She was safe.

That was his first thought; or not even a thought, just a single continuous wave of relief making his legs feel weak.

She was safe, they had come on time.

And now she was in his arms again, half-frozen and her lips were chapped but kissing him, and he was holding her, breathing her in like his oxygen, and he wanted to never leave her side again.

She was safe.

It wasn't until the third time before Matt heard someone clear their throat.

"Ehhem."

With a start he pulled away from Kate, and belatedly noticed the crowd around them — twenty or so people, most in airmen's uniform, staring and gaping rudely. A great deal of chatter had been going around, slowly rising, but now it stopped again, and all eyes looked back and forth between him and the officer who made the interruption. Matt blushed.

The gentleman was broad-shouldered, in crisp uniform, with a captain's cap, and glancing at them with annoyance and a bit of surprise in his strongly British features. Captain of the Leviathan, and the man who'd sent the messenger peregrines this morning. Matt recalled seeing him during the aerial transfer for the stranded midshipman-to-be, Dylan Sharp.

"Captain," Kate said nonchalantly — as if they hadn't just been kissing in full view of what seemed like half the ship, and ignored the man's overtures beside — just as Matt was wondering what on earth he should do. "May I present my husband, Matthew Cruse."

There was a collective gasp from everyone around. "Matt," Kate continued, ignoring them all, "this is Captain Hobbes, of HMS Leviathan." Then she stepped on his toe.

"A-an honor to meet you, sir," Matt said. He wondered if the man remembered him, but likely not; by the time of Dylan Sharp's aerial transfer Captain Rideau had taken over, and it had all been at a distance, so the first officer of a civilian airship was unlikely to have made any lasting impression. It was startling to think that it was just two months ago. He wondered what had happened to Dylan.

"Husband—Cru—? Oh. I see. Well." The captain cleared his throat some more, but quickly recovered. "In any event, I must thank you for your swift arrival, on behalf of my ship and my crew, or we surely would have been done for." There was more warmth in his voice this time, and he saluted.

"Oh! Well, I'm very glad to have arrived on time myself, as… Er, never mind that." Matt had been holding out his hand to shake when he saw the salute, and hastily moved it to his forehead, and ended up with a gesture more like tipping the hat — looking ridiculous and unprofessional since he didn't even have a hat.

The captain frowned. "No, not at all. If you don't mind, I would like to know what regiment had relieved us. I haven't seen a beauty like that on the List, that's for sure." He nodded at the Valkyrie, then frowned again, his gaze traveling over Matt's aviator jacket. "Pardon me, but am I speaking to a Lieutenant Cruse, or —"

"—Ah," Matt said. "Er. Not precisely."

He wondered how he should say that he was actually a civilian, and he had all but threatened to wreck the ship to come to the rescue. Well, not that Trenton or even Hemmingfeld hadn't grudgingly admitted the justice of that, after they saw the Leviathan's distress.

Captain Hobbes frowned some more. "Then may I speak to the commanding officer of this vessel… assuming it is you, Mr. Cruse?"

"Um—" Matt said. "Well, you see, sir—"

"No, sir, I believe that would be me you are looking for," said a voice from behind. Hemmingfeld strode forward in the snow, his uniform crisp, and came to a halt sharply with an impeccable salute. "Lieutenant Hemmingfeld, of His Majesty's Polaris Aerial Division, at your service Captain Hobbes. And here is my colleague, Lieutenant Trenton."

"Sir," Trenton said as he stepped over, also saluting. "I must say, we're damned glad we got the message, and just on time, it would seem." Behind them was the fully opened maw of the Valkyrie's cargo holds, and the rest of the ship's skeleton crew stepped out, all in their uniform; Matt felt painfully different, in his aviator's jacket and simple trousers.

"Ah, yes," said Captain Hobbes, puzzled, looking between Matt and the soldiers. He was not alone — many of the gathered crowd were also obviously wondering what position Matt held, if neither an officer nor a crew member. But then he straightened out with a practiced authority. "Well, it certainly is a stroke of luck for us that a ship should come so soon, and I hope you gentlemen will join us in the salon to discuss our current situation, and our future course of action. There isn't much time, I'm afraid; that ornithopter will be at Lake Constance within two hours, with our exact coordinates."

Faces darkened as everyone thought of the escapee.

"Of course, sir," said Hemmingfeld. "I would also appreciate if you lent us some of your engineers as well, to see if the ship has strained her engines. We're very short on hands at the moment."

"I'm sorry, but that can wait," the Captain said. "We have substantial damage to our engines ourselves. All hands back to your stations," he said in a louder voice. "Mr. Roland, please make sure the lines on the Valkyrie are secure. Mr. Rigby, inform the rest of the officers to be at the salon in five minutes. Mr. Rigby?"

A high voice piped up from within the crowd. "Mr. Rigby is still in the infirmary, Captain!" said a tall blond boy as he squeezed through the wall of men to the front. "I'll go tell the officers."

"Ah, Mr. Sharp. Very well."

"Dylan!" Matt said, happily surprised. "You stayed on board here?"

The boy gave him a salute. "Aye! But what are you doing here? And you never said you're the barking hus — I mean, Dr. Cruse's —" He shook his head, apparently baffled, as he looked between Matt and Kate. "I'm not going to think about that just yet. Let's catch up later, aye?"

Before Matt could respond, he'd already dashed off in the direction of the Leviathan.

"You two know each other?" Kate asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, I know his brother — and I met Dylan last month in the air — anyway, long story short, yes. But what's with his reaction?"

Kate smirked. "It must've given the poor boy a fright, to find out I'm actually Mrs. Cruse. I think he's always been a little scared of me, you see."

"In that case, I don't blame him in the least," Matt said, which earned him another stomp on the toes.

All around them them crew of the Leviathan burst into activity as Captain Hobbes continued to give orders, but as they scurried past, almost all of them gave Matt and Kate an inquisitive glance. Matt even thought he saw flickers of recognition in some of the men's faces, and struggled to not fidget uncomfortably.

At last satisfied, Captain Hobbes nodded to the small group still gathered around him. "Now that the mess of battle is being cleared away, we have a lot to discuss. Gentlemen? And ladies?"

"Excuse me, Captain," said a voice with lightly German-accented English. The pronunciation was clear and practiced, more suitable for a diplomat than — Matt was surprised to note as he looked — a boy of perhaps fifteen, with reddish hair and shabby clothes. "Might I request that me and Herr Volger be allowed to sit in on this meeting?"

The tone was polite, but resolute, and the boy's deep green eyes looked straight and steady at the Captain, who seemed to have been expecting this, and was trying to think of a way to politely refuse.

"Ah. Mr., er, Mr. Alek," he said, with a forced smile. "As the circumstances are, you are still members of a nation which, if not already, must soon become a belligerent against—"

"We are fugitives from that nation, and we have just helped you take down a squadron of German commandoes," the boy said, still perfectly polite. "When, and please consider this, we could have hidden in our castle and watched from afar."

The Captain looked rather uneasy over this.

"Who is he?" Matt whispered to Kate. "Is he by any chance from that renegade Stormwalker the Germans were shooting at?"

Everyone on the Valkyrie had been rather shocked to find a walker fighting for the "wrong" side, but if they were deserters forced to ally temporarily with Darwinists, then perhaps it made a little more sense.

"It's complicated," she replied. "You could say he's the commander, if anything, and certainly the pilot. They were our best shot at escaping this valley before you arrived, actually."

"Are things that bad?"

She nodded. "It's worse than Hobbes said in the peregrine, assuming that's what brought you."

"Of course it was," Matt said. "You don't know how — I was, I mean, you were on the ship — I was so very worried."

It was an understatement, because at that moment he made a small involuntary noise that was all the despair and fear he had felt back then. If they had gone back to base and arrived a few hours late, he could now be staring at the blackened husk of the Leviathan, Kate's burnt body somewhere within. His hand on her waist tightened, as if to reaffirm her presence.

Kate seemed to know what he was thinking. Her left hand grabbed his and she squeezed.

"It's alright," she said softly. "I'm alright."

The Captain was still trying to convince the boy from the walker that their attendance was neither necessary nor wanted, until finally a tall woman in a bowler hat interrupted.

"Pardon me, Captain, but I believe that Alek and his family have proven to be trustworthy. Unless you are willing to stay here and argue for the next twenty minutes; because it seems clear to me the lad isn't going to back down." She gestured at the red-haired boy, who looked indeed ready to stand his ground for a long time. "And we might still need their food."

The Captain sighed. "So be it. You will join us at the salon, with Mr. Volger as well, but no others."

"Very good," said Alek. "Thank you Captain."

Captain Hobbes made a small grunt, sketched a half-bow to the tall woman and to Kate, and turned to go back to the Leviathan. Hemmingfeld and Trenton followed him, as did most of the senior officers. The tall woman, however, strode over, a slight smile on her otherwise austere face.

"Mr. Cruse!" she said, with such familiarity that Matt was temporarily taken aback. "Pleasure to finally meet you; Kate has been talking about you quite a lot."

"Not a lot," Kate said defensively.

"Oh, nonsense. You couldn't stop. You were perfectly lovesick."

Kate cleared her throat, somewhat flustered. "This is Dr. Nora Barlow," she said.

"Ah," said Matt. He had already somewhat guessed, since Kate had described Dr. Barlow quite well, though she was perhaps a little taller and a little louder than he had supposed. "It's nice to meet you too, ma'am."

Dr. Barlow smiled. "Well met indeed. I confess, I was very much surprised by your timely arrival; I was under the impression that you were still working for the airline."

"I am, but—"

"How come you are on the ship then? Did you pilot it?"

"I did, actually."

The scientist cocked her eyebrows. Matt tried to think of what to say, but the whole newsreel business was embarrassing and sounded awfully like bragging. Even while Kate stepped in to explain for him, he could still feel his ears burn red.

"I can see the appeal of it," Dr. Barlow said as Kate finished. "And given the publicity of the Starclimber expedition, no doubt to work remarkably well. They're to form a ministry of such things, you say? One of Whitehall's better ideas amid the endless string of disasters set on poor old Asquith." She barked a laugh, but turned her gaze back on Matt. "Is it correct to say that the commanding officer of the Valkyrie would not be you?"

"Yes," he responded. "Though technically it would be no one here; the ship has been leased for filming for a few days, and her official crew is still at base. Hemmingfeld has seniority though."

"The tall, burly fellow with the mustache right?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm," Dr. Barlow said, a calculating look in her eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Cruse. Let's head to the salon before we are missed."

ooo

The salon was a nicely appointed room with seats for twelve. Its fabricated mahogany table gleamed under the electric lights. For a military airbeast, it was certainly luxurious, although Matt supposed that as the face of the Royal Air Service, the vessel had to have some sort of place to "show off".

Outside, the glacial night was setting in fast, and the sky was a dark velvet blue. Warm air gushed from vents in the wall in rhythmic patterns, in sync with the massive airbeast's breathing, providing some small comfort against the cold.

The room was packed. All the ship's officers were present, as well as Dr. Barlow and Kate, Hemmingfeld and Trenton, and the two Austrian fugitives — or so Kate had explained.

"How do you know?" Matt asked. They spoke German, so he'd have reckoned them to be German.

"The Hapsburg — that is, the Austrian Imperial crest is on the walker," Kate replied in a whisper. "Haven't you noticed?"

"At the time it was very difficult to notice anything other than whether or not it's got its guns pointed at us," Matt said, disgruntled.

"Oh," said Kate. "That's fair. And I suppose I have spent the whole day today riding around in that thing."

"What?"

"Shh."

"You rode in that?"

"I did, now be quiet, the Captain is about to speak."

"What are you doing, gallivanting in a Stormwalker getting bombed —"

"Shh!"

Matt let out a frustrated groan. Hemmingfeld had actually been almost ready to launch the acid bomb at the Stormwalker, when they realized the machine was on their side, and helped it take out the zeppelin instead. He shuddered to think what would have happened if they'd done the opposite.

But then at the far side of the table, the Captain cleared his throat, and the small mutters died down.

"Gentlemen," he said, his voice graver than ever. "I trust you have all met our friends from the Polaris, whose timely arrival probably altered the course of today's skirmish."

Smiles and nods all around. Even for crew that weren't out on the glacier during the Valkyrie's little rampage, news and stories have quickly been spread and magnified.

"Some of you may think that we're safe. But in point of fact, because there was an escapee to bear our coordinates to the Germans, we can expect another assault of sizable force, and very soon. Lieutenant Hemmingfeld, would you please tell us the state of your ship? Armaments, supplies, gas, anything helpful."

Hemmingfeld eyed the two Clankers sitting in the corner with a frown before he began. "Sir, we had been flying in light recon mode before we intercepted the peregrine. Right now we have emergency rations for three days for twenty men, water as ballast of course, and in gas we have two million, I believe —"

"Two point five six million cubic feet of hydrogen left, sir," Matt said, "since we used a winch-down. And about four-thousand five-hundred gallons of water."

Everyone turned towards him. Hemmingfeld threw him an inscrutable look, but Matt returned it defiantly. He wasn't about to be pushed around in matters of aviation, and for now the Valkyrie was still his. A moment later the man shrugged.

"I understand the Leviathan is in need of a great amount of gas, sir?" he said, dragging the room back to the problem at hand.

"Indeed," said the Captain. "We had been able to secure the food needed for hydrogen genesis through our guests here" — he gestured to the Clankers — "before you arrived. And although you didn't bring much food, how much gas can you spare?"

"Not enough," said Dr. Barlow, speaking up for the first time from her seat beside the Captain. "The Fenrir class airships — to which the Valkyrie belongs — are Dr. Andrews' handiwork. But I have been privileged to see some of the life thread blueprints. Operational minimum is eighty-five percent; and fifteen percent hydrogen from a vessel a third our size would never make a material difference."

"Doctor, if I may," Trenton interjected, "we are in recon mode. Obviously we have very little food, but of the five available strafing glider booths, none are filled, our crew is a third of its full allotment, and our armaments amount to less than twenty percent of full combat standards. We are very much lighter than we would otherwise be, and can spare quite a bit more gas than fifteen percent."

"No. Even if you could spare half, and that's a very generous assumption, a million cubic feet fills only two bladders. We have depleted six."

"It's not nothing, though," said the other scientist at the table, as he tapped thoughtfully at the brim of his bowler. "We're closer to being airborne, certainly, and we have food now. How much, precisely?"

This time it was Kate who spoke up. "Seven tons, roughly. Carbohydrates mostly, with some protein."

"Yes, that would do nicely; more than enough to lift us even without the Valkyrie's gas."

"That is all well and good, but whether or not we have time to let the animals digest them is the problem."

The Captain sighed. "You've hit on the point of concern, Dr. Barlow. Because I believe we do not have time." He nodded to a junior officer, and soon a large map of Switzerland was brought out and laid flat on the table, and everyone leaned in to look. Lake Constance was instantly visible in the northeast, the bulk of Germany looming ominously beyond, and the large glacier they were on was marked with a red cross on the otherwise blank mountain range towards the southwest.

They were separated by a mere two hundred miles; an easy three-hour flight even for the slower zeppelins, and two if the fast ones pushed their engines.

"Gentlemen, as you can see," the Captain said, "we lay within easy striking distance, and the Luftstreitkräfte fields fifteen zeppelins or more at Lake Constance, according to our latest intelligence. The Germans have declared war, but their air force will not be needed in the field until the armies of France and Russia move into place. In the mean time, that leaves them at liberty to come at us."

"Can we not fight them, sir?" a young aide asked hesitantly. "Surely, with the Valkyrie…"

"We don't have much to offer, I'm afraid," said Trenton. "We are terribly undermanned. Fighting off the two Kondors was probably the extent of our abilities at the moment."

"What if we spare the men?" asked the Master Sergeant.

"It won't do," Hemmingfeld shook his head. "Even if we have the men, we have barely anything left in the cargo holds. A few bombs, some ballista bolts, and that's it."

"What about that one you used today?" the Sergeant asked. "A single well-aimed shell could wipe out a large zeppelin, as it did today."

"We have one left."

"About that, gentlemen," Dr. Barlow cut in rather suddenly, "Would someone please explain why the weapon was in your possession? Who authorized its release? It is still a prototype."

"Doctor," the Captain said, "this is hardly the time for —"

"This is important. Lieutenant?"

"It was the only thing we had which could take down a zeppelin fast," Hemmingfeld responded coolly. "We needed a quick battle. And Dr. Andrews authorized the release, I believe."

"Oh, he'll certainly be hearing about it from me; it's utterly irresponsible and I don't know why he let you. We have not managed to perfect the kill-switch on that strain, and it could retain its activity for up to a week before it dies out. That is enough time to wipe out a dozen cities had you used it in the lowlands. I forbid any further reckless usage of —"

"With respect, Doctor, you have no authority over the operations of the Division."

Dr. Barlow blinked. Matt had the feeling she was not at all accustomed to being spoken to this way.

The Captain grabbed the moment of silence and hastily cut in before the argument could gain further momentum. "Doctor, desperate times call for desperate measures, and it would be well if the Clankers took in the notion that the weapon can be used liberally, don't you think? Now, Lieutenant, I understand that Polaris operates under tight security protocols, but are there any of the Division's airships nearby? Do they know we are here?"

Hemmingfeld and Trenton exchanged a look. Matt's eyes strayed toward the southwest edge of the map, scanning the numbers at the axes, until he reached the Polaris air base deep within the French Alps. The coordinates were still a secret, of course, but it would take a very careless aviator to not know the location of his lift-off. The base was more than four hundred miles distant from the glacier, a good five hours.

"We sent a bird back to base, as soon as we intercepted your distress call," Hemmingfeld said. "The Fenrir, and the Sleipnir, however, are both not at base."

"Are there other ships of combat that might answer?"

"There are some half-dozen small scouting and supply ships, and they are all lightly armed, but no better than we are in recon mode. Sir, I'm afraid we'll be the only help you'll have in a while."

The Captain grunted. He stared at the map and frowned. The room was silent as everyone waited for his verdict. Finally, he let out a frustrated little growl.

"Gentlemen, I think we must contemplate an evacuation," he said. "Without the Leviathan."

The salon erupted. Everyone was speaking all at once, and confusion was everywhere. Questions came in a ferocious barrage from every corner.

"Why would that be necessary, sir?" asked Hemmingfeld, urgently. He was sitting close to the Captain, so his voice actually carried through. "We cannot let the ship fall into enemy hands!"

"This is madness!" said an officer. "Sir, can you please explain?"

Kate leaned over. "I can't make heads or tails of that map," she said quietly. "But how far are we from Lake Constance, exactly?"

Matt told her his estimate.

"So that escaped ornithopter plane is already halfway there?"

"Judging from its speed, I'd guess another hour."

"I see," she said. "He thinks we won't fill up on time."

The Captain was back to staring at the map, and was heedless of the chaos around him. Abruptly, he raised his head.

"I know many of you don't understand why abandoning our ship is necessary," he said, and slowly the room quieted down. "But consider the circumstances. Within an hour or so, the commander at Constance is going to hear about our situation. The Leviathan herself, stranded with some Austrian political dissenters who are, apparently, highly wanted. If I were him, I would send out an overwhelming force immediately, before we have a chance to slip away. And we cannot slip away; not while we don't have gas."

"Sir, with respect," Trenton said, "the intimidation factor that the Valkyrie poses must surely dissuade them from a swift reckless assault, for fear of losing more ships."

"No, Lieutenant," the Captain said, "on the contrary, your presence here is all the more reason for them to hurry. They no longer know what to expect from the Service. They might think the Valkyrie is but a precursor to a larger relief force. They will think they must strike and take the Leviathan, before our position gets any stronger."

"They don't know —"

"— They don't know we have no relief," Dr. Barlow said, nodding. "So they'll want to rush things. They think they have to strike while the iron's hot. It makes sense — this kind of German thinking is why we're even in a war in the first place. Everything they have, within a few hours, will descend upon us, so this is the only time to make an escape, especially when the Valkyrie is not fit for any more combat."

"I think you might like to know that the Germans also have a large experimental land frigate nearby," a voice said suddenly, from the back of the room. "We were almost destroyed by it when entering Switzerland."

Everyone turned. It was the Austrian boy, the one who argued for the Captain to let them attend this meeting. Matt had almost forgotten they were here.

"It is eight-legged," he added. "Our engineer assumes it can move very fast."

"Where did you enter the Swiss border?" the Captain asked, sharply.

The boy pushed his way towards the map at the front of the table, and pointed a location east of them, where the German, Austrian, and Swiss borders intersect.

"Roughly here," he said. "Two days ago now."

"How much firepower does it have?"

"Only less than the large land dreadnoughts," the boy said with a hint of wryness. "It's a few hundred times our Stormwalker in weight, to say the least."

"They will have wireless radio," Dr. Busk said. "They will receive our coordinates almost as soon as that ornithopter gets home."

"Without bombs, we are helpless against it," said an officer. "The strafing gliders were meant for aerial combat only."

"That settles it," said the Captain. "We must retreat. With the Valkyrie so empty, we can get all the crew aboard along with some amount of supplies and head toward France —"

"We cannot go to France, Captain," interjected Dr. Barlow. "We must press east, to Constantinople. We have lost too much time already, and we must use the Valkyrie's speed to catch up. The Fenrir class vessels can reach up to a hundred miles an hour with tailwind —"

"Doctor," Hemmingfeld said pointedly, "you have no authority to commission the Valkyrie. If your mission requires a transport, you will need to find one in France."

Dr. Barlow sighed. "Such arrogance. This is why I never much liked that Gordon man. Lieutenant, I may not have much say in the use of your ship's weapons, but unless you want to answer to a court martial for refusing assistance to a Vermillion Charter mission, I think it would be wise to take us east."

Hemmingfeld narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything in return.

"What is a vermillion charter?" Matt asked quietly.

"It's a fancy piece of paper that grants this mission more power than a normal mission," Kate answered. "Such as the use of any vessel in the Air Service, without exception, within reasonable bounds to the discretion of the mission leader. One of the signatories is the First Sea Lord, so it does apply to Polaris ships."

"The future of our mission and the Valkyrie aside," the Captain said, eyeing both Dr. Barlow and Hemmingfeld with weary disapproval, "We need to focus on how to survive now. As I was saying, we need to get off this glacier, and I do not see a way to do so with the Leviathan. As such, to prevent her falling into enemy hands, we will have no choice but to kill —"

"Wait!" said a shrill voice from the back of the room. "Wait! Sir! You can't! She's a living thing!"

And Dylan Sharp, tall and sandy-haired, pushed through the crowd to the table.

"Mr. Sharp?" the Captain said, shocked. "This is an officers only conference! Midshipmen are to be on patrol!"

"I know, sir, but the bosun, I mean, Mr. Rigby, was feelin' a lot better so I thought I'd take him here and I heard you — Please don't do it, sir!"

"You have no say in that," the Captain said, angrily. "Now get back to your quarters, and inform Mr. Rigby to double your duties and consider yourself disciplined!"

"Sir!" Dylan said, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. The boy's voice was high and trembling, having not yet deepened. "Please don't kill her. We have lots of bombs left, and fléchettes, and we've hardly lost any bats! We can still fight!"

"Silence! We cannot fly, and —"

"Sir!" said Matt, surprising himself and everyone around. "Sir, Dylan's right. We might stand a chance. How much armament does the Leviathan have left?"

"Mr. Cruse, you will leave the management of my ship to me if you please —"

"The Valkyrie can fly," said Matt. "Give us your bombs and your men, and we will fight for you."


Author's Notes:

H. H. Asquith was Prime Minister of the UK from 1908-16, created Earl in 1925. He was a brilliant administrator with a brilliant cabinet, but his term was in an era of rapid change, and the most socially and politically turbulent one in modern history — in fact, Britain had been on the brink of pseudo-civil-war before the start of the Great War. He's not remembered fondly for hesitant leadership during the war, especially in comparison to his successor David Lloyd-George.

Another note on historical accuracy: I've been reading up on WWI, and it struck me how utterly inaccurate they were portrayed in the Leviverse, especially the diplomacy of it all. Since this fanfic is based upon the diplomacy of the Leviverse, I think it's important to note that basically everything that the novels are based upon (Germany wanting war, Britain and Russia being forced to respond, etc.) is at best only partially true. The most succinct summary one can make of the situation is that initially only Austria, not Germany, wanted war, that Russia, eager to prove herself after losing to Japan years earlier, is as much a belligerent as either of those two nations, and Britain, beset by internal strife at the time, very much disliked being dragged into a Continental affair, but ultimately did so because of crude diplomacy on Germany's part. Wilhelm II (who is actually a friend of Franz-Ferdinand and one of the few people who actually liked the archduke) had deep personal doubts about the war, but in his attempt to appear as a Warrior-King to his people, and to quell the socialist movement in Germany with a national goal, went ahead anyway, and gave Austria the infamous "blank cheque". For anyone who's interested, Crash Course World History offers some pretty informative videos on the topic, and the book I'm reading, by historian Max Hastings, offers a very detailed and largely neutral account. Sorry for the long rant; I really like history!