Chapter 10, Part One

October 16th, 1946
President Truman had been busy for the past couple of months.

While the SGI continued their building efforts and their slow recruitment and acclimatization process with said recruits (though he heard some of the colored soldiers were being given a difficult time), he'd been busy meeting with the Admirals trying to hammer out an agreement. So far, that too had little success.

They'd managed to talk the Admirals down to a significant fleet reduction plan over the next several years, with many of the Essex carriers being mothballed and given small improvements. The fact they even agreed to bring the numbers down to the level Marshall and Truman wanted, was even more of a victory. But now the Navy was demanding newer responsibilities and agreements for the future before the committed to any action. Apparently ideas were being kicked around for a "super carrier" and King had been dropping hints that if Truman and the others backed the construction of a couple of the craft, they'd swing fully around. That however, was the last thing they needed, a white elephant project for the navy. While it was still hearsay, the proposal for the ship would place it at over eighty thousand tons full. It would be the largest, most expensive warship ever produced by the United States. Considering they were trying to save money, Truman couldn't see himself agreeing to such a plan. Though admittedly, if such a ship was being planned, it was still in the conceptualization phase, no plans or blueprints had been presented.

He sighed, this was frustrating as all hell, they needed to secure funds for the SGI, while avoiding a large disclosure to the Congress, the fewer people involved, the better. That was one thing he was thankful for, none of the admirals, or even Forrestal, had gone to a congressman or senator. At least their dislike for the other politicians was working in their favor at least for the moment. Sighing again, he wished Marshall were here instead of China, he had a way of getting things put into order.

Approaching a set of doors, he glanced down at the speech in his hand. It was simple, but effective, this would be his first time addressing the "United Nations", and he wanted to give them good news.

The monsters at Nuremberg had paid the ultimate price for their crimes today, he'd hoped that was good news enough.

December 31st, 1946

Pavel was lying on his back, the hard ground was rough on his flesh as he struggled to stand. The air was thick with an impermeable black haze, obscuring everything beyond several meters, a soot biting his eyes. As he sat up, he could hear a faint whine in the air, a noise that even as he plugged his ears for several seconds, he could not ignore. Every several seconds, a loud thump would faintly echo though the area. Reaching out, he felt a brick wall on both sides of himself, forming a narrow corridor.

Limping to his feet, he leaned against the wall, bracing himself slightly, before righting himself. Walking slowly, he moved forward, for what seemed like a small eternity. He seemed to be going nowhere, the passage advancing forever, yet he kept walking, now hearing faint voices in the distance. The strange whine became louder, with the thumps becoming more and clearer and now small, rapid sounding whumps.

Continuing forward, he finally saw a split in the path up ahead. A T-junction was forming. Pavel advanced as quickly as he could, wanting to finally get out of the claustrophobic passage. Walking closer and closer, he realized that it was opening up into a larger area. It wasn't a junction, but an entire new area. Stepping cautiously, he moved into the area, meanwhile the haze slowly began to lift. Stone bricks and concrete littered the ground, creating an uneven pathway. Small piles of wood and stone broke up the uneven ground further, as twisted pieces of metal completed the destructive mosaic. Moving towards the middle, he saw tall buildings with large holes, bricks running down the sides like rivulets of blood on a fresh wound. All the while the whine, thuds and whumps were becoming louder and louder.

Looking up, he stumbled over something and fell flat, curious as there had been nothing there previously. Rolling over, he looked at his feet and saw a large mass of grey. Poking it with his foot, the grey slowly became to move, contorting, and becoming a shape, a shape that slowly rose as it solidified. As it reached it's full size of something not even two meters tall it became a person, clad in a grey uniform. He stared at the figure, frozen.

The stranger slowly turned to Pavel, small tufts of sandy blond hair clinging to its head; the rest of the skull was dark black and crisscrossed with angry red streaks. As it completed its turn, Pavel realized that is was a boy, a boy with dull blue eyes that lazily looked at his surroundings. Blood rolled down his forehead and collected on the front of his uniform. After he scanned the horizon several times, he looked down as Pavel, his dull eyes piercing him. Snapping too, he attempted to back away, getting only several paces back, before he found his back to a wall that materialized out of the din. The boy still stared at him, and slouched forward, dragging his feet as he moved closer. The whine became ever louder, becoming more of a piercing scream.

The boy stood over Pavel, who now struggled to move. He just stared, tilting its head to the side, the blood now trickling down onto his pants. The whine was now unbearable as it pierced his ears and tickled the base of his skull. The whumps became even faster, even louder until finally a loud explosion drowened out the other noises an washed over Pavel.
The dull haze that had remained behind the boy quickly began to clear, as several large balls of fire began to shoot across the sky, falling towards the two. Pavel screamed…

Awakening in a cold sweat, Pavel shot up. Breathing quickly, he took stock of his surroundings. He was on a small lumpy couch, in the tenement he'd called home for the past three years. Several small bare light bulbs kept the room illuminated. A small table held a half empty glass next to his couch, while a coat rack held a single dress coat that went with a uniform.
Slowing his breathing, he stared out into space for several moments and collected his thoughts. It had been his ritual for three years now, and it worked best. Swinging his legs to the side, he sat back on his couch and massaged his temples. After soaking in the silence for several minutes, he took the half empty glass and emptied its remaining content, the liquid burning his mouth and throat as he swallowed it with a grunt. Quickly shaking his head, he looked up at the clock on his wall. Eight twenty three, that would mean Boris would…

A loud knock on the door woke Pavel up entirely.

"Comrade! Are you there? We've got to go, the banquet is starting soon!"

"Coming!" he grunted as he fumbled along the floor of the couch. After a couple of moments he found the hilt of his walking stick. Standing had never an issue; it was always moving that was the tough part. He grunted as he felt an intense pain in his right leg as he accidentally shifted on his right leg as he adjusted his cane. In that he was slightly thankful that his job was primarily a desk job, one he didn't have to move around much to do, though it made going to the gym a pain, Those dammed isometric exercises took so much longer to do than the old ones he did in basic training.

Grabbing the jacket, he flung it over his shoulders, the medals on the front juggled slightly as he moved. Standing in front of a small mirror by the door, he examined his suit, looking for defects as buttoned the top button. Standing straight, he massaged out a crease before taking a deep breath. Opening the door, he saw Boris, dressed similarly, a military dress uniform, and several medals arraigned lovingly across his breast.

"Ah, good you're awake! Let's head on out, I want to get there before all the good booze is taken!"

Nodding, he closed the door behind him and followed Boris. After a couple of minutes they left the building and got into Boris's car. Driving down the roads in Moscow, Pavel tuned Boris out as he droned on about the night's festivities.

"…New year's is always a golden opportunity my friend, so many people, maybe we'll find you a nice girl, eh comrade, get you to finally have a smile on your sour face."

"I'm married." Pavel said, instinctively clutching the two small rings he kept around his neck on bare chain.

"Well you could have fooled me comrade, I never see you with anyone, and we've known each other for three years! Where is this mystery wife and why haven't I met her?"

"She's away." he replied stiffly, staring ahead.

"Really? Where?"

"Crimea."

"No way! I know someone in Sevastopol…" Boris mentioned for a half second before pausing. Pavel could have sworn he saw a small frown Boris's before he took a swig from his flask and returned to his stupid grin. "Ah…well anyways, you should introduce us sometime! I promise I'll try not to get her to break your heart" he said playfully elbowing Pavel in the ribs. He responded by looking out the window.

It was going to be a long night…

That fear was quickly proven true as he spent a good portion of the evening making sure Boris didn't make an ass out of himself at the banquet. He had to pull him away from no less than three officials' wives, two daughters, one girlfriend (and awkwardly) one ex-girlfriend who happened to be up several more levels compared to Boris. Luckily now, he was sitting in a chair, slowly sobering up. It was still twenty minutes to midnight.

Glancing around the room, he saw dozens of people slowly making their way around, dancing occasionally, talking, socializing, and even slipping away. Apart from Boris, it was actually a pleasant engagement, though Pavel had little time to enjoy it. Still, since he didn't have to listen to Boris's babbling, it was a small blessing. That was until Boris turned his head and his eyes widened. Snapping to attention Boris sat up straight and stared behind Pavel.

Sipping his cocktail, he felt a tap on his should, turning, he saw two men; Sub-Director Vladimir Romanov, and…

"Ah! Agent Borodin! It's a pleasure to see here, nice to get out of the office every once and a while." The director said as Pavel nodded along. He had a decent rapport with the sub-director, he'd helped him with a cryptographically challenging problem in the last parts of '44 and as thanks, been assigned to his current post. According to the bureaucratic spider web of posts and positions, he'd moved up three ranks with the new posting, but somehow ended up having to share an office.

"Anyways! I hear you're working on a project, something to do with the Americans?"

"Yes, we're trying to decipher the meaning behind a program they initiated a year or so ago. Apart from a name, and a very small money trail, we've had no luck so far. Although there does appear to be some cooperation with the British going on, which we can't at this point positively link with the project we're trying to crack."

"They're keeping it fairly quiet, we're hoping it's something fairly big, maybe like their atomic bomb." Boris chimed in, sounding as though he'd instantly sobered up.

Romanov's eyes narrowed and looked behind Pavel. "Agent Krylov, why am I not surprised to see you on your ass? Stand up!" he ordered. Boris quickly shot up, and then stumbled slightly. Shaking his head, Romanov continued, "Go, go get me a drink Krylov, that's something you can do. Get one too for my friend here." He said gesturing to the man beside him as Boris scrambled away. "Where are my manners? Pavel, this is Mikhail Sedlak, he's a friend of mine from GRU, and he's working with me on a joint assignment."

Sedlak extended a hand, which Pavel reluctantly shook after shifting his drink to the table and moving his cane to his other hand. He frowned slightly as he stepped back, just as Boris came back with a pair of beverages, giving them to the two men.

"Borodin…Borodin. Ah I remember, didn't we meet a couple years ago?" He asked, though his tone indicated this was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes…We did. At the National Hospital."

"Ah, I remember…terrible business that was."

"It was…"

The two men stood for a couple seconds, Pavel would have shuffled his feet had his cane not prevented that.

"Anyways, I actually was hoping to speak with you. Sub-Director Romanov speaks very highly of you, and we've seen some of your work in analysis. Our department is currently expanding, and I'm looking for some qualified people to fill ranks. You'd be doing good work there, and Director Romanov has already said he'd approve the transfer." he mentioned gesturing to Romanov, who raised a glass.

"It's a good opportunity agent, you'd get out of that dingy office and away from…that." he motioned to Boris, who looked down.

Pavel didn't need time to think, he knew his answer.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'll have to pass. I'm satisfied where I am right now"

"Ah….well a pity. My offer is always open Pavel, I hope you'll reconsider."

The group stood around and made small talk for a bit longer, well mostly it was Pavel and the two higher-ranking men; Boris was relegated to sitting on the chair for a bit before another glare from the director sent him scrambling.

Several more minutes passed. Hearing commotion in the center, the small group turned to see everyone was counting down. Twenty seconds until it would be 1947. Taking a long draught from his glass, Pavel thought; it'd be a new year, new opportunities, and maybe, just maybe they'd get some clues about that damned American program.

Ten seconds.

Holding his hand to his neck, he felt the rings around his neck. Three years now, he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it.

Five: Maybe he should get a pet.

Four: A good loyal dog, that'd be nice.

Three: He though about getting a cat maybe.

Two: Cats didn't need too much.

One. "Ah, too much effort." He thought, banishing his pet related thoughts.

Raucous cheering erupted from the center, men raised their glasses in a toast to the new year. Couples embraced each other. Pavel saw Boris and a woman smashing their faces together.

Grunting, Pavel drained the contents of his drink as he stood alone.

January 1st, 1947

The ride back had been hectic, as inebriated people we slowly being dropped off at their apartments and tenements. Soon it was just Pavel and Boris in the car, who was quietly slumped against the seat: their driver grumpily looking ahead, wanting to get his night over with. Pavel was enjoying the silence. Soon they were at his place. Opening the door he heard a snort as Boris woke up.

"Uh..You leaving my friend?"

"Yes Boris, I'm going to sleep. Good night." Pavel said in a slow tone, he'd found that was best way to get information to Boris whenever he'd have too much to drink.

"Mmkay…Hey Pavel? Why'd you stay? I know you don't like working with me. What's keeping you here? GRU agents do fairly well for themselves, from what I hear."

"Believe me Boris, its no picnic, but I'd rather work with you than with than with Sedlak. God… I'd rather lose my good leg rather than work with that man."

"Why? Sedlak seems like an alright guy. "

"I don't know Boris!" Pavel snapped "Why don't you tell me why the Director hates you?"

Boris's eyes sharpened at that question, he never talked about the sub-director and Pavel knew it.

"No reason at all" he said mumbling a line he rehearsed a thousand times before, "Maybe I need to work harder?"

"Right, sure. Good night, Boris." Pavel responded with an air of finality as he stepped out of the car. Ascending the stairs as quickly as he could, he reached his apartment and quickly walked in. Striping off his jacket, he slung it over his shoulder as he walked into the restroom and splashed some water on his face. Bracing himself against the sink with his arms, he stared into the mirror, looking at his now dripping face. Staring, he clenched his hands against the cool metal sides of the sink as he thought of Sedlak and his offer, he breathing increasing rapidly as he felt his bottled anger boil.

"Fucker." He started to mutter, with a slowly rising voice "That fucker, thinks a goddamn JOB offer will fix shit. Fuck him…Gah!...Fuck! Should have decked him." he swore as he grabbed a bare bar of soap "Shouldn't have given a shit that Romanov was there!" He finished as he hurled the soap out of the bathroom and head a loud thud as it slammed against the wall on the far side of the hallway. Giving a loud groan, he slumped against the side of his tub and sank to the floor, balling his fists.

Sitting for what felt like a small eternity, with nothing but his thoughts, Pavel absentmindedly reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver flask. Shaking it, he was pleased to hear most of its contents were there. Grunting, he opened the top and took a long draught.

Twenty minutes later, he was sprawled out, asleep on the bathroom floor. His empty flask resting next to his coat, practically touching the small string of medals. A gold star hazily reflected off the fogged metal of the flask.

February 20th, 1947

Dr. Werner Von Braun watched with baited breath as the rocket's final assembly was placed on the launch pad. He was still amazed, just two years ago he'd been coordinating with the members of his research and engineering staff about how they were going to try and cross the Fatherland to try and surrender to the Americans. Now here he was working on rockets for them. While the facility they had to live on was relatively nice, they all were still under virtual house arrest, although from what he had heard about what had happened to those who surrendered to the Soviets, he'd gladly take the house arrest.
The men on the launch pad quickly finished their work and moved back to their jeeps. Scrambling away, the vehicles drove out of the blast range. A loud countdown soon began, echoing across the empty desert.

Five…Four…Three…Two…One!

A fiery red blast extended out from beneath the rocket as it shot upwards, slightly arching to the south. As it rose, a long contrail of smoke extended out of the back as it soon disappeared over the horizon. A small radio control unit kept track of the progress of the rocket, which would hopefully soon deliver its cargo of fruit flies into the upper atmosphere. They'd been launching various sounding rockets the past couple of months; hopefully the calibrations from those would enable this one to reach its goal.

Several minutes passed as everyone gathered around the monitoring equipment, loud beeping and low murmuring echoed over the small room. Finally technician removed his head set and look at Werner with a smile.

"Launch was a success doctor; the payload reached its destination height."

A loud cheer echoed across the observation bunker. Another successful launch, they'd continue to work with the V-2 modified sounding rockets for a while longer, but soon the new Hermes project would start their launches.

Cheerfully, he walked out of the bunker and looked over the launch site. A few jeeps were milling around still, as well as a couple of black cars. He assumed they belonged to several of the civilian handlers assigned to the base. The FBI liked to keep close tabs on his people. He saw one figure, a man in a black suit, and matching sunglasses and fedora scribble some notes on a piece of paper before getting into a car and driving off.

Shrugging, the doctor went back to the bunker, they still had a lot of work to do…

Driving off the White Sands Base, Samuel Marcus was pleased with what he'd seen. Apparently that rocket Nazi and his gang knew their stuff. He'd observed the past three launches and noted their success.

He still wasn't sure why Army Intelligence had assigned him this task, all he knew was that a high ranking colonel from the Signal Corps had approached him and his boss several months prior and had given him the task of scouting out some of the biggest science projects and assemblies of eggheads to get an inventory and sense of progress on the latest achievements the nation was trying to accomplish. White Sands was his latest stop and he noticed that the further west he'd gone, the more promising the studies had been.

"Much better than those studies they're doing on those Negros in Tuskegee." he thought with a shudder. No one deserved the siff.

Still, between the rockets and some of the newer radar testing facilities he'd seen, the results were looking promising. His next stop was China Lake and the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. This assignment had definitely been a lot more fun then he'd previously thought, and his supervisor kept hinting he might get a new assignment to an interesting location if he performed well enough…

February 3rd, 1947

Don was going through the mess hall getting his lunch for the day. Things had been quiet at Camp Roosevelt for a while. Funding was still trickling in, so the expansion was slow going, though they'd now started to bring in the exploratory drills that would find some of the deeper pockets of natural gas.

They hadn't had any new faces come through for a while, with the stalled out talks, the Chiefs had been reluctant to send more men to the base, and the Brits were dealing with India and some of their other colonies and so wanted as many hands on deck as possible until the hand off later that year. Heliopolis had been making slow, but steady progress. They'd cleared out all of the rubble a while ago and were now going over the entire castle with a fine tooth comb. It turned out there were a lot of hidden nooks and crannies in the place. They'd already uncovered several well hidden rooms, and now they were searching high and low trying to find any cupboards or doors that had been missed on the initial sweeps.

Grabbing his now loaded lunch tray, he began to walk to his usual seat in the hall, they still hadn't put in an officers mess and given the budget, he wouldn't feel right if they had. However, as he neared his usual table, he looked to his right; he saw Sergeant Shepard and his crew sitting at one of the end tables, murmuring amoung themselves. No one else sat with them, despite the crowded conditions of the mess. He shook his head slightly, they'd been at the base for several months now, and apart from a couple nasty incidents with the men's lockers being ransacked and some unflattering messages painted in oil on their sheets, things hadn't been as bad as he'd predicted, but there still was an air of tension on the base.
Resolved, he stepped past his usual table and approached the men, who looked up and began to snap up and salute.

"I'm not here on any formality, I'm just looking for a place to sit men, as you were." he said as he set hit tray down and sat with the tankers. In the back he heard the previously rancorous talk and laughter turn to low murmuring. He could feel sets of eyes burrow into his back. Ignoring it as best as he could, he started munching on some mashed potatoes and looked to the crew.

"So, where are you all from" he asked, trying to break the ice.

"We're from all parts of the South, sir." Shepard responded, taking a swig of water from a canteen and gesturing to his men: "Morehouse here, is from Jacksonville, star QB for his high school team. Monroe is from Macon, though he's more at home in the backwoods. Then you have Pete, he's from Nashville." He finished as he set down the canteen.

"And how about you?"

"Galveston."

"Oh, no way. You're a Texas boy, too?" Don asked perking up.

"Yes sir, born and raised, I never got the proper accent though, the priests and nuns were very particular about how we spoke at school."

"Priests and nuns?"

"Yeah, my father made some money running booze to the island during Prohibition, and was smart enough to know when to get out. He invested in a couple of small businesses and opened a store. The first thing he did was set aside enough money to send my sisters and I to school…He was a tad peeved when he found out I enlisted."

"Oh?"

"I was going to Hampton University when the war broke out, the day after the Japs attacked, I went down to the nearest office and enlisted. You have to understand, my father is a patriot, like anyone else, it was just that he didn't like the idea that I was, and I'm quoting the man, 'tossing away my education to go follow the Army and peel potatoes.'"

"Ooo, ouch." Hammond said as he let his fork sink into his mash.

"Yeah, I was fortunate, I managed to get to basic fairly quickly. Once I was nearly finished, some higher up came by; they were looking for Negro men with higher education experience to fill some of the NCO slots for experimental combat units. I volunteered without a second thought. Sent a picture to my father with my tank and crew a while later. My mother says he keeps it on the mantle." He said cracking a smile.

Taking a knife and cutting the mystery meat on his tray, Hammond continued, his eyes down. "So how'd you all end up here on an alien world? I remember Truman mentioned he wanted to get a unit here experimentally, but I didn't ask how they went about it."

"Ah, well, we got back stateside and were assigned back to Fort Hood. With the demobilizations, our unit was slated to be decommissioned. Towards the end of the year, we were visited by a couple of officers, they wanted to ask us some questions. Now I knew we hadn't ruffled any feathers, but we were still nervous. They split us up and interviewed us for a couple hours, then said they'd be in touch. We didn't hear back for a couple weeks, but then we were told to see our colonel." He stopped briefly to scoop up some peas; holding them in a spoon, he continued, "We were in his office when he handed us all folders, he explained that the interviews had been a part of a process, the military was screening for tank crews to join a new, classified program, and, more importantly, they were looking for a colored crew. We'd be away from home, with no guarantee of safety, but we'd be doing a service for our nation. Apparently four other crews had turned down the offer before us, and it was already a fairly short list." He said eating the peas, one of the crew, Morehouse, stepped in, counting off on his fingers.

"Let's see, they wanted a crew that: had demonstrated competence under fire, had secured at least two vehicle kills, had been active in Europe since at least nineteen forty four, had at least one member who had secured a medal, and finally, no one could have any ties to any criminal or disruptive activity." he finished with a heavy emphasis on the last two words.

"'Disruptive activity?'" Hammond asked raising an eyebrow.

"It means none of us can have known anyone trying to get more rights for our people back home ... sir." Pete chimed in, hastily adding the last part.

Chewing his food, Don swallowed and looked at the group. Grimacing, he continued "So why'd you all accept?"

"Well, it wasn't easy, let me say. Look at it from our perspective, the military wants you for an ultra-classified group that doesn't officially exist, no promises of survival and we'd be buried under layers and layers of security. Honestly, a lot of us though the Army was going to try and use us as guinea pigs or send us on a suicide mission."

"So what changed your mind?"

"Call it a hunch, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it didn't make sense for the Army to want to do that for a tank crew, if they wanted lab rats or sacrificial lambs they'd be using infantry, not tanks and if for some reason they wanted a crew to do that, they'd probably use one of the more expendable, inexperienced crews. I talked it over with the boys, and after a few days, we agreed. Next thing we knew we were on a train to New York, filling out binders of paperwork."

"So what have you thought so far?"

Grinning, Shepard took a drink of coffee "So far? Its been worth it."

March 1st, 1947

The gate was active and the men were milling around the gate room. Today was the first day of the expedition to newly designated ES-4, another new site they'd discovered by cold dialing (it had been decided that, with the exception of ES-2, non-cartouche worlds discovered by cold dialing would be preferentially designated with lower numbers, pushing the cartouche worlds back by one for each world cold-dialed. The forested ES-4 was now designated ES-5, an so one up the chain.) Simmons (much to his annoyance), had gone through and confirmed the world was safe, though given that the area was a huge desert, it was quite hot.

Simmons was busy removing the heavy diving gear, dripping buckets of sweat as he chugged water from a canteen. In the gate room, several Bren carriers and a couple trucks were assembling. This mission would be in the hands of the Brits; it had turned out most of the soldiers that had come over had served in North Africa. Hammond decided that they should lead off on the initial surveys before a larger group would come through.

Don walked over to the British liaison, Lieutenant Powell. Like the rest of the soldiers, he was decked out in a khaki battle dress. Don nodded. "Are your men ready?"

Slinging a Lee Enfield over his shoulder, Powell smiled "Yes! We've been tinkering with the Brens, mostly reinforcing their radiators, and we've made sure to grab lots of jerry cans of water and petrol."

"Think you'll find anything?"

"Who knows? When I was in Tunisia I saw strange things that lived in lands that seemed inhospitable, beforehand, I was in the Transjordan and saw even stranger things. One might think the desert has nothing, but really, it's a matter of careful observation.

Hoping into one of squat vehicles, Powll shouted "Alright boys! Lets get to it!"

March 7th, 1947

The gate roared to life as the British expedition arrived back home right on schedule; the Brens rolled through first, their metal sides seemed scoured from sandblasts and the beds had a small layer of sand on the bottom. The men seemed in high spites though, laughing and joking. It seemed like their time in the desert hadn't made them worse for wear.

The trucks came through next, the first one was normal, minus the sand blasting, then the second one came through.
Strapped to the hood was the strangest creature Don had ever seen. It was roughly the same size as a horse, and covered with a thick layer of short curled brown hair. Four long lanky legs connected to a set of hooves that were flat and widely spread, creating an almost webbed look. Its torso was a crude oval shape. The back was flat, but its sides extended outwards in two large bulges. The head looked like a mix of a camel and an ant eater, a strange proboscis-like snout was in place of a mouth. The right side of its head was covered in red, with a large circular hole caked in blood.

Leaning out of the truck, Powell grinned smugly.

"I told you, all a matter of careful observation!"

March 12th, 1947

The soldiers were milling around the gate room once more. They'd spent another couple days surveying ES-4, and so far, came up blank. Hope for petroleum deposits or other valuable minerals had been dashed as results so far turned up negative. They brought through a couple scout planes but they hadn't seen anything apart from the desert, though if some Earth deserts were anything to go by, they might just be stuck in the middle of a very inhospitable part of a planet. This would be Don's third time going back, and they still had another three weeks of surveys planned before they'd move onto ES-5.

They had delayed the departure for a few minutes though. The gate was open from Earth, a new supply shipment had been sent through, and a radio broadcast was being piped into the area.

"The very existence of the Greek state is today threatened by the terrorist activities of several thousand armed men, led by Communists, who defy the government's authority at a number of points, particularly along the northern boundaries." The voice of Truman echoed through the bases loud speaker: Apparently the Doctor had heard that the president was giving a speech to Congress and decided to relay the broadcast to Camp Roosevelt.

"No government is perfect. One of the chief virtues of a democracy, however, is that its defects are always visible and under democratic processes can be pointed out and corrected. The Government of Greece is not perfect. Nevertheless it represents eighty-five per cent of the members of the Greek Parliament who were chosen in an election last year…"

Ernest listen to the broadcast in the base in New York, they kept the gate open to Camp Roosevelt to let them listen to it as well. The past few months had left Ernest with little time to be kept abreast of world events, but it seemed like things were starting to drum up once more.

He hoped that this new course of events wouldn't affect the program.

"One of the primary objectives of the foreign policy of the United States is the creation of conditions in which we and other nations will be able to work out a way of life free from coercion. This was a fundamental issue in the war with Germany and Japan. Our victory was won over countries which sought to impose their will, and their way of life, upon other nations…"

Attlee and his fellow minsters were listening with rapt attention to Truman's speech. Given the precarious state of the Isle's finances recently, combine with the chaos of the shift in India, they sadly hadn't had the resources to help the Greeks or the Turks like they had in the past. They'd done their best after the war, but sadly its hadn't been much.

Hopefully the Yanks could pull through.

"Should we fail to aid Greece and Turkey in this fateful hour, the effect will be far reaching to the West as well as to the East. We must take immediate and resolute action. I therefore ask the Congress to provide authority for assistance to Greece and Turkey in the amount of $400,000,000 for the period ending June 30, 1948. In requesting these funds, I have taken into consideration the maximum amount of relief assistance which would be furnished to Greece out of the $350,000,000 which I recently requested that the Congress authorize for the prevention of starvation and suffering in countries devastated by the war."

Pavel and Boris sat around the radio, rapidly scribbling notes as the American president spoke. They were one of several sets of analysts trying to divine what the President was trying to do. They were fortunate in that regard, neither of the two had the best grasp on the English language. The fact they had to wake up at an ungodly hour to listen in didn't help much either.

"Well it looks like the Americans don't like the common people trying to rise up, eh comrade?" Boris asked sarcastically
Rolling his eyes, Pavel looked down at his notes and said in a flat tone "Damn capitalists trying to interfere. We good Communists though, we're just giving the people moral support."

The two laughed as the American finished the speech.

"The seeds of totalitarian regimes are nurtured by misery and want. They spread and grow in the evil soil of poverty and strife. They reach their full growth when the hope of a people for a better life has died. We must keep that hope alive.

"The free peoples of the world look to us for support in maintaining their freedoms.

"If we falter in our leadership, we may endanger the peace of the world - and we shall surely endanger the welfare of our own nation.

Great responsibilities have been placed upon us by the swift movement of events…"