AUTHOR'S NOTES: The calm before the storm. A bit of a bridge chapter here, before the fecal matter hits the rotating propeller device...

I suppose it's not as well known nowadays, but I am indebted to Harold Coyle's "Team Yankee" for inspiring the last bit of this chapter.

SACEUR Tactical Headquarters

North of Poznan, Republic of Poland

24 August 2001

Ironwood looked at the photographs, then pushed them across the map table to Major General Miguel Calavera, the commander of the 1st Armored Division. The two generals pored over them in silence, then Calavera spoke. "I think we're looking at least two divisions of GRIMM here, James. It's the largest assault we've seen since 1968. And God knows what's behind it, what we don't know is out there."

Ironwood nodded. "Miguel, I'm Air Force. I've been boning up on land strategy as much as I can, but I have to defer to you on this."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Of course."

Calavera leaned across the map table. "James, I've been waiting for you to say that. Listen—you're a damn fine commander and a good general. Hell, for a zoomie you've made some good decisions by Army standards. But you need to leave this to us. Delegate, James."

"Very well." Ironwood straighted, putting his hands behind his back. "What should we do?"

"I'm going to immediately shift everything I have north. There's no way in hell I can stop the GRIMM from crossing the Vistula. The Goliaths can wade the river, and the Centinels and Death Stalkers can hover across it. The Sabyrs are the only thing that need bridges."

"Do I need to destroy the bridges?" Ironwood asked.

"I'd advise against it. By the time you launch airstrikes, the GRIMM will already be there. You'll be throwing away fighter pilots you don't have on targets that the enemy doesn't need." Calavera ran a finger along the Vistula on the map. "Letting them cross might not be a bad idea anyway. Trap them against the river when we counterattack." He tapped on the ground west of the river. "That's my intention. My leading edge units will absorb the first attack. We might give ground where we need to, but we'll fall back—" He stopped as Winter Schnee walked into the tent, gave her a friendly nod, and continued. "Once we've slowed them down, we counterattack. The Poles come down from the north and hit the GRIMM in the left flank, with the 3rd Infantry. The 5th Infantry comes up to plug the gaps. If you can give me plenty of air, I think we can hold them, then shove them back against the river." He didn't want to mention that his own division would be between two rivers—the Vistula in front and the Warta behind.

Ironwood pointed at the northern flank. "Doesn't that leave us pretty much naked on the northern sector?"

"Well, that's where you come in." Calavera motioned off the map. "Bring in some more divisions. The German Army would be a huge help. Two panzer divisions and we'll hand the GRIMM their robot asses in a wheelbarrow."

Winter cleared her throat. "I'm afraid that's impossible, General. There are political reasons." He turned and gave her a sour look. "I don't agree with them, sir, but you must understand…the Polish people would rather not have German troops on their land." She glanced away. "Given what happened the last time German troops were in Poland."

Calavera shrugged. "That was 60 years ago, Colonel."

"Memories are very long in Europe, General."

"We'll get the troops, Miguel," Ironwood assured him. "I've been on the phone with the Danish prime minister, and she assures me that they're mobilizing the Jutland Mechanized Division. Prime Minister Winkle in the UK is also readying some of their units as well, though the British are spread thin—they've deployed a good deal of their army to the Middle East to help with the situation there. And not just the GRIMM, in that case."

"The Belgians? The Dutch? The French?"

Ironwood shook his head. "Not yet. They don't think the threat is quite enough to mobilize." He paused. "And the Germans feel the same way, for now."

"Jesus." Calavera put his head in his hands as he sat. "They do know that we're staring down an actual horde of GRIMM here, right? The last time Europe had a threat this big, they weren't stopped until they reached the Rhine. The GRIMM are robots, for God's sake! They don't get tired. They don't need food. Hell, as far as we know, they don't even need fuel! This Salem person that you told me about, James—she can just keep throwing shit at us until we get tired. We'll break before her robots do. For all we know, she's got twenty divisions of these things!"

"I know, Miguel." Ironwood came around the table and put a hand on the other general's shoulder. "After Robyn and I make that broadcast, I think we'll see NATO fully mobilize. The EU Council is about ready to drop the embargo as it is. After the broadcast, and if Salem does hit us with everything she has, we can reactivate Reforger and get more of our Army over here. And I think the Poles won't object to a few panzer divisions on their territory if the other choice is being crushed by the GRIMM."

"Yeah. But it's going to take them some time to get mobilized and get their shit together." Calavera chuckled. "Of course, Salem faces the same problem, and dammit, my boys and girls think. The GRIMM don't." He got to his feet. "We'll hold, James." He put out a hand.

Ironwood shook it. "You'll have all the air I have, Miguel. And if I can shake some B-52s loose from the States, I'll get them here ASAP."

"Those BUFFs would be a big ass force multiplier." He grinned at Winter. "Well, Colonel, looks like I'm depending on you again."

"I won't let you down, sir." They shook hands as well, and Winter smiled. "I'm instructed to tell you, General, that your grandmother is waiting outside. Something about owing her a dinner."

Calavera's face lit up. "Well, then you'll excuse me." He left the tent laughing. Winter's smile disappeared and walked over to the map table. "Are we really getting all of that?"

Ironwood nodded. "Yes. The embargo may be dropped by tomorrow. As soon as it is, I'm surging what we have from the States. The Germans are quietly going to mobilize, so they can move troops if Poland okays it. The Danes will be here in 72 hours, and the British can deploy some troops even faster than that. Hell, even the Italians have pledged their paratroopers. I'm optimistic." He dropped his voice. "And we've still got the Winter Maiden, among…other options." He looked at the map. "Did you talk to the Swedes?"

"I did. They're neutral, of course, but they would be willing to spare some air assets depending on the level of the threat." Winter shook her head. "Something curious happened this morning, though."

"What's that?"

"One of their Gripens is missing, and one of their fighter pilots was found dead. Apparently someone strangled the poor woman in the shower. Then the Gripen took off with a new pilot, but the Swedes didn't realize it until it was long gone."

Ironwood considered that. "Tyrian Callows?"

"Not unless he's learned the art of disguise better than we credited him. At least a dozen people saw a female fighter pilot walk over to the aircraft, and she communicated with the tower."

"Cinder Fall?"

Winter shrugged. "Honestly, sir, I have no idea."

Ironwood sighed. "One thing at a time." He collapsed into a seat.

"Sir, when was the last time you slept?" She wrinkled her nose as she drew closer to him. "Or…not to put too fine a point on it, General…when was the last time you bathed?"

Ironwood blinked in surprise at Winter, then chuckled. "Hell, Winter…what day is it? Other than the day I have to go on the air with Robyn." He rubbed a hand over his beard. "I do plan on showering and trimming this up before we do, by the way."

Winter checked her watch. "It will be half an hour before Miss Hill gets here, sir. Let me at least have the cooks fix you something." He started to wave her off, but Winter stared down at him. "Sir. You. Must. Eat."

Ironwood put up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, Winter. I'll eat—"

His aide walked into the tent and came to attention. "Sir. Robyn Hill is here, sir. She's a bit early."

"Thanks. Show her in." Winter let out a long sigh, and Ironwood laughed. "Just have the cooks make three portions, Winter. It's been awhile since I had dinner with two rather lovely ladies."

Heringsdorf Airport

Mecklenburg State, Federal Republic of Germany

24 August 2001

Cinder Fall ran her hands over the fuselage of the Saab JAS 39 Gripen—Griffin, if it was translated from the Swedish. "It's lovely, Neo," she said to the other woman, leaning nonchalantly against the nose, and still in her stolen flight suit. Neo barely looked like herself: her hair was completely brown, her heterochromatic eyes hidden behind contacts; she was even slightly taller, thanks to the lifts in her shoes. "I'm surprised you don't want to keep it for yourself."

Neo shrugged. "I like my Hawk."

"You do realize this is a fourth-generation fighter." Cinder lightly smacked the wing. "It makes me more than equal to Ruby Rose's F-16. If you intend to kill me, as you keep promising, I'd think you'd want me in something not as powerful." Surreptitiously, Cinder kept one hand in the pocket of her jacket. The .32 Llama was concealed in there.

Another shrug. "It's a win-win." Neo patted the nose of the Gripen. "I want it to be even. If you kill Ruby, it saves me the trouble of killing her. If she kills you, then that saves me the trouble of killing you." She pushed off the nose and bowed ironically. "You're welcome."

Arthur Watts looked up from his laptop. "If you ladies are quite done threatening each other, I suggest you have something to eat. Salem's offensive begins in the morning, and we need to discuss a few things first."

Tyrian Callows, who had been sprawled in a chair, reading a book—which Watts admitted to himself was surprising—sat up in shock. "What did you say? Her Majesty is attacking now?" he screamed.

Watts rubbed his ear. "Yes, Tyrian. Why don't you say it a bit louder? I'm sure not everyone in Mecklenburg heard you."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't imagine why," Watts told him, voice dripping with sarcasm. Neo and Cinder shared a smile over that as they walked over; despite Tyrian's real predilection towards violent murder, Watts seemed to be completely unafraid of him. Cinder wondered if Tyrian's string of killings wasn't just motivated by Salem's order to discredit Ironwood, but also out of frustration: he never bothered to try intimidating Cinder, and Neo regarded Tyrian as a hopeless amateur when it came to homicide.

Cinder tore off a piece of black bread and spread some butter on it. "What is there to discuss? Salem launches her attack. Ironwood's forces are caught by surprise and butchered before the rest of NATO can reinforce. He gets desperate and uses the Winter Maiden. We triangulate the signal, we find out where Fria Gletscher is, and kill her. No more Winter Maiden." She munched on the bread, smiling.

Watts gave her a look that implied Cinder Fall was a very slow child. "Oh yes, so very simple. That assumes I can triangulate the signal."

Cinder put down her bread, grabbed a thick bracelet that was sitting on the table, and shook it at him. "Listen to me, you pompous prick. I didn't get half my face burned off getting you this thing from the last Maiden bearer that I killed, for you to screw this up!"

Watts didn't react to her any more than he had reacted to Tyrian. "Need I remind you that the Winter Maiden may use a different type of signal? Or that it was changed after the Americans used the Fall Maiden, in the assumption that Salem has compromised the Maiden satellites? Nothing is certain, Cinder. You of all people should know that." He reached up and took the bracelet out of her hand. "Before you get further flustered, we didn't transport your burned carcass halfway across the world for this to fail. I am merely reminding you that this will not be simple nor easy."

"Quit talking to me like a child," Cinder snapped.

"Then quit acting like one," Watts replied evenly, and returned to his laptop.

Neo burst into laughter. Cinder made sounds of rupture, but any sort of retailiation was interrupted by Jack Snipe, who opened the door to the hangar. "Come over to the bar, you lot. Seems your General Ironwood is on the telly." The four of them looked at each other, then quickly followed Snipe across the breezeway to the living facility next door, and the bar. None of them sat, just leaned on the bar as Snipe turned up the volume.

"Good evening," Ironwood began. They noticed he was wearing his fatigues, rather than a formal uniform; behind the general was a desk and what looked to be the wall of a tent. "I'm sorry to break into your programming tonight, but this is an urgent message—not just for Europe, but for the entire world."

Cinder noticed that subtitles appeared beneath his words, in German. "Is this on all channels?"

Snipe nodded. "I checked Sky and the BBC before I came to get you."

"I know that my nation, and myself, have had differences with the European Union in the past. There have been misunderstandings, and yes, broken trusts. There have been failures on both sides of the ocean. But now I beg you to hear me out. And since I know that you may not listen or believe me…" He motioned offcamera, and Robyn Hill stepped into view.

"Good evening," she said, also speaking in English. "My message is aimed at primarily the people of Poland, but also of Germany, because we are in the gravest of danger. I agreed to appear with General Ironwood, to get out this urgent message. What he has to say may sound unbelievable…but it is all true."

Ironwood paused, clearly taking a deep breath. "For many years, people have surmised that someone or something was controlling the GRIMM that have plagued humanity for over forty years. I can now confirm that is true. There is a person who is controlling the GRIMM. She was responsible for the destruction of Joint Base Beacon in the United States. She was responsible for the recent attack on Japan. She has even been responsible for the uptick in attacks in eastern Poland. I say she because we are facing a woman. Her real name is unimportant, because she herself has adopted her own codename." He paused for effect. "Our enemy's name is Salem."

"Good God," Watts said, for once without snark or sarcasm.

"He said the name!" Tyrian exclaimed, but a quick look from Cinder silenced him.

"For decades, Salem has worked in the remains of the former Soviet Union, building the GRIMM and unleashing it against the world—not in the name of some old outdated political philosophy, but simply to destroy us all, to finish what the Third World War started," Ironwood spoke. "She has sought to divide us against each other. To turn us against each other. If she can do this—and we have given her no reason as of late to think otherwise—we will destroy ourselves as readily as the GRIMM will."

Robyn had waited patiently, but now she nodded. "Salem herself does not work alone. Until recently, she helped bankroll the White Fang. But despite the demise of that organization, there are others who still work for her." Two pictures appeared on the screen to one side of Robyn, and Cinder's eye widened in shock. It was pictures of the two men sitting next to her. "Their names are Arthur Watts and Tyrian Callows. Both men are convicted criminals. Mr. Watts is responsible not only for the recent and massive power outage across Poland and eastern Germany, but also for the so-called Black Queen virus that crippled the American defenses at Beacon, and the near-death of Lieutenant Penny Polendina that so shocked us all. Mr. Callows is a serial killer, and the man responsible for the recent murders in Berlin."

"I don't believe this!" Watts shouted. Cinder saw Neo smothering a laugh, even as Tyrian's hands began to tremble—in rage or fear, she wasn't sure.

The pictures disappeared, replaced by Ironwood. "But we cannot let ourselves give in to fear and panic," he warned. "That is what Salem wants." He held up a finger. "Instead, we must unite, and fight back together. Not just the United States. Not just the EU or NATO. The world entire. Every single one of us." He put his hands behind his back. "This is why I deployed those divisions from the United States. I admit my decision was hasty, made in the fear that what happened at Beacon would happen here. I should have realized sooner that the fight in Europe against Salem will not just be made by just Americans, not by just Canadians, not just by the brave Polish people, but all of us. All of Europe. Humans and Faunus. Just as our grandfathers were forced to unite against the horrors of Adolf Hitler and the Axis, so must we unite against the horror of Salem and her quest for destruction." Ironwood briefly looked away from the camera. "I am sorry beyond belief that once more, the blood of a new generation of Americans, Canadians and Europeans must be shed together. But once more, in the words of General Eisenhower, we must embark on a great and noble crusade."

He let that sink in for a moment, then continued. "We have reason to believe that Salem will launch a massive attack against our Vistula River defense line within days, if not hours. Because of that, and after consultation with the EU Council and our NATO allies, I am asking for an immediate and full mobilization of all NATO ground forces to move into Poland to repel this offensive—and, if possible, to take the offensive and destroy this evil once and for all. Furthermore, the EU Council has informed me that the embargo against the United States of Canada will be dropped immediately, and I am in communication with my President to authorize the deployment of American forces to Europe as well. To ensure the safety of the Polish people, I am also beginning an evacuation of civilians from central and northern Poland to safer locations in the western part of the nation—and I ask Germany to accept these temporary evacuees as well."

Robyn stepped closer to Ironwood until they were shoulder to shoulder. "We must put aside our differences and band together to defeat this threat. I fully support General Ironwood's plan. I ask that you do as well."

The image of the two of them dissolved, to be replaced by a news anchor, who looked as shocked as the five people in the bar. Snipe turned the volume down as Tyrian grabbed a chair and hurled it against the wall. "I don't believe it!" he screamed. "The GRIMM should have destroyed our enemies, not made them friends!" He grabbed another chair.

Watts stroked his mustache, his earlier lapse forgotten; Cinder had to admire the scientist's self-control. "Tyrian, calm down. We do not help our queen by temper tantrums." Tyrian slowly put the chair down. "Mr. Snipe, did you say that this was on all channels?"

"I did," Snipe replied.

"Hmm." Watts regarded the ceiling. "Of course. An EC-130 Commando Solo. That's how he broke into all channels." He shook his head. "Well, that was simply brilliant on James Ironwood's part. I never even considered it."

"I don't much care," Snipe informed him. "And I want you two out of here in an hour." He pointed at both Tyrian and Watts. "You're wanted men. And if you're caught here, I'll be going in the dock along with you."

"Relax," Cinder told him, because if Watts and Tyrian were evicted, she and Neo—or at least Cinder—would quickly follow. "No one knows we're here."

"Yeah? You told me that no one knew about these two, eit—" Snipe never finished his sentence. Neo was across the bar, grabbing a beer bottle along the way. As he turned to face her, she smashed the bottle and sliced Snipe across the face. He screamed in agony, but his screams were cut off as Neo slashed his throat with her backswing. He coughed blood, gagged, and died as he sagged down behind the bar.

Neo tossed the broken bottle aside and wiped a bit of blood off her face. "It appears this establishment is under new management," she smiled. Watts blinked, surprised at the sudden violence. Tyrian rushed over, craned his head to look over the bar, and laughed. "Well done, Neo! Well done!" Neo nodded, accepting the compliment.

Cinder turned to Watts. "So. How does this affect the plan?"

Watts was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Strangely enough, minimally. Yes, the authorities are now aware of my presence and Tyrian's, but that's hardly the same as knowing where we are. We can stay on the move, and the Politzei and Interpol can chase their tails looking for us. Besides, when Salem's attack strikes in the morning, they'll have more to concern themselves with."

"But Ironwood knows Salem intends to attack soon," Cinder pointed out.

"Yes…I'd like to know how he figured that out. No matter," Watts shrugged. "Knowing about an attack and stopping it are two different things. Democracies move slowly, Cinder. They will need to hold votes, then they will need to mobilize. This will take time. It's now a race between Salem's GRIMM and Ironwood's reinforcements." The scientist smiled. "And it is not a race Ironwood can win. He will still be forced to use the Winter Maiden."

"Yes, but the problem is, the Winter Maiden might be enough to stop Salem." Cinder couldn't resist playing devil's advocate.

"Slow her down, yes," Watts agreed. "But Her Highness—" he used the words ironically, though it was lost on a beaming Tyrian "—has her own surprises for the good general. And we can certainly help throw some sand in the gears."

"How so?" Neo asked. "I'm not being paid enough to risk my life."

"Of course not, my dear," Watts replied. "But Ruby Rose will be in the forefront of trying to stop Salem's offensive, and that gives you plenty of opportunity to avenge your precious dum-dum." She frowned at him; Neo did not like anyone using her nickname for Roman Torchwick but her. "And Ironwood will likely activate JINN at some point, and when he does, I'll know. And that, my dear Cinder, will be your opportunity, besides killing Fria." Watts smiled. "It was a very good speech, so it was. Imagine how morale will collapse when Ironwood's great crusade is crushed on international television."

Sector E-57

Near Gora Kalwaria, Republic of Poland

25 August 2001

Captain Karelia Bighorn-Vlata yawned and shook herself to stay awake. It was so very tempting to lay her head down on the .50 caliber machine gun next to the tank commander's hatch and get some sleep. Just fifteen minutes, her body begged. Just a few minutes.

Then the wonderful smell of coffee wafted across her nostrils. "Bobby, is that hot coffee?"

"It shore is, Cap." Sergeant Robert Lee handed her the steaming mug. "Just brewed it up myself." He nodded towards the coffeemaker he had somehow managed to install inside the fighting compartment of the M1 Abrams.

"Oh, God bless you." She took the mug from him. It burned her hands, but it was worth it. "Get some to Heather. I think she's asleep."

"I am," Corporal Heather Redfeather replied from the driver's compartment forward of the turret, unseen in the predawn darkness. "But I'd kill someone for coffee." A pause. "Er…sorry, Cap."

"It's all right." He didn't die, Karelia finished as Lee climbed out of the turret to hand Heather her own mug of coffee. It had been a wonder: her bullet had punctured a lung, but missed everything else. It had taken a lot of persuasion by Miguel Calavera himself to the German police not to charge or hold Karelia and her crew for the bar fight, but the emergency on the Vistula River changed their mind. Heather had been due to stay in the hospital for another week or two to deal with the stab wound, but she checked herself out, unable to leave her crew with a new driver.

Lee climbed back up on the turret, sitting on it and dangling his feet down the loader's hatch. "Should I wake up Sammy?"

Karelia glanced down into the turret, where Specialist/4 Sammy Lougheed slept, wedged in between seats and the turret wall. Tank crews learned quickly how to sleep anywhere. "No, let him sleep."

Lee took a long drink of coffee and looked out at the line of trees in front of the tank, stirred by a breeze coming in from the east. The row concealed the Abrams, though he wasn't sure how well it would fool the GRIMM, which used infrared detection gear. The Vistula burbled beyond the trees, going over a sandbar; just within his field of vision was a bridge leading across the river, though he could barely make it out in the darkness. Besides the bridge, this was also a natural ford across the river. "You reckon that water's still radioactive, Cap?" he asked.

"I don't know, and I don't want to find out." She looked at the coffee. "You didn't use river water, did you?"

Lee laughed. "No, ma'am. I ain't that dumb." He took another drink. "Man, I don't get it. First they bust ass gettin' us down to Krakow. Then they tell us to haul ass up here. The Poles dig us fightin' positions like the damn GRIMM was already here, and then we just sit and wait. Ain't nothin' here."

"New to the Army?" Redfeather called up from the driver's compartment.

"Yeah, yeah…hurry up and wait." Lee regarded the river again. "I wonder if the fish have three eyes or somethin'."

"Well, after the sun comes up, go ask the Poles at the LP if you can go fishing." Karelia motioned towards a foxhole dug just forward of the treeline. In it were two Polish infantrymen, invisible in the darkness. There was really no reason to have the two men there—she could see far more with the infrared sights on the tank—but it was tactical doctrine, so there the men were. Karelia mused that it would make sense if the GRIMM could somehow infiltrate the lines, but the GRIMM weren't exactly subtle.

As she raised the cup to her lips, she saw something arc up on the horizon, then fall nearly as fast. Lee saw it as well. "What the hell? Shootin' star?"

"Looked like a flare." Karelia downed the rest of the coffee, scalding her tongue. "Better radio the CP…if there's some poor bastard out there on long-range patrol, I don't want to blow him away—" Just before she dropped into the turret to use the radio, she heard a distant rumble, like thunder.

Lee cocked his head, and checked the sky. It was clear, the stars beautiful and shining. "Sounded like—"

"Get down!" Karelia reached out, grabbed Lee by the front of his tanker's uniform, and hauled him down into the tank. "Heather—" She heard the mug clatter against the front of the tank as Heather closed her hatch. The next noise was the freight train noise of incoming artillery. She dropped down into the turret and dogged her hatch shut. Lee reached up and did the same with the loader's hatch, as Sammy, jolted awake by Lee's boots hitting him in the leg, started cursing.

Karelia half-expected to be bounced around by the artillery, if not killed outright—an Abrams was remarkably tough, but even its armor was not designed to take a hit from immediately above from an artillery shell. The shelling did shake the tank a little, but not much.

"Snowbird Six, this is Bravo 25. Shellrep, over." The radio crackled in her helmet, and Karelia pulled the boom mike over. Bravo 25 was her team's accompanying M2 Bradley armored personnel carriers.

"Bravo 25, Snowbird Six, send it," she replied. The infantry were reporting the artillery.

"Bravo 25—we have artillery impacting along the river's edge—caliber and number of rounds—" Bravo 25 was cut off by the sudden screaming of an alarm in Karelia's tank, and a scream she heard even over all the other noise: "GAS! GAS! GAS!"

"Shit!" Karelia switched on the overpressure system on the tank, and her ears popped as the system blew air through the tank's ventilation system, preventing any poison gas from getting in. "Heather, is your hatch sealed?" Sometimes the driver's hatch didn't close all the way.

"Yeah, I'm good!" the driver yelled back. Lee threw her a thumbs-up—both turret hatches were sealed and locked as well.

"What the fuck…" Sammy was finally able to get himself into the loader's seat. "What the fuck, Cap? The GRIMM don't use gas!"

"Don't ask me!" Karelia yelled back. It made no sense—or it made a great deal of sense. The GRIMM relied on numbers to swarm their opponents, but chemical warfare made everything tougher. She and her crew were safe inside the tank; the overpressure system would protect them. But anyone caught outside—

She remembered the LP, the listening post. Karelia pressed herself up against the vision blocks set into the hatch mounting. One of the Polish infantrymen was stumbling towards the tank. Because GRIMM didn't use gas, they had been issued no gas masks. She watched in horror as the infantryman reached for the hull of the tank, trying to pull himself up, only to vomit, then spasm, and disappear from view. Dear God, she thought, nerve gas.

"Them poor bastards," Lee breathed, looking through the sight. Then he gave a start. "Target, Goliath, range 4000!"

Karelia tore herself away from the vision block and looked through her own sight. "I see it. Here we go."