for a while. Just stay back here and rest. I'll handle matters in the meanwhile."
"Thank you," Aldebert croaked out.
"Don't worry about it. We must look out for each other, my friend," replied Schafer, putting on a cheery voice. "Oh, and I'm sorry about the concussion and the broken wrist."
Aldebert ran his sleeve across his eyes and stared up at Schafer in surprise.
Schafer shrugged apologetically. "I'm not trained in the use of a sap. My priority was to get that pistol out of your hand, and I ended up hitting too hard. Then I got caught up in all that excitement and knocked you out cold instead of just landing a stunning blow."
Aldbert managed a small smile. "It's okay. I forgive you. Thank you for keeping me from making a permanent mistake."
Chicago — December 2nd, 1942
Rose glided across the frozen sidewalk, snapping her fingers and humming to the tune in her mind. Her feet tiptoed on the pavement, and her hips swung in variations of the Balboa, with the occasional flurry of St. Louis shag thrown in for good measure.
Beside her, Garnet walked along at her usual brisk pace, her features as neutral and unimpressed by the world as ever. They were a couple blocks away from the Servicemen's Center Club, where Rose had been booked for a few shows in support of the troops. At least, that was the plan.
"Garnet!" sang Rose merrily. "Come on! Doesn't Ruby want to dance a bit? Sapphire? Let Garnet dance some, won't you?" She laughed, waltzing up the facade of an apartment building, then leaped off to land with a graceful pirouette. ""It's fun!"
Behind her visor, Garnet rolled all three of her eyes but otherwise remained unfazed. "We were having fun," she grumbled, "right up until you got us kicked out."
"Oh! They were just grumpy that I didn't sing the final number," countered Rose.
"I think they just didn't want to hear your impromptu speech about fairness and internment camps," Garnet shot back. A hard edge had crept into her voice. "You didn't stick to the script. We were supposed to go in, sing and dance, and raise some money for the charity." She paused for effect. "And then use said money to help our friends who are still interned..."
Garnet cut herself off, swallowing down the rest of the lengthy retort she had planned. Irritation coursed through her, and her fists clenched of their own accord. She realized that she was forcibly stopping herself from summoning her gauntlets.
She shuddered imperceptibly from another surge of anger. This wasn't normal. Usually, Ruby could get worked up, but Sapphire was always there to calm her down, to maintain balance. Tonight was different. With every step towards the warp pad at Washington Park, she found that Sapphire was also growing increasingly irritated as well. But why?
Rose stopped her extravagant jig in the middle of the path, preventing Garnet from passing. "You still could have joined in before that! Besides, I already did the charity call, after the last song."
"Didn't you notice the 'whites only' sign on the dance floor?" I didn't want to make a scene."
Summoning her strength, Garnet leapt up and over Rose's head, landing with a thud on the opposite side. She squeezed her eyes shut. Something was clearly wrong. She had a headache. She never got headaches.
The last time I had the tingles like this...
Her thoughts were abruptly derailed when a strong arm grabbed her Sapphire hand with a hard yank.
She found herself dragged forward, then pushed back and whirled around as Rose gleefully assisted her in dancing a quick jitterbug sequence.
"See! You aren't even trying, but you've got it! It's all in the feet!"
Garnet looked down irritably. Damn. I'm dancing perfectly, just when I don't want to!
"Stop!" she growled, prying herself apart and slapping Rose's still-outstretched hand away. Her Ruby hand was holding the other, as if it had been hurt by the improper little dance routine. Her form almost fizzled, but to her surprise, she remained intact. It seemed as if both Ruby and Sapphire were united in their mutual irritation.
"You know what, Rose?" Garnet snapped. "Sometimes you can be so self-centered and oblivious to those around you! I'm not in the mood tonight." Turning on her heel, she strode off. Steam curled off the sidewalk in her wake, and the ice boiled off into the night.
Rose stood rooted in place, stunned the outburst. In her heart, she knew she deserved the rebuke, but this level of reaction was unnatural coming from Garnet. Usually it was just a roll of the eyes, a sarcastic remark, or at most a short lecture. Full-on verbal rebukes were mostly Ruby's specialty.
"Garnet! Wait up!" shouted Rose, making haste to catch up to her friend. "I'm sorry! I was a jerk!"
"Too right you are!" Garnet hollered back. Her pace increased, her heavy footfalls cracking the ground with every step.
Rose sped up until she was gaining on the other gem. A frank discussion about her regrettable behavior and the feelings she had hurt would have to wait. Something was very wrong with Garnet tonight.
"Something's wrong! Please stop, we need to talk!" she shouted, but her friend paid her no heed.
Ahead, the rumble of traffic began to build. They were approaching East 51st Street, a busy intersection that bounded the northern edge of Washington Park. The warp pad was close. If Garnet got there first, she could warp anywhere she wanted, and it could be weeks, maybe even months, before she returned.
Rose gritted her teeth and tapped into her power. As she raced forward, a handful of surprised pedestrians on the street gasped and pointed, but she ignored them. She had to get to Garnet now.
Garnet must have sensed her coming, as she redoubled her efforts. Tears stung all three of her eyes. She pressed on faster, not really caring where her feet took her or what stood in her path. She had to get away. She needed distance, quiet, a place to gather her thoughts. "Leave me alone! I need to think!"
Rose saw the truck before Garnet did, a big covered van in the inner lane that had just slammed into gear to take advantage of the favorable green light. It was ten feet away from Garnet as she stepped off the curb.
"Garnet!" Rose shrieked, as loudly as she could. "Stop!"
The truck was ten feet away. Garnet turned her head to look at the truck, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. The driver despairingly leaned into his horn and let off an ear-splitting blast.
HOOOOONNKKK!
On instinct, Garnet crouched, the truck barely an arm's length away. She sprung off the asphalt, driving herself straight up with all the energy she could muster.
There was a heavy thump as the top of the cargo container clipped Garnet's leg while she was still ascending. It was only a glancing blow, but it sent her tumbling through the air. She landed atop a small office building, plowing a furrow through the snow pile that had amassed on the roof. Below her, the truck's engine roared, and it shot through the intersection. Soon it was gone, disappearing down one of the myriad streets.
"Garnet!" In a few quick leaps, Rose touched down on the roof, where she was relieved to find Garnet still in once piece. "Please be okay!" she cried out, falling to her knees beside where her friend lay dazed in the deep snow.
Rose gently lifted Garnet up, wrapping her tightly in a desperate hug as she cried, "Garnet, please be okay! I'm so sorry, I was a jerk! I was awful! Please be okay!"
Time blurred for Rose, and seconds gave way to minutes and as she held her friend, willing her to return to normal, but Garnet remained as still and as cold as a statue. Her eyes still remained open, but they flitted about aimlessly.
"Okay," sniffed Rose. "I guess if you aren't able to recover on your own, then we'll have to take the shortcut."
She knew Garnet didn't exactly like the method being used on her, but given the situation, there was no other choice. "Sorry about this."
Wiping the tears from her eyes, she gently ran her palm over Garnet's face, chest, and finally her two gems, tracing a glowing white trail across her body as the healing magic took effect. All three eyes blinked, one after the other, then stared at the overcast sky.
"Did it work?" asked Rose hesitantly.
Garnet blinked a few more times, and finally focused on Rose. "Yes. It did. Thank you."
Pulling herself up to her feet, Garnet quickly checked herself over. Finding no further injuries other than a sore foot, she zapped a fresh visor over her eyes and smirked at Rose. "But you're still a bit of a jerk."
"Oh, thank the stars," Rose breathed. She dusted the snow from her dress and straightened up, eyeing the buildings and streets around them for anything out of the ordinary.
"That wasn't normal." stated Garnet.
Rose stared at her, startled by the statement. "Yes, that was my assessment as well. You were right to be upset with me, but you've been off your game all night..." she paused mid-speech, looking thoughtfully at her companion. "You seemed quite surprised at the club earlier, when I skipped the script. Then, just now, you almost got hit by a truck."
Garnet shrugged. "The future is sometimes difficult to predict perfectly, but yes. I'm not usually this far off..."
She winced again, clasping her hands to the sides of her head as if she was trying to muffle a deafening racket that only she could hear. "Arrgggh," she whimpered, sinking to her knees.
"More tears!" panicked Rose, dabbing at her now-dry eyes in vain. "Lost puppies! Spilt milk! Burnt cookies! Pogroms!"
"Not yet! said Garnet, panting for breath. She stretched out her right arm, palm forward, and another ripple of pain surged through her. Grimacing, she swung the arm around, extending it again, but without the same effect. "I...I need to focus on the pain. It's like a weather vane. We can pinpoint the source!"
Rose nodded her understanding. "Okay, I'll handle moving you around, so you can concentrate."
Garnet smiled despite the pain pulsing through her mind. "Okay, let's do this."
More time ticked by as they moved from rooftop to rooftop, pausing between stops for Garnet to get a sense of which way the pain was coming from. After three such stops, they had an accurate enough fix on a source.
It was coming from the east side of the park, not far from the warp pad. In a way, that was good. If the source proved to be a major problem, escape was only a few short steps away. But it also meant that the only way to Garnet to safety was to bring her even more pain.
Unable to speak, Garnet was left only with the energy to lift a finger, signaling where they should stop next. Rose had resorted to carrying her fireman-style, holding her as steadily as she could while she moved through the city. They had briefly considered detouring to a different, albeit much further, warp pad, but Garnet had insisted they press on. This new threat was too important to leave behind.
Rose covered the remaining distance quickly, using the rooftops to avoid being slowed down by the traffic below and to help conceal her gem speed from curious eyes. Eventually, they landed on the roof of a large hospital building overlooking the expanse of Washington Park. Setting Garnet down gently on the snow, Rose walked to the edge of the building for a better view.
She scanned the park with her enhanced vision, but saw no visible cause of Garnet's pain. As far as she could tell, it was the scene of a normal winter's evening. From up here, the Christmas lights twinkled and shimmered, casting the ice rink in the center of the park in a multicolored glow. Families laughed, twirling and gliding on the ice, while a handful of vendors peddled their wares, braving the cold and the late hour.
Rose turned away, striding back across the roof. Kneeling down next to Garnet, she gently lifted her friend up into a sitting position. "I'm sorry to report that I didn't see anything,"she said, as softly as she could. "There doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary."
Garnet waved a hand gesturing for Rose to lean in closer. "It's not in the park," she whispered weakly. "It's in the stadium next to the park."
"I understand." Standing up, Rose looked further out, past the boundary of Washington Park. There was indeed a small stadium about halfway down the far side, among the gathering of buildings which made up the complex of the University of Chicago. Though there was no game on tonight, the field was fully illuminated by floodlight, and despite little foot traffic in the area, a number of cars were still parked out front.
Hefting Garnet back up over her shoulder, Rose made ready to resume their travel. This time she would use all possible speed, and damn if anyone saw them.
"Let's get you out of here."
With Garnet safely warped home, Rose carefully picked her way through the darkened corners of the park, vaulting up and over a chain-link fence which partitioned the university campus from the rest of the square.
Earlier, she'd shape-shifted herself to a smaller form with darker clothing, allowing her to move more stealthily and to better squeeze through tight spaces. At the moment, pure power and strength were only secondary concerns. Her foresight was rewarded when she reached the stadium area, for there was no concealment to be found. The stands were surrounded by an assortment of grassy stretches, open racket courts, and the occasional decorative cluster of trees.
Pausing at the top of a university building for a few minutes, she studied the area once more. Again, nothing appeared to be wrong. A few people milled around in the cold, wandering across the nearby sidewalks which encircled the facility. There was a green-painted Army maintenance truck parked out front, which would've been an intriguing sight in peacetime, but they were everywhere nowadays. If it hadn't been for Garnet's directions, she would have skipped right past the place without a second thought.
Then she saw them. On the side of one of the grandstands, a set of double doors burst open. The sudden flare of light from within revealed a staircase leading up from underground. It had to be an access way to some sort of basement underneath the pitch surface.
About a dozen people dressed in sharp business attire emerged through the doorway. Most of them were middle-aged men, though Rose picked out a single young woman in their midst. They appeared far too old to be students, so they had to be faculty. Some sort of research team, perhaps?
They seemed to be in a celebratory mood tonight. A long-necked bottle was being passed from hand to hand as the academics chattered excitedly, slapping backs and waving arms. Once on the pathways, the group spread out into smaller clusters, still deep in conversation.
Moving quickly, Rose landed on a shed near which the group would need to pass by as they headed towards the restaurant district and clubs. She flattened herself as best as she could to the surface of the roof and leaned over the side to eavesdrop on their discussion.
"It worked!" laughed one of them, in between deep swigs from the bottle of wine. He offered it to the man beside him, who took it gratefully.
"Point-five watts! Not much, but we've got ourselves a sustained reaction!"
Another voice shushed the first two. "Keep it down, you idiots! We're out in public."
The first man laughed again. "Push off! Who'd be out on a night like this?"
"Kraut spies, Walter, that's who! Zip it!"
That was it. That was all Rose needed to hear. Sustained reaction. Those were the two words she'd been quietly dreading.
She'd found the source of Garnet's pain. The humans had just managed to build themselves a nuclear reactor, an insufficiently-shielded one at that, and it had been disrupting Sapphire's future vision. It must have felt like someone was running their nails over a chalkboard next to a high-power wailing stone, amplifying it to mind-melting levels. No wonder Garnet had been out of sorts all night. It was a wonder that she hadn't been put out of commission sooner.
She needed to get a better look at the device, to assess just how far along in development it was and to evaluate its control systems. Sliding down from her post, she quietly slipped back through the campus, gliding unseen from shadow to shadow.
The grandstand was in sight, and Rose closed the distance in moments. Careful to make sure that no one was watching her from the surrounding pathways, she gently eased the doors open.
"Who's there?" a voice called out from inside. "This area is off limits! Leave or be shot!"
Wasting no time, Rose leapt up, floating to the top of the grandstand. She ducked down below the edge, where no one could see her from ground level. The heavy door squeaked open below her, and the snow crunched as someone walked around. A flashlight beam played around, darting from surface to surface, but it soon disappeared. Someone grunted in dissatisfaction, and the door closed with a heavy thump.
Unwilling to cause a commotion or resort to violent entry, Rose resigned herself to ending her investigation early. As she began the short journey back to the warp pad, a single thought played over and over again in her head.
Pearl had been right, even from the very beginning. Now she was faced by a difficult choice, of which there were two options. Neither were very much appealing to her.
Option one: allow humanity to continue their unsupervised development of this new power source, trusting their judgement on how to harness it, whether for progress or destruction. Or the Crystal Gems could intervene. They could take a more direct involvement in the development of human technology, and, consequently, in the species' destiny as a whole.
To take the first path was to risk the destruction of everything she had fought for. Centuries of brutality and loss could be rendered all for naught by the actions of small-minded madmen suddenly handed the reins to unimaginable power.
But in the war, she had also fought for self-determination, not just for gemkind, but for all sentient species, humanity included. If she were to intervene, to dictate to them how they should live, what made that different from the situation six thousand years ago?
Earth wasn't hers, not anymore. It wasn't for her to enforce her will upon its inhabitants, even if she believed that she was acting for the greater good. After all, her own reason was hardly without flaw.
She wasn't ready to make such a decision. For now, she would go home, check on Garnet, and calm her nerves in her room. Then she would do some thinking. A lot of thinking.
Kummersdorf, Germany — December 22nd
FOOMP!
The cannon was remarkably quiet when fired, so much so the whistle of the shell ripping through the air could be easily heard on the nearby observation deck. Off in the distance, there was a brief flash of light, immediately accompanied by a puff of black smoke drifting into the sky.
"Private!" barked the general, lowering his binoculars. "What was the range?"
On the charting table next to the officers, a young man hurriedly worked his slide-rule to run the calculations between landmarks and range markers. "Eight kilometers, sir!"
"It was doing ten last week!" Aldebert hissed, glaring at the young soldier. "What changed?"
The private shrugged his shoulders and gestured at the map, which was covered in dozens of indicator dots. Next to each dot was a series of numbers, indicating the range, power level, and weight of each shot. "Unknown, sir. We hit a record of eleven kilometers two weeks ago, but the range fluctuates between use cycles. Whatever the weapon's energy source is, it must need to undergo a recharge cycle, at an as yet undetermined rate."
"What was the shell weight?" grumbled Aldebert. "Did the gunners load the heavy shells or the light ones?"
The private checked his notes again. "The light shell, sir. But I'll need to check with the gunners later to get the exact weights and power outputs."
The general nodded. "Thank you, Private. Please ensure the proper collection of the data, and afterwards take the men into the mess hall for lunch."
"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" replied the private, smiling. Giving a sharp salute, he spun on his heels and marched away.
Aldebert stood over the chart table, examining the map of the impacts and its accompanying data points. "There has to be a pattern, some way that we can get reliable, accurate shots out of it."
Picking up the slide-rule and a pencil, he started to run some calculations of his own, but was stopped when a gloved hand firmly grasped his shoulder. "That's enough, Colonial Fischer. I'm calling an end to the testing."
Aldebert continued to stare at the map and the binders of calculations that he'd been working on over the past couple of weeks. "Why? This canon has respectable potential. It's quiet enough to get it close to enemy lines and bombard them without the worry of return fire."
"Aldebert, wait up—" the general began, but Aldebert cut him off. He wasn't ready to give in so easily.
"This simplifies logistics. The weapon does not need a powder charge, nor does it have mechanical parts that require maintenance. Supplying for them will be much easier than for conventional field guns. For one, the crewmen would only need to bring along the actual shells, vastly increasing the amount of usable ammunition."
He began pacing the observation deck, still rattling off reasons. "What about its power source?" He stopped to gesture at the blazing smokestacks of a power plant, visible in the distance. "This energy, right here, is unlimited. Possibly nuclear, or something even more advanced. If we can learn its secrets, we would need not worry about our supply of oil or coal."
"Aldebert," said the general more firmly, grabbing his subordinate by his coat to finally command his attention. "It's time to stop."
"But the power source..." Aldebert pulled out of the general's grasp. "The return justifies the investment."
The general smiled. "You're a good soldier, and your dedication to the Reich is to be commended." He paused to make sure he wouldn't be interrupted again. "But the war has reached a point where we can no longer enjoy the luxury of these exotic, tertiary projects. These cannons are indeed astonishing, but there are too few of them, and the resources needed to develop the technology into something practical are simply not available."
"General…" Aldebert stammered, but in that moment, he decided to keep that argument to himself. The man was probably right. The project had shown initial promise, but it was now underperforming and was starting to consume more and more of those precious resources. Though he hated the thought, it was time to stop. For now, at least. "Understood, sir. But I request that we keep the guns maintained, until such a time that we can resume full research."
"Granted. Now go get yourself some rest. You look exhausted. That is an order, Major."
Aldebert saluted, then set about packing up the charts and papers spread across the table. Soon he was in his staff car, roaring down the narrow roads of the base down to the village that lay on its outskirts.
~~~ Later that evening ~~~
The heavy wooden door of the small cottage creaked open, then quickly slammed shut again to hold back the wind-driven snow of the blizzard howling outside. Once inside, Aldebert stripped off his heavy winter coat to hang by the door, then lazily kicked his boots off to land next to the door.
After a brief period of stretching to work out the kinks from his tired muscles and joints, he set about lighting the potbelly stove in the corner. From the tap, he filled up a small kettle, slammed it down on the stovetop, and flopped exhaustedly into a recliner. It had been a long and very frustrating day, and soon he drifted off to sleep.
The whistling of the boiling water dragged him back to the world after far too short a rest. Growling, Aldebert heaved himself out of the chair, shuffling across the floor to prepare himself his desired drink. He reached for the kettle, and he hissed in pain as his wrist protested the weight. He'd forgotten about his injury again.
He pushed through the discomfort to pour the hot water and mix in the powder. If nothing else, at least that was intact, his willpower to push through difficulty. Drink made, he settled comfortably back into the recliner to try and read through his mail.
On the top of the pile was a letter from Schafer, who was off giving presentations at the University in Munich and probably having a ball of a time regaling his fellow academics with the tales of his adventures in the deserts of Africa. He was a good friend, but sometimes forgot himself in his enthusiasm, and so Aldebert had sent along a trusted subordinate to keep an eye on him. The man had strict instructions to keep Schafer safe from himself, and by extension, any agents of the Nazi party who had made a habit of silencing those who liked to spill secrets.
A knock came at the door, and Aldebert cursed his luck. He reluctantly set aside his drink and stumbled his way back over. A fresh blast of cold cancelled out the warmth the stove had been slowly adding to the cottage. Accepting the sealed envelope from the heavily-bundled messenger, he snapped the door closed once again and headed back to his chair.
The letter opener was over on his desk, and by now he was too tired to leave the comfortable chair for yet another time. Positioning his finger under the seal, he deftly flicked it upwards, tearing untidily through the flap.
"Damn," he cursed softly at the sting of the papercut. A bit of his blood now stained the letter within. Sucking on his sore thumb, he read the letter twice, then crumpled it up and threw it into the overflowing trash bin by the stove.
He was done. From here on out, he would scale back his projects to pursue only those that were most promising for basic industry, or those that could potentially bear fruit much later, after the war was over.
Settling in to sip at the now lukewarm cocoa, he glanced tiredly at the setting sun, dipping down to the west outside his cottage's narrow windows. Soon, the dark had set in, and the window was turned into a mirror once more.
Waldemar was in the reflection again, this time bending over the stove to cook his signature bratwurst sausages. Half his head was missing, but at least he was no longer dripping blood. That was good, as the cranial matter would have only spoiled his meal.
Sighing, Aldebert once again left the comforts of his chair to bring the curtains down and throw a spare sheet over the floor mirror. It wasn't always Waldemar that he saw; sometimes it was a random foreign soldier, or a Polish civilian from the train Wilhelm had taken upon himself to blow up. On a night two weeks ago, he could have sworn that he had seen himself there, parading about in the ridiculous black Bund uniform that he'd thrown out years ago.
Enough was enough. He could not allow himself to continue down this road of madness. He was a proud soldier of Germany, who still had much to contribute to his nation. I cannot, will not, go to my end like this.
"Tomorrow, I'll talk to the psychiatrist," he declared to no one in particular. "But first, I need a drink."
Breaking open a bottle of schnapps, he poured himself a couple shots and threw both of them back in quick succession, feeling the satisfying burn of the hard liquor against his throat. Not enough to get drunk, but enough to ensure a good rest. Settling under the sheets of his bed, he checked once more that the mirrors were covered, and then drifted off to deep slumber.
Sirte, Libya — 25th December
The squad posed proudly, gathered atop the reinforced bunker that had been the sole source of opposition as the Eighth Army had rolled into town. The men manning it had briefly put up some resistance, but a few well-placed artillery rounds took the fight out of them. Wanting to send home some dramatic images, the soldiers had chosen it to use for photo ops. In the distance, the sun was setting, but there was still plenty of light for the squad to pose for their pictures.
"Say 'Victory'!" called the photographer.
CLICK!
The flashbulb fired, followed by the loud click of the shutter cycling.
"Thanks!" said Captain Moffitt happily, handing the photographer a slip of paper. "This is where we're quartered. Please send the photos there when you're done with them."
"Sure thing, sir," answered the photographer, scribbling a number on the back and sliding it into his folder. "Should be ready in a couple of hours. Mind if I use this one in the newspaper?"
"Sure, no problem." mumbled Pearl tiredly, nodding to the man as he packed up his camera.
The last few days had consisted mostly of extended recon patrols and skirmishes with the retreating German and Italian units, who were being pushed to the west by the Eighth's advance. Most of the sleep they had gotten in that period was in makeshift tents, or in the backs of trucks rumbling over the rough terrain.
Stretching out her sore limbs, Pearl reached over to pull James in for support. "I miss our yurt," she yawned.
They were currently billeted next to the small wash that ran through the middle of town, where the engineering company had set up several lines of tents and a latrine. The aforementioned yurt was somewhere behind them, sitting in a long supply train along with the rest of their standard-issue gear.
"Couldn't you have just stored it in your gem?" whispered James carefully, loud enough only for her ears. "I miss it too, the carpets, the shower area, and a proper tea set, instead of these makeshift camp stoves."
"No," chuckled Pearl, patting his shoulder. "Do you want to try and explain how a fully-furnished yurt managed to appear from nowhere, right in the middle of this camp?"
"Mmmmm. Good point, Love," mused James with a warm smile. "But I'll be pushing my tent closer to yours later tonight, if you don't mind."
Pearl blushed a light blue. "Sure, but no fun stuff, I'm afraid. Too many people around."
Behind them, Frank snickered. "That didn't stop you two from snogging back at that fortress in France."
"Oh, push off, Frank." James gave him a hard shove. Frank stumbled a bit, but kept on laughing.
"Okay, you two, knock it off." Moffet rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress his own smile. With all the death and destruction in the world, it was nice that at least two people could find some time to enjoy their lives, at least while they lasted. "I can't help with your secret if you're broadcasting it all over camp."
"Be grateful that we've got a tent and shelter," snorted Frank. "We could be like those Guidos that got captured in the bunker earlier. The lot of 'em are penned up outside town like a bunch of stray dogs! Suits them."
"Oi! Don't talk about them with that word," scolded Pearl. "We treat our enemies with respect. They fought well today, and surrendering was the right choice. Their position was untenable."
"Good heavens, Pearl, what's gotten into you? I don't remember you worrying about language earlier," chuckled Frank at the unexpected rebuke.
Pearl sighed. At the moment, she didn't have the energy for a heated debate. "Just be careful with your words is all. This war is going to end someday, and we're going to have to work with them to put the world back together."
Frank nodded in understanding. "Sure, Pearl. I'll watch my words, then, if only for your sake."
The group continued on towards their campsite in silence, trudging along the dusty dirt roads of the small town. Here and there, a few adventurous locals tried to make conversation in some strange admixture of Arabic, Italian, and some broken English words, but most of the civilians warily eyed the disorderly gaggle of battered and bruised soldiers from the safety of their windows.
Soon, the camp and the small wash came into view. Closest was the mess kitchen, and then the rows of tents in the middle. On the far side, some watch posts had been hastily erected to observe the surrounding sands.
"Looks like Pettigrew's been busy while we were out," remarked Moffitt, pointing up at a palm tree near the center of the camp. Some enterprising commando had thought to string a line of multicolored Christmas lights through its branches.
Normally, operational security and light emission discipline would have demanded that it be pulled down, but just for tonight, they were allowed to stay up. The current location of the army was no secret to the enemy, and on such a night, even Fritz would be taking the evening off to celebrate.
Reaching the camp, they found a comfortable place to sit by a fire. A soldier offered them a warm blanket, which was gratefully accepted. With the sun having disappeared below the horizon, the temperature was dropping quickly in the barren desert. The air, suffocatingly hot by day, was starting to take on a distinct chill.
Soon, the other members of the squad began to gather around as well, to warm themselves and mingle during the holiday. A few messily-wrapped presents changed hands, but most of the men in that little circle stretched out on the cool sand to rest, or joined in the lively conversation around the campfire.
The twinkling lights shimmered off the desert sands, and Pearl smiled brightly at the sight.
"Reminds me of the boardwark back home in winter," she said. "The shops would hang lots of lights along the boardwalk, and they cast this quite wonderful glow on the snow. The air was filled with the sound of happy families on holiday."
James nodded solemnly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "I miss our family farm. Now that was proper honest work, not this shadowy business that we're all caught up in. There was this smell to the fields in the summer, this fresh smell…" he sniffed the desert air deeply. "I even miss the neighbor's mastiff. The old bastard named it ''Baskerville', and for good reason too. That cursed beast used to chase us around when we were children."
"Is this something we're doing now?" chuckled Frank. "Sharing favorite memories?"
"Well, we've got no presents to swap, so we may as well share memories," replied James. "Come on, out with it. What do you think of back home?"
Frank thought for a moment. "I miss my friends and cousins back in the old country. All of us worked the coal mines there, Pa, Uncle Dennis, and my cousins. There's this little eatery near the coal mines where the boys would go to after work. It wasn't much, but it served these most delicious Scotch eggs and rumbledethumps that were worth fighting for."
From his spot beside them, Moffitt snickered. "Fataqad sadiqati almisria," A bit louder, he added, "Kan aljins rayie." A few of the local guides laughed, shouting back something which made Moffitt grin.
"Show-off," laughed Frank, giving the squad leader a hard punch to the shoulder. "How long have you been keeping it a secret that you could speak Arabic?"
Moffitt shrugged. "My girlfriend taught it to me back in Egypt. I don't know much. Just enough to get around."
"So, what did you say?" asked Pearl curiously. "It must have been something silly, to get the natives laughing."
"I said 'I miss my girlfriend'."
"Then why are you blushing like a kid caught swearing?" Pearl teased back.
"Captain Moffitt said that the sex was great!" an accented voice from the other side of the fire pit shouted back.
"Moffitt, no! Bad, Moffitt, bad!" Pearl took a playful swing at their squad leader. Laughing hysterically, he ducked out of the way, lightly slapping her hand back.
A few hours later, after exchanging makeshift gifts of rare ammunition and "new" scopes for their rifles, all scrounged from captured enemy supplies, Moffitt announced that he was heading to bed and that it would be good for the rest of the squad to follow. They had an early morning patrol to attend to, with orders to scout ahead of the main body and clear a safe path of travel. Pettigrew made a brief appearance to wish everyone a merry Christmas, then he too quickly headed for the comfort of his tent and bedroll.
Reaching their tents, Pearl was pleased to find that James, true to his word, had repositioned his tent a little closer to hers. The two savored a long, comforting hug, and with a quick kiss retired to their own tents.
Settling in under the canvas roof, she inspected her handgun in its leather sheath, making sure that it was fully loaded and safetied. Satisfied, she settled in to meditate, but the shuffling and shifting in the neighboring tent distracted her for a moment.
"James? Are you okay over there?" she asked quietly. Then a mischievous thought made her blush. Grinning, she lay down on her bedroll, reaching out to push against the side of her tent until she felt her fingertips make contact with his body. She lowered her voice to a low whisper, so only he could hear.
"Do you want a Christmas gift?"
She smiled wider at the sound of James holding back a cough, followed by soft snickering. Her blush deepened. "Is that a yes?" she ribbed, poking her finger through the thin tent walls into what she thought was his back.
Finally, James managed to pull himself together, just enough to answer. He spoke quietly, but to her sharp ears, she could hear the happiness in his soft voice. "Can I take a raincheck on that for when we get the yurt set up again?"
Damn.
"Sure, but I'll hold you to it." Blowing out a disappointed sigh, she slumped back down to her own bedroll to try and get some rest.
But to her surprise, James wasn't done talking. The canvas side of her tent bulged inwards as he pressed his face to the wall. "What is it?" she asked, with a bit of hope.
"Also...That wasn't my strong, muscular back you were prodding just now. It was my fabulously firm arse."
Pearl clamped a hand over her mouth, shuddering with laughter. Finally, after several moments and a few deep breaths, she was able to get herself back under control.
She nudged the tent wall playfully. "Good night, James."
"Good night, Pearl" replied James, cheerfully swiping back at the fingers jabbing into his tent.
"Good night, lovebirds!" Frank called out.
"Good night, sweethearts!" jibed Moffitt from his bed.
An annoyed voice roared out from the opposite line of tents. "Good night, you bellends!"
It was well into the evening, and Pearl was still without sleep. Through the crack in her tent flaps, she saw the moonlight breaking through the low clouds, casting a soft white glow upon the camp. Lying awake, her ears could pick out the sounds of her unit at rest. A few snored loudly, Frank was mumbling something about snack food, and Moffitt was humming discordantly in his sleep.
Then she heard voices singing. She'd almost dismissed it as just another soldier talking in his sleep, but the song began to pick up momentum. Several voices were carried on the cool air, singing together in chorus.
Intrigued, she pulled on her duty uniform and pistol belt, then slipped out of her tent carefully and quietly. Making her way between the rows of tents and equipment, she soon found herself on the other side of the encampment. The few soldiers left on watch duty looked up curiously, but gave her no trouble, and soon she found the source of the singing.
It was the captured Italians, the men who'd held their bunker until the situation had become too dire to keep fighting. They were huddled around an emptied oil barrel, which was glowing from a small fire that had been lit inside. From their shivering, though, Pearl knew that it was barely enough to keep the men warm.
She'd seen prisoners being escorted to holding areas before, but had never bothered to actually go and inspect one. Unsurprisingly, it was spartan in design, with only the bare essentials for shelter and sanitation provided.
One of the soldiers standing watch approached her. "Don't bother them, please. I've already had to chase off a few lads in their cups who thought that harassing the POWs would give them some Christmas cheer."
Pearl smiled at the soldier's concern for the welfare of the defeated men. "Don't worry," she replied confidently. "I just heard the singing and was curious where it was coming from. Do you mind if I speak to them?"
A few of the Italians noticed their new visitor and wandered over towards the fence. Reaching the edge of the enclosure, their eyes widened at the sight of a woman in uniform. One snickered a little and patted his chest, grinning.
The soldier shrugged indifferently. "Sure. Just mind what you're saying." With that he turned, heading back to the stack of sandbags where his partner sat, manning a light machine gun that was aimed right into the detainment area, in case the prisoners tried anything stupid.
"Does anyone speak English?" asked Pearl, looking over at the men standing on the other side of the barbed wire.
One of them, wrapped in a heavy winter coat, shuffled forward to the fence line. Most of his features were hidden in the low light, but she could tell that he was probably in his early thirties. His face was angular, with a strong jaw, but his eyes conveyed utter exhaustion; the very sight made Pearl's heart ache just a little for the men.
"I speak a little." His voice was hard and raspy from months out in the desert. "What do you want?"
"Well," began Pearl, a bit nervous from being so close to someone that only days ago she would have been working very hard to kill. "I heard singing from the other side of camp and felt compelled to seek out its source."
"You found it." The man shrugged irritably. "What do you want?" He was now visibly losing patience at this woman soldier, who had probably come to mock them and rub their defeat in their faces.
Pearl stepped a little closer to the fence, smiling warmly. "I would quite like it if you could teach me some of those Italian holiday songs."
The prisoners exchanged surprised glances. A rapid exchange of hushed whispers followed, as they discussed how to respond. "Why?" asked a different soldier in a heavy accent.
"I'm from a small tourist town that the Italian families living up in New York would often visit during Christmas. They would walk up and down the boardwalk, laughing and singing Christmas carols in that lovely accent of yours.
"Our singing reminds you of happier times back in your home?" A small smile broke out on the old soldier's face. "Now I understand."
"Would you teach me some of the words?" Pearl asked hopefully. "Let me sing along with you?"
"Sure, why not?"
Up in the sandbagged position, the two soldiers on duty watched on as the strange female commando and the captured enemy began to teach each other holidays songs. The machine-gunner looked to his friend with a sigh, twirling a finger around his ear.
"Looks like all the fighting's gotten to her too, mate."
The other shook his head. Perhaps this was a sign, proof that there was still hope for the world when all this madness was over.
Beach City —Present day
Clack! Ding! The signature sound of a typewriter being reset after finishing a page.
Pearl neatly pulled the completed sheet of paper from the typewriter, carefully inspecting it for any smudges or misshapen characters. After a few minutes, she set it on top of a large stack of other papers, alongside other notes and writings.
"Thank you, Garnet," she said to her companion, sitting in the armchair across from her in the beach house's living room. "I remember you telling me about that night in Chicago when I got back, but I needed my memory refreshed. It's great to hear them again."
Garnet zapped her signature visor over her three eyes and smiled. "Anytime." With one more glance at the voluminous stack of papers, she headed out the front door to attend to her next set of errands.
Pearl leaned back on her chair, chewing at the back of her pencil. Her hands supported her head as she started up at the ceiling fan. Only a few more chapters to go, then she was ready for publishing. Her editor back in the city was already lining up a printing company, and some of the townsfolk were pressing her for a release date.
"All in due time," she whispered to herself. Settling back down in her seat, she slid a fresh sheet of paper into the electric typewriter. "All in due time."
Soon the house was once again filled with the rapid clicks and clacks of the machine, as she set about work on the next chapter of her life.
History notes:
The "metal tubes"
These are modified Gem-Injectors. See Steven Universe "Kindergarten Kid" Season 4 episode 1. Peridot modified a broken gem injector into a working cannon. It seemed a natural thing for the German Army to discover a few broken Gem-Injectors and after some tinkering they realized they made great cannons.
Port of Piraeus Greece
A major German supply port during the WW2 period to keep the Italian, German, and other allied groups supplied across the Mediteranian and the region. Shout out to our Greek Readers 8-).
1st Panzer Division
The division was one of the original three tank divisions established by Germany in 1935. It took part in pre-war occupations of Austria and Czechoslovakia and the invasions of Poland in 1939 and Belgium and France in 1940. From 1941 to 1945, it fought on the Eastern Front, except for a period in 1943 when it was sent for refitting to France and Greece. At the end of the war, the division surrendered to US forces in Bavaria.
Operation Harling
This was the incident that Aldebert's train encountered in the opening phase of the chapter. Operation Harling, known as the Battle of Gorgopotamos in Greece, was a World War II mission by the British Special Operations Executive (SOE), in cooperation with the Greek Resistance groups EDES and ELAS, which destroyed the heavily guarded Gorgopotamos viaduct in Central Greece on 25 November 1942. This was one of the first major sabotage acts in Axis-occupied Europe, and the beginning of a permanent British involvement with the Greek Resistance.
Chicago Servicemen's Center club
Basically a nightclub for soldiers in downtown Chicago during the war period. Its served purposes for moral events, meetings, fundraisers, and paper processing. If my notes are right it was at 176 W Washington St, Chicago, IL in a small building that is still there today you can see on Google St View.
Washington Park
Its a nice park next to the University of Chicago that hosted activities all year round including scatting in Winter and baseball in Summer. Its a long walk south from the Servicemen's Center to the park, about 5 miles.
Chicago Pile 1
I'm cheating. This event actually happened during the day but for the purposes of this story (as an Alternate History) it now took place in the evening. The first sustained nuclear reaction was built in the basement racket-ball courts under the stadium at the University of Chicago. This is far to big of a subject to summarize here but a few notables about it. Leona Woods, the youngest and only female member of the Pile 1 team. It was only about half a watt of sustained power for a few minutes. The reactor was mostly unshielded. A bottle of wine was present as a celebratory drink, its exterior has the signatures of those present at the site. The Pile-1 was eventually dismantled, moved, then buried in a field that is now a city park.
Kummersdorf Germany 1942
Kummersdorf is the name of an estate near Luckenwalde, around 25 km south of Berlin, in the Brandenburg region of Germany. Until 1945 Kummersdorf hosted the weapon office of the German Army which ran a development centre for future weapons as well as an artillery range. Being an artillery research center in the heart of Germany its the natural place for those 'tubes' to be tested.
Sirte, Libya 1942
Sirte served as an administrative centre under Italian rule. During the North African Campaign of the Second World War there were no noteworthy events in this location, which was characterised at the time as "a shabby little Arab village of mud huts, clustered on the banks of a foul-smelling stream. What we do not is that it was liberated by the British Army somewhere around late 1942 making it a good stopping point for the year.
Bellends
I had to look this one up. Its an insult often meaning "tip of the male genitalia"