Ravens

by Ed Stalker

Excerpt from the Paratemporal Traveler's Handbook:

POD (Point of Departure) - term used when comparing two or more timelines. Literally, there can be millions of PODs when comparing two timelines, but the term is usually used to indicate a major and significant event occurring in one timeline, but not in another. For example, the LKM timelines differ from the CVL timelines in that the Caucasian migrations of 15-10,000 BC went eastward onto landmass 2, instead of heading west on the major landmass.

CROSSOVER - term applied to unintentional transfer of material from one timeline to another. The most common occurrence of this results from the detonation of thermonuclear devices. Primary transfers can result in spectacular, inexplicable disasters on nearby timelines. For example, the destruction of the Bolshy Mir power station on timeline CVL 1044 resulted in the Tanguska blast on CVL 1047-1053. Most often, the transfers are unnoticed, or are regarded as a supernatural event. The Cimmerian Wars on timelines CVL 1030-1040 resulted in the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah on timelines CVL 1046-1054 - an event that figured prominently in the Judaic history of those lines. More rarely, people and or material are transferred between unrelated timelines. For example, a nuclear war on CVL-1049 caused the transfer of people and material from timeline CVL 1052 to CVL 1070.....

******************

The war had been brewing since the end of W.W.II. For almost 65 years, America and the Soviet Union had jockeyed for global dominance in a barely suppressed frenzy. The Cold War had almost boiled over many times, but the war had always been avoided at the last second.

What provided the final spark? Anyone that knew, died quickly.

Within minutes, the war raged from the low orbital Battlestars dueling with bomb pumped lasers to the depths of the sea, where Fleet Ballistic Missile submarines played a lethal dance with the attack submarines.

At Launch Site NF-5, the Patriot IVs leapt from their bunkers to engage the mid trajectory inbound, while Sprint IXs ripple fired at descent phase warheads. Soviet mass production won out, and two warheads got through the missile screen.

One "squibbed" without detonating.

The other, a 40 Megaton "city buster", suffered a partial failure. Rather than exploding at an altitude of 500 meters, as programmed, it detonated when it hit the ground, dead center in the middle of Launch Site NF-5.

Strange things happen at the heart of a thermonuclear fireball.

In this case, the puddle of radioactive slag that remained of NF-5 was displaced 10,000 years in time and a few thousand miles east, onto an alternate timeline. A few thousand years later, the natives mined the brown obsidian and made glass knives and trinkets from the radioactive glass. They never associated the skin rashes and illnesses with the trinkets. By the time their descendents could measure radiation levels, the deposit was all but mined out.

In all, six transfers occurred before the quantum energy died too low. In most cases, a farmer's field or meadow replaced another field or meadow. In one, a 500-meter diameter mass of ice from a glacier dropped into what might have been called the Atlantic Ocean. In most cases, nothing sentient ever noticed the changes. The displacement in time and space varied randomly.

Only one change occurred between two populated timelines. In one, it caused a minor mystery, which would confuse and mystify scientists for hundreds of years. Eventually, it was forgotten. By the time the human race had the knowledge to understand what had happened, there was no connection to a minor incident on the home planet, millennia earlier.

It forever marked the history of the other timeline...

***********

Timeline 1070 July 28, 1964, 0430 GMT Castle Raven, Scotland

"Happy Birthday, Chairman Raven, Happy Birthday to you."

The song was innocent enough, but the throaty tones and sultry voice of the chesty blonde singer was enough to set off the hormones of any male past puberty.

There was a thunderous applause in the Great Hall as Chairman Michael Raven blew out the candles on his cake. He felt pride that he still did it in one breath.

Mike took up the microphone and inhaled noisily. "Thank you, Norma." he said.

Norma Jean Kennedy, wife of the current Chairman of the Alliance. smiled and kissed him.

He grinned and kissed her right back. It might be his hundredth birthday, but damned if he'd give up this opportunity.

They held the kiss long enough for every newsie in the hall to get plenty of footage.

"Hoo-eee!" Mike exclaimed as they ended the kiss. "If my old ticker can stand that, there might be a few years left in this old geezer yet." The Hall erupted in laughter that echoed throughout the Solar System.

Chairman Jack Kennedy was grinning widely for the cameras, but he muttered to Vice Chairman Khrushchev, "If it was anybody else but the Old Man, I'd be getting angry right now...and darned if I'm not anyway."

Nikita placed his hand gently on the arm of his friend. " Ivan Iosefivitch, he is an old man, and thus can be indulged at little worry."

Mike stepped to the podium, took a drag on his trademark Havana cigar, and peered at the audience over his glasses.

The world saw a familiar face, a face that hung in homes and offices around the planet and aboard ships and habitats from Mercury to Saturn and beyond.

"Guess those critics that called me a pompous windbag are still right. I've still got enough wind left to put out the candles. And when there are a hundred candles on the cake, that's saying something.

"I'm glad you came to help me celebrate tonight. They tell me this is going out on broadcast all over the planet and throughout the system." he laughed. "I'm glad to be here - but on the other hand, at my age, I'm glad to be anywhere." Again, the audience laughed at an old joke that was still funny.

Mike smiled. " Folks, it's been a hell of a century for me, just as it has been for you. In a way, I've come full circle, because this is also, in one way, my BirthDay. In another timeline, mind you, but I was born on July 27, 1964...into a much darker and dangerous world than the one we live in here-and-now." He tipped the ash off his cigar. "So as I start on my second century, I'm not going to waste my time on a long and windy speech. Tonight, it's time to party. Time to Rock and Roll!"

He waved his arm, and on cue, a spotlight lit up a small stage, where a group of relatively unknown young British musicians blinked and then stepped into their music.

"Gaah" said Nikita. "I do not understand what the Old Man sees in these Nykulturny children. What kind of name is "Beatles", anyway?"

JFK smiled a genuine smile now, and tapped his foot under the table. "I don't know, Nikita. It is loud, but it has a good beat and you can dance to it. Speaking of which..," his words were cut off as Norma stepped in, grabbed her husband's arm and they stepped out on the dance floor.

***********

Raven Systems Inc Corporate Headquarters, Cambria, New York, Thursday, May 5, 2005 1245 EDST.

"Mr. McRaven, I am faced with an essential quandary here" said Sarah Jones, the host of *Start-up Magazine* "I cannot decide if you have an extremely opulent, high-tech, strange home that just happens to double as your corporate HQ, or if you have an efficiency apartment in your corporate headquarters."

"Well, you aren't the first to hit that question." Steve chuckled. "RSI specializes in confusing people who try to describe us, or our operations."

"I mean, it definitely qualifies as an extreme home - how many other people live in a converted SAM launch site?"

"Well, the price was right, and it already had a lot of the features I was looking for." replied Steve

"I don't know if having your corporate officers live in the renovated housing units was enlightened corporate benefits, or if it smacks of neo-plantation thinking." added her co-host.

Steve frowned. "I've had that neo-plantation charge leveled at us, and I really don't appreciate it. In particular, my Vehicle Operations Chief, Will Wilson, gets real irate when he hears that. I'd really suggest you don't say that where he can hear you." he chuckled. "Will and Lisa like their house, and like their jobs. However, they are proud of their African-American Heritage. Anybody tries to paint Will with an "Uncle Tom" label had better either be a good runner, or awfully big."

"Your relationship with your employees is extremely unusual. It seems more like an extended family or a commune than a high-tech, special security projects business." Sarah tapped the company brochure "The phenomenal success of RSI is astounding, even in a day of instant Internet millionaires."

"Well, for the most part, we've been friends for many years, although not as a group. In addition, many of us played Role-Playing Games, RPGs, for years. The real strength of RSI is that we can think *out of the box* when needed. We generally go for the objective, and don't worry about the traditional ways of getting there, if there's something else that meets the criteria." Steve laughed, "We have a lot of expertise in all sorts of weird things..."

*/*

RSI Headquarters Building 5: Thursday, May 5, 2005, 1720 EDST

Bob called out to the burly figure entering the warehouse " Mike! What's this shipment coming tonight?"

"Umm, Grey ops stuff." Mongo temporized. "It's for Executive Outcomes." "You know that Zaire project we were considering? Well, I got some 'special' equipment, and Beta-test equipment coming in."

Bob said "Well, who's gonna unload it? You told me to let all the guys go early today..."

Mongo, Smiling, and crackin

g knuckles "Well, I believe this equipment would be better off just inner circle..."

Bob, reached for his cell phone:" I better tell Beth I'm not gonna be home for dinner tonight..."

Mongo said" No go ahead, we can handle it."

"NO!" Bob exclaimed, "Last time I let you unload with out me, you broke the fork truck, and messed up my inventory database."

Mongo, laughing" I swear, that support was not there when I turned around the first time!"

Mongo thought a second ' Bob, why don't you have Beth bring the kids over? Steve's got some good news tonight. We sold some big contracts today. Besides, he turned the new solar heaters on, and the pool is 75 degrees already. Lisa and the kids got in this morning, and Kevin and Nikki are visiting Steve - he should be picking them up at the airport right now. I'll spring for wings and pizza."

Bob laughed" OK, pool party time, but remember that tomorrow is a school day, we gotta be out of here by 930 or the kids will be bears in the morning."

Mike chuckled, "Aw, c'mon, you guys can bunk in the guest house and I'll drive them to school myself in the morning."

Bob made a face - "OK, but you gotta take them in a normal vehicle this time."

"C'mon, Bob, the LAV is certified roadworthy, I got a license and registration for it and everything. And Robby and Jeff loved it, even Gabrielle thought it was pretty cool."

"Good Lord, Mike, you scared the heck out of the nuns at Good Shepherd. Mother Superior is still on my case about having my kids come to school in an armored car!"

"Sheesh, Bob, where's your sense of humor? And besides, you gotta admit, even New York drivers don't mess with a guy driving an armored personnel carrier...at least when they don't know the 20 mm isn't loaded..."

*********

Episode under construction:

from CVL1052 Thursday, 5 May, 2005, 2142 EDST to CVL1070 Saturday, May 6 1899, 0432 GMT

************

Timeline CVL-1070 London, UK Saturday May 6 1899, 1230 GMT

(Set the scene) Initial Recon team is checking out the area, finds tripod picking up humans, flaming British Soldiers with laser.

***************

"Monk!" barked Mike.

"Yo!" replied Nathan.

"Take out the laser!"

"Yo, Bro" replied Nathan, as he put a steel-jacketed 30-06 round through the tube.

*Smash-tinkle-crash*

"Good one, Poombah." commented Mongo.

The laser beam died.

The Martian Tripod straightened up. The corpulent screaming man was placed in the basket behind the control cab. The top swiveled toward the RSI team, and the two tentacles waved above the tripod menacingly. It took a ponderous step in their direction.

Mike assessed the situation coolly. "Bobby! See if that portable cannon of your will lock up the leg joints."

"You go it, Cuz.," laughed Bob. He unlocked the bipod of the Barret and set it on the wall. The tripod took another step.

*BOOM*

A .50 cal steel jacket slug locked up a leg joint. Bobby worked the bolt and sent another slug downrange.

*BOOM*

A second leg joint locked up. The tripod swayed and whirred, but it was immobilized. A rotating beacon on the roof of the cab lit up, and "ULLLA" began coming from the cab.

"Can I use the special loads, Mongo?"

"Sure Bob, looks like a good time to field test them." Replied Mike.

Bobby reached into his vest and pulled out a plastic case. He took out a round and loaded it to the big rifle.

"What are those, Mike?" asked Nate conversationally.

"Something Dad and I worked out last week for the Zaire contract. Sort of half-ass answers to those crazy armored pickups the terrs are using."

This time, when the Barret spoke, the bark was a lot deeper, and the bipod of the heavy rifle bounced off the wall. Bobby staggered.

The effect on the tripod was even more striking. The cowling window in the control cab was spalled and streaked with lead from the bullets the English soldiers had fired. The Tripod had shrugged off their weapons with impunity.

The kinematics of .303 slugs propelled by first-generation cordite, and a .50 cal slug propelled by an overcharge of Hercules powder are quite different.

This time, the window cracked wide, throwing shards in all directions. Then, a gout of flame exploded out of the cab.

"I'm afraid", observed Nathan, "to ask what the HELL that was..."

Bobby smiled. "That, Monk my good friend, is what happens when you take a steel jacketed .50 cal hollow point and inject Semtex."

Mongo observed the situation. The redcoats were sorting themselves out, pulling passengers from the overturned wagons and carriages, and tending to their wounded. There were many glances at the RSI patrol, but mostly, they were concentrating on the job at hand.

An English officer rode up on a white horse. "Major David Ferguson, Coldstream Guards. I appreciate the help, gentlemen, but who the bloody hell are you, and what the hell did you use on that Tripod?"

"Mike McRaven, Operations Chief, RSI Security. Major, this is going to be very hard for you to believe, but I have no idea of where we are, or what the hell is going on. Am I correct in assuming we're in England, and the date is something like the late 1890s."

The Coldstream officer blinked, but the legend of the unflappable British officer held him. "It's May 5th, 1899, and we're on the Portsmouth Road."

He smiled. "And I should have known, if somebody's got some magic guns, it'd be a bunch of bloody lost Yanks."

There was some shouting as troops gathered at the base of the Tripod.

"Gentlemen, my nation owes you great thanks, but first things first. Might I ask you to stay here whilst we get the Prince of Wales out of that infernal basket?"

***************************

Along roadway in countryside, a vehicle convoy in disarray.

A Martian Tripod is locked in position over the convoy, and smoke is pouring out of the shattered remains of its forward windshield.

People run about in panic, except for two groups, a small band of men in BDUs (armed with various weaponry), and a larger group of British soldiers.

The soldiers are trying to figure out a way to get to a screaming man who is caged on the back of the tripod.

We open on the conversation between the officer-in-charge of the British troops, and the strangers.

********

"That's the Prince Edward up there?" Mike asked reaching into the side pouch on his backpack.

"Yes, and we MUST get him down now" replied Major Ferguson.

Mike pulled out a Black metal object, and with a twist opened the hooks on the collapsible grappling hook.

"Monk! Rock and Rope!" Mike barked. Nate hurried up along side, pulling a coil of climbing line out of his pack.

"Weasel! Monkey up the tree!" as Mike handed the hook to Nate who quickly tied the hook on and dropping the rest of the line began gauging the distance To the back of the tripod.

Rick came up. "What's the plan Mongo?" he asked.

"That's the Prince of Wales up there, see if you can get him down?"

Rick grinned and said "No problem."

"You did bring your ascenders, right?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, yeah" came the reply as Rick shrugged out of his harness only to re-cinch his katana onto his hip.

The Major watched as Monk hurled the line and hook up onto the back of the tripod.

"Sir, please get your troops back, we can get him out of there safely, but I do not want them getting tangled in the line." Mike asked the Officer.

As Rick attached his ascenders to the line, Mike took ground position and held the rope steady, Bobby and Kevin readied another line to be attached up for safety line.

Watching Rick go up the line swiftly, and seeing him reach the top, Mike let off the line and tied off the second line for him to haul up.

The man in the cage could be heard screaming for release.

Just as he was dropping both lines down secured up top, he spoke into his throat mike.

" Uh Mongo? We got movement up here. A hatch just opened on the back of the control cabin.

"Roger that weasel, sending Ranger up." The group heard it through their earpieces, and Kevin quickly stripped out of his harness, checking that his sidearm and MP-5 were both tight.

"What's Happening? Who are you talking to?" the major asked at the seemingly mad actions of the Yanks.

"Lock and load weasel, Ranger is on the way"

"Yew, what the hell is that?" could be heard from Rick. Both from the radios, and from above their heads.

A few clangs, a strange Hissing, and then silence

. "THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!" echoed from above

. "Watch out below! Sashimi on the way down!" as he heaved something over the opposite side of the Tripod.

Kevin reached up and could be heard to say, "EYUUUW! What the hell is that smell?"

Rick replied, "Whatever was crewing this thing, I killed it"

"Mongo to Ranger, SITREP?"

"Securing the hostage now, unconscious, send up a sling for him, we'll lower him. "

Mongo quickly stripped the two harnesses, creating a sling from them, and sent it up.

The major could only stare at the efficiency and seemingly machinelike actions of the Yanks

"Ok, on belay" came down from above, shouted.

They gently guided and lowered down the Prince of Wales, and checked him over.

"Ranger! You got altitude, can you raise the compound?"

"Affirmative!"

"Tell them to send a SMT, MCA, burns and MVA rigged."

As Mike turned to the Major, Nate was checking out the Prince of Wales. "he's coming around!" Major Ferguson and Mike turned to see the Prince of Wales groaning and struggling to sit up.

********

In the meantime, a portly older woman, dressed in black, staggered up to the group. Her hair was gathered in a tight bun, but a few strands had escaped. A smudge of dirt graced her cheek, and her dress was torn and begrimed. A young woman attempted to help her, but the woman would let nothing affect her stately progress.

Mike gaped. He had only seen her in prints, and a few photographs, but he recognized her immediately.

"Your Highness!" he exclaimed, and knelt. The rest of the RSI hesitated a second and followed suit.

She spoke first to the Prince. "Bertie, are you all right?"

"I think so, Mother." replied the fat man as he tried to stand up.

She turned to Mike. "Rise, young man, and introduce yourself."

"Michael McRaven, Operations Chief, Ravens Systems Incorporated, you highness."

She looked at him sharply, noting the accent. "Are you an American?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"We thought you Yanks fought a war or two, not to bow and scrape to the English Monarchy?" she took the sting out of that statement with a smile and a twinkle of her eyes.

"Well, your Highness, we did, and the McRavens were a part of both, but we also recognize and respect talent and ability." he smiled. "I have no doubt that, had your highness been born an American, I'd be addressing you as Madame President."

The Queen was enjoying the conversation, although those watching appeared to be scandalized by Mike's easy familiarity. "We might have a problem with that, as we have heard that women do not have the right to vote in America."

Mike chuckled, "I have no doubt in my feeble brain, that had your highness been born in America, she would have rectified that minor obstacle very quickly."

The Queen smiled back, "We have no doubt that, no matter how many generations of McRavens have lived in America, you have not lost the gift of blarney, young man."

Two Ford trucks pulled up to the group. The first, a Bronco, had been modified.. The sliding moon roof had been replaced with a pintle mount, The roof gun was a large, semi-automatic rifle with a large scope. The other Ford was a Ranger Pickup, painted white, with an ambulance module mounted on the back.

The passenger door of the Bronco popped open and Steve McRaven levered himself out. He limped over to his younger brother and assessed the scene.

Mike visibly sagged with relief. "Yo, Big Brother, am I GLAD to see you." He thought to himself, *Death and destruction, no problem for Mongo. VIPs...that's Steve's forte*

He turned back to the Queen. "Your Highness, I'd like to introduce my older brother, Steve McRaven, CEO of RSI, Lieutenant Colonel, US Air Force, retired."

He looked at his brother. "Oso, may I introduce Her Royal Highness, Queen Victoria."

Steve knelt and took the proffered hand, taking his cues from old movies and hoping desperately that he had it right. "Your Highness."

The Queen smiled. "This is a very unusual day, indeed. We are not sure which is more unusual - Martians or helpful, well-mannered Americans."

Steve recognized the off-handed insult, but chose to ignore it. "My crew and I are glad to be of help, your Highness."

The Queen glanced sharply at him - "Your crew, Colonel? Are you from an American ship?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, that's just a figure of speech for me. I was retired two years ago, when I lost this leg." He tapped on his right leg and the "ping" of metal was clear. " Now I'm just a simple man of business."

He looked at the Queen. "Your Highness, I'm afraid this is a stranger day than you might imagine. In addition, while this is very pleasant, the sun is past noon, and I haven't eaten since yesterday. I am not sure where your party was headed, but may I offer you the hospitality of my corporate headquarters?"

Major Ferguson spoke up "We were supposed to be conveying the Royal Family to the Steam Ram Thunderchild."

Steve repeated - "HMS Thunderchild?"

The question surprised the Major. "Yes, the Thunderchild."

Mike looked at him with a strange expression. "If our information is correct, Thunderchild went down yesterday, taking out a Tripod."

Steve's earpiece crackled. "Oso, this is Homeplate."

Steve tapped his throat mike." Rog, Homeplate, what's up?"

"Oso, Duelist speaking, the good news is, we've got Owl up to 400 meters and the downlink is working good."

*********

Kevin was listening in, and nudged Rik. "What's OWL?"

"OWL is another one of your dad's low-budget/high tech projects. Short answer - a tethered weather balloon with an observation package - Imaging IR camera, Low Light Video, wide band radio antennas, all on a fiber optic cable." Rik replied.

********

Steve made a wry face. "Why do I get the feeling there's bad news coming?"

"You know me too well, boss." replied Tim. " It looks like you've got three tripods headed your way. About a klick away, but moving fast. You should see them coming over that ridgeline to your north in a sec."

All the RSI people were on headset - they turned and looked north. The English could see that something was going on, but without headsets, they could only hear one side of the conversation. The Queen was somewhat miffed at being suddenly ignored, but she was also astute enough to realize that something important was occurring, so she held her questions.

Steve started barking orders. "Ranger, take the pintle mounted Barrett - we've got action North. Load specials." Kevin jumped into the Humvee and loaded a clip of the modified rounds.

He turned. "Snake, you find a good spot and load regulars." Bobby was already snapping his bipod legs down and looking for a comfortable spot to set up his heavy rifle.

Steve looked to his brother - "Mongo - you take the Queen and the Prince in the Ambulance and head for the compound. Have Will drive, you and Lisa sit in the back with them and make small talk, put them up in Guest House 1 until we can get this sorted out..."

Mike made a grimace. "Aw, c'mon, Bro, why you sending me home when it starts getting interesting'?"

"Little Brother, if there's one thing I know, Murphy will clock you whenever you get too confident. Getting the Royals to a secure location is a priority mission and you're in charge of that. What part of that do you not understand?"

Mongo snapped to attention and saluted, only half-sarcastic. "Yes sir, Colonel Big Brother Sir."

Steve reached up and fanned the air, pantomiming slapping his brother's helmet. "You ain't too big fer me to kick your butt, dude. Boot to head, GI."

They both laughed, then Steve turned to the Royal party.

"Your Highness, we've got three Tripods headed this way, about a kilometer away and closing fast. If you and your son would get in the ambulance, we'll get you to our command bunker. You should be safe there. Please follow Will and Lisa."

He looked at Major Ferguson. "Sir, I think we can handle this, but you might want to form your men up and have them take cover, most ASAP."

The Major looked at him blankly for a second. "ASAP?" but Steve had already turned away.

"Yo Dad!" called Kevin from the Humvee. "Tripods in sight!" He checked the rangefinder. "I make them 700 meters and closing."

"Ok," replied Steve. "Looks like the lasers have an effective range of 100 meters, so we've got time." He looked to his cousin. "Bobby, when the lead tripod comes to 250 meters, I want you to start busting windshields. Kev, when Bobby pops the windshields, you punch a special into the crew compartment."

Steve looked to Nate, who was already leaning his 30-06 on the hood of the Humvee, sandbagging it with his field jacket. "Nate, if you see a laser start to heat up, I want it broken, got that?"

"You bet you', dude" came the laconic reply.

The engagement was over before the Queen could step into the ambulance.

The tripods moved ponderously. Steve could understand how the locals could be frightened by these huge, strange, clanking monsters...but the RSI folks had grown up on Japanese Anime and SF movies. To Steve, this looked more like a high resolution video game.

The resemblance to a video game was heightened a second later as six shots rang out. Bobby broke three cowls as fast as he could pull the trigger.

Kevin mechanically fired in three of the explosive tipped shells, and the tripods ground to a halt, smoke pouring from the hulls. One laser tube had started to rise into the attack position, but it sank back down as the machine ground to a halt.

Kevin let out a whoop, "We came, we saw, we kicked Ass!" He laughed. "These bastards are even dumber than tread heads!"

*************

Saturday, May 6 1899 1330 GMT

Steve was helping the Queen into the SMT when she shuddered and said, "My goodness, my chest hurts terribly."

She turned and sat on the bumper of the hyper-ambulance.

Most of the Ravens had been Emergency Medical Technicians, so they had a diagnosis and began moving.

Steve keyed his radio. "Nikki, Lisa, get to the SMT ASAP! I have an 80-year-old Caucasian female with gray pallor, cyanotic lips, and complaining of left chest pain radiating down left arm. We have an imminent Code Blue on our VIP, people, move, move move!"

Rick and Mongo had already grabbed the backboard and had set the Queen down on it. Kevin was going for the oxygen, but the myocardial infarct was even faster.

The Queen gave a strange sound - as if a shriek with the volume turned down, and then went limp.

An older man rushed up and took her pulse. "Oh my God! The Queen is dead!"

There was a loud susurrus as the soldiers passed the shocking news.

"Not bloody yet, she isn't." said Mongo, as he grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and lifted him out of Nikki's way.

She slid in and set to work as the rest of the team passed equipment down from the SMT.

"See here. What are you doing!" screamed the man. "I am the Royal Physician! What are you doing to the Queen's body!"?

Steve took the man from Mongo and told him. "We've got no time for this, fool. She's got four minutes before she's truly dead, but only if you get the hell out of the way and stay there."

The Coldstreams stood there, fingering their weapons as the Royal Physician screamed. The Americans seemed to know what they were doing but....

"Jesus" screamed Nikki. "She's wearing a frickin' corset and stays! There's metal all over the place! We've got to cut this crap away, ASAP!"

There was a gasp from the soldiers as she sliced through the Queen's clothing.

Steve assessed the situation. "Soldiers of the Queen! Form a circle, shoulder-to-shoulder! Fall in, NOW!"

The commands were a bit strange, but they understood the voice of command from the Yank Colonel. They formed a circle and gaped at the activity.

"A-BOUT FACE! RIGHT SHOULDER, ARMS!"

The Regimental Sergeant Major would have died of apoplexy, from the sloppy movements and slow comprehension, but they turned. The troops turned and many allowed a momentary smile as they realized what the Colonel had done.

Major Ferguson slipped into the circle and confronted Steve. He spared a glance at the Queen, now naked to the waist as the Nikki attached electrodes to her chest. Kevin squeezed and released an Ambu Bag while Lisa chanted, "One-one-thousand-two one-thousand-three-one-thousand-four-one-thousand-and BREATHE!" and applied compressions. He averted his eyes and said, "See here, Colonel, hold up a second. I don't understand what..."

Steve turned to him and unleashed his wrath. "Look, Major, we've got no time to explain everything. The Queen has four minutes from cessation of heart activity to brain death. Every second we delay reduces her chances of survival. Or do you want us to just let her die?"

Finally, something got through to the Royal Physician. "You can bring her back to life?" he asked. "You can raise her from the dead?" his eyes wide and bright.

Steve was taken aback a second. "I wouldn't put it EXACTLY like that - as far as we're concerned she hasn't REALLY died yet. As long as we can get oxygen to her brain, she has not died. We hope to restart her heart and lungs."

Nikki shouted, "CLEAR! Let me get a reading!"

Kevin and Lisa stopped their chant and pulled back. The Lifepak emitted a steady tone and said " Patient is in V-fib, recommend 50 joules."

The two men stared at the yellow box as Nikki grabbed the paddles. Kevin squeezed the electrode past on them and she rubbed them together. "Clear! 50 Joules!" she shouted. She applied the paddles to the Queen's chest. There was a sudden "ZAP!" and the Queen's body convulsed.

"Patient is still in V-Fib." stated the Life-pak in a calm tone.

"Shit! Exclaimed Nikki. "80 Joules! NOW!"

She applied the paddles a second time and the Queen's body convulsed again.

The Major started to protest, "I say, Colonel Raven..." but he was cut off as they Lifepak began a rhythmic beeping and stated "Normal Sinus rhythm established." The team exclaimed as one "Yes!" Kevin continued to squeeze the bag to assist the Queen's breathing.

In one part of his mind, Major Ferguson marveled at the practiced movement of the team, few wasted movements as they inserted an IV and prepared the Queen for transport.

Steve put his hands on his hips. "Major, can you loan my people a squad or so for security issues? We need to get the Queen to our clinic. She's not out of the woods yet, but we'll give her the best we've got."

"I say, Colonel, said Dr McPhee, "she needs to go to a proper hospital, not a clinic, and..."

Steve cut him off," With all due respect, DOCTOR, "he made it sound as if it were a curse, "I doubt if there's a hospital on the planet as well equipped to handle heart patients as our clinic. Can you give her 24-hour monitoring? Any beta-blockers or MAOI inhibitors in your pharmacy? How about clot-busters?" he asked vehemently. " You probably don't even know what Coumadin IS, let alone have any?"

"What are those?" asked the doctor.

"Just stay out of the way, listen, and learn." advised Steve. "Nikki was a cardiac care nurse at King County General, and Lisa worked the Cardiac Ward at Hahneman Hospital in Philadelphia."

"They're Nurses?" sputtered McPhee.

"Yes, and you would be well advised to listen very closely to anything they say, DOCTOR. " said Mongo. "In our time, Nurses get more formal training and experience than you folks require for MDs in the here-and-now."

Steve added to the glare. "DOCTOR McPhee, Mr.-Royal-Physician, you may be a big-name player in the here-and-now, but as far as WE'RE concerned, you're on a par with a West African Voodoo Shaman right now. Shut up, listen and learn, and let us save the Queen. YOU UNDERSTAND ME!" he said, putting his face about three inches from the Doctor's face and punctuating the last words with an index finger to the chest.

Major Ferguson smiled. These Yanks might be strange, but Colonel Raven and his brother could have made good Regimental Sergeant Majors.

Doctor McPhee turned to Major Ferguson. "See here, Major, I shouldn't have to stand for this..."

Colonel Raven swung back around and addressed Major Ferguson directly. "Major, ask the Good Doctor if he could have saved the Queen's life as we did. Ask him if he could have done in the best hospital in this world, with the best equipment available. Ask him if he has the first freakin' clue as to how we did save her. Then ask yourself if your duty is to protect the life of Her Majesty, or if your job is to protect the ruffled feelings of this -ahem! - Royal Physician."

Major Ferguson smiled and saluted. "I swore my oath to the Queen, Colonel Raven. You'll have no trouble from me or my men." Now he scrutinized the doctor. "I may not know a lot about medicine, Doctor McPhee, but if they hadn't been here, the Queen would be dead now, no?"

"Yes, but..."

"Doctor, you will give these people every possible assistance you can manage, and you will stay out of their way otherwise, do I make myself clear?" stated Major Ferguson.

"Yes, sir." said the doctor.

"Good" said the Major. "Sergeant Palmer!" he called.

"Yes sir." replied a stocky soldier with three chevrons and a crown on his sleeve.

"Gather a detail of ten or 15 men to assist the Colonel and his people."

"Oy, sair." .he said, and looked at the men. He rattled off 15 names. "You heard the Major. Follow me."

***

Mike tapped Kevin on the shoulder. "Kev, you've worked with Brits before. Work with Sergeant Palmer, get this lot sorted out and we're going to go back to RSI. I'd suggest you mount them tactical on the Rangers and we'll take it slow back to the Compound. Simple convoy, but if you smell trouble, get'em to ground. We're not here to take out the Martians, our job is to get the Royals back to the compound.

"Rojj, Mongo." said Kevin. "I got a WHOLE lot more time running convoys in combat zones than you do. You make sure the Queen's alive when we get there."

Kevin turned and started snapping out orders. Mike swung into the SMT.

The last person into the now crowded SMT was the Royal Physician, who could only gulp and stare for a moment as he looked at the bewildering array of equipment , and his Queen with IV lines in as Mike and Lisa monitored her, One of the few things he recognized was the stethoscope on Mike's head and a similar unit wrapped around Lisa's shoulders.

"Are you a Doctor , Young Man? he asked in a somewhat subdued voice as the SMT started to move.

"No sir Just a level 4 paramedic, trained in advanced cardiac care and emergency field medicine." Mike replied as he wrote something on the clipboard he had on the seat next to him.

"Different training, and all that sir, I apologize for being rude to you, But I have the skills and knowledge that you don't, if I had not acted right away the queen would have been dead. As it is, with rest, and monitoring, she should be fine, though you are going to have to recommend a change of diet and look into some Medicines to prescribe now for her." His face suddenly took on an awful grimace. He turned to his partner." Aww, crap, Lisa do they even have cardiac drugs in 1899?" Mike asked her as she checked the oxygen flow to the mask on the queen.

"I doubt it Mike, remember a lot of the drugs we used, were developed in the 60's in the war..." she said as she leaned over and adjusted the blankets on the gurney , so they did not stress the leads to the monitor.

"Maybe digitalis, I'm not sure. If not, we can probably make some -it's pretty much just processed Foxglove." she mused.

"Will, we got link to the med bay?" Mike called up to the driver

"up now mike, channel 4" was the reply as Mike reached for the handset and punched in the channel stated.

"RSI-med bay , this is SMT-1, on channel four.." Mike paused to reflect on the ingrained training that made him talk in formal report mode, even though he was pretty sure at this day and age there would be no one else broadcasting

"Go ahead mike" came his wife's voice, heard over both the headset and the speakers in the cabin.

"Roger that med bay, inbound ETA 10 minutes, enroute with a 80 yr old female, coded on scene, AED applied and shocked once, rhythm stable now, have IV going per protocol... ", Mongo droned on giving vitals .

"OK Mike, we will be ready for you at the bay entrance" came his wife's voice as he could also hear some conversation in the background

"Be Advised med bay, patient is Queen Victoria, YES That Queen Victoria..." He said as the tone of the tire noise changed as they pulled inside the compund's gates

"ETA less than 30 seconds, SMT -1, out.."

The Royal Physician continued to watch silent, but was realizing he was seeing the future of medicine, and could already see the benefits, of having field personnel trained in care, and the use of "wireless" communication to tell a Doctor at the hospital of what ever of the incoming patients condition, instead of surprising the Doctor when they showed up on his doorstep.

Arriving at the Infirmary center of the compound, Mongo found Gail already waiting as they unloaded the Queen who was starting to come around and was unsure of why she was tied down."SHhhhh , your Majesty, lie still, you just had a heart problem , but your better now¦" as Mongo tried to calm her. "I'll Take it from here , Mike" said Gail as she and Nikki , followed by Lisa, wheeled the queens gurney into the med bay, and began evaluating her.

Mongo took the tubes of blood he drew, and walked over to the automated blood analyzer they had on loan from a research company for field testing and inclusion on the next model of SMT.

Doctor McPhee started to follow the gurney, then decided to follow Mike.

"If I might ask, uh, Mongo, what are you doing with the blood?"

"Just routine tests," said Mongo casually. "Standard Cardiac series - run a CBC and Diff, SMAC-6, and cardiac enzymes. I wish we could do a Blood Gas, but that's still outside our abilities..." his voice trailed off as he looked at the doctor's confused expression. He laughed at himself. "Sorry, Doctor, my apologies. This machine will do a Complete Blood Count - it will tell us the levels of her red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets. We'll differentiate the white cells to see if there are other problems. This red top tube goes in this machine, which will give us her levels of Sodium, potassium, chlorine, glucose creatinine phospho-kinaseand blood urea nitrogen. This purple top will tell us her levels of clotting compounds.

Mike spent the next few minutes explaining the significance of the tests to Dr McPhee. As the various tests completed, Mike sent the results to the terminal screen in the Med Bay then pulled the printouts, showed them to the Doctor. Invariably, that resulted in pulling down another weighty book from the Medical reference rack. Fairly quickly, the Doctor had a stack of reading material.

He looked at the stack of references, and then looked through the glass at his patient sleeping in the Med bay.

"And none of you are Doctors?" he asked again. "This is the normal level of medical knowledge for people in your world?" asked Dr McPhee.

"Oh no, Doc" laughed Mike. "We're a research facility, and many of our contracts are in portable medical equipment - we try to get as much capability in as small a package as possible." He looked thoughtful for a second. "Actually, I suppose that it is a strange group - Lisa and Nikki are RNs, Gail is an LPN with a lot of Emergency Medical experience. My father, my older brother and I have all been EMTs, Advanced Cardiac Life Support Certified, and one of Steve's degrees is in Medical Technology."

Doctor McPhee looked at the stack of books, at the machinery. He blinked several times and looked through the glass wall at his Queen, sipping water through a straw. Then he thought of four unstoppable tripods, belching smoke and flame while these men laughed at the ease of stopping them. He chose his words carefully.

"Mr. Raven...pardon me, but you people seem to have studied the arts of life AND death to a frightening level of detail."

Mike laughed heartily. "Hey, Doc, you haven't lived our life. I know it's a lot to absorb, but you're a smart guy. Hang in there, you'll figure us out quick."

Running the tests, , then thinking of something .

He tapped on the glass and motioned his wife that he was going out. She nodded , gave a "thumbs up" and waved him off.

****

Mongo walked out a Brisk pace to find the compound lit up like normal, "Gotta love those SLEP generators." he said to himself.

As he walked to the Power Shed, he saw Big Griz walking out with a clip Board. "How we looking ,Dad?

"Well, once again your big brother made a good call. We're testing out several varieties of fuel bladders for the army. Bottom line is, we've got 15,000 gallons of bio-diesel on hand. Only 400 gallons of mo-gas, but since most of our vehicles and generators are diesel, we're good for awhile."

He checked something on the clipboard. Actually, we've got all three of the SLEP-60's running, but I can shut down numbers two and three for now. 60 mega watts is more than we need for everything, and I don't want to deal with wet-stacking. I loaned our load bank trailer to the County, and I have the feeling we won't be getting it back anytime soon."

"Well, We have the Queen of England in the Infirmary, and Edward, the Prince of Wales, is in Guest House 1."

"No shit?, Queen Victoria?" he said. "So Tim wasn't blowing pipe dreams when he said we were in England and in the past?"

"Nope , afraid not, Dad." answered Mike. "He was right, we are in 1899, in England apparently south of London, and it's not our Earth though, because I sure don't remember a Martian invasion, except the book by H.G. Wells, and that Radio Broadcast in '32."

Mike shrugged. "So, lets see, if its 1899, grandma is 1 year old, where is grandpa now ? Other than in NY state, no smart ass reply ,dad, I mean it.." said Mongo as he shook his finger at his father before the old Man could reply

They wandered back to the main building of the compound, as Big Griz filled in Mike on the status of the Raven family in Western NY as he remembered it , circa 1900..

***

"There you are Mike, Command meeting in the boardroom, now!" Steve shouted as they entered the main building.

"Roger that.." Mongo waved a hand and started heading that way.

"well here, give this to your brother, I am going to feed the cats and take a nap. You boys try not to blow up the world, OK?"

As Big Griz walked off, Mike called out "Hey Dad, we put the Prince in the Guest house #1, so don't be surprised if you see him in the morning."

Carl just waved a hand in the air as he went back to his bungalow.

Mike looked at his father. *Gawd, * he thought *most 75 year olds would be freaking out over this. He just fires up the generators and then goes in for a nap, like it's just another day.*

***

Chapter 3

Timeline CVL-1070 London, UKSaturday, May 6 1899, 1830 GMT

The RSI conference room

"Look!" exclaimed an exasperated Mary Beth. "You guys are all excited because this is like one of your damned games, just in real life. Do you realize this is FOR REAL"? Her voice got real shrill. "We could all get killed real quick out there. I say, just leave these people to deal with this stuff and go." She slammed her fist on the conference table. In stead of worrying about how to this war and save the planet, I want to know - HOW THE HELL ARE WE GETTING BACK?"

The group fell silent, stunned by the sudden vehemence from the normally placid woman.

"Now, Beth." Began Bob in a supplicating voice.

Her face got white, as she rounded on her husband "Don't you "Now Beth" me, Bob Simoneit." She waved her finger in his face.

"AT EASE" bellowed Steve in his best parade ground voice.

The room fell silent, even Beth stopped in mid-rant.

In a conversational tone, Steve continued." How do you propose we get back, Beth?"

She started to get red again. " How the hell should I know"? Foam flecked her mouth, as she got shrill again. "You guys are the bloody geniuses, you got us into this, get us out!"

"OK Beth," said Steve in his most neutral tone. "How did we get here?"

She looked at him in askance. "You guys have all kinds of crazy projects running all the time, Bob never tells me the half of it. You're the boss, what the hell did you guys do?"

"Mary Beth - all of us are here in this room. Now, I would hazard a guess that whatever brought us here involved both time travel and dimensional travel - it probably involves some form of quantum physics." He took a deep breath. " Now, I realize that some of this bunch is a bit wild, but if there's anybody here messing with that kind of stuff, I, for damned sure, do not know about it."

He looked around the table. "OK, do any of you guys have a spare Warp Core or antimatter engine that you haven't told me about?"

Several heads turned to look at Tim. Mongo and Nate said in unison "Tim?"

His face got redder than usual, "Hey don't look at me, I don't have anything like that here." he paused, "but I did download some neat stuff off the web yesterday..."

Now the normally stolid Beth started to cry. "Dammit, Steve, now you're making fun of me!"

"On the contrary, Mary Beth, I am incapable of making fun right now. What you're looking at is a man on the knife-edge of stark, gibbering terror. What I see out there is totally impossible, but it exists."

"Somehow, we have been transported over a century in the past, to an alternate dimension in which HG Wells War of the Worlds is a historical fact.

"In addition, we're stuck here, in 1899."

"Moreover, we're in England - with whom the US does not have really great diplomatic relations right now."

He stood up and placed both hands flat on the table." Now, if this was a science fiction movie, this is the part where the brilliant boy genius that everybody has been ignoring up to this point, pipes up and tells the balding Captain that by cross linking the Warp Core, the Impulse engine and a reverse framistat, then dividing the warp field lattice by the square root of last Tuesday, he can get them all home."

He sighed. "Unfortunately, we have none of the above. How the hell we got here is far, far, beyond me. I have only the faintest glimmerings of what it might have taken to get here, and absolutely no idea of how we can get back."

The silence in the room was palpable.

"So, what you're telling us, Boss," said Will", is to use a childhood phrase, we be screwed."

The RSI crew saw the first smile of the day. "Well, actually, I've given that some thought, and if we play our cards right, we could do real well, and quite possibly, do a lot of good."

This got everybody's attention. Nate spoke first. "OK, Steve, I've seen that look before. What you got in mind, Fearless Leader?"

"Well, you folks gotta realize, that we're sitting on a gold mine of information here." He smiled. "Actually, not just gold, but silver, lead, platinum, copper..."

A look of dawning comprehension spread over Rick's face. "Cushlamacree," he swore softly, "the Defense Mapping Agency database - "

"-has topo maps of the entire planet, including mine and oil well locations." finished Kevin.

"And over 50% of the cost of mineral development lies in prospecting." said Will. "Shitfire, what if we never have to drill a dry hole or sink a dead shaft?"

"And that's just minerals - what about technology - the Wright Brothers won't fly for almost four years...what if we jump start the aviation industry this year?"

The group was stunned as they considered the ideas.

"How about electrical technology? I'd bet George Westinghouse and Tom Edison are going to hemorrhage why they realize we know more about generator technology and power transmission than both of them..."

"Near as I can determine, we're stuck here. Until somebody can come up with any concrete proposal to change that, I'd say we might as well lay that aside."

"Now," he continued, "we're illegal aliens in the heart of the most powerful empire on the planet. We can't circle the wagons and hide here - I can't imagine the legal complications if the person that owns the property that used to be here tries to lay claim to this compound...."

"So what you're saying is," said Nikki, "we play our cards right, we can live like robber barons."

"Well, I'm glad you brought that up, because that's what I mean about doing good."

"What you mean, Steve?" said Will.

"Simple, my friend." replied Steve. "No RSI help or investment anywhere the Jim Crow Laws apply. Equal opportunity hiring in all RSI functions. Anybody's got a problem with that, we show'em the door." Steve smiled, "We're going to have to train a lot of locals - so we bring the unions in right at the start, and give them so much, they can't balk at the contracts - e.g., full medical/dental coverage, RSI-run schools for their kids where there aren't public schools, full cradle-to-grave coverage. Only an idiot will want to go work for a local company - and we won't want them anyway."

"You gonna piss off a lot of big boys with that attitude, boss man."

"So bloody friggin' what?" asked Steve rhetorically. "We play our cards right, in a few years, we will BE the big boys."

He looked at the clock and sighed. "Folks, this has been a long day and a long night, and we've all got stuff to do before any of us can sleep. We're going to keep on needing these executive councils, so remember, when you think of something, especially in the next few days, we need to talk it out - small mistakes now can lead to big trouble in the future."

As they headed into the hallway, Mary Beth pulled Steve aside.

"Sorry about going off in there." she apologized. "I guess maybe I shouldn't have been in that meeting anyway."

"Why the hell should you apologize?" asked Steve. "Hell, Mary Beth, I value your input, and I'm damn glad you were in there."

"Huh?" for a moment, Mary Beth was nonplussed.

Steve expostulated. "You're a normal person, unlike this bunch of crazies. You see things the way normal folks do - and since we are going to have to walk a dangerous path in a world of normals, I value your viewpoint."

Mary Beth was still confused. "Steve, OK, I must be normal, because you are making absolutely no sense.

"Ok," said Steve, "Let me try explaining it like this. Anytime before yesterday, imagine yourself driving down, say the Expressway, and the kids are quiet, the traffic is smooth, and you are driving on autopilot - I mean, on one level, your brain is paying attention to driving, but on some other level, your attention is wandering - where is it?"

She started to say something, but Steve held up his hand to stop her. "Let me guess, you might have been thinking about the song on the radio, the TV program you saw last night, the kid's soccer game, any one of a number of things, right?

She nodded. He continued " But I'll bet you have never, say imagined a Mechwarrior suddenly appearing on the Interstate and blasting laser beams all over the place, or imagined an alternate, post WW III landscape, or thought about what the landscape looked like a millennium in the past, or a millennium in the future. Am I wrong?"

She nodded her head to agree.

"OK, he continued, "now let's take the rest of that bunch - talk about starry-eyed dreamers - it's all I can do to keep some of them in the current reality...and Tim, Geez, sometimes you just about have to grab him and shake him to just to pull his mind into this universe for long enough to have a conversation." He shook his head in rueful memory, "As if I was anybody to talk about wandering the multiverse..."

"But now we are wandering the multiverse." said Mary Beth. "So why do you want my input?"

"Critical point - we aren't wandering in the multiverse, we got shifted. No evidence indicates we are going to shift again any time soon. "

"What makes you say that?" questioned Mary Beth.

"Good question - and all I can say is, it's one of those strategic assumptions that a Commander has to make. I'm basing it on the fact that, despite all the disappearances in the Bermuda Triangle and the Great Lakes Triangle - which, oh-by-the-way, we were on the edge of - there's very few reports of anybody coming BACK from somewhere else in the multiverse."

"I'm still trying to get used to the idea of a multiverse at all." said Mary Beth. "The concept is - painful-."

"I have trouble comprehending the reality, too." agreed Steve. "And I've been thinking about it as an abstract concept for over 40 year." He grinned. "But there it is. Queen Victoria is in our infirmary, the soon-to-be King Edward VII is in Guest House One, and, if you take a look outside, you can see the ruins of Victorian London." He grinned.

"THAT is our new reality."

He continued, "BUT, Mary Beth, these guys are still going to keep on wandering the multiverse - and that is NOT, I repeat NOT, necessarily a bad thing." Steve waved at the book racks in the conference room. "I mean, the locals are going to have a hard time sorting out our references - I can expect that we'll be pulling references from all kinds of SF -Alternate History Sources - not so much of Lord Calvin Morrison or Conrad Staargard, but Harry Harrison and Dr Turtledove will probably be quoted a lot in this room, in days to come..."

"So, again, why is my input important?" asked Mary Beth.

"Because I expect that you, and Nikki, and Gail and Lisa, will lock into the new reality pretty quickly and keep the rest of these goons in this world, just like you did on the other timeline."

He laughed. "I'm sorry - if this was a Science Fiction story, they'd all be fumbling with the conceppt, wondering what the hell is going on. Us? Shitfire, we're already tuned into the concepts - I mean, I keep thinking of how tough this ISN'T going to be - I mean, I could be Sir Boss in King Arthur's Court, Calvin Morrison in Hostigos, or Rick Galloway on Tran, Mike Stearns in Thuringia. But HELL, no. We're only 105 years back. Not too bad, not too bad at all.

"But you just seem so, I don't know, well, normal - as if crossing timelines was something you've done before." Mary Beth frowned a second and suddenly stared intently at Steve - "Hold it a minute. This is the first time you've actually crossed a timeline, isn't it?"

Steve laughed. "Oh god, you've been listening to your husband too much. No, this is the first time I've actually crossed a timeline. But I've thought about it a lot - guys like H. Beam Piper, Jerry Pournelle, Leo Frankowski, Eric Flint, and John Ringo are going to be on my mind a lot from here on out - because we're living in the sort of thing they wrote about."

Mary Beth smiled and laughed. "OK, maybe I'm just a bit wierded out here, but you always told all these wild stories about your days in the Air Force. -When I commented to Bob about how big a liar you were, he told me about the documents and proof. He always said he thought there were even wilder things that you didn't talk about that were just as true."

Steve grinned. "Mary Beth, like I said, you're damned perceptive - but while a lot of strange things have already happened to me, this qualifies as the weirdest, so far."

***

Suddenly, Steven was struck by a thought. As Mary Beth headed out of the HQ building, he headed back to the Conference Room.

Luckily, Rick Pitlick and the Bush Brothers were still in the room.

"Guys, I hope you aren't sleepy, because I just had an awful thought." said Steve.

"Oh, shit." said Rick Pitlick. "When you get that constipated possum look, it means trouble for us."

" Well, actually, I see the problem, but I have a solution - and you are just the guys to do It.," replied Steve. "Here's the deal. In order to survive here, we'll need to sell our advanced technology. Unless I miss my bet, we can whip the Martians in a few years."

"Huh?" said Tim. "According to Wells, the Martians died off right away."

"Hey, Bubba." replied Steve. "You think these Martians are smart enough to cross from Mars in three weeks, but stupid enough to put the entire landing in the temperate zones?"

"Oh. Shit." said Tim Bush, as comprehension dawned. "You're saying this lot in England are just the ones with guidance malfunctions. The main landings are - "

"-At the Poles." concluded Tim. "And if Wells was correct, the launches made clouds that obscured half the hemisphere. If we assume a laser launch system, we could be talking about hundreds or thousands of launches."

"Yep." agreed Steve. "And Wells was writing from the viewpoint of a Victorian journalist - the last half of the book, he's got a damn good case of shell-shock. So, his diagnosis of bacterial infection is suspect - I'll bet these SOBs died of heat stroke and oxygen intoxication, not infection."

"So how do we figure in on this rush project?" said Rick.

"Well, I need to flesh it in, but I'm thinking that the most-affected countries will be the US, the British Empire, the Russian Empire, the Scandinavians, China - such as it is."

"Uh-huh." breathed Rick. "So, next you're going to suggest a NATO-like Alliance to fight the Martians, right?"

"Well," replied Steve, "that's the start of it. But how do we hold the Alliance together after the Martian threat is gone? What will the World Wars look like with modern technology? "

"Oh, my aching ass, " said Rick Bush. "Ok, how do we stop that?"

"First, off, we gotta find Hitler and Stalin and kill both of them before they can get dangerous." said Rick Pitlick.

"C'mon, Weasel," said Steve. "You going to kill a ten year old kid and a 20 year old guy studying for the priesthood, just because in some other world, their doppelgangers were monsters?"

"Shit, yeah." said Rick." Stalin killed ten million people. And if we kill Hitler, we stop World War Two."

"Weasel, shut up." said Steve. "And I say that kindly, because I know you know shit-all about Welt-Politick and historical causes. But killing two individuals, with no other actions, will not stop those crimes. If the root causes are not addressed, some other nutcase will step in to fill the need. And it might be worse - suppose we killed Hitler and a halfway intelligent nutcase stepped up, like Himmler or Ernst Roehm? Somebody, that, say, finished England before taking on Russia, or didn't treat the Ukrainians and Tatars like untermenschen?

Or, an even worse nightmare, suppose we kill Hitler and the Spartacus Revolution succeeds? Imagine a Communist Germany in 1933, allied with the Soviets?"

"Geez, 1950 and the Russian hordes, armed with state-of-the-art German weapons, are coming across the Rhine...ugh." said Tim, grimacing.

"But if my plan even halfway works, " said Steve, "those two individuals, will be non-entities. I don't want to kill Hitler and Stalin - I want to kill Fascism and Communism."

"So what's the plan, Boss man?"

Steve told them.

By the time he got done, three beaming smiles were in front of them.

"Sweet" said Rick.

"Sneaky" said Tim, admiringly.

"Can you get me the disc by morning?" he asked.

***

Black Smoke

*/*

Steve stepped out of the conference room and went to his office. He rummaged around on the shelves until he found an old copy of the "War of the Worlds" and began re-reading it for the first time in over thirty years.

When he got to the third chapter, he cursed.

Vilely.

Fluently.

At length.

Anyone listening would have no problem remembering that he had once been a Navy Petty Officer.

He looked at the clock and thought furiously. *How to do this? * He thought. *How do I get the locals to listen to an incredible tale from the future and act soon enough to do anything? *

He went to his locker. Clothes make the man - he got out his starched BDUs and pinned on the bright collar brass. He took the pants and punched out the legs to open them. He got out the spit-shined boots, then dropped his pants to blouse them properly, from the inside, using his favorite blousing straps. The stainless steel anti-handling springs from an M4 Anti-tank mine - he'd been using them since his first trip to Beirut in '76. He put on the blouse and then he pulled on his Loading Bearing Vest. He looked at the Kevlar vest, but decided he didn't need it for this mission. Finally, he pulled out his old, smashed flat patrol cap and the Kevlar helmet. He went to his gun locker and put the Beretta in the shoulder holster and four magazines in the pouches. He started to go out the door, had a second thought and went back to the closet. On the top shelf, in the back, was his old MCU/2P mask and a fresh can of filters. He clipped the mask on his LBE and slipped the can in his rucksack.

Hokay, he thought, first things first. Secure the base.

He went topside and made his way to his brother's home.

Mongo came to the door in shorts and T-shirt. Gail was behind him. He took one look at Steve and said "Whoa - what's up, bro?"

Steve came inside. "We got to move quick tonight, dude. Need to get this place sorted out for a possible MOPP-4 situation tomorrow."

"What's MOPP-4?" asked Gail with an "I-don't think-I'm- going to-like-this-answer" expression.

"Mission Oriented Protective Posture." said Steve. "We might have a chemical warfare situation tomorrow."

"Chemical warfare?" they both said.

"Black gas." said Steve. "From Well's description, I'd call it a non-persistent agent, possibly not even a gas so much as an aerosolized powder - but against unprotected personnel, it's deadly as hell. He doesn't state exactly, but I'm estimated deaths in the tens, maybe hundreds of thousands tomorrow."

"So what do we do?" said Mike.

"Primus, you, Simo and Will go back in the warehouse and break out the Israeli Civil Defense Masks and get the women and children fitted and trained by 0900 tomorrow."

"Secundus, keep a sharp eye for the Black Smoke - get everyone in the HQ - Mike, make sure you close and dog the hatches and get the over pressure system working."

He held up a third finger "Tertius, I'm taking Kevin and Bobby and Major Ferguson to find the Commanding General of this clusterfuck and get him to start pounding the Martian pits now! It's use it or lose it, and if we can get the Martians destroyed before they can deploy the smoke, so much the better."

/*/

General Alexander - Black Smoke

London, UK Saturday May 6 1899 2130 GMT

The ride to the Commanding General's HQ was convoluted, time consuming and frustrating. The odd-looking vehicles, uniforms and weapons had helped. Major Ferguson, as part of the Queen's Household, knew some people, other knew of him. They made it to the HQ by early morning.

Steve had been half-expecting to have to fight about waking the General, but at least this guy was still up.

Steve appraised General Sir William Alexander coolly. He didn't have high expectations of Victorian-era officers. Gaily-dressed strutting popinjays were his expectation. But he had to try and prevent Sunday's disaster, or at least make it as survivable as he could.

The general had his top tunic button unbuttoned. Was it a calculated insult, or was he just so tired he was trying to relax?

The General returned his gaze. "Major..." he said, eyeing the collar brass. 'Raven." he eyed the note the adjutant had given him. "This is an odd story you gave my adjutant. I have no way to verify it."

"Well, of course you can't, General." Steve said coldly. "It's from the frickin future, fer the Love of Christ."

"So you have a time machine, Major? I had you brought in here because Major Ferguson claimed you had important information. So far, what I've heard is ludicrous. You had better start making sense, or I will throw you out."

"Ludicrous, General? As ludicrous as Martians striding across the south of England and destroying everything in their way?" said Steve. "You need to understand, the world has changed radically since you got up this morning, and it is about to get a whole lot worse, real fast." he waved his arms. "Just look at what we have to show you, then decide for yourselves."

Bobby and Kevin had set up the LIPPS generator outside the house. Now they set up the 17-inch flat panel screen and hooked it to the laptop. It had taken a few minutes of searching, but he had found the relevant clips in a DVD collection of World War One films and a couple of documentaries on Chemical Warfare.

The General and his senior staff stared at the film clips. Steve had done some hasty editing, but the main point came through.

Now Steve went into Staff officer mode. "Gentlemen, the Black Gas is what I would call a non-persistent choking agent. A highly effective one, but, in my time, easily countered. For you, in the next," he looked at the clock, five hours, there are damned few options." He put his hands on the table and leaned forward. "Gentlemen. You must decide NOW. Act NOW. Use your assets, start and evacuation, get all your non-essential personnel North RIGHT FRICKIN' NOW!" He slammed the table with each of his last words for emphasis.

"Now see here, Major, " said one of the Staff Officers. "I can hardly believe that the Martians can be THAT dangerous, I mean, we have over three Corps of artillery in the area now, and"

Steve cut him off. "And not a damn one of them can hit a tripod when it's moving. Hard enough to make a kill even with a solid hit - but not a damn one of them is going to get a good hit this morning, without being destroyed."

Kevin coughed. He'd seen the way the conversation was going, and brought up a screen snippet. "Sirs, here's an Abrams tank on the test range."

The General looked at the screen. He could barely figure out what he was looking at. A metal vehicle - my god- that's a man's head sticking out of the top of that gun turret - with scale established, he realized that the vehicle was huge - an ungodly fast! The cannon fired with the vehicle at full tilt, and the screen switched to a thick concrete wall exploding.

The Staff was buzzing. "Gentlemen, with a platoon of Abrams firing depleted uranium long rod penetrators, we could eliminate this problem quickly. Those machines are designed to operate in a chemical environment.

Kevin switched to a video of a British infantryman in the mud of Flanders, struggling to get his gas mask on, and dying in the attempt.

"Gentlemen, this is what we face in a few hours, probably even if you bestir ourselves now." said Steve. Multiply this by thousands of men and then tens of thousands of the civilians - British Citizens! - That you are supposed to be protecting."

"What can we do, Major?" said General Alexander. He had seen enough. The story was crazy enough - but he was a realist - the motion picture device that didn't need a projector, the vehicle they'd arrived in, just the total belief evident in their postures.

Steve recognized capitulation. He moved to a map on the wall, festooned with pins and flags.

"OK, first off, order all your artillery to fire on any of the Martian encampments in range. Fire HE first - your antipersonnel rounds won't be much good - but hit with everything you've got, as quick as you've got."

"But what if we just enrage them? I mean, can't we negotiate?" said one of the Staff officers.

"You don't negotiate with these guys." said Steve. "And as for enrage - well, you've got the odd position of knowing what could happen. Do nothing; let them deploy out of their pits, and thousands of soldiers die to no end. Kill them now, and we stand a chance." Steve waved his arm. "Even if you don't kill all the tripods, messing up their timetable is worth something - " he looked at Kevin and Bobby and smiled - " and we can do a little bit toward dealing with the bastards ourselves, if the numbers are manageable.

"You say they have this Black Smoke in the pits? What if we detonate the containers in the pits?"

said one of the British Officers.

"Good question." said Steve, "And one that I don't have a good answer for." he grimaced. "What that old saying about omelets and egg breakage?" and his smile turned cold. "On the other hand, if we let the Black Smoke loose in their pits - well, there's another saying, something about "hoist on their own petard" or something like that?

*/*

London, UK Sunday May 7 1899 0430 GMT

*/*

In the distance, the dull thumping of artillery had begun. General Alexander had issued the orders as Steve had suggested: all units to approach to within range of the nearest landing site, than hammer the snot out of it with any and all ammunition, at maximum rate.

"So guys. You got the drill down?" said Steve.

Bob, kevin, Will and Nathan were in MOPP Chemical Suits. Their masks were slung from their Load Beraing vests.

"Yessir. We go to each of the four pits we know about. Search and destroy. We see any tripods or Martians, we kill immediately. Priority on destroying the Black Gas launchers. We see the Gas, we go to MOPP 4 and dee-dee Mao." said Bobby.

Steve looked at Kevin. "Yes?"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Yes Dad, We go to the holes, we see 'em we kill 'em. MOPP 4 if we need to. Water wash down as soon as we get to a safe zone."

Steve waved to the group. " John and DeAnn have got Will helping them get the Dolphin in commission. I dunno what good 2.5 inch FFARs will do, but I’ve got four pods for them."

Kevin smiled " If nothing else, they can locate any more landing sites. Wells identified 10 in England if I recall."

Steve grinned back. "I’ll call if they report any new ones." He waved an easy salute, "Good Luck and Good Hunting."

Steve went back in the command post to check on the Video Team.

*/*

Ravens Compound, May 7, 1899, 0530

***

Edward, Prince of Wales, was awakened by the bird chorus of early morning.

He slowly came awake, and as he awoke, a change came over him, as though a different soul had entered his body.

In another timeline, historians would refer to him as "Edward the Caresser" and remember him as an officious, ineffective King, whose pig headed policies, led the British Empire down into a death spiral.

But on this timeline, historians would record a change as dramatic as Saul of Tarsus. This King Edward would be long remembered as one of the most effective leaders in British history - and eventually, as the first Emperor of Humanity.

But today, the change was still upon him, and he felt his way through his new life.

Two days ago, he was awakened as heir-apparent to one of the greatest Empires on Earth. Yesterday, he had awakened as a leader of a nation invaded and had prepared to flee defeat. By afternoon, he had become merely a snack, a bit of forage picked up by an Alien hunter.

And what was he today?

These strangely confident, supremely competent Americans from the future - what did they mean to him, to the Empire?

These Americans, in five minutes, destroyed four tripods - almost without major effort. The proud British military had destroyed only two tripods in two hard, bitter days of fighting.

Somehow, he realized that his life - and the entire Empire, would be divided forever by these two days.

He swung his feet over the bed, and realized something else - he did not hurt today.

He realized that he was by himself in this room - and he realized how rarely that had ever happened, that servants, valets, guards, or whatever did not surround him. He wandered around the guest bedroom, looking at the odd devices. At least the water closet looked reasonably familiar. He put on his pants and shirt from yesterday, since there was none laid out for him.

Two days ago, he might have thrown a temper tantrum.

Today, he merely was glad to be alive.

He stepped to the sliding door of the bedroom and looked out.

Across a small grass courtyard, he saw a building similar to his own. At a wooden table, an old man was cleaning a rifle. He realized it was Carl Raven, the father of Colonel Raven.

He opened the door and stepped out.

Carl Raven stood and greeted him. "Morning, your Highness. Feeling OK this morning? Just brewed a pot of coffee and got some bagels, if you'd like." Carl stopped a second. "Or I can brew some tea, if you'd like."

Bertie felt the tug of his altered reality. There was no disrespect in the old commoner's attitude, just the rough simplicity of a free man who doesn't believe in the divine right of kings. He looked at the cool gray eyes and he understood that this old man had seen and done things that he, the Prince of Wales, could not imagine.

"Actually, that coffee sounds quite good, my friend. Thank you." he said gravely. "What is a bagel?"

Carl laughed. "They take some getting used to, but I like them." He stepped into his kitchen and pulled out a round, doughnut shaped object, sliced it in half, and asked, "I usually throw a slice of ham on, or would you like cream cheese?"

"Ham is fine.," said the Prince, as his stomach rumbled, reminding that he had not eaten since lunch the previous day.

"Here you go, your highness.," said Carl, as he passed him the ham bagel and mug of hot black coffee. "Cream and sugar on the table, if you want them."

Bertie bit into the bagel and realized it was quite good. Simple, quick and efficient - that seemed to sum up these Americans: Simple, quick, efficient, no nonsense, and no drama.

After downing half the bagel and washing it down with the strong black coffee, Bertie asked a question that had been bothering him. "Are you all members of a military unit? Many of your group seems to be wearing these "camouflage" colors. I realize that that is French for "concealment", but concealment from what?"

Carl chuckled. "Well, your Highness, that explanation is a bit complex. Why don't we wander on over to see my son the Colonel? He's a lot better at explaining stuff to VIPs than I am."

The Prince sniffed a second. "You know, this clothing is a bit soiled from yesterday. We seem to be about the same size. Might there be a chance that you might be able to loan me some clothes?"

Carl chuckled again. Bertie was finding himself strangely liking this uncomplicated fellow. Uncomplicated, but by no means, simple.

Carl headed over to his closet." No sweat, your Highness."

****

"How we coming on the DVD, guys?" asked Steve. He rinsed his mouth with hot coffee, feeling what he called the "high-ops-tempo rush" He'd been awake for 36 hours straight now, with only a few combat naps, but he was still in his form. He'd been here in this mindset before, working the Operations Plan, putting the Plan together and beginning the implementation. But before, he'd been in the CAOC at Al Kharj, or Al Udeid or Dal Molin.

It just was odd to be in charge of the whole show.

Mike and Nate had shown up an hour before, annoyed that he had stayed up, but they had agree with the Plan he'd come up with.

Rick Pitlick came out of the IT area with a DVD. He looked a bit more frazzled than Steve, but he hadn't taken any naps. "Well, Steve, it needs a bit of polishing, but I think it'll work for today's show."

"Good enough, guys. Let me look at it, and you guys can go crash."

"Suits me." said Tim, yawning and stretching from a long night of piecing movie clips together. "I could just go in the corner and crash right here. I don't think I got enough energy to go back to the house."

Major Ferguson rapped his knuckles against the door of the conference room. He looked worried. "Excuse me, Colonel.," he said. "Have you seen the Prince of Wales this morning?"

"You've misplaced his Highness?" asked Steve. "Did you try his guest quarters? I'd like to see him myself most ASAP, but I'm not sure that waking up royalty is in my job description."

"The Corporal I assigned to him fell asleep on duty. When we checked the guest house, it was empty." said the Major.

"Well I doubt he'd have gone far," said Steve. "Where have you looked?"

"Don't worry Major, I'm quite fine." said the Prince.

Major Ferguson turned, looked down the corridor, and his jaw dropped. When the Prince came into view, Steve understood why the Major was stunned.

When the Prince was in the garb of a Victorian gentleman, he looked the part.

Now, he'd donned a pair of camouflage bib overalls, a flannel shirt, and with his full gray beard and moustache, he looked like a body double for Carl Raven. The camouflage ball cap with the "Caterpillar" logo merely completed the surreal effect.

"Good morning, Your Highness." said Steve.

"And a very good morning to you, Colonel." replied the Prince. "Your father was kind enough to loan me some clothing. I think you said something about a proper explanation this morning?"

***

Recovering quickly, Steve got the British party seated at the RSI conference table. Steve took the podium, took a slug of his coffee and launched into his routine.

"Basically, your Highness, for reasons we do not understand, this compound, and everyone on it, was transferred from Cambria, New York, in the United States of America, in May of 2006, to the outskirts of London in May of 1899. Your history, with some small exceptions, appears to be similar to ours up until three days ago.

Steve clicked the remote, and the full wall projection screen stopped displaying the Raven Security Inc. Logo, and displayed the title - "Brief History of the 20th Century".

There were a few gasps - Steve was sure that some of the down-timers did not realize that there was a projection room behind the glass wall.

"Basically, your Highness, the 20th Century is already being called the "Century of Total War" by our historians." he grimaced, realizing that he was beginning a lie that he and his friends would have to maintain for years to come. "Sir, this invasion that you suffered this past week is just the first of many to come." As the down timers started to react, he hit them with more. "Most of us bless this invasion, as it was, essentially, the first and weakest, and gave us the knowledge that enabled the Human Race to survive."

Major Ferguson broke decorum by speaking before the Prince. "B-B-But how? And in God's Name, why?"

"I trust you all have a Classical Education, and recall the history of the Roman Empire? The histories of Livy and Tacticus?" The down-timers nodded, and he continued. A slide with a picture of the Milky Way Galaxy appeared. "What Earth is facing, gentlemen, is the modern equivalent of a Volkwanderung, a migration of the Tribes as happened in the time of Julius Caesar. The Romans conquered the Celts, but then the Gauls, the Germans, the Goths, the Huns, and finally the Mongols came out of Central Asia." He grimaced, "And if you thought the Martians have been horrible, well, there is worse to come..."

The slide changed, and a movie clip appeared. A woman with a shaven head operated a powerful machine, fighting a creature from a nightmare.

"What in God's Name is THAT?" blurted the Prince.

"That, sir, has a name unpronounceable to humans - we simply call it an Alien." said Steve grimly. " It has some rather nasty habits." The scene changed to a man lying on a hospital bed. He had a large mass in his chest, which suddenly burst open to reveal a smaller version of the nightmare they had just seen. "Much like some insects on Earth, they lay their eggs in a host - the larval form then eats its way out. Humans are similar to their preferred host on their home world."

The scene changed to a heavily muscled man running through a jungle, followed by something that shimmered on the edge of visibility, like a reflection in water. The man fell, and then another creature from a nightmare appeared. "That creature, " said Steve, "is one that we call a Predator. It appears to be the equivalent of a hunter, and tends to hunt humans as we would hunt, say, Lions, Tigers or Bears."

"Oh, my.." exclaimed Major Ferguson, speaking for the group. "Please, tell me you're joking."

"No," lied Steve, " we fought those two races to a standstill."

"It's invisible?" said the Prince.

"Well, not exactly." said Steve, "He's wearing a Chameleon Suit - basically, the cloth has thousands of tiny video cameras woven into it, and projectors that show what is 180 degrees out - effectively making that which is between projector and camera "disappear" - a Japanese Professor at Tokyo University was able to duplicate the effect in 1997."

"Do you have these suits?" said the Major.

"Uh, no. I wish we did, but the human-built ones are both hideously expensive and fragile. It's going to take awhile for us to gain that capability here, if that's what you're asking, sir." Steve clicked the mouse - "but back to our history."

"There was a lot of damage." The screen showed a grainy picture of a group of soldiers. A man in British khaki lay on the ground, surrounded by soldiers. "Your son, for example, King George V, was injured in the fighting in France." The Prince gasped in horrified recognition. "He survived, but was in pain for the rest of his life. The picture changed, and now another man with similar features stood at a rifle range, blasting away with a Thompson submachine gun. "Your son, George VI, did better, but died fairly young, of cancer, possibly from the weapons used in that conflict." The scene switched to a picture of a young woman in British Battle dress, climbing into a large truck. "We had about thirty years of relative peace after that - your great-granddaughter, Queen Elizabeth did OK, but her son Charles is in dire straits."

"The latest wave of invaders has been very bad."

The scene switched to a picture of the American White House. The camera pulled back to reveal a huge alien ship hovering over it. A beam of light stabbed down, and the White House disintegrated. The scene changed again, and the down timers watched in horror as a large flaming mass destroyed the heart of Paris.

"The worst ones, call themselves the People of the Ships.," said Steve, as a picture of a crocodile headed centaur appeared on the screen. "We're not sure, but they may have been on Earth before - Herodotus records a tale of Crocodile headed Centaurs that ate humans as prey."

Edward nodded, " I recall that story, but my tutor said that it was an exaggeration, based on distorted legends of the Mongol warriors."

"Well, your Highness, I recall hearing that interpretation my self, but that was before we learned of the Posleen. It is an uncannily good description of them." Steve grimaced and continued. "They stand 14 to 17 hands high, and can handle personal weapons that would take several men to operate." On the screen, a section of the Alldenata video game showed a superior normal leading an Oolt through the wreckage of a city.

"They regard non-Posleen as food. Their word for food is "thresh" The word for human is "threshkreen" - literally, "food with a sting"

A human survivor was flushed and rendered to thresh in gory detail. The animation was incredibly lifelike - Steve was sure none of the men watching could tell the difference from an actual movie.

Major Ferguson went to the garbage can and was quietly sick as the Posleen bit off bloody gobbets of flesh from the still-screaming human. He went on "They are total nomads, much like the Mongols - they conquer a planet, rape it for resources, and move on."

Another animation showed a Battleglobe breaking into landers and descending on Earth.

"They first landed in October of 2004. By 2007, the human population of Earth had dropped from 8 Billion to 1.4 Billion. The Posleen population of Earth was estimated in excess of 12 Billion."

' Six and half billion dead in four years? Good Lord, there's not that many people on the world today?" exclaimed Major Ferguson. The Prince merely sat there with his mouth open, looking like a man who'd been sandbagged.

"How did you survive?" continued Major Ferguson.

"We were above the temperate zone." said Steve. "The Posleen don't like cold weather. They hadn't gotten to us yet. That's all."

"But how did you defeat them?" asked the Major.

"We hadn't, as of two days ago. Humanity is fighting a losing battle and hoping for a miracle. Only a few parts of the United States are still in human hands. The people of Great Britain were able to force an impasse at Hadrian's Wall, but all south of that is in Posleen hands. Everywhere else -Australia, India, Africa, South America, and Asia - the humans that survive there are cattle, waiting to be eaten, or furtive, hunted animals."

"My god, man." said the Prince, wringing his hands, "then all is for nothing. In a century, humanity will die?"

"Well, that begs the question, your Highness. If you'll excuse the presumption, maybe God wants humanity to live. With us to give your world a head start, maybe, when the Posleen show up, we will have the technology to defeat them."

"I don't know what t say, Colonel. Two days ago, I was the heir apparent to the Greatest Empire on Earth. Now you tell me that we, all of us, unto the seventh generation, are condemned to endless war and battle." He dropped his face into his hands. "It's a bit much to take."

****

The down timers were engaged in deep discussion. Gail stepped to the door and motioned to Steve, who excused himself and stepped into the hallway.

"Steve, Rick is in the clinic, and he's been in a laughing jag for the last ten minutes. Every time he slows down, he tries to explain, but then he starts laughing so hard he can't talk. I'm beginning to think it's some kind of hysterical anxiety reaction."

"Uhm, let me talk to him before you administer Valium." Steve said. "Part of it is no sleep for the last two days, I think."

They walked into the clinic. The Queen was still unconscious, but breathing well without assistance. Nikki was watching her vital signs and keeping the Queen's servants away from the monitoring and life support apparatus. She waved to Steve and Gail.

They stepped into a back office. Rick was rolling on the floor, laughing so hard that the tears were flowing.

"Weasel!" exclaimed Steve. "Snap out of it!"

Finally, Rick calmed down and wiped his eyes. "Oh shit, Steve, I'm sorry, but I had to leave. When I saw the Prince standing next to your dad, looking for all the world like a redneck Santa Claus - sorry, two redneck Santas, twin sons of different mothers, I had to leave...I kept thinking of that Tom Arnold movie - you know the one where the British Royal family all dies, and he becomes the new King?"

Both Steve and Gail started chuckling, and pretty soon they were all whooping with laughter.

******

Steve walked back to the conference room while Weasel went back to his quarters.

The Prince was in deep discussion with several new and important-looking downtimers.

He looked up as Steve entered the room.

"Colonel Raven, this is Prime Minister Balfour and the Lord (y), the Foreign Secretary. Would you be so kind as to show them what you showed me?"

Steve went through the movie clips again, and the two men stared in stunned silence.

:Lord (y) finally spoke. "So, Colonel, what you are telling us is, the situation is hopeless? Best that we commit suicide now, and spare our posterity this horror?"

"Lord God, NO!" thundered Steve, slapping his hand on the table like a whip crack. Everyone flinched.

"We have much of the collected knowledge of the 20th century here on this base. What we need to do, is to gather the best minds of human kind, and every advantage we can muster, to build the technology that can defeat these aliens."

"But the picture you paint is hopeless." said Lord (Y).

The Prime Minister held up his hand as his mind began cranking. "I believe I see what the Colonel is trying to tell us. He knows what is coming, and he knows what we have learned - with a century to prepare..."

"Yes!" said the Prince, "I see, if you can give a brilliant man the knowledge that he spent a lifetime studying - and give it to him as a young man, now you have effectively given him two lifetimes to work."

Steve grinned. "Even better than that, your highness, if we can build an electronics industry early on, developing computers fifty years early will maybe double or triple their life's work."

"But can we do that?" asked Bob. "I mean, you guys are smart, but do we have the tools to build microchips?"

"Ah, but you see, Bob, "said Steve, "we have some advantages, in that we know it is possible and that it is worth pursuing. For example, this year, Tesla will patent a tunneling electron microscope - but he'll have no idea of how to use it or what to use it for. He's up at Niagara Falls right now, working for Westinghouse at the Schoelkopf Plant. George Linde is working on rare gas experiments in Tonawanda, not twenty miles away, and in a few years, he will invent the ceramic magnets that will make it possible to focus the electron microscope - but it won't be until 1933 that somebody figures that out." Steve warmed to the subject. Over in Rochester, George Eastman and the folks at Kodak are working out the theory of thin film lithography. They'll use it to invent microfilm in the Twenties." Then, it will take until 1970 for someone to figure out that the electron microscope can be used to handle thin-film lithography and ultra-small printed circuits."

Steve looked at the down-timers meaningfully Just to give you an idea of what I'm talking about, the human hair averages 120 microns. By 1995, we were building circuits with half-micron elements." Steve grinned, "It took so long because the parts were there, but it took decades to get all the pieces into one process. But we know the process can be done, and is worth doing." he waved his arm widely. "Because of what we know, we can get Tesla and Linde focused and working together right now - then bring in George Eastman and the folks at Kodak, over in Rochester, and I'd hope that we can get thin-film lithography going in about ten years. We can do vacuum tubes right now, as a stopgap, but I have the feeling that the Golden Age of Radio is going to be transistors and microchips, not pentodes and triodes."

"Hey, yeah, and don't forget George Haynes, Steve." added Mongo.

"That's another one." said Steve. "Fellow named George Haynes, in Kokomo, Indiana, made Stellite a few years ago- but it'll be another 18 years before it occurs to anybody to line gun barrels with it. When they do, the US Government will make the production and working of Stellite a National Secret - even in 2003, only the US and the UK will be able to manufacture and work the material."

"But what is so special about this -Stellite?" asked Lord Balfour.

"Great stuff." said Steve. "Line a gun barrel with it and it last 10, 20 times longer than an unlined steel gun barrel." This time, Steve's smile was grim. "Gentlemen, Lord Maxim's machine gun is good, but heavy and prone to overheat after a few dozen rounds of continuous fire. We, on the other hand, have some machine guns that can fire 20MM shells at 2500 rounds per minute as long as you can keep them fed.

"But this is all in America." protested the Prince. "Are there no scientists in the Empire?"

Steve lied glibly "There might well be, now. My guys are riding around taking out Tripods as fast as they can. And your folks, now that they understand what weapons and tactics to use, are also going to be more successful. " he shrugged. "Strictly speaking, Harrington and Richards have plenty of Express rifles as good as our Barrets. You just need to know how to use them." He waved his arm at the screen again. "Bottom line is, Many who died in our world will live to contribute to the body of knowledge." he said. " Death toll will be much lower in the British Isles than it was, so there might well be a few geniuses in that batch."

"And if we know the threat is coming, we can prepare for it, "concluded Lord (Y).

"I might caution you, sirs, " said Steve, against releasing everything we told you to the general public."

The Prince tapped his teeth with a pencil. "Possibly a good idea." he said. "The Invasion AND Martians are a bit hard to take. Telling them now that they face a century of war might cause despair and mass hysteria."

"True, your highness, " said the Prime Minister, "but we must tell them something. And what do we tell other nations? Not to put too fine a point on it," he said, quirking an eyebrow at Steve, "but all of these people are not even British subjects. They are all Americans, I believe."

Steve returned the gaze coolly. "In a few years, and for the rest of the century at least, Mr. Prime Minister, America and England will stand together against all enemies. Although of my countrymen might not want to accept it, American military might has been the armored fist of British Policy for most of the 20th century and into the 21st."

"That," said the Prime Minister, "almost sounds stranger than aliens from another planet. Americans fighting and dying for England?"

"Well, not quite, Sir." allowed Steve. "The American Revolution notwithstanding, simple, flat-out survival drove the Anglo-American Alliance. Sheer pragmatism." he shrugged. "On the British side, they lost almost an entire generation of young men, and most of the following one." He tapped the screen.

"I would suggest that we create an Alliance of nations - at first, against the Martians, and against the next waves that are coming."

Mike broke into the conversation, "In our world, it was called the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, or NATO.' He pressed the mouse button and a polar map of NATO, circa 2004, came onto the screen. "America, Canada, England, Norway, Russia, Germany, the Low Countries, Turkey, Greece, Italy and Spain."

"Not France?" asked the Prince.

All the Down timers noticed the violent reaction of the Ravens, and wondered at it.

"No. French. Period." said Steve. "I'll give them the chance that they are different than our French, but, no. I do not see a reason to give them access to advanced technology."

"The damned frogs can rot for all I freakin' care." declared Mike.

"Well, we might want to see if the Curies want to immigrate, or Becquerel..." said Nate.

****

Grosvenor House (US Embassy)

London, UK May 8, 1899 0730 GMT

***

Steve checked the map and told Mongo "turn left here" The Ford Bronco pulled up to the front of an imposing building. Even though it was soot stained and showed damage from the Invasion, The Stars and Stripes proclaimed to the world that the Americans were still here. The Marine Guard was in Khaki with campaign hats, not dress blues, and their Krag-Jorgeson rifles were almost certainly loaded with live rounds.

Kevin was on the roof gun, although he had spent the trip mostly sightseeing. Steve tapped him on the leg. "Stay alert, son, and yell if you need help."

"Got it covered, dad" came the reply. "You just don't go pissing off this ambassador, OK?"

"Rojj" answered Steve." I'm going to leave the frequency open."

"You think we ought to take off the headsets" asked Mike.

"Hey, these folks haven't seen them before, so it'll enhance our mark of strangeness. I think we need to capitalize on that."

"I think we look strange enough said Mongo, as he shut the door and stepped out. They were in full tactical mode - BDUs, Flak vest, load bearing vest, gas mask and Kevlar helmet.

"Snap the strap on your K-pot" hissed Steve as they walked across the street.

Mike clipped the strap and adjusted the patrol sling on his M-4 as they walked up to the guard.

The two Marines were nearly cross-eyed as they tried to manfully maintain their military bearing.

Steve snapped to attention, saluted the flag and said "Lt Colonel Steve McRaven, US Air Force. Is the Ambassador in today?"

The Marine gave up the fight and let his jaw drop. "Lt Col Who? of the US what?"

"It's a long story, Lance Corporal." said Steve. "Why don't you have the private go get the Sergeant of the Guard. I would really like to talk to the Ambassador, or least the Charge d'Affair." As he said this, Steve pulled off his Nomex glove and fished out his Government passport ant retired ID card.

"Hmm, Bro, I think we overdid the strangeness factor." said Mongo, tapping his brother on the shoulder. Steve turned around and noticed that a large crowd had gathered. Despite the near-evacuation of the city, and the early hour, a large group of people had gathered around the Bronco.

Kevin keyed the PA system. "Folks, step away from the vehicle. If you want to look, do so from arms length, OK?"

"Uh-oh" said Steve. "I think I may have screwed up big time. I underestimated how strange the vehicle would look and over-estimated staid British resolve."

"Worse yet," said Mongo, "remember that Kevin might be having some Iraq flashbacks if the crowd surrounds him too much."

At this point, a Gunny strode up. "What's this about somebody claiming to be a Colonel showing up at the front gate with a strange vehicle?"

"Gunny," said Steve. "There will be plenty of time for explanations later, but can I get my vehicle into the Embassy compound before something ugly happens?"

The Gunnery Sergeant took in the silver oak leaves and the American accent, and made a snap decision. He looked at the Private. "Collins, get the duty squad out here with weapons and then open the gate."

"Thanks, Gunny." said Steve. "Mike, go get the Bronco and pull it into the compound before that crowd gets ugly.

Mongo dropped his goggles over his eyes, raised his M-4, and snapped the bolt forward. Kevin keyed the PA again and said "Clear a path folks, clear a path."

Mongo walked through the crowd. Even

though they had never seen a figure like this, they recognized the menace. Mike was in full "Mongo Effect", radiating menace in all of his body English without saying a word. The people recognized this and got out of his way.

He jumped into the Bronco and the V8 diesel roared to life and settled into a steady growl. The crowd parted as he turned into the Embassy gate.

The English civilians maintained a respectful distance from the Marines but stared at the strange vehicles and the three men in BDUs.

***

"Thanks Gunny, I appreciate that. I've got a troop of Coldstreams guarding our facility, not that we've got anyone asking questions yet" said Steve.

"Gunnery Sergeant Eric Stone, Sir. Uh, begging the Colonel's pardon, but I've got a few question, myself." he said as he saluted.

"Lt Col Steve McRaven," said Steve, returning the salute. "Not a problem, Gunny, but I'd better answer the Ambassador's questions, first." said Steve.

A rotund gentlemen dressed in a pinstriped suit three-piece suit strode over to Steve and offered his hand. "The phones are working again, and I just got a rather confused call from the Prime Minister. Since I didn't understand half of what I was told, maybe we'd better start at the beginning. I'm Ambassador Joseph Choate, Colonel McRaven. How can I help you.

"Lt Col Steven Raven, US Air Force retired reserve, and this is my brother, Staff Sergeant Michael McRaven, Air Force Reserve, and my son, Staff Sergeant Kevin McRaven, US Army Reserve."

.The Ambassador's smiled. "Would you care to step inside, where we can talk this over like civilized people?"

"Sure thing, Sir. Uhm, do you want us to leave the Bronco out front, or do you have a secure parking area?"

The Ambassador looked at the Gunny.

Gunny Stone said, " No problem, Colonel. Private Smith has driven trucks before, he can take it over by the stables."

"Negative on that suggestion, Gunny." said Steve. "This vehicle is about a century more advanced than anything your boys have seen on this world - and this is a tactical vehicle - it has a security system that can bite real bad. Why don't you have Private Smith get in the passenger seat and direct Kevin over there. The private can bring him back here afterward."

"OK sir." said the Gunny, "Not really understanding, but also getting the feeling that this strange looking bunch was nobody to mess with, either.

"And Gunny, tell your guys to keep their hands away from it while it's parked. The security system starts with a siren, moves through electrical shock and ends with claymore mines. Somebody messes with it, they might wind up terminally dead, understand?"

"Aye, sir." said the Gunny. He turned and pointed a finger "Smith, get in the vehicle and direct the Sergeant to the parking area." he barked. "And the rest of you swab handles keep your hands off it, got that!?"

Steve tried to smother a laugh as he walked away. He nudged his brother in the ribs.

The Ambassador looked a them. "What did you say, Colonel?"

"Oh, nothing much, Mr Ambassador. Just that some things in the Marine Corps don't change, whatever the century." They walked up the front steps and Steve had a thought. "By the way, sir, I don't know what the habit is here, but I have no problem stowing our weapons in the armory. The situation is kind of dicey out there," he said, jerking a thumb in the general dirction of the street., but I figure we've got the Marines at our backs now."

"You sound like you've worked with Marines before."

"That's most affirmative, Mr. Ambassador." replied Steve. "Started out as a Navy Corpsman - that would be a Pharmacist Mate these days, got assigned to the Fleet Marine Force and went ashore on about a half-dozen operations with the Marines. Never worked with Embassy Marines, but I've heard only the best of the best get this kind of assignment."

"Well, on a day like this, I'm not too worried about weapons - and actually, once we get to my office and sit down, I'd like to take a look at yours."

"No sweat, sir," said Steve. "I think that'll help with explaining our situation."

*/*/*

Once inside the office, Steve popped open his Kevlar vest and pulled out a map case. "First off, sir, here is a list of the people that came through with me – names, place and date of birth, Social Security numbers, passport numbers, all the usual sort of things the Customs folks ask."

The Ambassador looked at the sheet. "I notice that all of these are American Citizens. I’m not sure when we can arrange transportation back, but it shouldn’t take…"

"Oh, Lord no." said Steve. "I’m just trying to get the little nit-noy administrivia out of the way. We’ve got bigger fish to fry today, Sir."

"O-K," said the Ambassador. "I think that was English, but I’m not exactly sure what you want, Colonel."

"If I might, Sir." Said Steve, waving to Mike and Bobby, who had carried large Halliburton cases with them. They popped open the cases and began setting up a 17 inch flat screen monitor to a DVD player. "Sir, I’m not sure if the concept of Classification has been invented yet, but basically, what I’m about to show you are matters of grave national importance. If you were a loose-lipped fool, you wouldn’t be the Ambassador to the Court of St James – but what you’ll see here is not something you’ll want to talk about loosely. In fact, I’d suggest that the Gunny should have the doors and windows locked."

Choate looked around "Gunnery Sergeant Stone?"

"Yes sir"

"Could you see if the Chargé d'Affaires is in the building – and if Major Cragg is back from the Home Office, I think he needs to hear this also?"

"Yes sir." Said the Gunny, as he looked out to send runners after the Chargé d'Affaires and his Major.

A few minutes later, with the room secured and the senior Americans present, Steve began Step two of the Big Lie.

"Gentlemen, what I am about to show you, in my time, would be classified as Top Secret, Special Compartmented Information. This is information of grave importance to National Security – it’s premature disclosure could have extremely serious consequences to survival of the United States. Do I make myself clear?" Steve leaned forward and put his arms on the table, gazing into each man’s eyes individually. His voice was low, deep and harsh.

The men at the table looked at each other. Products of the last half of the 19th Century, they counted themselves as strong men, men of stern mettle. But this strange looking man from the future chilled each one of them. Many years later, Gunny Stone would describe the experience as "Feeling like a yearling hound dog puppy looking at a Silvertip Grizzly."

****

The DVD had much the same effect on the Americans as it had on the British.

"So we are doomed?" asked an ashen faced Choate.

"I don’t think so, sir" said Steve.

"We have a century to get ready." Said Mike, the first words he’d spoken since entering the room.

"While we can’t produce 2004 technology today," said Steve, "we can start planning and moving now. Knowing that it is both possible and needed, I think we can get to 2004 levels of technology in 20 or thirty years. By 2004, I would bet we’ll have starships of our own to fight the Posties."

"But we won’t get there if we squabble and quarrel among ourselves." Said Mike. "We need NATO right now."

"NATO?" queried Major Cragg.

"The North Atlantic Treaty Organization – or hell, just call it the Alliance and be done with it." Said Mike. "The important thing is that the major players of the world – America, England, Russia, Germany and Japan, band together, pool their technical skill and resources, and we chase the six legged freaks back where ever they came from."

Ambassador Choate had regained his composure and tapped his teeth. "Fine as far as that goes – but I notice you include the Japanese Empire – a minor power – but exclude the French Republic, the Austrians and the Chinese."

"Damned Frog bastards…" said Bobby, but Kevin grabbed his sleeve and had sit down.

"The Chinese Empire is the sick man of Asia, just as the Ottoman Empire is the sick man of Europe – and Austro-Hungary, when you come down to it - is actually a minor player – I’ve no problem with letting them in, though." Said Steve. "However, as you might deduce from my Cousin’s reaction, we Ravens have little use for the French as a nation. Although I don’t want to make enemies without cause, in our timeline, the 20th century French republic was the kind of friend that would drop a chamber pot in the soup kettle – by accident, mind you, but better left outside. They are better enemies than friends." Steve smiled. "The Japanese, on the other hand, are classified under the heading of fine friends and terrible enemies. In our timeline, they became major players in the history of the 20th century. I see no reason why that shouldn’t happen here."

"So, what are you looking to get out of this meeting, Colonel?"

"At the moment, Ambassador, I just want to let you know that we exist, and we bring news from the future. What I would like to do, as soon as possible, is to meet with the President and start setting up the Alliance."

*/*

The Alliance Begins

Buckingham Palace, London, UK May 8, 1899 0730 GMT

**\**

Prince Edward sat at the wide table and looked at Prime Minister Sir Arthur James Balfour, and the Home Secretary, Sir Matthew White Ridley. "Gentlemen, I know what my own feelings are on Colonel Raven's proposal, but what are your feelings?"

Balfour looked at Prince Edward. An invasion of aliens from another planet was one thing. But the really amazing thing was this strong, decisive, intelligent man who had taken the place of the over bred, lazy Prince of Wales – that had rendered him speechless.

Sir Garnet Wolseley, Commander in Chief of the British Army, coughed loudly.

"Yes, Sir Garnet?" Asked the Prince.

"Well," he drawled, "two weeks ago, if you had told me this, I would have called the impossible. I would have suspected that someone was smoking opium. But today," he held his hand palm up, as if letting a fistful of imaginary sand pour away. "Today, I can only say that he might have the right of it."

"The one thing is, your highness, "said the PM, "they say they can give us some amazing technology, and ways to build our own. If they can build half of what they want, the world is a better place for us. I see four possible outcomes:

Assume we do everything Col Raven wants: If the aliens come on schedule, then we survive. If they don’t come, we still are well-off." He coughed." But if we do nothing, and let the world run its course, if the aliens don’t show up, then we are no worse than we would have been otherwise. But if the aliens do show up, anyway, the human race is doomed."

"When you put it that way," said the Prince, "I’d say the best course of action is to go forward with the Alliance. When my mother is well enough, I will counsel her to do so."

There was a stir in the outer office as the First Sea Lord, Sir George Joachim Goschen, entered. "Dreadfully, sorry, Your Highness, but the message only caught up with me at Portsmouth this morning. It took me damn-all time to get up here." He frowned. Although born in London, when highly stressed, Sir George developed a hint of a German Accent. "I’ve been hearing an awful lot uff rumors und stories – and some really amazing ones this morning. Not only the Martians, but if you could believe it, some dumbkopf told me about time-traveling Yanks from the future! Can you believe it?" He stopped as he looked at the faces of those around the table.

The Prince tapped on his teeth with his pen. "Sir George, we not only have Martian Invaders, but also a party of Yanks from the year 2004." He paused. "And what’s worse, the Yanks say this is just the FIRST invasion."

Sir James examined the Prince very intently. A skilled politician, he was skilled in reading what a later generation would call "body English". Most often, in matters of state, IF you could get "Bertie" to attend, he tended to slouch and leave at the first opportunity. Today, the Prince had been sitting at the head of the table and had run the meeting with a very unusual flair and directness. With a start, Sir James realized that the Prince was, probably unconsciously, aping the mannerisms of Col Raven – right down to tapping his teeth while thinking.

"Your Highness," he said, "Might I suggest that we put together a list of senior government officials, and possibly some scientists, to see the Colonel’s presentation. I’d say, to describe it is one thing – but to see those moving pictures is to believe.

/*/

Raven System International Compound, London, UK Wednesday May 10, 1899 0930 GMT

*\**

Steve was sitting at his desk, uploading his notes from the PDA into his desktop and the network.

*Damn Lucky I decided to go with the flow and let Tim buy all those server blades on sale. * He thought to himself. *We’d be in deep Kim chi if these guys weren’t such information junkies. *

For about the ten thousandth time this week, he missed the Internet.

His phone rang, and he cursed at it.

"Steve here, what now?" he growled into the phone.

It was Mike, and he had a really puzzled tone. "Uh, bro, I’m out at the front gate; it seems the First Sea Lord is at the gate, and he wants to see us. He’s also got a delegation from the Imperial Japanese Navy."

"Well, shitfire, bro, send them in, send them in! Anybody we know?"

"Uh, yeah…you could say that. You could say that in spades."

Steve was tired of the puzzlement. "Cut to the chase -Who the Hell is it?" He couldn’t think of what could stun the normally unflappable Mongo.

"It’s Admiral Yamamoto and two Ensigns – Ensign Taisho and Ensign Isoryuku Takano."

"Holy shit!" breathed Steve. He fell into his office chair.

Rick Pitlick and Rick Bush were in the corridor and looked in on Steve. They were shocked to see his face.

Alarmed, Weasel asked- "Whoa, dude! You look like you saw a ghost. What’s up?"

"We got visitors from the Imperial Japanese Navy – Admiral Yamamoto and Ensign Taisho and Ensign Takano."

"Hold it." Said Rick. "Admiral Yamamoto is from World War Two. That guy couldn’t be here now. "

"You're thinking of the wrong Guy." said Steve. "THIS Admiral Yamamoto is the adoptive father of the guy you’re thinking of. His sons were killed in battle, so in 1906, he adopted a young Lieutenant, fellow by the name of Isoryuku Takano. That’s the Ensign up there. He’s also my grandmother’s brother."

"Holy shit!" said Rick. ""Can’t we go anywhere without running into some more of Mike’s relatives?"

"Well, just to make it juicer, the other Ensign, that’s the Crown Prince traveling incognito. You might remember him as Emperor Hirohito."

Weasel cursed long and fluently.

"Look, guys." Said Steve, "Can you sort of round up some help and maybe put together some munchies for after the film?"

"Sounds good." Said Carl, poking his head around the door. "You know, boy, I’ve still got a couple bags of Hapi and iku in the frig, along with that 12 pack of Asahi beer and a bottle of Suntory Whiskey. You think they might want some reminders of home?"

Steve looked cross-eyed a second. "I wonder if Asahi and Suntory exist yet. But yeah, Dad, that sounds good."

Rick chipped in," Hey, I can bring up that big bottle of Kirin that I bought last week. What is that, six liters – I can’t drink it all."

"I dunno," said Steve, "Beer, rice crackers and dried squid would be good for small fry common folk like us and Uncle Ichiro, but would they do for big shots like this?"

"Hell, boy." Said Carl; "They’re sailors, ain’t they? I never met a Navy Officer that didn’t hide low tastes behind that condescending Emperor of the Universe act."

Steve pointed a finger at his father and grinned. "Good point, dad." He at Rick Bush –"You've got a clean shirt on – you greet the Sea Lord and the Admiral when they get here and get them seated. I’ll go get my service dress on. Weasel, you go with my dad and get the food."

Luckily, Mongo dawdled enough, walking across the compound, that Steve was able to don his service dress and straighten his tie.

Mongo did well as he brought the VIPs in. "Sir Groschen, Sir Garnet, Admiral Yamamoto, this is my older brother, Lt. Col. Steven McRaven. Steve, this is the First Sea Lord, Sir George Groschen, the Commander of the Army, Sir Garnet Woolsey, and Admiral Yamamoto of the Imperial Japanese Navy.

"Good morning, Sir George, Sir Garnet." Said Steve as he shook hands with both men. When he came to Admiral Yammamoto, he bowed deeply and said "Konnichi-wa, Admiral Yamamoto <I am very pleased to meet a representative of Japan so soon. >"

The Admiral’s eyes widened in surprise, but otherwise, he kept a straight face. "<Lt. Colonel McRaven, I am pleased and surprised to meet an American officer that speaks Japanese. >"

"<Not terribly uncommon in my time, Sir. My father was stationed in Japan for many years. That is where he met my mother. I also served several years at the American bases in Japan. >"

Ensign Taisho jumped into the conversation. "<American troops in Japan. Never! You are a liar! >"

Both the Admiral and Steve looked at the young man. He stepped back, suddenly unsure of himself.

"<Never say never, young prince. >" Counseled Steve. "<In 1945, the Showa Emperor was forced to choose between Japan’s pride and Japan’s survival. Far too many of Japan's soldiers, sailors and airmen had fallen in battle. Faced with impending invasion and the destruction of Japan, he chose to accept the American aid and American Troops. Japan and America have both grown strong within that friendship. Five generations of Americans have stood guard with the troops of the Empire. Japanese troops work and train in America and across the world. It was-is-will be good for both nations, as you will see.">

*It was not exactly a lie* he thought to himself...it was all in how you parsed the sentences.

The young man stepped back. He understood the look and the silent warning. But how could this Gajin have known that he was the next emperor of Japan, let alone that he had chosen to call himself the Showa Emperor when the time came? He had only made that decision yesterday, and had told no one, not even written it in his diary.

Mongo cleared his throat. It wasn't a loud sound, but it carried. Kind of like the sound of a grizzly coughing in the underbrush, and just as likely to get Steve's attention.

Steve switched back to English.

"My apologies, gentlemen, but it seems that we had to clear up some family business."

Sir George had all he could do to keep his mouth from dropping open. "I thought you were Americans, not Japanese."

Steve chuckled. "Sir George, the history of the 20th Century is probably a lot more fantastic than you are capable of imagining."

He turned on the 42-inch flatscreen TV. "Just for example, I might point out that this television is made by a Japanese company called Sony - and the computer I'll be running it on is Toshiba, also a Japanese company. In 2004, Japan is the acknowledged world leader in consumer electronics - a field that doesn't even exist today."

There was a sharp hiss as all three Japanese parsed the implications of that sentence, and the two Englishmen looked shocked as well.

Just to drive the point home a little deeper, he looked at the Englishmen directly. "Gentlemen, you might want to drop any misconceptions you might have about the quality of Japanese manufacturing. In 1969, an American spacecraft landed on the moon - and even if there was a great deal of Anglo-American cooperation to make it work, I must point out they sent live television pictures back to Earth on a Japanese video camera."

Steve pointed at the screen "But for now, I'd prefer that you gentlemen LOOK at the screen and watch the events I show you. It is important that you understand perfectly, that the twentieth century is a century of war...."

**\**

At the end, as before, all were shaken.

Sir George broke the silence first. "So this threat is why you are arguing for an Alliance?"

"Yes." said Steve. "It is my considered opinion, that if we form the Alliance NOW, we can take advantage of the great minds of this century...and maybe, take advantage of the great minds that never had a chance to develop."

"What do you mean by that, Colonel?" asked Sir Garnet.

"I would tend to suggest that there are potentially great people that never developed in our world, they fell as young men and women, or maybe their parents died before they were ever born. Whatever can be done to develop the weapons, develop our civilization to maximize the potential of EVERY human being - that must be done, and done now. Anything less is a crime against the human race."

"I take it, Colonel," said Admiral Yamamoto, "that you, like most Americans, do not believe in the concept of an natural aristocracy?"

Steve turned, and held his finger out to the Admiral and said, "Well, not exactly..."

At this point, everyone stared at Steve, and he started down the second main foundation idea of the Alliance and a central point of human government from tat point forward.

"Hokay." he said, "Trying to be as concise as possible, I am not at all opposed to the IDEA of an aristocracy, such as the Knights and Lords of Europe, nor the Samurai of Japan." Four of the men looked pleased. Sir George, born a commoner, looked as though he had tasted something sour.

"But, consider, gentlemen, the effect of civilization. Are you familiar with Darwinian selection?" They all shook their heads in affirmation. Mike, entering the room, was struck with the resemblance of a teacher lecturing a class.

"OK, the idea of an aristocracy rewards fighting prowess - the losers die, the winners procreate. But consider, gentlemen, when is the last time a scion of a royal house went to the field? The English talk of the Black Prince and the Duke of Cumberland, but I think William of Orange is the last British King that held a sword in battle, no?"

The Englishmen were thunderstruck. Steve turned to the Japanese - "-And I believe that the Emperor Meiji could wield a sword in battle during the War or Restoration, if the legends can be believed, but did the Emperor Taisho ever wield a sword or pull a trigger in Battle?"

The Japanese looked thunderstruck, but Ensign Taisho exclaimed <"My father is a brave man - you cannot impugn his honor like this, gaijin!"> But Steve held up a hand in supplication The Admiral put a hand out, to symbolically restrain his charge.

Steve replied in English. "The Ensign feels that I have insulted the honor of the Emperor - but I honestly insist, that it is no FAULT of the Emperor that he has never fought in a direct battle, merely that he has not. The Empire of Japan follows the same policy as the British Empire."

He shrugged, " And so, while the English Royal House, and the Japanese, for that matter, produce heirs to the throne, they are not battle tested. It is as if, good sirs, you tried to breed a good racehorse, but for ten generations, you never dared race them. At the end of that, could you really expect the result to be a champion?"

The men looked thunderstruck. "But surely, Colonel, you can't propose we send the Royal Children to war." said Sir Garnet.

"You send them to military schools, and you send some of the lesser children in harm's way. Prince Edward's son George, I believe, is a naval officer, is he not?"

"Well, yes, but...." said Sir George.

"Well, nothing," said Steve. "Pretty soon, luxuries such as keeping the Royals from harm will not be possible. In point of fact, I remind you that Prince Edward would have been a Martian repast just two days ago, had it not been for my brother's intervention, no?"

"Yes, but." said Sir Garnet.

"And to be perfectly frank about it, gentlemen," he continued, "You could make a strong case that the Prince was saved by the descendents of Scot's Borderers, Native Americans, and a half-helping of Samurai blood, all of it battle tested for more generations than we care to count. Good blood, but also good training. All the adult males in this company are combat veterans - some with many years of experience."

"Yes, but." said both Englishmen this time.

"Just in case you missed it, gentlemen," said Steve, "In our world, the Prince of Wales, and his eldest son, died in battle. And Edward's son George? - Well, he will die of injuries sustained during the fighting in France in 1916.... Does that sound familiar, good sirs, maybe bring back images or Good King Richard, Coeur de Lion?" he paused, "Like it or not gentlemen, the bad times are back. The storm is coming, and we need to do everything we can to weather it."

The group looked as if they'd been poleaxed.

Steve threw in one last punch. "And so, gentlemen, I have nothing against the principle of an inherited aristocracy - but it must be a loose one, so that tough and capable commoners, such as Sir George, can be elevated to the nobility, and the unworthy ones dropped from the gene pool - by combat, the surest fitness of worthiness to lead."

Mike stepped into the conversation. "Good sirs, it is noon. Maybe it would be best if we stopped for some lunch."

He opened the door to the conference room, and Rick Pitlick and Noah Simoneit wheeled carts into the room and set it on the side table.

The conversation set to more genial things, as the men attended to the smorgasbord. It was not exactly proper, but since the Americans seemed to think it proper, when in Rome...

There was a little surprise from the Japanese to find some familiar things on the table, even some sushi.

Mike explained, "Sorry about the vegetable Sushi, but we're not sure we can trust the fish here yet. My wife makes a pretty good California roll, and the vegetables are from our own garden."

Ensign Takano's eyes twinkled as he tried one. "Somewhat strange, but also quite good. Your wife is Japanese?" he asked.

"No, but she learned from my mother. She would be your niece."

<What is this? > Exclaimed the Admiral. Mike and Steve had a sinking feeling as they looked toward the admiral, staring at a brightly colored poster spread on the main table. Noah was looking up with a guilty look on his face.

"Noah?" asked Mike.

"Well, Rick said that Admiral Yamamoto was here. He's one of my heroes, and I asked him to sign my Star Blazers poster. You said he was the first commander of the Yamato, before they converted her."

Now Sir George was looking at the poster, and reading the English printing. The Ensigns were looking at the Kanji. Everyone was sputtering.

"Noah," said Steve, not unkindly "Go out and shut the door. I'll get your autograph for you, but you asked the wrong guy."

"But." said Noah.

"G'wan, kid. You're moving too fast for us."

"Did I do something wrong, Uncle Steve?" he said anxiously.

"Not really, kid," said Mike, grabbing his other arm "but we need some grown up talk. I'll get with you later, but go." he shooed the boy out.

*Yes! * Exulted Steve, maintaining a poker face. *Damn, I couldn't have done that better if I'd timed it. *

He composed himself, and then spoke.

"Sorry, Gentlemen, young Noah is a good boy, but a bit impetuous at times."

Sir Garnet pointed at the poster of what appeared to be a large wet-Navy battleship, sailing in deep space. "Is this real?"

Steve took a deep breath, and began lying sincerely. "Sir, that ship was originally the Seikan Yamato, built for the Imperial Japanese Navy in 1940. She was the biggest battleship ever to sail sea- 12 eighteen inch guns, over 1000 feet long, powered by twelve steam turbines - in her time, one of the deadliest pieces of human technology ever to sail. In the Long Peace, she was in a museum. Later, in desperation, they refitted her to be airtight, fitted her with Anti-grav and Jump engines, and she was a last ditch stopgap against the Centaurs. She did pretty well, for all that. The Wave Motion Gun," he pointed to a large opening in the bow," was capable of annihilating an Entire Battleglobe at 1000 kilometers."

Mike brought up a DVD episode of Seikan Yamato, subtitled in English. The significance of the Japanese soundtrack was not lost on anyone. In that moment, the Japanese Empire was solidly welded to the still nascent Alliance.

******

July 10, 1899 - Ravens Compound, Windsor Castle Grounds, England

*/*

Mongo paused as he stared the pile of paperwork on his desk. "Christ on a crutch, how the hell did I end up running this crap??" he complained aloud as he sat back in his office chair. Staring into space for a moment he wandered in his memory, thinking of the simpler times when all he had to worry about was getting the latest vehicle ready for shipment, or who had to be paid next..

"Damn I need something to ease the stress. Lets see..." he mused aloud as he ticked off points on his fingers. "Steve and Will are in China, the Ricks are inbound with Hugin, Nate is over in Germany getting the 88's built, Bob and his family are in Scotland checking out schools, Gail and Nikki are up with the Royals getting an infirmary set up there." as he realized that he had no real "leash keepers" a slow maniacal grin spread over his face...

"Hmmm, I need a workout, and my usual sparring partners are not available." He tossed down his pencil and shoved all the papers on his desk into a somewhat pile, and dumped the whole thing into his "IN" basket, "time to worry about that shit later.." he got up and whistling the song" Danger Zone" he walked out of his office and the main building heading toward his house.

A little while later he came out in road leathers, with a TAC vest on top, His father saw him from where Big Griz was working on his gardens. "Mike, where are you going?" Carl noticed Mikes helmet bag hung on his hip. "You going out for a ride?"

"yeah Dad, I feel the need...the need for speed" he singsong the line he and Steve used hen they needed to ride the motorcycles..

Laughing ,Big Griz just shook his head "Be careful, no trauma centers around now" waggling a finger at Mike.

"I will , Dad, Just going up to the embassy to see gunny flint, I need a sparring partner , and wanted to see if he was available later on today.."

as mike trudged to the compounds "Private vehicles" garage building, he put on the helmet and did a commo check. "Mongo to RSI central, com check..."

Bobbie came on "Go ahead Mongo, Iceman here, reading you 5x5..."

"heading up to the embassy, taking the Yamaha, be back in a few hours... "

"Rog that MONGO, don't scuff the road bars.. RSI central out.."

Checking his bike over, Mike secured the helmet bag on the back bar, and then straddled the bike, with a strong kick he started it up and gunned the throttle a few times listening to the engine. "sounds ok... no carbon clearing this time just a cruise and gab session." he said as he put it in first and rolled out of the garage keying the door remote behind him.

smoothly accelerating out of the compound, mike slowed as the paved section cut off and turned to the dirt road that was due to be graveled next week heading south out of the compound , to the main road around the Windsor perimeter, and then onto the roadway leading toward London.

As he rode, he got his share of stares and shocked looks from the people on the road, careful to tone down the throttle whenever he neared horse drawn vehicles to avoid spooking them. he even saw a cart being pulled by a dog that looked like a mastiff. as he got Into London proper, he had to slow down to almost a crawl with eh press of people but he persevered "what's the matter, never saw a biker before?" he thought to himself knowing full well they really hadn't the only things remotely related to his machine were simply bicycles with small , VERY small engines , on them. As he finally saw the embassy he smiled and breathed a sigh of relief.

The marine on duty at the gate did a double take at the vehicle coming up on him , but after the incident with the Bronco earlier, the corporal realized it was just another one of the "Ravens" future machines. Mongo coasted to a stop in front of the marine and put the bike into neutral, "Hey Jim! How's it going?" Mongo called out in easy familiarity.

"Captain Raven! " the marines started to snap to but caught himself when he realized Mongo was not in Uniform. "What brings you here? Should I call for the Major?" as he made to reach for the bell ringer behind him.

Mongo waved his hand "no need James, this is a social call, I wanted to talk to the Gunny if he was available..." Mongo said as he sat on the bike steadying it .

The corporal looked up at the clock on the street corner, and looked thoughtful, "He's due here any moment, Captain, making guard rounds."

Right about then they both heard boots onto eh cobblestones into he courtyard behind the gate . Mongo smiled, "Typical, he's punctual, like every other Gunny I ever met." he thought to himself.

Aright Graham, you Awake out there?" Gunny called from the side of the gateway before he saw Mike.

"HEY GUNNY, You're brass polished?" Mongo called out in an easy mocking tone.

"WHO the Hell said that?? Gunny Flint roared as he threw open the door behind Corporal Graham. He drew up short when he saw Mongo sitting there on the Motorcycle.

"Captain Raven! " "easy Gunny, Just Me..." Mike laughed as he set the kickstand and got off the bike "I was just asking the Corporal here where you were, and in those infamous words., 'Speak of the devil and he shall appear"... Mongo laughed again.

Mongo horsed the bike upright and looked at the gate," can you open up for me, and spare a few moments of your time for me Gunny?"

"Right sir, Graham!, Bloom! open up " Gunny roared again

as the corporals hurried to open the gate, gunny looked at the motorcycle with a cocked head, "Captain...""Easy Gunny, I ain't in Uniform, so its Mike, or Mongo here, ok?". Mike said with a raised hand.

"ok sir, I mean Mike, what IS that you're riding?"

Laughing as he pushed the bike inside the courtyard, and to the side, Mike set the center stand when the bike was out of the way.

"This, Gunny, is another example of Japanese manufacture uptime. It's a Motorcycle made by a Japanese company called Yamaha, and its real name is a "650cc Heritage Special"

GySgt Flint looked it over "well it looks interesting, is it difficult to ride?" he asked. Mongo laughed as he recognized the interest in the gunny's voice and eyes. "Well its Sorta tricky at first, but like everything else it comes with practice.."

the Gunny straightened up "with the captains pardon, but I Would surely be interested in learning ..."

"tell you what Eric, what's you're schedule this evening like? while this bike is a little big for a newbie rider, we do have a few you could learn on back at the compound, and I think we got a helmet you could wear"

Actually that's what I came up to see you about gunny, do you have some free time tonight or tomorrow? I need a sparring partner, and since everyone else I can spar with is out of range I was wondering if you or someone in your company would be willing ...?"

*-*

May 25, 1899

Steve and Mongo visit Washington, DC and get Presdident McKinley to begin proceedings to add US to the Alliance/

****

*/*/

0700z, June 4 1899 RSI Compound, London.

*/*/

Steve slept in the next morning. It started out as a nice morning. He had the window open, and was enjoying the sounds of nature stirring in the Victorian Era suburb. A few machine noises in the distance, but for the most part, he heard only the sounds of people, horses and wildlife.

He got up and dressed slowly. No major appointments today, no big meetings....he had spent most of the evening reading local periodicals and history books. He had discovered a few discrepancies from his own world, but most of the changes were fairly innocuous.

He stretched and yawned. He figured to head over to the Control Center and talk to the Bush Brothers. He really wanted to discuss some ideas with Mongo and Nate...but he figured that if they'd been out late, they would probably prefer to sleep in.

Steve closed the door of his bungalow, and headed down the short street to the Main building. As he passed Mike and Gail's house, he stopped and stared.

Snowball and Pumpkin were on the front step, scratching the door. That was not good.

Those two liked to stay out late, but Mike and Gail would have let them in when they came home. His sense of unease went into the yellow zone.

Steve got out his keys and let the cats in. He slipped through the house quietly, as the other cats came up to him for scratching. he couldn't imagine Mike and Gail getting too plastered to feed the cats or let Snowball and Pumpkin inside.

He looked in the bedroom. The bed was empty.

His sense of unease began to edge into the redline. *Relax* he told himself, *maybe they just got too drunk and stayed at a hotel last night.- not like they could call me or anything*

But another voice said - *This is London. There is a phone line in most hotels, and a phone line to the Command Center. One of the guys should have left me a note....*

He fed the cats and filled the water bowls.

***

When he got to the Command Center, Major Ferguson was adjusting his tunic and heading out the door. As soon as he saw Steve, his face turned grave, and Steve felt his heart plummet.

"Sir," said Bill, " we've just received a ransom not from a group that claims to have kidnapped Michael, Gail, Nathan, Cara, Rick Pitlick and Christine Jones."

Steve's stomach made a surge upward. He had been fearing an accident or incident.

A hostage rescue, on the other hand, unless these folks were a LOT more sophisticated than he expected, would be a lot easier.

Ferguson had thought that NOTHING about the Ravens would surprise him anymore, but the look of relief at he news his friends had been kidnapped left him wondering.

Now Steve was all business. "Ok, that the ransom note?" he asked, putting his hand out. He took the sheet with the sides of his fingers, anyway. *Not like paper takes prints well anyway, and probably everybody and his neighbor have handled it since it got here, and not like we have a network of fingerprint data bases to compare any hypothetical prints against, but.....

He went to a file cabinet, pulled out an acetate document protector, and then began reading the note.

The demand itself was a little surprising, thought Steve. It was typewritten. and the perps were looking for five automatic rifles, ten computers and copies of several technical libraries.

That implied a pretty smart local to know what was valuable.

As he read through the note, Steve felt a tap at his shoulder. He turned to see a smartly-dressed pair of men. The younger looking man held out his hand with a card in it.

"Mr. Raven, I am Inspector William Tunstall of Scotland. Yard. This is my associate, Mr. William -"

"Bond," said the older man, holding out his hand, "William Bond."

Somewhere in Steve's mind, a confusing chain of thoughts circled. *An ancestor? - hold it, James Bond was a fictional character -* and he realized that this man looked -familiar- somehow.

"Pleased to meet you, Sir," said Steve automatically, as he looked the man over closely. Several recognition bells were jangling in his head, but he couldn't figure it out. Not a tall fellow, he thought, about five-eight or so, wide shoulders, slim hips, and blond hair blue eyes...

"Mr. Bond is an employee of her Majesty's Foreign Office." said Inspector Tunstall - and suddenly, Steve knew that this history had at least one major change from his own world.

He stared at Bond with a flaring intensity. The other man involuntarily took a step back under the piercing gaze.

"Mr. Bond, " said Steve, "I have an old American song running in my head right now. It was very popular twenty years ago - the title was "What was your name back in the States?"

There was a sudden flare of unease, instantly submerged under a frosty glare, cold as the depths of space.

"I'd never think of asking such an impolite question," said Steve smoothly, "but am I correct in thinking that you might have been born in New York City, and arrived here via Coffeyville, Kansas and Lincoln, New Mexico?"

Now the blue eyes showed open amazement.

Inspector Tunstall looked surprised. "Lincoln, New Mexico - isn't that where you met Uncle John?"

Steve laughed. "Please tell me that John Henry Tunstall survived the assassination attempt and made it home to England."

Now both men stared at Steve with open amazement.

"Assassination?" said Inspector Tunstall. "I thought it was a hunting accident -"

Bond started to say something, but Steve held up his hand.

"Mr. Bond - I hope to have many fascinating conversations with you about ancient history and the problems of youth, but let us concentrate on the issue at hand. I do hope that you can give me some insight into the local environment." He shook his head. "Please follow me and we'll see if we can get a general idea of where Mike and Company are being held."

Now it was Inspector's turn to look surprised. "You already know where they are?"

"Well, unless these folks are a lot more savvy then I expect, we should have an Electronic Locator Beacon signal to help us out." Steve explained as they walked to the Control Center.

"A what?" asked Mr. Bond.

"The Locator Beacon, or ELT, is a small package, about the size of a cigarette package." explained Steve. He held up his ELT. I had Mike take one last night when he left. He should have lit it up as soon as he knew he was in trouble.

"Yo Tim," said Steve as he entered the room, " is OWL still up?"

Tim stretched. "Yep, no sign of Martians, but I'm getting a funny fault indication." he said.

"Whazzat?" said Steve. "Let me guess, you've got an ELT beacon lit up, right?"

Tim suddenly looked surprised. "Huh?" he gaped. "Did you loan an ELT to somebody?" he scratched his head. I thought it was maybe one of the beacons in the Dolphin malfunctioning...but I checked and it's still in the hanger, and the indication is moving. I though maybe one of the local radio researchers was messing with something and just happened to hit the right frequency."

Steve sighed. This was the problem with not remembering to notify everybody. "Nope, I gave Mike an ELT, just in case anything happened last night. When did it come on?

Tim check the log - "'bout four AM or so, and it seems to have stopped about seven or so.. Range and bearing puts it north and east of us, not too far from what my database says is RAF Fairford, up in East Anglia."

Now Tunstall spoke up, looking at the screen. "I know that area - not too far from Lakenheath."

Bond grunted." I wonder if that has anything to do with all the money Sir Wallace suddenly came into."

Now it was Steve's turn. "Sir Wallace?" he said with a raised eyebrow.

Bond smiled. "One of those spend-thrift over bred aristocrats that Britain seems to be overrun with these days. Inherited a wad of money, but spending it faster than it comes in. Pretty over-extended the last few years, but since the invasion, he suddenly came into a lot of money"

**

Assault on Wallace House

*-*

Chapter 04

Story bits

1900z, Grosvenor House American Embassy, London

The ornate carriage drew up to the entryway of the well-lit embassy. Four immaculately uniformed US Marines in dress blues flanked the door.

To the casual local observer, the two men that stepped out looked unusual - but only because they looked so plain. The American Independence Day Ball was a colorful event, a friendly "thumbing of the nose" at staid British Society. Although a few mid-senior level British leaders attended for courtesy, many young iconoclasts attended and made it one of the major social events of the summer.

Steve and Mike wore plain dark blue single-breasted uniforms with silver braid on the sleeves. Mike, tall and barrel chested, wore four broad silver bands on his sleeve, with two medals on his chest. Steve wore several medals, but he also had the broad silver stripe of a flag officer. The Small American Flag on their right shoulders might also have been worth commenting upon. The uniform resembled the Royal Navy Uniform - but no casual observer in this timeline had ever seen a USAF Service Dress Uniform, circa 1995.

The more astute observer would notice that the usual greeting party was different. Instead of young enlisted troops, all four Gunnery Sergeants of the Marine Detachment flanked the carriage door, and the Major commanding the detachment saluted the two men.

"Good Evening, General McRaven, Colonel McRaven" said Major Sherman. He gave the man the sharpest salute he could manage - and for an Embassy Guard Marine, that is impressive. However, it is not often that you meet a man wearing a Navy Cross, a Silver Star, and the Victoria Cross. Especially not one that has managed to add a completely new military service to the world.

"Good Evening, Major Sherman." Replied the General. His back was ramrod straight and his salute was almost as crisp. "Glad to see some things don't change. My compliments - You and your troops look sharp. We're still on for tomorrow morning, 1000 hours, your office, correct?" A casual observer might have said the General's expression was poker straight - closer observation might have noticed the crinkling around the eyes that was as close as most people ever saw this man smile.

"Aye, sir."

The two men walked up the broad stairway to the Embassy entrance.

Behind them, the side boys were dismissed and the regular side boys resumed their positions. Gunny Stone looked at Major Sherman. "Sir, What did he mean by Sharp?"

The Major shrugged. "Don't know Gunny, but it sure sounded complimentary." He looked at his NCOIC. "Maybe he was talking about the knife edge creases in your blues."

"Sharp" repeated the Gunny. "Sharp. I like that expression." He stepped into the darkness to inspect the guard posts.

The younger man looked at the brilliantly dressed people on the stairway and tugged at his collar nervously.

The older one turned his head slightly and whispered sotto voce, "Calm down, Mongo, it's just a fancy dress ball."

"Yeah, Big Brudder, easy for you to say, but we look like a couple of damned hedge sparrows at a bloody peacock convention." replied the younger man.

"So-bloody-what?" chuckled Steve. "Bet you hardly of these pretty babies have ever heard a shot in anger - and if they saw a tripod last month, they were running away."

"I still wish you'd let us wear swords..."

"C'mon, Mike, I know you guys like them, but we're bringing this bunch a whole new world. Besides, a katana just doesn't go with the Service Dress."

They finally got to the main door of the embassy. A Gunnery Sergeant was standing in the doorway, announcing each individual as they entered. Heads were already turning before he started speaking. He was by no means shouting - but the volume of his voice would have carried across an artillery barrage. "Brigadier General Sir Steven McRaven, KCB, VC, commander of the Allied Strike Forces."

Steve winced a little - Congress had not yet formally confirmed the knighthood and awards bestowed upon the RSI crew by a grateful Queen Victoria. President McKinley had given his approval, but the Constitution was quite clear. Steve had printed out the legal briefs that had surrounded the awards given to the US commanders in WWII - but that had been another world. This Congress was still a little Anglophobic.

The Navy band on the podium had been forewarned. Their timing was perfect - they had cut the previous tune short, and struck up the "Strike Force Song" - new words set to what another world had called the "Air Force Song."

As Mike stepped up to the doorway, the clapping, and cheering drowned out the announcement. The Americans at this party fully approved of the first American Knight - and few others seemed to disagree.

The American Ambassador was the first to shake his hand.

"General McRaven, so good to see you!" he exclaimed. "May I introduce my wife Matilda...."

Steve tried to diplomatically mention to the Ambassador that he might want to talk to the Marine. "Sir, you might want to remind the Sergeant that we haven't been approved yet..."

The rotund ambassador smiled broadly - "So good to catch you out, Sir Steven - I had an urgent cable this afternoon - in a special joint session of Congress, all the knighthoods and awards were confirmed".

Steve was visibly surprised. "Even Will Williams?" He asked incredulously.

Ambassador Choate was of good Yankee Abolitionist stock. He grinned. "Yes, indeed. I suppose the press will start calling him the Black Knight."

Quite a few people moved to the entrance to catch a first hand glance at the famous pair - but some unobtrusive blocking made sure that a certain Royal Navy officer got to the front.

"Congratulations, Sir Steven, Sir Michael," said the Commander as he greeted his friends.

Steve was visibly taken aback - while Prince George was only fourth in line to the throne, he was the highest ranking British official to ever attend this function - possibly the highest British Official to ever set foot in the American Embassy.

Only the RSI personnel knew that this man would one day be King George V.

In the intricate dance of protocol and subtle signals, the presence of Prince George at the American Ball signal to the world that the British Empire was extremely committed to the new Anglo American Alliance.

Michael wasn't up on the nuances of diplomatic wrangling, but he realized his brother looked stunned. While he didn't know why, it set his nerves to jangling - thus, he was the first to notice that the band had fallen silent and all heads had turned to the Doorway.

Even the Marine at the door had to gulp as he saw whom he had to announce.

"His Royal Highness, Edward, the Prince of Wales."

The Band quickly struck up "Rule Britannia" as the rotund Prince entered the Ballroom.

Steve, Michael, and George were right behind Ambassador Choate as he greeted the Crown Prince of the British Empire.

"Holy Shit", will you look at that murmured Mike to his brother, "Choate grins any bigger, he's going to die of joy".

"What do you mean?" replied his brother, "That boy is set for life- he's just pulled off a social coup to get in the history books." Steve looked around the room. "Christ, good thing the Martians haven't got any Intel - one kinetic strike on this chiv-a-ree and we'd be in a world of hurt."

***********

Saturday July 22 Depart London for Berlin

Sunday July 23 Arrive Berlin

1400 Monday, July 24 Official Visit of RSI to Kaiser Wilhelm II in Berlin

0800 Tuesday July 25 Depart Berlin for Vienna

Wednesday, July 26 Official Visit to Emperor Franz-Josef of Austria-Hungary

*-*-

1500 Thursday, July 27, 1899 Leave Vienna for Berne, with intended stop in Munich to visit Lisa's ancestral home.

*-*-

Thursday, July 27, 1899, 1900z, near Braunau Austria

The train shuddered as it slowed and came to a stop. Steve looked out in surprise. They were on a flat and level piece of land, not a station. He looked at Major Ferguson, but the former Coldstream was already heading for the door.

"It's probably nothing, General." he said as he went by. "Probably some farmer's lost another cow, and the body's fouled the drive wheels."

Will and Lisa were engaged in a tight game of Euchre with Nate and Cara, so they paid little attention.

Rick, on the other hand, was in another hypertensive spell.

*-*-

Thursday, July 27, 1899 2000z Braunau, Austria

Event: Tripod invasion of Al's hometown.

*-*-

Flames leapt skyward as the RSI team looked on in shock.

"Damn! We didn't get here soon enough!' Will griped as he sawed the wheel of the Humvee around the turn..

"Well, lets just make sure the Bastards pay then!!!" Mongo growled over the headset from the second Hummer

all that was heard from Nathan on the comm was a grumbled growl, with a background of chambers being jacked as the RSI members readied to "take it to them"

The three tripods attacking the town were given short shrift as the rounds from the team bingo'd two of them, and just as the team was rounding the bend to take the third, its top exploded in a fireball and it toppled onto the ruins of the rowhouses it had been demolishing...

"what the?? who did that??" came the confused comments on the comsets, as the team stopped clear of the flaming wreckage...

"WMho gives a shit? We got people in the building!" Will announce as he saw figures come stumbling form the ruins..

The team unassed the vehicles, and moved slowly but surely toward the wreckage and ruin, helping people never taking their eyes off the burning tripod, remembering the Martian that Weasel took out..

As they got closer they could hear someone crying for help from under a pile of rubble.

Mongo and Will, being the heavyweights in the team, immediately began tossing chunks into the clear to get to the voice..

Will was the one to find the voice, a small boy who at first was shocked at the face that he saw, but then responded to the soothing voice..

Lifting the boy clear, Will backed out, and headed for the vehicles where the team had an impromptu Aide station set up, treating the minor wound as best they could until more help could arrive..

Mongo came out of the ruins where Will had found the boy, shaking his head..

"No others survived, I saw bodies of at least an adult female, and possibly another child..." Mongo's voice trailed off as he saw the boy protectively clinging

to Will...

Will looked up as Mongo's voice trailed into a strangled cough.

"Geez, Mike, what's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost?"

Mike nodded. "Ex-fucking-zactly." he said.

He squatted and looked directly at the child.

"Junge," he said, " Sehr Bitte, was sind sein nahme?"

The wide eyed book stared back at the huge American. Will was struck by the force of the child's personality, and then, suddenly he knew, even before the boy stated the obvious.

"Ich bin Adolph." He said. "Adolph Hitler.".

***********

Chapter 2X

CVL 1070 Saturday, May 6 1900, 1600 PST Fort Irwin, California

Sergeant Major Ulysses Jenkins sat easily on his horse, with the slouch of an experienced cavalry trooper. He was watching his regimental commander meditate. Although born a slave, he was only two when Federal troops had freed his family. His father had signed up in the Colored Regiments as soon as the offer had come down. After the War, Hannibal Jenkins had taken his family to follow the colors, and his sons had followed in his footsteps.

Uly spit onto a cactus blossom and contemplated the man sitting on the rock ahead of him. Hannibal Jenkins had lived a life he had never dreamed of as a young slave in the cotton fields of the Mississippi Delta. He had ridden the Wild West, had fought Indians, had risen to the rank of regimental Sergeant Major, and had retired with a pension to a small ranch outside of Billings Montana. He had lived to see three of his sons in Union Blue. Ulysses had taken to Army life like a duck to water. He was one of the youngest Sergeant Majors in the Army, and many had said, were he not a "man of color", he might be offered a commission.

Uly had known his options were limited, but he also appreciated that his option were far greater than what he had when he was born. He had known that his children might have far more freedom than he had, just as he had far more freedom than his father. He had always known that social progress was slow, but he was content to enjoy what he had.

However, that had been before the Martians came.

Moreover, before the RSI team had followed.

He wished he could go home and talk to his father. He had sent a letter, but the old man had never learned to read well, and his writing was even worse.

He wondered what his father would think of this new regimental commander.

So many changes, and now they were coming so fast a man could drown in them.

**********

Will Wilson Junior sat on the boulder and contemplated the valley below him. 15 years ago, or maybe 90 years from now, he had sat on this rock and decided to give up his stripes and go home. Freshly home from the Gulf War, his parents were ill and it was time to go home.

So many changes.

He reached to the metal insignia on the collar of his desert BDUs. Steve had wanted him to be the RSI advisor to the regiment, but President McKinley had a better idea.

"Nonsense, General", he had said, "If we're going to do this, we'll do it right. Mr. Wilson is a Major in the ASF, correct?"

"Yes, Mr. President"

"Well, then, he's now a Colonel in the US Army, and commander of the 10th Cavalry."

So now, a former Sergeant, a man who'd ridden a horse once in his life before this, a street kid from Camden, New Jersey...was now the Regimental Commander of the 10th Cavalry, US Colored Troops...the Buffalo Soldiers.

************

Steve's idea had been positively Machiavellian. McKinley had taken a while to warm to it, but Teddy Roosevelt had thought it positively brilliant.

"Mr. President, we need to get the new technologies out there, and we need to field them fast."

"That's good, but why are we giving it to a colored regiment first?" said the President, "I'd have thought we'd give it to one of the more prestigious units."

"That's the beauty of the plan sir. I'm an engineer, sir, as is most of my team. We understand that a lot of technology gets foisted off on the soldier before it's properly tested. It's already happened. I'm trying to think of the breechloader that they gave the Cavalry back, before the Civil War, not the Schneider, but the one before it. It fired real well in the tests, but in the field, it jammed like nobody's business...it took years before the Army recognized that it was a piece of junk, and replaced it. In the interim, a lot of troops died with jammed rifles. That kind of corporate memory dies hard."

"What does this have to do with your proposal?"

"Two things, Mr. President. First, your soldiers have developed a distrust of new technology - it can get them killed. Now, we at RSI, we are producing combat-tested designs, but your boys don't know that, not as anything more than an intellectual level."

"Go on, Mr. McRaven, I think I begin to see your plan."

"Its simple, sir. The Army Establishment is not going to object to us field-testing this stuff with a bunch of "damn darkies" - (sorry, Will), so they'll stay away from us until we've trained the guys and got it ready to go."

"Secondly, if we have demonstration teams of Negro soldiers showing it to their white counterparts - well, what white man of this time is going to claim that the weapon is too complicated, if a black man can do the job and do it well?"

"Bully!" exclaimed Teddy, "Positively Bully plan, General!"

"I've got to admit that it's pretty unconventional to do it this way, but I must say that your logic is both blunt and inarguable, General." admitted the President. "I'll assume you want us to move the 10th Cavalry to a more hospitable location than Montana?"

"Actually, Sir, I've got a location already picked out." smiled Steve. "Not far from Barstow California, just off the rail line, in the High Desert, there's a place we call Fort Irwin. It's got a wide range of heat and cold, the perfect place to test the equipment and train the troops, and inhospitable enough that we shouldn't get too many high ranking visitors."

"You're trying to hide this project?"

"Mr. President, I don't need some high ranking General or fat bellied Senator coming in to tell me how to do this, just like I don't want a bunch of pretty-boy parade ground soldiers. The 10th Cav is a lean bunch of hard-bitten, rough riding soldiers, used to living on the pointy end of the stick with damn all for support. They'll listen to us and listen well. And I don't need some fat bellied, beribboned clown that learned his trade riding with the Army of Potomac, to tell me about getting the 10th Armored Cavalry Regiment on-line."

TR smiled at that. "General, I think I have an idea of the type you're referring to. I ran into some of them during the recent unpleasantness in Cuba." He sat back. "I do hope you'll take no exception if a certain Vice-President comes to visit."

"Not a bit, Sir." smiled Steve", Even if it wasn't politically correct, I'd still be listening to your inputs, Sir. Your doppelganger in our world had a reputation for being tough, smart, and not a man to mince words." He smiled." I'll have a Sten gun reserved in the armory for you, sir."

**********

The 10th had been here for two weeks, and the new commander had shown up a week ago. Uly had seen a few black officers in his time, but he'd never seen a field grade black officer - and never a Regular Army commission, let alone a full Bird Colonel. Colonel Wilson was an incredibly strange bird to him - and not just because he was black.

For example, the Colonel seemed in awe of the troopers, especially when he was not in teaching mode. In Uly's experience, the lower your rank, the worse you were treated. Mere privates were treated like creatures of less value than the horses.

Colonel Wilson, on the other hand, referred to everyone by their first name whenever he could. He had told Uly that people respond best to their name. Thus, in a stress situation, he expected to get better results by calling for "Ulysses", rather than "Sergeant Major Jenkins".

Uly had admitted that the idea made sense, it just would take some getting used to.

Then there were the weapons he had brought. Uly laid his hand on the barrel of the Sten gun. That was a weapon cavalry troopers had been wishing for. A gun that a trooper could carry on horseback, but sprayed bullets like a Gatling.

The automatic pistol was almost as good. The shoulder holster was a bit strange, and carrying an Italian-made pistol was even stranger - but the troops already liked the reliability and accuracy of the Beretta -and the fact that both weapons fired the same ammunition was just icing on the cake.

************

Will sat on the boulder, his mind ranging far and wide, through this world, and the one he had left. He and his family were stuck in this world now, but he had been given a wonderful chance to make this world a better place than the world he had been born on.

A bugle call rolled across the valley. Will recognized it as "Cooks Call". That meant it was 1630. The troops would be forming soon for evening colors, and then there would be the evening meal.

He needed to be present for the ceremony. This was a world where the troops needed to visually see their commanders each day. He smiled...in some units, he'd been there for months before he ever got within ten feet of the "Old Man".

He smiled. This was one thing that might not change...he kind of liked to see "his" men everyday.

He slid down off the rock and went back to where he had picketed his horse. He was unsurprised to see the RSM holding the reins.

"You know, Sarn't Major, I'm not a total greenhorn in this desert. I can go for a ride without a nursemaid." said Will.

"Cunell," drawled Ulysses, "I dunno what would happen if a rattler were to bite you or somethin', but I don't want to find out."

Will took the reins and stepped into the stirrup. He struggled up into the saddle. He envied the easy way Ulysses, or for that matter, any of his troopers swung into the saddle.

"Sides that, Cunnel," drawled Ulysses, " you might just fall off that horse and injure yourself."

Will fought a momentary pang of irritation as he straightened himself onto the horse. *How did John Wayne make it look so easy?* he thought to himself.

He tried to salvage some of his dignity. "Let's get on back to the Fort." he said. *Now if I can just get off this beast without falling off.* he thought to himself as they followed the trail back down.

**********

CVL 1070 Sunday, April 7 1900, 1100 PST Barstow, California

The train whistle sounded just as the cavalry patrol rode into Barstow. Will looked around the tiny hamlet. Not that Barstow had been much to look at in 1990, not to a boy who had grown up in the congested Northeast, but this looked like a movie set. All he needed was Gary Cooper or Clint Eastwood to step out onto the street and the illusion would be complete.

Will took off a gauntlet and took another gulp of water to clear his head. A few heads poked out of windows and doorways at the patrol. The townsfolk were not too used to the idea of troops in town, particularly Colored Troops, but there had been little hostility noticed. Will was happy to see that Jim Crow had not made it here - there was no nonsense about letting his troops in the saloons and restaurants. Off in the distance, he could just make out a puff of smoke as the train chugged along.

He pulled out his wallet and extracted two double eagles. "Sarn't Major" he called.

"Yes, Colonel." said Ulysses, as he pulled alongside the commander.

Will passed him the gold pieces. "Detail one of the troops to have the restaurant set up for about, hmmm, 40 people. The telegram from General McRaven said he was coming with about 20 folks, and remounts. They'll probably be hungry, but we'll need to get moving by 1400 to get back to the fort before dark."

Ulysses was still a little foggy on the Colonel's habit of using a 24 hour clock - why couldn't he just say "two PM"? - but he agreed with the basic sentiment. "Yessuh." he said.

"Corporal Jenkins!" he called. "Front and Center."

"Yo" called a trooper as he swung out and joined up on the RSM's horse.

Ulysses passed on the order and Jenkins wheeled his horse around to head for the Settler's Inn - the largest restaurant in town.

*****

To say that Will was dumbfounded would have been an understatement.

He'd been waiting for Steve, and they had greeted each other warmly. But then he'd been bowled over as his son and daughter had erupted from the train. He'd hardly absorbed that, when a whole herd of chattering teens had come off the Pullman car, all in Desert BDUs, and carrying field rucks.

"What in the...?" he asked Steve as he took in the scene.

"What started it," said Steve, "was when I mentioned that we were coming out to bring the new equipment, Lisa said the kids had been pestering her to come see you. So then, when I agreed to bring Will3 and Christeena, the other kids wanted to come, and Beth and Lisa decided it might be educational, so we made it a field trip. Cutoff age was 12."

Steve smiled. The last part of the speech was lost as Will ran to the stairway of the Pullman.

A large woman stepped off the top step as Will gave her an exuberant hug and literally lifted her off the train in an exuberant hug. "Lisa!" was the only coherent word that Steve could make out.

Since Will had not seen his family in several months, Steve didn't expect Will to come up for air for a bit. "Sarn't Major" he called.

Ulysses braced stiff and gave his sharpest salute. "Sir" he barked.

Steve returned the salute. "Could you detail me about 10 or 15 men to help us get the remounts and our other equipment off the train. You might want to stand by and make sure the kids don't wander off - at least until the Colonel gets his wits back about him."

"Yes sir!" barked Ulysses. This was a little different problem than he was used to, but he was getting used to unusual things. "Corporal Jenkins! - you and your section dismount and stay with me!" He turned a bit "Sergeant Johnson!" he called. "Take the rest of the troop and follow the General!"

"Yes Sir."

*******

It took a few minutes for Will to get his head back into focus again, but suddenly he realized that while a Sergeant can stand on the platform and re-acquaint himself with his family, a Colonel has responsibilities.

The world snapped back into focus and he looked around. Actually, the situation was not all that chaotic. The other passengers had looked a little at the spectacle of the teenagers in the strange desert uniforms and equipment, especially the girls. Some of the local women had clucked at the sight of females in the baggy trousers and floppy hats. Beth had been supervising the group - they had obviously been briefed on how to behave here. Everyone had one medium duffle bag and most were wearing pistols on their Y-harnesses.

Actually, Will realized that the group was shaking itself out. Beth was just watching. Al and Noah were obviously the group leaders, moving among the teens, adjusting harnesses and rucks, brushing dust from their fellows. Al stepped up to Will, came to attention, and saluted. "Herr Oberst Wilson!" he barked. "Bear Patrol, all present or accounted for, Sir!"

Will returned the salute gravely. "Very good, Patrol leader, carry on."

"Jawohl, Sir!" replied the youngster gravely.

He kept his face straight until his foster son turned around to the patrol and then a questioning smile broke his face as he asked Lisa, "Bear Patrol?"

"Oh yes." she smiled back. "It was Mongo's idea to bring back the Boy Scouts, although we've made it just the Scouts. It's open to boys and girls, and only the ones who passed the field craft requirements were allowed on the trip." She smiled. "Al is the Patrol Leader - he took to the concept like a duck to water. He's already a Life Scout and almost has enough merit badges to make Eagle. It's a race between him and Noah Cedarman as to who will be the first Eagle Scout."

Will was caught by the irony. "Seems reasonable, given his upbringing and the way his doppelganger turned out." he allowed.

"Now Will," chided Lisa, "This boy is not that man, and I'd say he never will be. I'd say Steve was right." She smiled. "His natural force of character and charisma is evident, but he sure seems like a much better-adjusted person."

"OK," said Will, "But, especially when he gets older, I'm not going to feel safe around him, unless I'm packing iron."

****

The situation did start to get chaotic when it came time to get the kids from the tiny train station to the restaurant. Will still wanted to get the group fed and on the trail so as to get to the fort before dark.

Like it usually did, trouble came sneaking up while he was distracted.

Four cowboys had rode in and were standing by their horses as the RSI group went by.

"Hey, Beef, I never seen a Nigger Colonel before." said one loudly.

Will ignored him. He was not looking for trouble, not today.

"Looks more like a Nigger schoolmarm" laughed Beef.

The street fell silent.

Will sighed. He hated scenes. "Look, chum, I dunno what's you problem, but I ain't looking for any more problems today. Why don't you just run along?"

Beef was not willing to let it drop. He stepped forward. "Bad enough a bunch of Yankee soldiers close off the damn range and some of the best water in the area, but they're a bunch of Niggers, too." he drawled.

Will got the picture right away. "What is it with crackers?" he wondered aloud. "Bub, you ain't been in town long enough to get drunk, so I gotta guess you must be this dumb naturally, is that it?" he asked.

Beef's sneer was eloquent. "Listen Nigger, if it hadn't been for the damnyankees, I'd be back in Georgia on one of the biggest plantations in the state." he laughed. "Hell, my folks probably owned your folks." he leered at Lisa, "Hell, your woman even sorter looks like one of my Uncle's wenches." His expression did the impossible, of making an ugly face even uglier. He looked at Will again, "Hey, if you wasn't so short, we might be related. My daddy might've been fucking your momma."

Will had been working on his temper for many years, but he was beginning to steam. He tried to maintain control.

His voice was even as he replied, "Naw, couldn't be. If your daddy hadda' done my momma, I'd be a hell of a lot uglier than I am."

Beef started to get red now as Will continued, " course -wise, maybe your momma's husband might be in my family tree, but you daddy probably had four legs and barked."

Beef took a second to work this one out, but then he let out a roar and grabbed for his pistol.

Will's Beretta was still flapped down, he knew he'd never get it clear in time -

and then there was a crack behind him, and Beef's pistol was flung against the street.

Beef was cursing and rubbing his hand in pain.

The three cowboys had instinctively reached for their guns, but now they slowly moved their hands away from their pistols and raised them in the air.

Will risked a look back.

Al was standing in a Weaver stance, two hands on his Beretta, like a textbook picture. A slow curl of smoke rose from the muzzle but the young man kept his unblinking gaze on Beef.

The rest of the Scouts had their weapons out and on target. Christeena dropped the bolt forward on her Sten gun, and the metallic rap echoed in the street.

One cowboy started to move. The girl walked a short burst of fire up to his boots. He gulped and held still.

"Holy Mother." breathed one of the cowboys, "I was a-watchin' that kid. He didn't have his hands nowhere near his holster, but he nailed Beef a-fore he even cleared leather."

Al's face held no expression. "Shall I kill him, Herr Oberst?" he asked, in a disinterested tone, as if it were a matter of no real importance. Coming from the short 12 year old, it was chilling.

Will kept his voice steady. "No. We'll settle this a better way."

He looked at Beef. "How about this Beef? We settle this hand to hand, last man standing is the winner?"

Beef looked at Will, His face going from pain to incredulity. He was six inches taller and had about 50 pounds on the black man. "What the hell do I win?"

Will glared up at him. "You win, the Bar M drives cattle across the post anywhere, anytime they want. You lose, you gotta get a permit before you come on the post land."

Beef though it over, "Ok, but is this bare knuckle, or that pansy Marquis of Queensbury BS?"

Will unbuttoned his BDU blouse and handed it to his wife. "Rawhide, not bare knuckle" he said, as he pulled a light pair of gloves from his cargo pocket. Aside from that, I'd prefer to stay away from eye gouging or biting, but that's your call - I won't if you won't" said Will as he walked to the center of the street. He looked up and down the street. "All the rest of you, get on the sidewalk or get on the other side of the Bank or the General store - I don't want anybody crowding the fight - got that?" he said.

Beef took off his shirt. "Hell, yes." he said as he strode into the street. He rubbed his hands together in glee. "I'm going to like beating the tar out of you, Nigger."

"That's Colonel Nigger to you, Cracker Boy." laughed Will, "And we'll se who gets the tar beat out of who, redneck."

Will snapped his heels together, slammed his fist into the palm of his hand, exhaled and bowed to Beef, never taking his eyes off Beef.

Beef didn't wonder much about the strange things his opponent was doing. Winner of countless rough-and-tumble fights in mining camps and cow camps across the West, he didn't expect to lose this one. He ran at his target, spreading his arms wide to bear hug his opponent, using his mass to bowl over the smaller man.

Will had other plans. He stood motionless until the man came within reach than he moved with blurring speed.

Suddenly Beef was flying through the air. He had no time to wonder about it, as his forehead impacted a water trough at an altitude of about six inches.

He lay there, stunned, for a couple of seconds.

The onlookers were silent.

Will laughed and strode over to Beef's recumbent form.

"Do-Jesus, Cracker Boy, you ain't quitting on me yet!" He reached into the horse trough, pulled out a small bucket and dumped the water on Beef's head. He grabbed the big man's collar and dragged him to his feet.

He pulled the stunned man to the center of the street again.

Suddenly, the onlookers started laughing. Barstow was a quiet town, and diversions were few and far between. Beef and the riders of the Bar M were not well liked. To see the big man standing on wobbly legs in the street was a satisfying sight. Only the Bar M riders were silent - but the Scouts still had their guns out, and the now the 10th Cavalry patrol had come up. 15 Cavalry troopers sat on their horses with their Sten guns slung at the ready.

Beef straightened up and his face got red. "What the hell was that?!" He demanded.

"That was called a Flying Crane move, Beef." said Will as he nonchalantly buffed his fingernails on his T-shirt. "Maybe they'll rename it the Flying Beef move, here." he chuckled.

Beef roared incoherently and rushed at his opponent again.

"Not the brightest bulb in the box, are we Beef?" asked Will, as once again displayed the blurring speed that had won him respect on the mean streets of Camden.

Beef found himself flying once again, but Will had sent him flying down the center of the street. Beef slammed into the ground chin first. His momentum carried him another 10 feet in the dust. The town erupted in howls of laughter as he rose to his feet, a look of bovine amazement on his face.

Will bowed to him again.

Beef roared and charged again.

Will sighed again. "This is getting boring." He decided to end it.

He bent his knees slightly, dropped his fist low, and as Beef closed in, delivered an uppercut to the bottom of Beef's chin.

Beef's head snapped back with an awful crack, and his face went slack. He dropped like a pole axed steer.

Will's face immediately became worried. He dropped to his knees and checked the man's neck. Steve and Lisa rushed over to check, also. That snap had sounded pretty ugly to them too. Spinal cord injuries in this time and place were almost a sentence of slow death.

There were no lumps. Beef's heavily corded neck muscles had protected his spine.

"Well," said Steve, "my bet is, he'll be sore as hell, but probably no real harm done, except maybe to his ego."

Steve looked around at the crowd. Maintain good community relation. Right. He knew about the buffet over at the restaurant. He walked over to the Saloon, where a man with an apron stood in the swinging doors, wiping a glass. *That guy looks a Hollywood cliché of a Wild West Barkeep.* thought Steve to himself. Then he shook his head. *This is the Wild West, dummy!* he chided himself.

"You the barkeep?" he asked the man.

"Yep, either that or the owner's been paying me for nothing." replied the man.

Steve opened his wallet and pulled out two Double Eagles. The Barkeep's eyes widened.

"How much drinks will this buy?"

"Quite a bit." said the surprised bartender.

"Good enough." said Steve. He turned to the street and called "Drinks on me till the Tab runs out!"

The crowd roared approvingly and surged into the tavern. Steve grabbed the first three schooners and headed back out the door. Will was helping the stunned Beef to his feet.

Steve handed Beef a beer and told him "Not a great start, Mr. Coffey, but I think you might find the ASF can be pretty good neighbors - but we're damned sure ugly enemies."

He handed Will the other beer.

Beef thought a second, and said, "I'll go with that." He shook Will's hand and said, "You beat me fair and square Colonel." he shook his head. "Guess I'm going to have to rethink some things, Mister."

"Fair enough." Steve looked over. "Aw hell." he said, as he saw Al,Will3, John and Noah talking to a man with a notebook. Al had popped the magazine out of his Beretta, and had jacked the slide to pull the round from the chamber. He caught the bright cartridge in the air.

"Damn" said the newsman admiringly. "I've heard of those automatics, but this is the first I've seen one. All you boys are good shots?"

"Ja," said Al. The other boys all nodded yes. "General McRaven requires us to all qualify, if we wish to carry a weapon."

"Qualify?" asked the reporter.

"We must score a minimum of 300 points out of 360 possible on a 30 meter range." said Noah.

"Now let me get your names."

"C'mon boys," said Steve "We gotta eat and hit the trail, if we're going to make the fort by nightfall."

"Please, General," said the reporter, "This is the biggest news to happen here in a long time. Especially that draw!" he said admiringly. "Beef Coffey has a name around here as a bad man with a gun, but this kid -what's you name, son? - that was something."

"Schickelgruber" said the boy. "These folks call me Al, but my birthname is Adolph."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"Well, I tell you son, I got the feeling folks are going to be talking about you for awhile. Wouldn't be surprised if the story of Al Schickelgruber gets repeated all over the West. You keep that fast draw going, You're going to be almost as famous as Billy the Kid.."

"Really." said the boy, as he lit up in a shy smile. "Mein father always said I'd amount to nothing. I guess leaving Austria was not a bad thing."

"More than one kid has found moving to America doing things like that, Al" said Steve as he led the boys away.

Al put his arm around Will3 and Noah. "Hear that, guys, I'll be famous."

Yeah, right" said Bobby, "but what you're going to be is hungry if you don't hurry." he sprinted for the restaurant, with the three other boys in hot pursuit.

Steve stuck out his hand. "Hello, I'm Steve McRaven, and your name is..."

The reporter had the grace to be embarassed. "Sorry, sir. My name is Edward Garis. I'm a reporter for the Newark Evening News. My editor sent me on assignment out here when we heard about the equipment you were bringing out here."

Steve snapped his fingers. "Garis, Garis...Oh hell, I know your work - your pen name is Victor Appleton. You wrote the first 36 Tom Swift books. My dad has the complete collection - This is great! I loved those books!"

Now it was the reporter's turn to look stunned. "I haven't sold any fiction yet, not even a story - and Tom Swift is an idea I came up with on the way out here - where did you hear of it?"

**********

Daisy Picking: RSI side story

The party wound its way slowly up the trail into the hills outside of Barstow, the Private staying in the drag to watch the three boys on horseback in front of him better, and to scan the sides of the trail.. He was lost in thoughts, "Now, how the hell did I piss off the Sergeant Major now???...", mused Pvt. Williamson, as he watched the three Boys talking in front of him. "Its bad enough I gots to be out here in this forsaken desert, but Babysitting?"..., "OK, take the left Fork up ahead that will lead us to that box canyon you wanted to see..." He called out ahead.

The Youth in the lead waved to acknowledge, and clucking his tongue, drew his reins to lead his horse the indicated way. The dust rose from the hooves of the horses as they went on. The three boys kept up their conversation about some Book they had been reading.

"So ..even though his genetic code was not damaged, just his physical being, the ... peoples insist he is a mutant??" Adolph asked Bobby..

"Yeah, something about prejudices dying hard, is what Uncle Steve says...." replied Bobby

' "When you finish that book, I want to read it, that world is fascinating.... piped up Will3

"Not until you give me back that copy of "Devil dances..." Bobby answered

"So, Vhats this flower that Tanta Gail wants??" Adolph asked again

"She wants the flowers from Yucca Plants, something about herbal medicine again. She gave me a bag to fill and another to put some roots in..." Will3 interjected, as he took out a Picture of the plant and its flowers..

"Well , we get to this ..'box canyon' that the cook said it grows in and we can get her some of her flowers.."

Great, not only is I Babysitting.. I am also daisy picking... I miss out on a good poker game for this? What did I do to deserve this??" again thought Private Williamson, as he listened with half an ear.

***

Sunday, April 7 1900, 1130 PST Barstow, California

/*/*

As the RSI crowd headed for the restaurant, Steve took Will aside. "Before we eat, I want to show you your new toys."

"Toy?" asked Will, with a quirked eyebrow.

"The kind you like best, my friend, "said Steve, "Fast, reliable, deadly toys."

They walked up to the railroad siding, where a string of flatcars sat with tarpaulin covered lumps chained down. A team of British Coldstream Guards wearing Alliance shoulder tabs was unchaining the lead vehicle.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Will. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Sho' nuff is, my brother man." said Steve, grinning widely. "The first of the Daimler- -Raven-Ford Jeeps. We took those blueprints for the 1938 Willys Jeep, had Henry Ford build the basic vehicle, then put the Daimler L-6 diesel in it. There's a tank car of biodiesel for you guys, but we've already tested her - they'll run on Soy, Canola, petroleum Diesel or any mix thereof."

"Holy shit." was all Will could say.

The cover came back on the first jeep, and Will saw a very familiar pintle mount and splinter shield - then another pair of Coldstreams brought up a steel weapons box and pulled out the familiar "Ma Deuce" - the Browning .50 cal that had served the US Army well for most of the 20th Century.

"You know," said Steve casually, "John Browning is still alive now - I got to meet him and show him the blueprints and specs for the M2 and M1919 last August. His company is cranking them out by the hundreds every day now."

"Wow" was all Will could get out.

"And this one, we're really proud of," said Steve, as he went to the third Jeep. This time it took four soldiers to bring up the box.

Will whistled appreciatively as he watched them pull out a 90mm recoilless rifle and mount it on the Jeep.

"I brought you 12 Jeeps today, so you can get started on training, I should have a dozen more in two week intervals after that." said Steve. "I'll let you vary the tactical structure as you need it, but the basic concept, as I see it, is 3 vehicle squads with three squads to a platoon. Two Gun jeeps with a driver, gunner and loader, one 90mm recoilless jeep with driver, gunner and loader, and driver, radio operator and striker in the jeep with ammo/fuel trailer."

Will scratched his head as he thought about it. "Sounds pretty good, Steve, but that's a lot of firepower in a small unit, by current standards."

"Well, I want a high-speed, fast moving, hard-hitting unit that can get in and get out fast - and I need it operational real soon."

Will caught the note of urgency in his friend's voice, and stared intently. "I know that sound, Boss, what's the hurry?"

"Situation is going south in China right now." said Steve. "Remember the Boxer Rebellion?"

"Sorta," said Will. "I remember that movie with what's-his-name - Charlton Heston as a Marine trying to hold the US Embassy in Peking."

"55 days at Peking." said Steve. "Yep, that's the one. We're starting to get some antsy folks wondering about the magic we're promising. I'm thinking that, come the end of June, I'd like to put the 10th Cav ashore as part of the International Relief Expedition. Two companies of the First Battalion of the Coldstreams will be part of the Brit contingent. I want to have at least two companies of 10th Cav in gun jeeps by then.

"Uhm" said Will. "That's an awful long ride. It's not as if these Jeeps are fuel hogs like an Abrams, but still..."

"You're covered." said Steve. "On the way out here, I stopped at the White Plant. White Trucks are building GMC Deuce-and-a-halfs for us under license. The first one is going through testing with flying colors so far. They're a little steamed at me, because I also leased the design to Mack, but I've got them both convinced that they're going to be selling all the trucks they can build for years to come.

"But anyway," said Steve," Consider this your pre-Warning Order to get your unit in shape, Brother Will. It's time to get into the Bad, the Ugly, and the Crazy again."

"So, I can expect a WARNORD in about late May or so?" said Will.

"Something like that." said Steve.

*/*/

Learning curve

Monday, 8 April 1900 1100 PST Fort Irwin, CA

/*/*

"You're doing fine, Uly," said Will, "Just accelerate the engine and lift your foot off the clutch in a smooth, fast motion."

Sergeant Major Ulysses Jenkins a hard-bitten horse soldier of the 10th Cavalry was almost ready to cry as he popped the clutch and stalled the Jeep yet again. "I doan know if I can do this, Sir!" he all but wailed. He looked around the field. Some of the other 11 Jeeps were stalled like his, but some were racing around at an incredible speed on the desert floor.

"No problem, Sarn't-Major, "said Will, "Just relax and don't think so hard about. Just press down a little with the right foot and let up quick and smooth on the left."

Suddenly, the Jeep leaped forward in gear and Ulysses whooped like an Apache. He accelerated up the track.

"Shift to second" Will shouted, as the engine revolutions started to climb "When you hit 30 KPH, go to second gear."

Uly glanced at the stick, but now he was starting to feel confident. The speed was exhilarating, faster than a racehorse- faster than an express train! He shifted to second, shifted to third and finally to fourth.

Will began to grip the roll bar hard, and was glad that Steve had insisted on heavy roll cages seatbelts and helmets.

* Shades of Hans Richter" Will think.

Ulysses ventured a gentle turn at 70 KPH and the Jeep tilted dangerously.

*/*/

Pre-WARNORD China

Monday, 8 April 1900 0833 PST Fort Irwin, CA

/*/*

"That concludes the morning report, Sir"

"Very good, Lieutenant. Looks like the Regiment is shaping up well, Gentlemen." He stood up.

"TENCH-HUT!" bellowed the Regimental Sergeant Major.

"As you were." said Will, and he walked out of the Regimental Conference Room. His orderly had a cup of coffee waiting for him as he stepped out of the conference room and headed for the door.

Once outside the door, the snarl of Jeep engines and the growling of the Mack Deuce-and-a-halfs greeted him. The regiment was up to 40 Jeeps and ten trucks. Long ways to their full strength of 120 Jeeps and 50 trucks, but it was growing.

The problem of handling the Boxers had been worrying Will for three months. He was deathly afraid of a Chinese human wave swamping his regiment. He'd discussed a quad .50 "Duster" mounted on a deuce-and-a-half, but they just couldn't afford to take a truck out of commission for that. . He had to hope they'd have enough mortars and guns to blunt a human wave.

Nathan was trying to get Rhinemetall Borsig to build the WWII 88mm. He was hoping to mount it on a modified deuce and a half body, after seeing a similar self-propelled AA gun in a history book. Proximity fuses were still a long way off, but timed fuses seemed to be a good substitute. In any event, it wouldn't be ready in time for the Boxer deployment.

From discussing the hypothetical Chinese situation with the troopers, they'd developed a tactic of "circling the wagons" - when they detected an attack, they'd park the vehicles nose-to-tail in a rough circle.

Another innovation was armoring the troopers. Although Kevlar was a long way off, Will was very worried about snipers. What they'd come up with was an armored suit - steel plates, sewn into knee-length garment. To solve the heat problem, they'd mounted two Tesla Top Hat squirrel cage fans with hoses into the suits. It wasn't cooled air, but just keeping airflow made a big difference.

Alfa, Bravo, Charlie, Delta and Echo Companies were gun jeeps. Fox, Golf and Hotel companies were pulling towed 81mm mortars. Kilo, India and Juliet were dedicated to Transport. Lima and Mike Companies were dedicated to training cadre and base support.

They had developed something that looked liked one of the most lethal regiments this world had ever seen.

The problem was, would it be enough?

*/*

Briefing President McKinley

01 June 1900 Washington, DC

*/*

"How good to see you, General Raven, come right in!" exclaimed President McKinley.

Steve had the feeling that William McKinley was one of those folks that almost always speak with an exclamation mark at the end of the sentence. Much like his vice president in the upcoming campaign, McKinley was a forceful speaker.

"Thank you, Mr. President. I appreciate your time." Steve tried to imagine what the US Secret Service would think of this a century from now - he had walked in, virtually unchallenged, through the White House, carrying an Assault Rifle - now he was talking to one of the National Command Authorities.

"To get straight to the point sir," said Steve," Have you been following the situation in China?"

."That's one thing I like about your folk, General - direct and to the point! No shilly-shallying, like most of the folk that come into this office.

"No time for it, Sir." smiled Steve. "When the End of the World could be just ten minutes, away, you learn to keep to the point."

"Sounds like that quote from Samuel Johnson - "When a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it sharpens his thoughts incredibly" said the President." But, as you said, to the point! - I've read a little about this "Boxer Rebellion", and quite truly, I don't understand it."

"I guessed that," said Steve. "Not many Westerners understand the Chinese culture yet - and some that THINK they do - don't understand as nearly as the think they do."

"OK, quick and dirty, it's a story that the up timers have seen many a time. Religious fundamentalists of the Buddhist variety have decided that Western Contamination in China has gone too far. They want to throw out all the foreigners and establish China as a "Hermit Kingdom" much like Japan from the 15-19th Century." said Steve.

"But where does the Boxers stand in this?" said McKinley.

"Boxer is just an English designation for these folk - they are actually followers of a Buddhist sect, based in the Shao-lin Temple of northern China. They believe the incredible discipline needed to master the Martial Art of Kung-Fu brings them close too true knowledge.

"Martial Art of Kung-Fu?" inquired McKinley, under a quirked eyebrow.

"Sir, I know you've studied pugilism - but a Kung-Fu Master can take on three or four untrained attackers and defeat them all, in less time than it takes me to tell it."

"Unbelievable!" said McKinley.

"Believe, Sir." said Steve." I've seen it - it works."

McKinley suddenly inspected him closely. "Do you know this martial Art, General?" he inquired.

"Actually, sir, I studied Karate - a Japanese version. Most every culture in the Orient has something like it." Steve coughed pointedly, "But Sir, back to China."

"Yes," said McKinley, "So these Kung-Fu students are causing the riots?" he said.

"Actually, we believe the operation is being bankrolled by dissident members of the Royal Family. This unnamed Baron wants to unseat the Dowager Empress, take her place, and restrict the foreign nationals to the treaty ports ONLY"

"So where do the Kung-Fu students come in?"

"Cannon fodder" said Steve. "Cannon fodder, pure and simple. He's spread the message of "toss out the foreigners". Throughout the Shao-lin sect. So the low rank students march out, believing they are bulletproof." Steve was suddenly struck by a thought. "Do you recall the "Ghost Dance" cult among the Sioux - what is it? -Last year?" He shook his head "Basically, it's much the same idea, just a different culture."

"Humph" snorted McKinley. "What a mess. I'd much rather forget it completely "."But I take your point, General.

Steve continued "You tend to get something like this reaction anytime a technically superior society interacts with a low-tech society. The Native Americans had the Ghost Dancer, China has the Boxers, and I don't doubt that the Islamic Fundamentalist is going to become pains here soon."

"The Islamic what?" said McKinley. "No matter, explain later, General," he said, holding his palm up. He shook his head. "So why do you want to send the 10th Cavalry?"

"Well, Sir" said Steve, "American Nationals are among the people hiding in the Embassy compound at Beijing. In my world, the US sent a scratch Marine Force, mostly from the Philippines. We've got to get the 10th out there and in the public eye." said Steve, "and I think this campaign, by the very virtue of being unprecedented, will get a lot of attention." He smiled. "The US Marines got a lot of good publicity out of this campaign in my world. Pissed the Army off right proper, it did," said Steve. "Do'em right to have to split their fire for both organizations." he grinned.

"But what does the 10th Cavalry add to this fight that can't be handled by the Marines?" asked McKinley.

"An astute question, Sir." Steve pointed to the map. "Basically, horses are relatively difficult to ship by sea. Because of the short time frame, we're going to have lots of troops, but almost no horses. The 10th, in a lot of ways, could be thought of as super-fast cavalry, in many of the present Cavalry roles." He tapped the map of China. "Will Wilson's boys have been training to drive and fight cross-country, conduct reconnaissance, all the standard light cavalry roles. But one of their platoons can also lay down as much firepower as a heavy cavalry regiment. The 105 recoilless also adds a light artillery function - it's a direct fire capability, not an indirect function - but it's organic to the platoon formation."

"Whoa, there General..."said McKinley." Please recall that I'm a politician, not a Professional soldier - I think I grasp what you're saying, but go over it again, a little more slowly.

*/*

Buffalo Forward In China

22 June, 1900 Tientsin Harbor, Chinese Empire

*/*

The Marine Gunnery Sergeant lowered his field glasses and turned to his CO. "Waal, don't that beat all." he drawled "Them rumors were true, Major. A bunch of nigras with motorcars is what they're unloading off that ship."

Major Tony Weller swore at length for awhile. Finally, he ran out of invective. "OK, now I've got that out of my system, I need to go see this trumped up "General" of theirs. I hope these dummies and their hare-brained contraptions don't slow us down too much."

A few minutes later, he came to the Dock where the SS Red feather was debarking the men and equipment of the first battalion, 10th Mechanized Cavalry Regiment. (USCT).

He immediately spotted the command group - one white men standing in a sea of Negro troops. The strange mottled brown uniforms and steel helmets only heightened the unreality of situation.

He composed himself again. *I will be nice to this idiot* he said to himself. *I will keep my temper*

Finally, he decided to talk to the nominal ranking officer of the American Contingent to the International relief force.

As he walked up, the General noticed him and came to him. "Major Weller, I presume?" he asked, sticking out his hand.

Weller was shocked by the familiarity. He snapped to attention saluted and said, "Major Anthony Weller, United States Marine Corps, at your service, Sir."

Steve straightened up, returned the salute, and chuckled. "Sorry, Major, I just have to get used to the way things are done in this century. In my world, you don't salute in combat zones. It tells the enemy snipers who to shoot at..." He grinned.

Weller blinked. *That's a damned sensible idea. * He thought.

"But I really am glad to meet you, Major." said Steve. "So what can I do for you, Major?" asked Steve. "Colonel Wilson and his boys ought to be unloaded by the end of the day. I sent a runner to the Relief Force Headquarters to find out where we'll be billeted tonight."

"I don't know where to start, sir." said Weller. "Permission to speak freely, Sir?" he asked.

"It's Liberty hall, Major. Spit on the Mat and call the cat a bastard. Speak your piece."

Weller laughed inside as he heard this strange general from the future repeat the old saying.

"Sir, I mean, this whole thing is absurd. Negroes driving motorcars?" he waved his arms helplessly." Sir, you've got to be kidding. I am not going to be able to detail a security element for your cars when they break down. And Negroes? Gad, sir, they'll cut and run at the first sign of trouble. I mean, why don't you just leave these boys here to unload ships sir?"

Steve's face grew hard. "MAJOR Weller. I realize that your evaluation is based on false data. These Jeeps and Deuce-and-a-half’s are not the primitive vehicles that you're used to. The designs we built these vehicles to - they served the US military for 50 years, all over the globe. This stuff is a mature technology -all of it battle-tested time and again. Just give them a chance, Major. I can damn near guarantee that you'll like them."

Then he straightened ramrod stiff and moved closer to Weller. His voice dropped to a bass rumble and a very low volume. "And as for the fact that the 10th Cav is a Negro Unit. Don't. Ever. Malign. My. Troops. For. The. Color. Of. Their. Skins. You understand me?" he tapped on Weller's chest with his right index finger.

Involuntarily, Weller stepped back in the force of the strange General. A hard-bitten combat veteran, he gulped and backed away from the power being projected.

Steve continued. "In my opinion, shutting out the black Americans from military service rates up there with some of the dumbest ideas our nation ever came up with. Once we let them in, they did well. Who knows how much good material we wasted with those stupid racial policies?" he asked rhetorically.

Weller blinked again and the spell was broken. General Raven assumed normal dimensions. *Hallucination. Must've been something wrong with the pepper soup* he told himself.

A trooper ran up and saluted Steve. "General Raven, Colonel Wilson's compliments. First section is ready to find that firing range. Did you want to go along, Sir?"

Steve laughed and looked at his watch. "Two hours on the dot. Very good." He turned to Major Weller. "Doing anything for the next hour or so, Major? You might find this interesting."

"I'm free all afternoon. General." said Weller.

"Great" said Steve. "What size hat do you wear, Major?" he asked.

"7 and a half, Sir." said Weller.

Steve turned to the trooper. "Private Williams, please tell Colonel Wilson that I and Major Weller will be going along as observers. - Oh, and tell them we'll need a medium Fritz helmet for Major Weller."

"Roger on the medium helmet sir. First and Forward!" replied the trooper as he double-timed back to the dock.

*/*

"My sweet Lord!" exclaimed Major Weller, as the first platoon rolled down the dusty Chinese road at 45 KPH.

"Fun, isn’t it?" laughed Steve. He had pulled rank on the gunner and was standing behind the .50 cal.

Weller had never seen a General smile as broadly as this fellow had. As for himself, he was trying to hold very tightly to the roll bar, despite the seat belt.

The Colored troopers seemed to be enjoying the ride also. "Heads up, General." yelled the driver. "Gonna' go airborne again in a second!"

"First and Forward, Corporal Smith!" yelled the General.

"Hoo-ah!" all three men simultaneously, as the Jeep crested a slight rise and all four wheels temporarily were off the ground.

Steve laughed uproariously. He was enjoying himself immensely.

Weller, a Career Marine with plenty of sea duty, was beginning to worry about embarrassing himself. He was definitely regretting eating Lunch before he came on this death ride.

Finally, the Jeep slowed and pulled into an empty field with targets and mounded berms at the far end.

A Marine unit was already using the range to sight in their machine guns.

Steve stepped down from the jeep and looked at the gunners. Some were still firing, but many had turned to look at the strange vehicles.

"Wow!" exclaimed Steve "Is that a Potato Digger? Hot Damn! I've never even seen one in a museum, just pictures in old history books."

Weller was slower to get up. *What is he so excited about? * He thought. *History Books? * And then he recalled that the General was from a century in the future.

Steve jumped down and strode over to the range master. The Gunnery Sergeant was ready to unload some invective on what he first took as a foreign interloper, but then he recognized the Alliance uniform...and the black general's stars on the collar tabs. He straightened up, snapped to attention and saluted. "Gunnery Sergeant Richard Clark, Sir. How may I help you?"

Steve chuckled. "Damn it's good to see some things are a constant, whatever the century." he exclaimed, returning the salute. "As you were, Gunny, my boys have the range when you're done. I just wanted to come over and take a look at your boys and these Potato Diggers. I read that the Army was pretty amazed at Marine Gunners in the Philippines."

"Damned Army can't find it's ass with a map and compass, anyway, Sir." the Gunny replied automatically. He'd already had the sentence out when he suddenly remembered that the General was in command of an Army Cavalry unit... "Sorry, sir." he said, chagrined.

"Don't worry about it, Gunny. For a lot of them, that's true. And you might as well know, Gunny, I started my career as a Navy Corpsman with the Fleet Marine Force. India Company, Third Battalion of the Sixth Marine Regiment, Second Marine Division."

"Third Battalion of the Sixth Regiment - that's us!" said the Gunny. He looked at the General closely. "I don't remember you, Sir, and I've been in the Corps 18 years."

"Wrong direction in time, Gunny." laughed Steve. "I was assigned to India Company in June of 1975 - almost 75 years from now, for you."

The Gunny's eyes almost crossed. "It's the past for you, but the future for us."

"Gunny, don't sweat It." laughed Steve. "Just go with the flow. Finish up your evolutions here and then my guys need to get their weapons shook out."

*/*

An hour later, Gunny Smith and Major Weller were exclaiming at the power of the .50 cals. The 90mm recoilless had left the Marines speechless.

"That's like having your own artillery battery at the Company level!" exclaimed the Major.

"We've got to get some of these for the Corps, Major." said the Gunny.

"You will guys." laughed Steve. "The factories are ramping up to crank them out by the hundreds now. But for this operation, you got the Buffalo Soldiers for your direct Fire support."

Major Weller screwed up his. "General Raven, the Major requests permission to speak freely."

Steve's face got real hard. "Major, you can dispense with that third person formality with me - in my world, we've dropped that bullshit. And if you're going to ask me to dismount the 10th and give the jeeps to your Marines, for no better reason than the fact that your Marines are deficient in skin Melanin, than you can most respectfully kiss my ass."

Both the Gunny and the Major let their jaws drop.

"What'sa matter, Marines?" said Steve. "Never heard a Brigadier General talk like that? Well, screw you, I enlisted as an E-nobody and worked my way up the ladder, guys. I was a Petty Officer First when I went back to college and got my commission."

He raised his hand in front of Major Weller. "First, these guys may not have been on Samar with you, Major, but they gave fire support for Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders up San Juan Hill." He ticked off another finger. "Second, those were fuckin' Germans running those Maxim guns. Not raggedy-ass little brown brothers with big knives. Not even fuckin' Spaniards. Big old blond, crop-headed Prussians with .50 calibers, water cooled Maxims, dug in and sand bagged. That's about as close to Hell-on-earth as I can imagine, and the 10th over ran them rat bastards, ran 'em down and killed'em all." he turned his head and spat. "So spit it out, Major, what’s on your mind?"

*/*

Fight at Yung Po;

26 June Outside Hsiku, Chinese Empire

*/*

Brigadier General Sir Steven Raven was having the time of his life. Alfa Company of the 10th Cavalry was making a Reconnaissance in Force along the main line between Tientsin and the besieged Advance Force at Hsiku.

RIF is a traditional cavalry role - fellows with names like Belisarus, Charlemagne, Jeb Stuart and Grierson had raised it to a fine art. But this world had never seen cavalry like this - a steady 35 MPH for the last two hours, and the firepower of a division.

Steve had always thought of China as a steamy land of rice paddies and jungle. This North China Plain was more like the prairie country of Illinois. Nice flat roads and firm ground. *Natural country for armor* he thought. *Now, if this was the 10th ACR of the Tom Clancy books, the Abrams and Strykers and Hummers would have a field day. *

But what he had were his modified M-1 Jeeps.

That should be good enough to carry this day.

The Jeep slowed even as he saw the scouts returning at high speed.

The scouts pulled into a field and Alfa Company rolled up and circled around them.

Steve noted with pride that there were few words spoken. Alfa rolled up, formed a circle, and now the troopers had their MGs and 90mm pointed outward. The drivers were checking their vehicles and then pulling out their personal weapons.

Steve strode up to Corporal Stewart as the young man pulled his scarf back from his nose and mouth and flipped up his goggles.

"Report, Corporal." he demanded.

The corporal looked at Captain Smith, the Alfa Company Commander, but he shrugged and tipped his head to the General.

Corporal Stewart returned the shrug and started his report. "General Raven sir," he said. "We got a situation up ahead of us."

****

It wasn't an unfamiliar story. As the Rebellion grew in strength, Europeans caught in the unrest were trying to reach safety. Their respective legations had sent out patrols to gather in their civilians, but not everybody made it back to safety.

A party of German Troops had gone to pick up some the missionaries at an orphanage. They had picked up more than a few European refugees and had almost made it to safety when a group of more than 1000 Boxers had trapped them in a small village.

In another timeline, they were overwhelmed. They were reported "missing, presumed dead" and soon forgotten by anyone but their friends and family. In most histories, they did not merit a footnote.

In this reality, the US Cavalry came to the rescue.

*/\*

Steve, Captain Smith, and Staff Sergeant Lockhart, the Company First Sergeant crawled up on the ridgeline and looked down at the besieged village. Steve had also persuaded the Marines to loan him a platoon of riflemen. 2Lt Smedley Butler and Gunnery Sergeant Robert Melvin joined them on the ridgeline.

They trained their glasses on the surrounded force. Sergeant Lockhart grunted. He'd seen this story before.

Capt. Smith put down his glasses and looked hard at the General. "There's a lot of Chinese there." he said in a flat tone.

"Yep." said Steve. "I'm estimating 900 to a thousand, Cap'n. What's your estimate?"

"Sounds right." he said. "Those folks can't hold for much longer."

"Women and children down there." said Sgt. Lockhart, with a voice carefully devoid of emotion.

Steve looked at the two men. "Gentlemen, is Alfa up to this?"

Sgt. Lockhart looked at the Capt., and then answered for him. "First and Forward, Sirs."

Steve looked at the Captain. Despite his tan, the man looked gray under the dust and grime. Even so, his voice was steady. "First and forward, General."

Steve smiled coldly. "Good enough, guys." he looked back at the scene. "I think we can do this real easy...Get the 90mm jeeps just below the crest and load White Phosphorus...."

*/\*

Hauptmann Heinrich Mueller was beginning to regret leaving Hamburg. At first, China service had seemed like a great honor, and it had looked like a good career move for an officer of the Kaiser. Then had come the Boxer Rebellion, and these missions to rescue German citizens in trouble.

Unteroffizier Ernst Schwab made a crouching run and thudded in beside Mueller. <We're down to 12 effectives. The doctor is trying to do what he can, but he has little in supplies. >

<Can some of the civilians fight? > Asked Mueller.

<Those twelve effectives include the two Americans - both Herr Logan and Frau Logan are holding the south corner. > Schwab smiled under the grime. <Herr Logan is a good shot - and Frau Logan is even more deadly than her husband is. >

*/\*

"You know, Etta, I'm beginning to think you were right." said Harvey Logan. He worked the bolt on his Mauser.

"About what?" asked his wife, as she loaded another box magazine. "We should have packed more ammunition for the Winchesters?"

"No," replied her husband. "Maybe we should have gone with Sundance to Bolivia."

Etta didn't reply for a time, and he turned sharply, afraid that she might have been shot.

Instead, he stared out the window, speechless as his wife, as a group of six smoke trails reached out from a top of a hill and blasted the mass of Chinese troops in front of them.

Then a group of rapidly moving specks zipped down off the ridgeline. Glowing balls stuck the rear of the Chinese mass, and they fell in droves. The familiar sound of a US Cavalry Bugle blowing Charge carried across the battlefield.

*/\*

"Plow the road!" Commanded Steve and the twelve gun jeeps blasted off the hill in a fountain of dirt. As soon as the wheels hit the ground, the gunners opened fire.

Steve noted with pleasure that the gunners were firing short bursts, staying to their assigned arcs on the target.

The Chinese were going down like tenpins. Hundreds died before they even realized they were under attack from the rear.

Steve had wanted to lead the charge, but Captain Smith had persuaded him that good Generals do not lead Company-sized cavalry charges. The last US General to try that had been named George Armstrong Custer.

Steve was on the hill, watching the battle unfold. He had climbed on top of Alfa Company's Deuce-and-a-half.

2Lt Butler was standing next to him, watching the carnage. "Holy mother of God." he breathed.

"Time to kick ass and take names." said Steve.

The 90mm fired another volley into the Chinese. This time they hammered the left flank. As soon as they reloaded, they fired a volley into the right flank, and then shifted back to the left. The antipersonnel shrapnel rounds were maiming and killing hundreds of Chinese with each volley.

In less than a minute, the jeeps had closed the two mile distance. As they came up on the Chinese, they shifted left and started hammering the Chinese left flank. The rocket jeeps concentrated on the right flank.

By the end of two minutes, the fight was pretty much over. Heaps of dead and dying Chinese littered the field. Any Chinese capable of running were headed north, the only way not blocked by the Americans and their weapons.

*/\*

"Boots and Saddles!" said Steve, jumping off the truck. "Let's go, Marines!" he bellowed. The Marines had grumbled at not being able to join the cavalry on the wild ride, but they were all in their truck and ready to go.

Steve and Lt. Butler were riding in the cab of the lead truck. He yelled over to the young man, "Check your safety!"

Butler had come on the patrol armed with only a .38 revolver, but Steve had put his foot down and issued the Lieutenant a Sten Gun. A few minutes' instruction and practice had made Butler a believer in the mantra of personal heavy firepower.

Private Smiley drove the big truck the way his fellow drivers ran their jeeps. He came off the hill at 25 miles an hour and bounced and wriggled the truck through the slope.

Lt. Butler was a natural born Marine. Motion sickness was not his problem. He was whooping and cheering as the big truck roared, rocking and rolling its way down the hill to the little village.

The defenders had pulled away their makeshift barricade to the south entrance to the village.

They roared in and came to a smooth but quick halt just outside the entrance.

The Marines were already jumping out the back of their truck. "Lt. Butler." said Steve. "Please have your boys spread out and secure the perimeter."

"Aye, Sir." said the Lt. "Right away, General."

Captain Smith was already directing the reload of the ammo ready boxes on the jeeps. Steve looked around, but it looked as though Alfa Company had not taken any casualties in the brief firefight. They were already refitting and rearming for another fight.

Steve strode into the destroyed village. "Who's in charge here?" he bellowed.

*****

The German soldiers had watched their deliverance with awe. The sheer carnage of the American attack was both terrifying and beautiful. Hauptmann Mueller was in awe. "Mein Gott in Himmel!" He exclaimed, striding up to the American. "Hauptmann Heinrich Mueller, Sir, at your service." he blinked as he saw the stars on the collar tabs. That was the rank of a ...he snapped to attention and saluted as smartly as he could. "Herr Generalmajor ... Raven" he said, reading the nametape.

Steve smiled, as he looked at the grimy, battle worn German, who still managed to project that infuriating air of Prussian capability. *And none of that Sieg Heil shit, yet, either. * He thought.

He returned the salute. "Guten tag, Hauptmann Mueller." he said. "We were in the area, and it looked like you needed a bit of help." he drawled.

"Danke Sehr, your motorcars are quite impressive, Herr General. I have never seen their like."

"The vehicles and weapons are American – but the method of employment actually comes from a German technique, called Blitzkrieg. "

Corporal Harris came up and reported to Steve. He came to attention, started to salute, and remembered the Alliance rules on saluting in a combat zone." Sir, Capt Smith reports Alfa Company is rearmed and refueled. Lt Butler reports that his Marines are ready to go. What are your orders?"

"Son, get with Captain Mueller here and his boys. Get the civilians into the supply truck, move some Marines in there for guards, then make sure all the folks that can fire weapons have got some. Strip some off the Chinks if you have to."

"First and Forward."

A bedraggled civilian staggered forward. His head was wrapped in a bandage and powder grime was on his clothing

"Herr Kraal! "Said Hauptmann Mueller. "The doctor said you should stay as still as possible."

"Sorry, Captain, but I'm a newspaper reporter. I'd have to be three days dead before I pass up a story like this." He walked up to Steve, using a rifle for a crutch, and put out his hand.

"Kraal, Sir, Harry Kraal. News reporter for the New York Times. How do you do?"

Steve shook his hand.

"Raven. Steve Raven. Alliance Forces, riding with alfa company, 10th Cav. What can i do for you, Mr Kraal."

"Well, General, about half an hour ago, I was praying to God Almighty for a miracle." He looked around the battlefield, at the heaps of Chinese dead. "I'd say the way your folks rode off the hill, it looks almost as good as God striking the Heathen with his wrath." The man blinked. "I may just have to use that line in my dispatch."

Now it was Steve's turn to blink. "Well, all I can think of is Sherman's quote on newspaperman. You know that one?"

Both men stared at him. "The newspaper reporters are like the Plague of God. I could kill every one of them in my camp, and within a day, they'd be filing dispatches from Hell - and still getting the facts wrong."

Steve laughed a harsh laugh. "Mr Kraal. I think we need to get you on the truck and let's get you and everyone else to someplace safe. Maybe back at the Main Force, where you can file a dispatch."

"But I'd.."

"Mr Kraal." Said Steve. "I brought these boys in here to get you folks to safety. We need to get out of here NOW, Just in case our little slant-eyed brothers go find some friends and come back." Steve turned back to Hauptmann Mueller.

<Hauptmann, I need to get your men on the

and the civilians on the vehicles. We need to get on the road right now.>

Mueller had lost the ability to be astonished. So the American Generalmajor spoke excellent German with a Bavarian accent. He and his schwarzers and their impossible motorcars had just done the impossible.

Mueller saluted smartly and clicked heels. The effect might have been better if one heel hadn't been shot away. <Immediately, sir.>

The small convoy formed up outside the village and headed back the way it had come.

As they reached the top of the hill, the scouts came tearing back.

"Oh shit, this doesn't look good" said Steve to Capt. Smith.

Smith just passed a silent glance. The speed of the jeeps could change some things, but Cavalry Scouts don't come back early for anything less than bad news.

Capt. Smith put up his hand to halt the convoy.

The scouts rode up. Corporal Stewart dismounted and ran over. " Capt, we got about three thousand hostiles in front of us, about four miles up on the main road."

At the same time, Steve looked over his shoulder and saw Chinese forces coming over the ridgeline.

"Aw shit. Hell. Damn." he swore.

"Capt Smith, let's take that road off to the west and see if we can circle around and get back to the main force. This is looking pretty bad here."

Smith called the squad leaders forward and gave his orders.

The column headed away from the approaching forces.

As they crested another ridgeline, they came upon another Chinese force and Steve knew that they were well and truly screwed.

*/*

Raven's Last Stand

27 June, 0530 Near Yung Po, Chinese Empire.

***

The early morning twilight revealed an ugly sight. The heaps of Chinese dead told the night's story.

Unfortunately, too many of the defenders lay dead inside the small makeshift fort.

The small force had given much better than it got, but there were just too many enraged Chinese.

"How you doing here, guys?"

Kraal rolled over and looked at the General. This guy was really starting to impress him. Kraal had covered more than a few wars now, and he knew how to spot good war leaders.

A man from the future...Kraal knew he'd get the Pulitzer prize for writing this story.

General Raven and Colonel Wilson had obviously trained these men well. Only a little over 100 men but there were easily a thousand Chinese dead out there. Unfortunately, there was still several thousand live Chinese left.

One of the four remaining machine guns spoke, and was rewarded with several screams.

"You have got to have the most nerve of anyone I've ever met, General." said Kraal.

Thousands of screaming Chinese pour out of the night and you just put up flares and direct the fire. You act like this had happened to you thousands of times before."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" growled Steve. He held out his canteen. "Thirsty?"

Kraal nudged the German next to him. "Gesteiter Schmidt, wollen sie wasser zu trinken?"

The man didn't move. Kraal looked back at Steve. "He told me he wanted to sleep a few minutes ago, after the last rush. I told him I'd keep watch."

Steve reached for the Privates throat and shook his head. "He's still warm. Must have died in his sleep. Leave him there, we're down to needing bodies on the perimeter."

The bugle blew "Stand ready" Steve looked at the field. He looked back at the center of the perimeter. Smith and Mueller were directing the defense. Mueller's left arm was in a sling. Smith's right arm was in a sling. Luckily, he was left handed, thought Steve.

"Looks like we're in the last act of this tragedy, Mr Kraal." He checked the loads in his Beretta. "Strange how things happen." he said conversationally. "Hope my brother and the rest can keep the Alliance going."

*Odd last words* thought Kraal.

/*/

Muslim Dawn is the time that you can tell a white thread from a black one. the Koran says this is the best time to stage an attack.

Although they weren't Muslim, the Chinese were obviously familiar with this concept.

This time they were coordinating their attacks, coming from three directions at once, not allowing the defenders to switch personnel inside the perimeter.

The Chinese tide forged through the dawn's early light, intent on overrunning these stubborn Westerners.

Unfortunately, their attention had been too completely focused on the irritating hilltop.

As the last belt of 50 cal fed into Alfa's last MG, a stream of explosions erupted in the Chinese rear.

Steve looked up and heard the almost non-stomp thump of the 81mm firing. "Holy shit!" he screamed. "It's the tube stuffers!" The Americans cheered and kept firing. Now they were down to the last rounds in the Sten guns. Many of the troopers had grabbed Chinese swords from the dead. They were ready to sell themselves to the last gasp.

Now, as the mass of Chinese turned to this new threat, the massed 90mm guns of Bravo, Charlie and Delta Companies broke up their formations.

The survivors ran, and the MGs of the three Cavalry Companies followed them like angry demons.

/*/

"Brother Steve." said Will, as he strode up to Steve, sitting on the hood of a jeep. "Why you let yourself get in shit like this, my man. I thought you were smarter than that?

The two men hugged each other. Will stood back and looked at his friend. The Desert Camo Uniform was ripped and shredded and mud, blood and powder grime coated his uniform, his face and hands. Two splatters of lead on Steve's Kevlar vest told the tale of a well-aimed bullets, and several deep gouges in his Kevlar helmet were untold proof of close calls.

"How'd you get here so fast? How'd you know we were in trouble?" asked Steve.

"Hey man, that's your brother looking out for you, dude. Mike had them break down the gear for Hugin and Rick and Rick brought it out here on the fastest cargo boat we could get. They puled into port about the time you left on this recon patrol." He pointed upward. "Smile for the cameras, Steve."

Steve looked up and stared. If he strained, he could just barely see a spot moving in the blue. Probably a bird or his imagination - the Reconnaissance system was designed to hide from radar or casual observation.

"We got Hugin up yesterday afternoon and found y'all just before sunset. We've been running hard all night, but it looked as though you needed the help"

"Christ on a crutch, Will!" Laughed Steve. "Another 10 minutes and you would have been on a corpse retrieval mission."

*/*

DISPATCH TO THE NEW YORK POST

Harry Kraal, near Hsiku China, with the International Relief Force.

28 June, 1900

If, two years ago, you told me a tale of Aliens from Mars and men from the future, I'd have recommended you to a good doctor. But since then, I've lived the story, and I hardly believe it. This reporter saw the Martian attack on Boston and the bloody, expensive battle to repulse them.

I left the Legation Compound on June 20th with a troop of 40 German Infanterie-Marine. The mission was to gather in German Citizens and other foreigners, and bring them to safety. Unfortunately, things became quite violent. After several confrontations with the rebels, we were surrounded and cut off in a small village with about 1000 Chinese trying to kill us.

As we prepared to die, the US Cavalry appeared on the scene and rescued us. I know, this sounds like a penny dreadful novel - but the Company Alfa of the 10th Cavalry (US Colored Troops) slammed into the Chinese force and quite literally slaughtered them. Captain William Smith of Amherst, Massachusetts leads the Company. His men have been working with these motorcars and weapons for about six months.

Brigadier General Sir Steven Raven, KBE, from Lockport, NY, accompanied the force. He says that the weapons and tactics of the 10 Cavalry is not new, but over 50 years old. The phrase that General Raven uses is "Stack them up like cordwood." Indeed, this reporter saw the rebel bodies stacked in heaps - not by their fellows, but by the machine guns and cannon. The men from the future have armed these colored troops with incredibly fast and agile motorcars that mount incredibly deadly weapons. In the space of less than two minutes, over seven hundred Chinese were dead or dying and the survivors were running frantically. Their machines moved across the battlefield like some sort of dreadful mechanical reaper, not of grain, but of men. Behind them they left a harvest of the dead.

The 10th Cavalry suffered only two men injured, neither seriously.

I must mention that a platoon of US Marines, led by 2Lt Smedley Butler, accompanied the Cavalry, but did not take part in this battle.

One might think that Providence would have allowed us to escape to safety after such a terrible fight - but there was more to come.

Only a few miles further, we ran into a second and third Chinese force. Not by plan, but by sheer chance, our small force of less than 120 men women and children were now surrounded by almost 5000 Chinese rebels, many from the Army and armed with modern weapons.

There are some in our country that would say that the Negro is not a brave soldier, that he cannot operate complex machinery, that he lacks discipline. There are some that say the Negro troops cannot work with white troops effectively. The Buffalo Soldiers, the US Marines, and the German Marines worked together like a well-oiled machine.

I saw these men look at the impending doom rolling down upon them and laugh. Their weapons wreaked utter havoc upon the screaming hordes of Chinese, and yet the Chinese waves kept on coming closer. The Negro soldiers worked with the Germans and Marines to retrieve the weapons of the enemy when we ran low on ammunition.

General Raven was incredibly brave, walking around the perimeter, talking to the men. He allowed the three officers to direct their men, only stepping in when the situation got chancy. Although he states he is over 50 years old, and with his left leg gone below the knee, he still fought like a much younger man. He personally led men in hand to hand combat when the Chinese penetrated our perimeter. He wielded his rifle, his pistol, even a bayonet and sometimes a sword. I even saw him kill several Chinese soldiers with only his bare hands.

As I prepared for the final assault this morning, we were rescued yet again by the US Cavalry. Thousands of screaming Chinese were approaching our pitiful fortifications as we fired the last of ammunition.

But Colonel Will Wilson, Negro Commander of the 10th Cavalry had not been idle.

Suddenly five companies of Cavalry fell on the Chinese force and utterly routed them. Colonel Wilson set the trap with skillful cunning. Two companies towed the deadly 81 mm mortar. 28 of these deadly lightweight weapons lobbed over 600 of their 10 pound shells in just under ten minutes. Thousands of Chinese were caught in the massive kill zone. The dazed survivors were then hit with three companies of jeeps mounting the air-cooled .50 cal machine gun.

There were only two kinds of Chinese on that field - the quick and the dead. It was all over in a matter of minutes. Several dozen Chinese were allowed to escape, of the over 5000 they had surrounded us at dawn. Colonel Wilson said, "Let them run. Let them tell the generals, let them tell the officers, let them tell their fellow soldiers of the wrath and power of the Alliance Soldier."

**/**

- excerpt from "Bummer" by Harry Chapin

*/*

2350 MST, November 10, 1918 Lucent Technologies, Peterson Alliance Forces Base, Colorado

*/*

Tim was more distracted than usual, but with all the hoopla and excitement following the maiden flight of the Alliance Forces Vehicle Challenger, no one really noticed

Einstein had taken a few well deserved days off to visit Geneva. Rutherford had also headed back to New Zealand for a long overdue vacation. Tesla had done one of his periodic disappearances. Now that his sessions with Dr Freud had allowed him to overcome his phobias, he had developed some rather low tastes in entertainment. He'd show up in a few weeks, with a magnificent hangover and maybe a new tattoo or two...

As the subjectively elder scientist of the "Techie Four", Tim had started to develop a lot of eccentricities. His bipolar tendencies had become much more pronounced, but the value of his creativity in the manic phases made of for the inconveniences of dealing with his schedule of "forty hours awake, forty hours of sleep."

He was still spending a lot of time in his personal lab, tinkering with one gizmo or another. Dozens of partially assembled devices took up many of the lab tables. Signs like "radiation hazard" or "keep hands off" were pretty much redundant at this point, especially since the only visitors that still dared enter this lab were Rutherford, Tesla or Einstein.

Ever since the insight that Tim had had years earlier, during a brainstorming session with the others, something else he had failed to mention had been nagging at the back of mind. The ‘event’ that had transposed him and the whole compound was similar to the space bending properties of the new space drive, but with an added unknown variable. Something he had witnessed during an early test had brought that variable closer to his conscious mind. The test had seemed a failure at the time, but bore a seed of possibility that took root in Tim’s over-imaginative mind.

Tinkering around in the lab, late that night, Tim added a few circuits to an early test-version of the warp device. Basing some calculations on the size of the electric fence that had surrounded the compound (early on I believe we guessed that electric fence had somehow interacted with the possibly natural, or at least accidental, phenomenon that had brought them here initially, the EM field strength, and the warp formula, Tim felt that perhaps he might have figured out how to somehow get his friends home to their original home universe. Well, at least the first step of it anywise.

Unfortunately, long years of living in a laboratory failed to warn Tim to thoroughly double check his results. One of his old weaknesses, which rarely popped up anymore, was nothing more than properly placing a decimal point, but this would be a somewhat critical problem this time. (One reason Tim didn’t bring anyone else in on this was that even to him this seemed to be quite a long shot.)

Powering up some Tesla towers for the charge buildup, Tim did one last check of the circuits. All seemed to be properly connected. With a small, scale model of the fence of the compound, surrounding the working end of the warp device, Tim felt a little giddy. Even nothing else, this should produce a little bit of a light show here in the lab.

Flipping the power switch, the circuits hummed to life, building up to the initiation point of a small, but dimensionally altered warp bubble.

Over at the Distinguished Visitors Suite, Mike and Nate were on a conference with Steve and Rick, going over the business of the day.

"First item of business is that we get some damn Comm SATs up, and then some weather SATs. I don't freakin' care if we have to go with manned platforms and analog computers, we've got the pocking lift now." said Steve.

"Yeah," agreed Rick, "Getting good weather forecasts to the farmers and sailors will make a hell of a difference in producing and transporting food. We're making good progress with industrialization, but we've got to stay ahead of the birth rate."

"Dudes," said Nate, taking a drag on his celebratory cigars, "we have gotten our first anti-grav spaceship to orbit and back. I think we can take some time to relax and enjoy."

"Yeah," said Mike. "You realize that that quote is going to be re-played billions of times. - " Control, this is Alliance Forces Vehicle Challenger, underway on impulse power." In this world, that's what Commander Al Schickelgruber is going to be remembered for."

"Well, I gotta' tell you." said Steve. "I savored the moment. He'll have a damn better legacy than he did in our world."

The conversation changed to trying to decide just how many ships could be made, how fast, and cracking Star Trek jokes in between. Suddenly the lights winked out, a distant "pop", and the lights flickered back on.

"What the hell?" Mike sputtered out.

"You guys OK?" said Steve and Rick from the speakerphone.

"Mongo, did that seem familiar for some reason?" Nate queried, with a barely perceptibly raised eyebrow.

"I think we better go see what Tim is up to" said Mike. "Guys, we're going to have to cut this short." he said, "we may have a situation."

"Aw, hell." moaned Rick. "That guy needs a frickin' keeper."

"He always did," said Steve. "But I think we better not let him play with high energy physics without a guardian, fer sure."

*****

Arriving at the lab, Mike and Nate were apprehensive, due to the occasional flashes of light that were appearing from the lab windows.

"This, " said Mike, eyeing the sparks, "does not look good."

Opening the door, at first neither saw anything that might be shrapnel from a blown experiment, or flames from a burning transformer. "Mongo…umm…do you notice anything missing from the lab?" Nate asked, his gaze frozen to a far corner Mike hadn’t looked at yet. Mike was looking for blood or bloody fragments.

Mike started to respond with "There’s always been so much stuff here, how would I notice what isn’t here?" when he finally looked in the direction Nate had been staring at.

Then he realized what was bothering Nate.

A couple of Tesla towers, were still sparking from a partial charge,

The flickers of actinic light brought into stark contrast a nearby area that was indeed "empty".

Empty of lab equipment, empty of a portion of the floor and ceiling, and, empty of Tim.

Grabbing a nearby hand light, Mike and Nate began examining the area. "Looks like a sphere area of the lab is just gone." said Mike

The floor was sheered off smoothly, as well as the ceiling above and a nearby chalkboard, which was missing a large portion of one side.

"Man, I think Tim is going to be pissed that something ‘ate’ part of his lab" Nate said.

"Um… Nate, I think Tim knows already." Mike sadly pointed to the remaining portion of the lab table. There, on the table, still dribbling out, was a partial can (literally, as one small portion of the side of the can was also missing) of everyone’s favorite beverage. There was also a severed fingertip. Mike didn't need a DNA test to know it was Tim's.

****

November 12, 1918 Lucent Technologies, Peterson Alliance Forces Base, Colorado

*/*

Ernest Rutherford and Albert Einstein looked like truant schoolboys as they stood before the Raven's Board. "Sir, we have no idea what he was working on. The chalkboard gives a little clue, but part of it is missing." said Rutherford.

"Is very interesting equation." said Einstein, sadly. "But Tim vas often sloppy on his math. He did good work, but poor documentation. Vhat is on board, does not make much sense. If I could see the device, I might be able to make more sense of it. But mitout the device, I am at a loss."

*\*

December 20, 1918

Raven Compound, London

*/*

It was a gray sodden day with low clouds. Fitful bursts of large wet snowflakes swirled down at random intervals. The original cyclone fences had long ago been replaced with concrete walls. Outside those walls, the city of London had grown to encompass the much enlarged Raven Systems Corporate Headquarters.

In front of the central Building, a plain obelisk listed the names of the original Raven Group that had come through the event.

Most of the originals had come here today, even though nobody had actually decided to have a service or hold a funeral. There was silence as the stone mason chiseled in the dates next to Tim's name

TIMOTHY H. BUSH MAY 5, 1962 [NOTE- Correct birth date needed]- NOVEMBER 11 1918.

Steve looked at the obelisk. Tim was not the first name to have two sets of dates, but he knew that list was going to get longer. He shivered and went inside. The rest followed.

*/*

"Seems wrong not to have a funeral." said Gail.

"No body." said Mike. "Hell, we don't even know if he's really dead."

"The way Tim is, he might just show up, sometime, somewhere, just slide in like he never left." said Rick Bush.

*/*

Tblisi, Georgia, Russian Empire May 5, 1936

****

"Greeting, greetings, Gospodin Pitlick, I am so glad that you could come to the opening of the Super PitStop." said Alexi Khiznyak.

Rick Pitlick kept his face impassive and formal. At 71, it was not terribly hard to do. The effusive greeting of the PitStop's Manager was only to be expected. *Hell, how would I have acted if Sam Walton had ever visited my store back when I was a Manager? * He thought to himself.

The Royal Governor of Georgia made a motion and the procession moved ahead. The store was impressive. Russians made almost as much of a fetish of "bigger and better" as their spiritual brethren in Texas. As Rick looked around, he smiled as he realized that the plans had been amended at the last second to give the building 10 more square feet than the Dallas PitStop - thus they held claim to the "World's Biggest".

As was his now-famous habit, Rick walked through every square foot of the store from back to front, laying eyes on every square foot of floor space, talking to the stock workers, checking the rest rooms, the snack bar, everything.

Khiznyak was one of those men that just can't stop talking - especially when a Senior Corporate Executive is visiting.

Finally, they were at the front door. The last stop in the store was when Rick met the Greeters. There, he saw a ghost of an old nightmare.

The one armed man was a typical Georgian peasant - stocky, barrel-chested, with thick graying hair and a walrus moustache. On his red and blue vest, opposite from his nametag, he proudly wore the Ribbon of a Hero of the Russian Empire. His left sleeve was pinned to his shoulder and there was a metal pin with four chevrons to show that he had been a Staff Sergeant in the Imperial Russian Army. His nametag bore three silver stars, to show that he had worked for PitStop Corporation for thirty years. *Probably one of our original employees in Russia* thought Rick weakly.

The right hand came out in a ferocious grip and the man greeted Rick with all the heartiness of a man pleased with his life.

"Gospodin Pitlick! I am so glad to meet you before I die! Thank you for everything." he exclaimed in rapid-fire Russian. "When I come out of Army in 1905, I think, "What can a one-armed man do but beg and starve? - But your company comes to Russia and gives hiring preference to veterans. I have good job, I own my own small house, and I have two sons that are college graduates. My granddaughter is in college now. You give me job, you give me hope, you give me my life back." and with that, the strong old man stepped back, came to attention and gave one of the best parade ground salutes Rick had ever seen.

Rick snapped to attention and gravely returned the salute, struggling to hold back the tears.

Khiznyak, misunderstanding the emotion, hurried Rick away after the cameras captured the moment. The picture became famous and was reprinted around the world - and everybody from this timeline totally misunderstood the emotion raging in Rick's mind at that moment.

"Gospodin Dvershaguli, he has been with the company many years - some people say he is more dedicated to our company than he is to his wife. But he has always been a hard worker, and even after he retired as Assistant Manager, he stays on as greeter. He is tireless, like a man of Steel - that is his nickname - Stalin, as we say it in Russian."

**** *

May 16, 1937 McKinley Spacedock, High Earth Orbit

Chapter 4x

"Well, your Highnesses, Mr. President, what do you think of her?'

Steve McRaven pointed to the looming bulk hanging in the vacuum outside the window.

As the eldest, King Edward VIII was first to speak. "I have to tell you, when I was a boy, I was amazed when I saw the H.M.S. Dreadnought. I can't imagine what my father would think of this leviathan."

Kaiser Wilhelm III put both hands on the rail and peered into the depths of space. "I know I wish, had I not the duties of state, I would gladly trade places with the Commander."

Steve sternly looked at Mike to make sure his face was straight. The history of their original timeline was still pretty well secret, but it still would not be a good thing for the Kaiser to know that on another timeline, the XO did have his job....

The Emperors of Austria-Hungary, Russia, China, and Japan all nodded agreement with the Kaiser.

President Joseph P. Kennedy, Sr., on the other hand, was anxious to go aboard. "Well, Mr. President, instead of standing here and admiring her, why don't we go aboard and check out the inside?"

The Executive officer of the KE VII was immaculate in his Alliance Navy Uniform. He spoke in English, the common language of the Alliance Forces, with just a hint of his native Austrian. "Your Highnesses, on behalf of Captain Saxe-Coburg, I welcome you aboard the Alliance Space Vehicle King Edward the Seventh. I am Commander Adolph Schickelgruber, and as Executive Officer, I am here to conduct you throughout the ship and to answer any questions you might have."

The Bos'n pipe whistled and the announcement was piped throughout the ship as the entourage strolled through the docking tube and entered the central axis of the ship. Two long lines of side boys stood along each wall, 8 for each head of state.

It took a while to get through. Although the Ravens had tried to keep family connections to a minimum, there had been a lot of politicking to get aboard the new Alliance flagship...and the new fashion of not coddling the scions of royal families had proved beneficial to the Alliance. Captain Saxe-Coburg, for example, had taken to space like a duck to water. On another line, his doppelganger would be King George VI, but on this line, he looked much happier. His daughter Elizabeth, had just graduated from the Academy and would soon be assigned to the Enterprise.

Cmdr Joseph Kennedy, Jr., was a little higher rank than the usual side boy, but as Commander of the Assault Group on the "Eddie" he had pulled strings. His father greeted him warmly.

Ensign Akahito Taisho was a promising pilot in the fighter squadron. He greeted his father, Hirohito, in all the reserved formality of a proper Japanese son. His squadron commander, .Lt CMDR Minoru Genda, thought he would go far in the Alliance, if duties of state didn't pull him out early.

****

September 15, 1939 1430Z Bridge of the ASV Yorktown Beyond Jupiter orbit

***

Wulven slowboats sighted - space battle ensues.

***

Chapter 50

May 06, 1940

Earth Trojan Point

Battle of Earth Orbitals

****

Schickelgruber takes command of Starfleet when Admirals Halsey and Yamamoto are killed, Captain Saxe-Coburg is incapacitated. Defeat/destruction of Wulven slowboats. Schickelgruber dies when a Wulven fighter kamikazes bridge of KE VIII. CMDR Joe Kennedy finishes battle as acting captain of KE VIII. Sole Wulven survivor limps out of system, Alliance Starfleet is too mauled to pursue.

Chapter 55

June 10, 1940

Vienna - Adolph Schickelgruber laid to rest in Austrian Military Cemetery. His good friend, Alliance Prime Minister Winston Churchill, gives eulogy.

Chapter 60

June 15, 1950

ASV Enterprise (first Alliance starship) heads out under Bush-Einstein-Tesla Drive under the command of Captain Cara Yamamoto.

Chapter 7x

Endings

Castle Raven, Scotland July 28, 1964, 0430 GMT

The sun was just coming up over the hills ringing Loch Linnhae. The two old men raised their drinks to toast another sunrise. "Absent comrades" said Mongo.

"Absent Comrades" echoed Nate. "Hell of a thing, dude...did you ever expect to live to be a hundred?"

"Kind of hoped for it, but I never expected this for a party." replied Mongo. He waved at the hovering newsies, held back by the force screen. "Never thought Paparazzi would show up for it, either."

"Dude," laughed Nathan, "Look at the guest list." He pointed down to the courtyard, where Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip were just leaving. The armored Rolls Royce lifted out and moved through the gate in the force screen, where it was joined by the

well armed air cars of the Royal Guard.

President Kennedy and his busty wife Norma looked up and waved as they entered their car. They also moved out beyond the screen, where they were joined by the air cars of the Old Guard. This group formed up and headed westward, accelerating rapidly for the one hour flight to Washington.

Mike smiled. "I was just thinking of Steve. He had an infuriating habit of going to the last page of a book, and reading the ending. He used to say that if he read the first page and the last page, and if that didn't keep him interested enough to read the book, it wasn't worth bothering." Mongo took another sip of his Tullamore Dew/Mountain Dew Highball. "I wonder what he'd think of this book?"

Nate chuckled as he drank his Dew/Dew. "Shame he didn't live to see this, man. Everything he ever hoped for. A Global
Alliance, colonies all through the Solar System, L-5 habitats, my grand daughter, fer god sakes, commanding the first interstellar expedition. RSI is the biggest corporation on the planet, and multiculturalism is an accepted facet of existence. Fascism is just a word that hardly anyone recognizes, and Communism is just an old theory in dry, dusty history books."

"Well, he saw a lot it, dude." replied Mongo. "What I can't believe, is that you and I are the last ones."

A look of sadness crossed both faces as they remembered all the rest of the group that had come through the event.

"On that note..." said a familiar voice from behind them.

Mike was the first to speak when they turned around. "OK," he finally got out, "I am going into senile dementia." he said as stared at the apparition before them. "You're dead." he told the figure. "and I don't believe in ghosts."

"Dude." said Nathan. "I see him too, so it can't be a hallucination."

"Actually," said the figure, "I'm not your Steve." he thought a second, "Call me Steve 2 for now. I'm from yet another timeline, one where RSI didn't depart our time line accidentally."

"Uhm, Bro" said Mongo, "I may be old, but I still notice when you qualify things like that."

"Yes, we can move between timelines, but it takes a lot of power to open the gateways. I'm kind of pressed for time, guys." said Steve 2.

"Why did you come see two old guys on another timeline?" said Mongo.

"Well, we have a problem that might need a Mongo-and-Nate team approach to problem solving." said Steve 2, "and our Mongo-and-Nate team is missing - actually that's a main reason we came to see you."

"Bro, I hat to bring this up, but we're kind of old and frail for doing any field work." pointed out Mongo in a reasonable tone.

"Mike," laughed Steve 2, "RSI solved the nannite problem about three centuries ago."

"Three centuries?" said Nate as he eyebrow arched quizzically.

"Nate," answered Steve 2, "subjectively speaking, I'm about 375 years old, or so."

he laughed. " A week in rejuv and you'll both be back to a biological age of 20."

A young Rick stuck his head thought the gateway "C'mon, fer Chrissakes, guys, I got a case of Dew on ice and Tim's got a neat GURPS scenario Ya gotta try. I even got a case of Twinkies!"

"Oh boy," laughed Mike.

"Twinkies. Uhm " said Nate, "I haven't had one of those in what? - 65 years or so?"

"You got a deal, Bro." said Mike. "Let me leave a note..."

"Aw hell, Mike," laughed Steve, "Why not leave them a locked room mystery?"

Mike grinned back. "You know me far too well. Let's go!"

With a laugh, the two old men stepped through the gateway.

As the gateway imploded quietly behind them, the hallway door opened. A butler looked in to see if either of them needed anything.

The end?

********************

Uptimers

May 5, 2005: Timeline 1: We can do a (find and replace) to change these names later

RSI

McRaven, Steve , (Oso) Lt. Col, USAF, ret: Chairman, RSI. Went to Navy in 1975 as FMF Corpsman, attended Rutgers for BSEE, went back in AF in 1986 as GLCM launch officer, cross trained to Intel in 1990, left lower leg blown off below knee by Bosnian mine, 1996. Medically retired in 1997, worked for DIA 1997-2000. Divorced, one son, Kevin.

Formed MMN Garage and Raven Systems Inc. in 2000. MMN garage was repair shop financed by Ed and run by Mongo and Monk. Raven Security was a computer security firm, branched into automated security systems. Branched in automobile alarm systems by hooking GPS to cell phone to computer to send automated alarms and vehicle position to security firm. Both branches merged in 2002 under RSI after 3 attempted car jack/kidnappings foiled by RSI non-audible alarms led authorities to vehicles/victims. By May 2005, RSI is an international, very exclusive security service, providing high-tech security service to international customers.

Example: Secure Medical Transport (SMT or Smitty) started life as a Daimler-Chrysler Humvee, but has Kevlar armor and as much state of the art ALS/trauma equipment as can fit and still leave room for two litter patients and two technicians. Designed for US Secret Service to support US VIPs on trips to Third World Nations. Result of President Bush wounded in ambush while visiting Karachi Crater while mediating Peace Treaty after India-Pakistan War of 2005. RSI has built 15 SMTs, 6 for US, 4 for UK, 2 for France, 1 each for Japan and China. Last two are still on-site at time of story.

McRaven, Carl (Griz) (Senior advisor, think of Mycroft Holmes) Father of Steve and Mike

McRaven, Michael (Mongo) Operations Chief Steve's younger, bigger brother - former EMT, Mental Health Caregiver, Laboratory technician, woodworker, auto mechanic, machinist apprentice

McRaven, Gail , RN, Industrial Hygienist, Mike's wife

McRaven, Kevin: Environmental Engineer, Washington State Department of Environmental Protection, former Army Combat Engineer, and Steve's son. Explosives expert, competition shooter - pistol and rifle

McRaven, Nichole: Cardiac Care Nurse, King County General Hospital, and Kevin's wife. competition shooter - pistols and rifle

McRaven, Robert : Civic Actions Analyst (Make him a little more capable than he is in our timeline, but he's still a red shirt) Carl's nephew

Hutchings, Nathan (Monk) Manufacturing Chief, Expert machinist

Hutchings, Cara - Raven Administration Chief.

Pitlik, Rick (Hyperactive Weasel) Chief Financial Officer

Bush, Tim Computer Operations (defensive systems)

Bush, Rick Computer Operations (intrusion/disabling systems)

Simoneit, Bob procurement officer

Simoneit, Mary Beth (Beth)(his term for Mary Beth's name),

Simoneit, Robby(jr.) would be 13 ,

Simoneit, Jeffery would be 10, and

Simoneit, Gabrielle would be 8.

Wilson, William II: RSI Vehicle Operations Chief; ASE certified vehicle mechanic, Associates in Mechanical Engineering, working on a BME, former Army Combat Engineer (10 years) African American, speaks fluent German (6 years in Germany)

Wilson, Lisa , RN, Industrial hygienist, African American father, German mother. Fluent in German.

Wilson, Will III, 11, AKA Will3

Wilson, Christeena, 8

Downtimers

Queen Victoria (1819-1901)ruled from 1837-1901 Age 81

Crown Prince Edward VII (1842-1910) King from 1901-1910 died at Age 68

Prince George V (1866-1936) King from 1910-1936 died at Age 70

William Bonney (expatriate American AKA Billy the Kid)

Harvey Longbaugh (expatriate American AKA Sundance Kid

BROAD STROKES

RSI compound and 500 meter radius transported to London, 1899, during Martian Invasion.

RSI recon patrol (Mongo, Monk, and Rick) rescues Royal Family (Queen Victoria, Prince Edward) from Martians

Queen Victoria has heart attack, pronounced dead by royal physician. Mongo and Monk start CPR, Steve brings Banner Ambulance, Nichole, Lisa and Gail make successful save.

Invasion runs out as in HG Wells, BUT Martians still in possession of large chunks of Arctic and Antarctic, raid south often, sometimes in force. The die-off Wells spoke of was NOT due to bacteria, but the practice of drinking human blood - it affects Martians the way Crack does for humans, but unrestricted use will kill quickly. Martians quickly learn how to refine the blood to filter the harmful elements, but they continue to "harvest" humans.

Steve forms Alliance (UK, America, Russian and German Empires) to drive out Martians. Secondary goal is to forge a global human alliance - or at least a NATO like alliance - so that once the Martians are dealt with the 20th Century Wars do not occur.

Steve killed early in book, Mongo forced to take over. Character development is Mongo goes from blue-collar mechanic to corporate executive, to virtual UN General Secretary by end of book.

Martian Society:

The tech in WoW is pretty weird...yeah, I know it's because HG Wells was working from what he knew, but let's try this...

Martians aren't really "Martians"...e.g. they are the survivors of an ancient back-to-nature utopia colony experiment...the idea is, their ancestors set up a series of high tech, underground colonies, but the big thing in their culture is that warriors spar across the desert -think of Saudi.

Big point is, the under grounders have a peaceful life, no weapons. The above-grounders have a low tech, muscle power weapons only culture. They worship the sword. Awhile back, a Genghis Khan type took over the under grounders and realized that he needs to take his people to earth to survive.

They don't have a tradition of powered weapons, and their off-planet research is sketchy, adapted from other things.

Thus - they have tripods and ruby lasers, modified from mining equipment. they think of lasers as, essentially, large swords.

They don't "really" have anti-grav, but they have a device that lowers the inertia of an object (remember the EE Doc Smith Lensmen stories? or the Commodore Grimes stories?)

The 12 landings in England are throwaway scouts - the main force of 2880 is scattered across Siberia, Alaska and the Yukon (North of the Arctic Circle). Another 1440 landed in Antarctica. 12 for England, 12 for Europe, 36 for the US, 24 for China...no landings between the Tropic of Capricorn and Tropic of Cancer, 144 landings (100 base 12) between Tropic of Cancer and Arctic. Martians have 4 arms with 3 digits - base 12 numbers, and 4 and 3 are repetitive numbers for them...

Sub plots:

Hitler: b. April 20, 1889. In our line, Alois Schickelgruber is a civil servant and alcoholic, dies in 1903 of a lung hemorrhage. RSI manipulates to relocate Alois Schickelgruber and family to Los Angeles's German Colony in 1901. Alois is concierge at pricey German hotel. He dries out, gets TB under control, and prospers in LA. Becomes rich in real estate boom during West Coast buildup for Alaska Campaign , Starts chain of pricey hotels. The Schickelgruber chain of 5-star hotels becomes a world-wide standard (Think Hilton).Young Adolph takes to social like a duck to water, and the tanned, muscled, young man becomes one of the first "surfer dudes". At first, Alois fears that his son will become a "beach bum" but "Little Al" has first business success in 1904, when he develops a successful business renting surfboards, bicycles, etc., at his father's Santa Monica hotel. Franchises a string of "Al's Surf Shops" on Southern California beaches in 1905 (Think Ron Jon). Santa Monica is a staging base for the North American Forces going to the Alaska/Yukon/Siberian Fronts. Soldiers on R&D take to surfing in a big way, and Al becomes wealthy in his own right. Pays his own way to go to Stanford for hotel/restaurant management in 1907, but works for Schickelgruber Corp after he graduates Cum Laude in 1911. Father and son reconcile in 1911, but Al strikes out on his own in 1914 and develops a chain of Motels and fast food stands (Think Howard Johnson). Takes over luxury hotel chain after "Big All's death in 1920. Becomes firm proponent of equal opportunity, especially with his practice of recruiting concierges from the ranks of Pullman Car attendants. Black labor is not uncommon, but Schickelgruber insists of promoting from within the company. Takes a lot of flak, but stands firm. One of the first CEOs to write a corporate doctrine, his book "My struggle - doing it the Schickelgruber Way" is considered a handbook for corporate success and is on the NY Times bestseller list for 24 weeks in 1925. His mantra of "Competency! I don't care about race, gender, and religion - can it do the job?! That is what I pay for! I know what these people can do, I don't have to retrain them to do it the Schickelgruber Way." Although he loses most of his German accent early, he develops a thick accent when excited. His unofficial nickname in Schickelgruber Corp is "Der Fuehrer".

Gets Time Magazine "Man of the Year Award" in 1925 as CEO of the largest hotel/motel/restaurant corporations on the planet. April 1945: First Commercial Hotel on Luna is personally opened by Al Schickelgruber...May 1965: Al Schickelgruber is named US Ambassador to Mars. February 1994 Schickelgruber dies at his retirement condo on Luna. His great-grandson, Martin Luther King III, CEO of Schickelgruber Interplanetary, takes over a corporation with thousands hotels and restaurants on Earth, Mars, space habitats, etc...

The OSS psychological study of Hitler shows that he craved a strong authority figure - RSI not only gives him a father that is a good, respectable successful man, but a whole cast of authority figures to emulate. His strong will and drive is unchanged, but a youth of wealth, plenty, and fun in the Southern Cal sun instead of a hardscrabble life with a dysfunctional family in the gloom of an industrial city in Bavaria, makes his life, and his legacy, much different.

Lenin: RSI is leader in developing Siberian resources. Mongo hammers for "sensible" unionism, is able to press point home because RSI has satellite imagery and resource database, never wastes money on a "dry hole" "Val" Ulanyov becomes important HR chief in RSI Russian Operations, becomes Chief of RSI Russia in November 1918. Leaves RSI to become Russian Prime Minister in 1921. Becomes longest-serving Russian Prime Minister ever - dies in office in June 1950.

Stalin: Josef Dvershaguli - "Vash" is recruited by RSI in 1900, becomes Special Operations, Deep Recon specialist. Gains the nickname "Steel man" (Stalin) after he single-handedly carries 125 lbs of explosives, 200 km in the depths of a Siberian winter to destroy a key Martian base, when the rest of his patrol is wiped out in an ambush. Declared a hero of the Russian Empire five times in his career, he is the most-decorated soldier in the Allied Forces when he dies in an aircraft crash in November 1924. Czar Nicholas II gives the eulogy at his funeral and makes him an honorary general in the Imperial Russian Army

Victor Appleton (House Name) Top

Most (if not all) of the first 36 volumes in the Tom Swift series were written by Howard R. Garis (1873-1962), a newspaper reporter for the Newark Evening News and creator of the very popular Uncle Wiggily stories about a rheumatic gentleman rabbit. Garis was a close personal friend to Edward Stratemeyer and wrote many series for the Syndicate. Several members of Howard Garis' family also wrote for the Syndicate, including his wife Lilian C. Garis, son Roger C. Garis, and daughter Cleo M. Garis. Howard continued to write for the Syndicate after Edward Stratemeyer's death in May 1930. At that point, Stratemeyer's two daughters, Harriet Stratemeyer Adams (1892-1982) and Edna C. Squier (1895-1974), continued to direct the Syndicate. Garis stopped writing for the Syndicate around 1933 after a series of disagreements about how much he would contribute to the direction of the Syndicate in 1932. Curiously, Howard is said to have introduced Andrew E. Svenson (1910-1975) to the Syndicate in 1948. Garis and Svenson were acquainted via the Newark Evening News. Garis even wrote a Bobbsey Twins volume in 1948 and Lilian wrote a story which apparently was not published in that same year. Howard Garis wrote many of the early Bobbsey Twins books as well as books in the Great Marvel series (as Roy Rockwood), Baseball Joe series (as Lester Chadwick), and seemingly countless others.