You wake from a searing dream of colors that sang, and tastes that talked, and a feeling of echoing wonder at the beauty of it.

You're laying on your back.  The good doctor of astrophysics is tugging on your arm.

"We lost the Mecha, but I still have the Russian, I think, time machine.  Why are you sleeping?  I woke up as soon as I arrived."

There is a smell of garbage, of stone, of wet asphalt, and of smoke in the air.

"You oughta see this place.  It looks like a toddler threw his toys in teh air and dropped them."

PT

"Carmine?" To be honest, I had been hoping she was somewhere else. I tend to carry some really weird luck with me, good and bad. Still, she could definately be in worse company.

I have to seriously resist the urge to hug her. Thus far, she has been the only thing I've encountered resembling an psychological anchor.

Instead, I get to my feet and have a look around. If I caused the surrounding devestation, I'll remember. "It's good to see you again." I will allow myself a smile. "Being me up to speed. What have I missed?"

She hugs you, and you realize you're not the only person needing a pschyological anchor.

"Well, I saw you destroy that factory, and then you just sort of faded, and I faded with you...."  She points up and down the street.  "I woke up three minutes before you. The time machine is in that alley."

Then she points out the lines of bullet holes running up the sides of buildings.  A smoking ruin of a convenience store.  A crater in the asphalt.

And a sign of graffitti with layers of messages written over each other....

The Classics are Here to Stay</><s>Rock and Rolll--Elvis Lives!Set my truck on fire, but I'll always be Country!!The Celtic Rennaissance Forever!

"I don't get it.  But someone is really upset about something."

You hear the crump of mortar fire in the distance.

PT

"Well, based from the way I was attacked, I don't think anyone here has a since of understanding winable engagements. I think everyone here really wants to die at someone else's hand."

"I'm already hating this place."

I maintain the embrace until she's ready to let go. I'm really not inclined to rush this sort of thing, and if she has to get something out of her system, she's free to.

"As soon as you are ready, we should move out. The machine should give us a good view of the city, and we will move to the area where the fires are smallest. I've got a feeling I'll be needed here."

You both climb into the time machine, and lift off.  The temporal components look dead.

High in the air, you get a good look at the town.

Its Atlanta you're thinking, and then you see a much shot up green sign over a roadway,a nd you know its Atlanta.

"Peachtree Plaza Exit...."

You see various militias battling it out in the city.  Most of them are light infantry, but all of them are accompanied by music trucks with giant speakers.

You find a hill that looks to have a minimum of damage and land.

PT

Okay. I just got through playing Crackdown, and I've ended up in that universe. All of the police had unified into one big international police force, because organized crime was overruning the world. And the police were losing.

At the pace this dream is going, I'm going to end up being the pawn who saves the world from itself.

"Well, I'm going to sneak up and loot the dead. Then I'm coming back here. Sort the gear and suppies, then I'm going to rinse and repeat. By the way, if someone attacks, bail out and get the machine out of here. We are both toast if the time machine goes down."

I step out and sneak out to the battle below. I have no armor, so I can't afford to be detected. I imagine there are other vultures down there. They will probably be armed, so I'll have to defer to power like a little wuss if they have projectiles.

You sneak out and find a few bodies.  From the looks of things, a sneaky guy in a tunic and leggings with a sword and a pistol got up behind two guys in a hidey-hole.  He ran one thru with his sword (a spatha with runes carved down the blade), slipped and traded pistol shots with the other rifleman.

Everyone died.

The two that were in the hidey-hole are dressed like hunters in camoflage onepieces, and they have chewing tobacco.

Looking the weapons over you see:
1. One 9 MM with eight rounds.
2. One Winchester .30-30 with a half-filled box with 19.
3. One break-apart shotgun with ten rounds. Ten gauge.
4. One hatchet.
5. One rune-carved spatha (a Viking sword).

You hear the blaring of "A Country Boy Can Survive" from teh street over, and some intermittend gunfire.

PT

I pick it all up, strip both bodies of clothing, and head back to the craft. No one has fired on it yet, and I still need more time to prepare for war. Assuming, of course, that I choose to fight at all. I need to understand the factions. That sword speaks volumes to me, and tells me this conflict might be less clear cut than I thought.

In addition, that church following. They clearly weren't wrapped up in this crap, and seemed a curious exception.

For the moment, reality demands I return to base, lock and load everything, and prepare for war.

I am armchair general fascinated by violence. Still, reading about warfare and actually hearing five hundred bullets fly by your head like a swarm of enraged hornets are two completely different experiences. I can't let the fear stop me, and if I freeze, I die.

As you climb back up the hill, you realize that someone is stalking you.  Whoever it is, is light-footed.  Only the flicker of a shadow gave them away.

PT

The rifle. The shotgun would tear them apart at close range, but the rifle is considered a better field weapon. I'd rather take them out before they close.

The problem here is that I don't know if that is an enemy after me. Do I shoot them and not bother taking any chances, or do I confront them, and offer them a chance to surrender? That second one has quite a bit of risk involved.

I choose to change my course. I'm not leading a scout back to the machine. I'm going to go low myself, and sneak up on them. I give them an offer to surrender even though I might regret such an act of mercy and hesitation.

You slip low through the bushes, leaving the other weapons behind, except for the rifle.  A little bit later, you hear a clink from near  your guns.

You circle back.  See a bush move.

See a girl in leggins and tunic with a spatha in her right hand, and a pistol in her left slide out from behind a bush.  She sees you a half-second after you see her.

"Surrender."  You shout.

She pauses in her half-turn toward you, and you can see her face is pale beneath the dirt.  She easily in range to run you through with her sword, but you've got the drop on her.

She's panting, a bit wild-eyed now.

PT

"Listen to me." I'm speaking very slowly now. "Put the weapon down. I don't kill or harm those who surrender, and I don't know why you are ghosting me. You aren't outrunning bullets, and if I wanted you to die, I would have already shot you."

"We aren't enemies and I need a guide."

I might as well be candid. Besides, that church I encountered is proof that their are some people in this world who have some sense. My earlier statement wasn't entirely true.

"A curse on ye, if ye lie." She says, and you feel something in the air like eyes watching you, and then its gone.  She lays down her weapons nervously.  And when you don't immediately kill her, she relaxes.

"What faction are ye? You're not Celtic Rennies, and you could be Country, but then I'd think you'd be linking up with them over the hill.  Are you a Rocker agent? Then again, you're in real good shape...an Extremist?"

PT

"I'm independent. I fight with no faction as of yet. I have a camp not far from here. Being as I don't recognize you as an enemy, I'll invite you there to rest, and maybe you can tell me what is going on with the world. I've got some memory issues."

It's true I've got memory issues, although not of the nature I'm implying. The feeling tells me that she wasn't bluffing with that curse. So this world combines modern tech with priestly magic.

Technically, I'm a priest according to the New Testament. I wonder what would happen if I invoked God? While by the same technicality I am banned from destroying heathens with fire and such, I could still do quite a bit.

I return my train of thought to the now and await her reply.

"Sure, and aren't you the strange one?"  She goes with you to your camp, and it heartens you to see Carmine's instinctive bristle (quickly supressed) at seeing another female.

Carmine's native intelligence and curiousity take over, and she joins you in asking questions.

"The world? I don't know the world.  I hear tellit got really bad out there after the Big Bang.  Plagues, famine, whole countries full of dead men.  Not that we in the former Republic of Columbia are doing that great.  If it wasn't for Commcoo, we might have vaped ourselves as well."

Carmine inserts a question.

"Commcoo, Lady? I think before the Big Bang they were the Federal Communication Council. Owned the airwaves.  Now they keep the radio stations all in order, and lined up.  Which places a limit on the Factions.  I'm all for war because we of the Celtic Rennaissance need to fix things, but sometimes you get enthusiasts, if you know what I mean.  They wonder why we can't just nuke Graceland and kill off the current King of Rock and Roll.  Thats why we Celties carry a sword...its to remind us there are limitations."

PT

"Interesting." The culture is definately different. Frankly, I'd probably be an Enthusist, if I wasn't opposed to killing millions of civilians. I'd favor a raid.

On Graceland? This I've gotta see.

"So the leaders of the world decided to use the nukes. Figures. You don't make weapons you aren't going to use at some point. It's bad economics." I change the subject for a moment. "What about that curse you offered on me? I actually felt some power there, and I know for a fact that was not my imagination. How did you do that?"

To be honest, it could be something other than the obvious answer. It's my nature to ignore it just long enough to confirm the truth.

"I've been on raids." She admits. "Lugh Longarm doesn't like liars." She says. "Most of us Rennies worship God, but some of us also worship other smaller gods, like Lugh, and Wodin.  So because I'm an initiate of Lugh, I can call down his curse."

PT

Lugh Longarm...strange how that rings a bell, but I can't place it right now. Wodin is a name I recognize, however. So these are Norse dieties, and apparently there is a religious schism here.

Is that what this war is really about?

"Okay, so let me get this straight. Celtics are waging war on..." I stop.

Rennies, Country, Rock. Rennaissance. The only variable that doesn't fit in smoothly is Extremist, and I could figure something out.

It occurs to me that this war is more ridiculous than I could have imagined possible.

"Music? Is this whole war over taste in music?" I'll admit the question is harsh, and to Carmine it may be off the wall, but the idea that people would kill each other in masse over this is absurd to me.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:54, Sun 18 Nov 2007.

Carmine looks as aghast as you.

Your prisoner looks about, and then nods miserably in aggreement.

"I can't explain it to you, but if you talk to my captain, he can explain it a lot better.  But its important that we Celties win. You should join us."

PT

I look at Carmine apolegically. Not much I can do now that I've asked the question, but it was just such an unusual idea that I couldn't really stop myself from testing the waters.

"I'll reserve my judgement for now; I know most people don't risk lives unless they precieve a very good reason for it."

"I'm willing to talk to your captain if you think he would hear me out, on one condition: If Dr. Carmine," I gesture my hand towards her palm up. "wishes to come along, she be permitted. I'm not leaving her here alone, and an airship is a much faster way to travel than foot anyways."

"So, do we have a deal?" I don't really think of our guest as a prisoner, as she's quite unrestrained and free to go anytime.

"Sure." The Celtie girl smiles. "Um, two things. One, that thing actually flies?  Two, we'll need to radio ahead, or drop me off a bit ahead.  Otherwise you'll be landing as a target, and wouldn't that be terrible hospitality?"

Carmine shrugs.

"We have to make contact with someone, and she seems not totally insane." Carmine whispers in your ear.  "However, if I say 'pumpkin' like 'pumpkin dearest' that means run for your life on the count of three.  We don't really know what we're getting into."

PT

"Understood. And if I say 'sweetie' in a likewise fashion that means you hit the road without me." Interesting choice of words Carmine is using. I can play along. I stop whispering. "Just trust me on this one."

"Radio can be intercepted if I go over an open channel. If we have a radio in here (presumption on my part) you are free to use it. I won't watch you set the frequency, so your receiver will remain your secret."

Never mind I could probably retrieve it from the ship's log if I felt like it, but I don't see the point in mentioning that. Besides, I shouldn't feel the need to steal the radio frequency in the first place if I end up allied with them.

She clearly doesn't like the idea of leaving without you, but then she reconsiders, and nods as you tell her to trust you.

"Okay."

Your 'guest' calls in, and gets clearance.

You fly to the northern edge of the city, and land in a small park which is partically covered by striped tents.  Your vehicle is quickly surrounded by men armed with rifles. They are dressed in tunics, and armed with spatha.

Some sort of obvious leader walks up,a nd waves for them to stand down. They drop their weapons to their sides, but do not move.  He knocks on the door.

"Mind I come in, or you all come out? I'm Captain Rogers of the Clan McCullen Brigade of the Celtic Rennaissance."

PT

I open the door and usher my guest out first. When she heads out, I'll introduce myself.

"I'm Eddie, and this is Carmine. I don't have a rank worth mentioning, and I am presently unaffiliated and seeking answers. For starters, can we have some privacy? I may be speaking of sensative matters."

"If you fly a plane, you're a Captain, and welcome Lady." He gives a short bow, and takes you to a tent where he shoos the others out with a request to bring back refresments.

The bread is a lot stale, and the butter too.  But the Gatorade is fine.

He sits you down in some director's chairs made of some material....

"Carbon-carbon fibers. Very light. We couldn't make this." Doctor Carmine whispers.

....and he sits down to, and takes a little bread and butter with a grimace.

"We're being driven out of Atlanta.  The offensive south has not totally failed, but we had hoped to hold Atlanta.  This means our supplies and logistics are totally messed up."

Carmine takes a bite of the bread and smiles.

"Its good."

He laughs unbelieving, but with a lighter smile.

PT

I help myself to the food. What the heck. I'm probably starving, and food and drink is always a good thing.

"Now then, about what I wanted to talk about. Music. What is so important about it, because I'm apparently ignorant about it. I'll probably lend a hand, but I need the info first."

That's me, abrupt and rude. I mentally kick myself for the apparent lack of courtesy, but that is the only reason we are talking like this right now.

He stares at you.

"Well, each of the major Music Societies is trying to 'fix' the Republic of Columbia in the wake of the Big Blast.  And the radio stations are like the only connecting force that survived the Big Blast.  So, if you control the radio stations, you control the area.  And each of the Music Societies has its own idea of how to 'fix' things.  We of the Celtic Rennaissance believe in a return to ancient values of courtesy and honor.  A man must keep his word, and cowardice is a vile sin.  People ought to be self-reliant in their small communities instead of....well, I remember we used to have things shipped in from across the globe in the Mandarin Kingdom.  But you make such a huge structure, and its bound to get shaky and fall."

He pauses.

"How is it that you don't know this?"

PT

"There is a lot I don't recall." No lie here, but it is certainly implying that I have amnesia, which is deceptive. I think. I'm really not quite sure anymore.

"I have apparently missed out on a lot since my medical incident. I'd rather not discuss the specifics, since I'm still not entirely sure what happened." I am, of course, referring to that explosion which started this whole mess.

I'm also trying to word my answers in such a way as to not distress Carmine. I'm not sure why it would matter, considering how I should technically consider her another figment, but something tells me agitating her will have a catastrophic backlash of some kind.

I do, however, think she would understand evasion.

I hope.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:57, Tue 27 Nov 2007.

Carmine nods in agreement with your statement after narrowing her eyes at you for a half second.

"I see.  Well, many a man needs a fresh start.  You seem to have one, however you got it.  I would like to recruit you, obviously.  A working air vehicle and a pilot are worth a lot.  Plus anyone who can sneak up on one of my Scouts, and take her captive is pretty handy. And...."

He looks at Carmine.

"I'm a Doctor in Astrophysics."

"Above my pay grade, but I'm sure we can find a job or a lab for you."

PT

Some of the old ways these guys hold onto are obviously more idealistic than founded in reality; the Rennaissance was a great time. If you were in your native country and agreed with the majority religion around you. And if you weren't lower class, that too.

Still, if he believed the ideal sans reality, who knows? It is certainly better than the madness I encountered when I first got here.

"Recruitment offer accepted, if she agrees, of course."

I look at Carmine for her next move. We are not married, and thus I cannot speak for the both of us. To complicate things, I've kinda taken a private oath to not act against her interests whenever possible; if she says no to this, I say no without a hitch. And if she says "pumpkin" I'm going with her on that.

Besides, if she says no and I say yes, that's kind of like throwing her to the wolves. Where would she go and how long would she last?

She thinks about it for a couple minutes, and then nods decisively.

"I'll be pleased to help out in any way that I can."

They outfit you both with spatha's, and tunics.

He hollers to the camp.

"Two recruits. Captain Edwards, and Doctor Major Non-combat Carmine."  He yells, and others nod at you, and several bow. But the camp is clearly busy. "Non-combat means you are not in the chain of command, Doctor.  Major means you get a nice suite when and if we get back to the High Mountain Fortess Line."

He then turns to you.

"At your convenience, Captain, if you could find the other Celtie force to our right. I'll send a mapper up with you. I know Lord Mayhew is supposed to be over about a mile away, but I don't know where he is."

PT

"The tunic will take some getting used to." I feel kinda ridiculous in this outfit, but if these guys can where it without feeling like idiots, well, I guess I can get used to it to. "So you want me to find Lord Matthew and follow his lead. That I'll do after I resupply."

I trade in my old backpack for one that can endure field abuse, and has a higher carry capacity. In addition, I'll need backup clothing, one set.

I check bullets. The 9mm could use more ammo, two clips of fifteen rounds should be good enough. The ten gauge or the rifle? The rifle is a better weapon; I'll donate the ten gauge to one of the soldiers at my intended site. More rifle rounds. One hundred should be enough for a long field engagement. I stash the hatchet in my all-holding backpack. The other spartha sword I'll wear as a parry aid, since I don't have a shield.

I make sure I have enough food to last me at least a week. Water is a single canteen. I pray to God that I have enough supplies, and that he guides my actions. Last thing I need is to screw this up in the field.

Everything must be packed carefully. Maximum effectiveness, because I might not have the luxury of an airborne craft at all times. It has no real onboard weapons.

Finally, I approach Carmine, wherever she is. I've already got my commentary planned, and hopefully I won't freeze up or say anything melodramatic or stupid.

And I hope I can do all this.

Your 'prisoner' wants her sword back, but otherwise, you're good.  None of them carry shields either.

You find Dr. Carmine who is being trained in their logistics system.  She flashes a smile at you.

"Much easier than writing a doctoral theses with footnotes.  Of course, people weren't planning on shooting at me in the near future then either.  Still, I'm glad I came with you because I have the feeling I'm going to learn a lot more about physics this way than if I had stayed on as an Army on retainer physicist."

PT

OOC: Actually, I should have two swords: one that they gave me, and another that was field stripped from a corpse. If they want that one back, they'll have to let me know why, and than resist my superpowers of persuasion. (No hubris here.)

"Supply and travel, huh?" I note the job. To me, logistics is for those who take their warfare very seriously; it's a very important job. "Great. You outrank me, and then they give you a more important role. Careful, now. At this rate you will be leading the entire army before the year ends."

I'm just kidding of course. Not about the higher rank; if I recall, she really does outrank me. I mean just about everything else.

Although 'General Carmine' does have an interesting ring to it...

"So, do you think I'm as ready as I'm going to get?"

OOC: OK.

IC: "Only if they are really, really deficient of leaders."  She pauses. "I think from talking to everyone that you're safe from missiles.  Its rifles you have to worry about. Stay safe, okay?"

She thinks on your last question, and then grins.

"If I was a lady in a tale, I'd give you my hankerchief, but I'm afraid I've sneezed on mine, and you wouldn't want it.  I've been giving some thought to what's going on.  Trying to fit what I know into what's happened.  If by some wild chance you come across a physics book in this world, I would dearly love to have it."

PT

"And if I were a valiant knight, I'd probably take it, sneezed on or not." I reply back. "Although catching a cold before the climatic dragon battle would certainly be my luck."

"Oh, yes, one more thing and thanks for the reminder. Before I go off, do you know were I could get my hands on some light armor, the kind they assign to scouts? That would certainly reduce the odds of a fatal gunshot wound. I don't know my odds of actually finding a physics book, but if you can arrange the armor, I'll try and scrounge one up."

She comes back with some shot-up armor.  She helps you put it on, and sees you to the airship.

You take off with your mapper on board.  He's asking you to tip the craft to the right and left so that he can quickly sketch in details.

Your vehicle staggers a bit as a bullet clips through the fuselage behind you.  A quick check of the controls, and it seems fine.

You haven't found the other force yet. You have seen small detachments working their way up the streets.  And you've seen one battle at an intersection with something like fifty combatants.

Both sides have loudspeaker trucks blaring out music that you can hear from up in the sky.  It must be massively loud on the ground.

"A Country Boy Can Survive"
"Danny Boy, O Danny Boy"

PT

I know this vehicle can take it, but it wasn't designed for war, and to be honest, I take too many shots like that one that hit, and I'll have to retreat for repairs. Mission over if that happens.

"So those are Country forces?" I ask the mapper. "I don't mind baiting an enemy, but do you have a fix on where we should be going? Distance or direction; either one will help me find our guys and bring 'em home."

"We're just running around their last known location....there...." He points a finger.  You see an eight story tall aparment building from which flashes of fire are coming. However surrounding it on all sides but the north are more flashes of light coming up from the ground.

"that could be them, holed up in the tower."

PT

I'm going to attempt to land on the rooftop. If it doesn't look large enough to support the ship, I'll instead land on the area some distance away. Again, I don't have onboard weapons, so I can't shoot my way through from the ship.

I do a mental check of my own readiness. I'm going to have bullets coming at me no matter where I land. I'll be moving in a running crouch.

OOC: I've got two lines ready to save time.

Rooftop landing: I talk to the terrain survey specialist. "I hope you are ready, because we are going to land in the middle of that fight. Hail our troops not to shoot us down."
Objective: Contact the commander, get the situation. Even though I'll be ranking officer and therefore in command, I'll listen to his situation and continue the mission unless I see a lost cause.

Parameter landing (south of the battle): I take the keys with me. I'm not taking the chance that this vehicle get stolen. "This will be an infilteration mission. Detection is bad while entering. We slip in, link up with our allies, and get out. The enemy will know where we have landed, so we will have to get rid of that unit. Can't leave if they destroy the craft."
Objective: Infilterate the enemy line, weaken it for the retreat, link up with our allies, and get out.

You land amidst a hail of bullets as the mapper prays the 23rd Psalm out loud.  But none hit the craft.

As soon as you stop rocking, the outer door opens, and a man scrambles in.  He has an air of command about him.

Behind him, people are loading others on stretchers into the craft.

"Excellent flying, sir. I'm Lord Mayhew, commanding the resistance here. I've got ten wounded, and thirty more whole. My medics are loading the walking wounded on now. Are you going to be able to come back for more of us?  I'd not like to surrender because from here, I can lay suppressive fire over a huge section of the city.  My post here is slowing the Countryboys down a lot. Any orders from Command?"

PT

"My orders were unclear." I'm getting down under cover and yelling just to make myself heard. "All I know is that I was supposed to link up with you and follow orders. If you need these men out, I'll get them out. Give me the situation, and I'll send the message back."

He's a Lord. I don't know rank very well, but I'm going to presume he outranks me. Besides, even if I outrank him, he has a better grasp of the situation.

"Just so you know, I don't have weapons on the craft, so I can't provide air support."

"Get my walking wounded out, and bring back some ammunition. We're running low.  And if you can get a Harpist, and a Harp Rig, that would help.  My Harpy is wounded, and so he only plays when he has too."

He gestures over the side where you can feel the music of the other side starting up, and pounding.  Within seconds, you can feel a chill foreboding settle over your spirit, a certain knowledge of defeat.

"Without music, we just grit our teeth, but I'll have to order my harpy to play in a few minutes or else I'll start seeing desertions."

Achy-Breaky Heart wails on, and you feel like breaking down and crying.  Its just so hopeless.

PT

Now I understand what the value of music here is. Here, music has quite a bit more power than it does where I come from, or at least its influence is more direct.

I shout an expletive regarding my precise opinion of the idea of despair. This is more to help me not succumb to the music than to rally anyone around me. I have considered the worth of giving up more than once, but knowing when to quit is not one of my strong points. If anything I usually have too much morale.

"Very well. I'll be back with reinforcements. Just jeer at them and shoot a lot if you have the ammo. They are just playing attrition with morale right now. If they start losing the fight, they will have to stop playing the song so loudly, or else their own troops could succumb to the effects."

I suspect that I'm right, but I honestly don't know. For all I know, they could have an immunity to their own effects. Heck, it might even rally them, although I'm not sure how that song would pull that off.

I get in the craft. "Guys, this is going to be a rough ride."

I head back to base with a report and a request on my mind.

You zip down to ground level taking fire as you go, but nothing hits your craft as you streak over the surprised riflemen of the Country faction.  Within minutes, you're back in the original HQ.

It continues to be disassembled as the Celtie's retreat northward.

The injured are off-loaded.

"Good job. Ammo...hmmm....go east about ten blocks. Lord Clive has been guarding a number of wagon trains of supplies.  Get him to fill you up with what you can carry.

PT

"Don't forget about that Harpist if you can afford one. Their morale is probably shot by now." I run off to get ammo and as much of it as I can safely transport.

I don't know if Matthew is on the same page with the rest of the Celtic forces though, and I'm going to ask him as much. The rest of these forces seem bent on getting out of here before the Country forces overrun them.

Anyways, I suspect Lord Matthew is acting as a decoy or a rearguard of some kind. That, or I'm attributing too much intelligence to others again.

You find chaos at the wagon train. Lord Clive has been killed along with his XO. Now, his Captain of Guns, and his DJ are arguing about who is in charge.  Neither is inclined to give you anything, but both want your support for their position.

You can see that the camp is badly shocked by the unlucky mortar round, and two that the two officers obviously hate each other from long gone history.

PT

"Captain of Guns is nominally in charge of the situation. Clear it up with command afterwards." I'm not in the mood for political bickering. "Now get your heads out of your rears and get those supplies ready now! The rest of you, get up! We have a war to fight, and you can rest all you want when you are dead!"

I stomp off salvaging supplies where I can. If these guys don't help me, I'm not in a position to ask for further help. If they are so divided that professionalism is just gone, well, we're dead anyways, and I won't care at that point.

This breaks the log jam, and the Captain of Guns orders his men to double-time with the loading.

You're loaded up, and on your way.

Your craft gets peppered on the way back in.

You land, and the rollicking strains of a Celtic song lift your spirit.  Lord Matthew comes to the heliport on top of the building when you ask for him, and he is surprised at finding that the rest are pulling out.

"We can hold them. I've got a strong position here.  Take some of the immediate pressure off, and its a great shooting position.  This explains why things have been going downhill...not enough willingness to fight.  I mean, I knew they were pulling back, but I thought it was a regrouping, and then a counterattack.  I'd hold my position until then as rearguard....now that I have more ammo...and if you can get me another Harpist, a good DJ..."

He seems much more optimistic.

PT

I'm constantly keeping my head down. A force with "Country" in its name is probably going to have a lot of sharpshooters.

"You know, it's funny you mention the word DJ, I just might have one for the job." Too bad he probably hates me, but let's be frank. If he has any sense beyond himself, he'll assist me. If he is base, I'll use stupid brute force.

"Just hold out a while longer. Make them earn this place. Good luck."

I'm heading out once more.

You soar down, and several bullets hit the vehicle.  But then one hits to your right about four inches.  Three seconds later, another hits to your left about one inch.

And then you're gone.

Someone out there was bracketing you, and his third shot would have killed you if you hadn't flown out of range.

You land at the ammo supply train, and the DJ turns red in the face when he sees you.

PT

I am going to diffuse this immediately. "I don't have time for games or preferences. We are engaged with the enemy, and you don't have to like me. Lord Matthew is the one who needs your help, not me. So you can take your hatred for me out on him and his unit, or you can get in the craft and shut up. Your services are needed to turn the tide. Do this, and I'll recommend you for accolades myself."

If he isn't convinced by that, I can't really think of anything else. That should be more than enough.

He stares at you, and then gets his electronic harp.

Once you're lifting with him, he starts to explain in great, precise, and profane detail just how bad a decision you made, what defects in your character adn appearance are, your probable agonizing prison cell when the Death Metalists inevitably capture you, and use you as a lab rat...

Its very distracting.

PT

"Look, you little weasel." I stop the craft and land. Yes, I land in the middle of enemy territory.

"I don't NEED you, got it? If you are really that petty and selfish, get out."

I open the back door. Then I draw my pistol. "That's the door. You hate your own so much, here's your chance." I gesture to the door. "The enemy is that way. Go ahead and just join them already. All you have done since I picked you up is reinforce my decision to pass you up for a promotion. I'm glad I did it, because you are unworthy to lead."

"Now get out, or shut up. We all have a war to fight, and I really don't have a lot of time to waste on you and your damaged ego. But if you have that much hatred and resentment, get lost. You're a liability to me and your own cause."

I really think this guy is some kind of inside agent.

He snarls at you, and then slumps in defeat.  He climbs up to get out, turns to remonstrate with you from near the door as it opens...

And then you realize he's not talking at all....he's firing.

A small pistol is in his right hand.  It must have been up his sleeve.

It stings you in your thigh.

"Die! You Celtie! Die!" He screams as his face contorts with hate, and he pulls the trigger...

PT

It takes me a moment to realize he just shot me. Luckily I already have my pistol drawn. I raise the pistol to him in both hands, aim for the mass (his chest), and double tap the weapon. Even if it fails to result in a kill, the shock should put him on the ground.

"You first!" I'm roaring in pain and fury. The gunshot hurt, and will require medical attention.

Don't get me wrong. If I was thinking and rational, I'd definately want him alive. However, I just don't have the time to do trick shots. I'm on killing ground, and I have to kill.

Then I have to fly the craft out of here before Country forces decide to kill me off.

You fire, and in your shock it goes just past his ear.  This rattles him, and he puts his shot into the ceiling.

You focus, and draw down on him, and hit him on his lower right side of his chest.  He fires, and a bullet rips through your chair, and into your back.

He falls back a bit, but catches himself, and he aims again, but his arm shakes. He misses.  So do you as a sudden spasm of pain in your back spoils your aim.

You feel a bright spurt of pain from your left ear, and  you get your revenge by putting a bullet into his breastbone.  He slumps, and then falls face first.  His small pistol clatters on to the metal floor of your craft. He does not move.

PT

I have to move. Now.

First off, I close the door. I'm not getting rid of the body, not yet. Then I tear off the shirt I'm wearing and pack it into the injuries. It hurts, but it's a pain I'm ready for. I'll probably growl and fight off tears, but I know my own reactions.

Then I'll put one more round into his head, just to make sure it took. Don't need him waking up on me mid-flight and taking me out, and I can't leave an informant for the enemy to take. After I finish up with all that, I'll habble over to the controls, and continue my flight.

I've got bad news for Lord Matthews.

You shut the door seeing fighters approaching your craft from down the street about fifty feet away.

They shout at you to stop.

You ignore them, and try to move faster.

You launch, and bullets buzz through the craft.

And you're gone.

You arrive to find Lord Matthews.  He's been injured by a bit of shrapnel to his cheekbone.  The medic is patching his face as he listens to you.

PT

I'm kinda surprised the medic hasn't been lending my stupid self a bit of medical attention (just a little...). I'm amazed I can stand up. Piloting that craft took every ounce of willpower I had, and the improvised medical treatment is going to hurt when it gets replaced by something a little more substantial.

I was thinking of those who needed the job done. That's the only reason I made it.

The dead DJ that I rolled out as soon as I arrived will probably tell him quite a bit, and I'm not sure how he'll react when I tell him said DJ tried to kill me. I let him know that said Dead DJ mentioned the Death Metalists a lot.

"I don't think this position can be held much longer." I inform him. "I'll transport as many of your men out of here to regroup, but if you continue fighting, the Country forces will stop trying to pry you out, and unless they have a reason not to, they will destroy this building with artillery. There is no dishonor in withdrawing, because you are cut off. This may be my last flight. I'm too shot up to continue this engagement."

The medic is full engaged in fixing his boss who has his face ripped open. And you're tough really tough.

Lord Matthews points out that you are injured worse than him, and the medic examines you.  He then makes you sit down.

"I'm surprised you're able to stand, much less talk rationally."

He asks you if you want the drugs, which will make you woozy, or if you want to be clear-headed, and thus want the pain?

Lord Matthew nods.

"I'll send what I must with you, and I'll ask you to fly back to home base in the Appalachians,a nd report in. We can't get reliable reports through. As to the spy, well, that explains an awful lot. We got suckered in to Atlanta,a nd now we're being pounded out.  And we've been plagued by mess-ups. Cicero said a traitor was to be feared more than an army at the gates. Good work. If I get out o fthis, I'll see you get a medal for today's actions."

PT

I'll do without the painkillers. I like being enraged right now. Clears me up and let's me know I'm not dead. Besides, all survival experiences I've ever read, getting woozy preceded dying.

"Thanks, for all that it means here." I know in a military you don't say 'thanks' or 'sorry' or any crap like that, but what's anyone gonna do to me right now? I.T. me for lack of military bearing? "The craft is prepped for launch. I'm ready when you are."

This isn't taking as much effort as I thought it would. At least this guy has some sense. If he hadn't gone along, I'd have gone AWOL and seen what those church guys in the inner city were all about.

He smiles, and then winces against the pain in his cheek.

"It is an honor to exalt the deeds of a fellow clansman. We in the Celtic Rennaissance believe in the old ways of courtesy and honor."

He does agree quickly, but one thing that strikes you is how almost every fighter you've seen has that 'veteran' style.  This is not a peacetime army, or one filled with loads of bueraucrats.  Even the medic is carrying a weapon.

They load you up with Carmine, and several others, and give you a map, and some codebooks, and send you off with directions to the Appalachian Fortress which is their nearest HQ.

Lord Matthew gives you a verbal report to give to his High Command.

PT

Well, I make sure to deliver that report. But I'm asking Carmine to do co-pilot duty. I'm having a rather hard time focusing, what with the loss of blood and all that. Besides, she could probably fly this rig better than me.

I insure the bindings are secure, and I double check the medic's work. I have little doubt he did a good job, but I usually double check anything that insures I don't die.

Except seat belts. I have to remember to make that a habit.

I'm hoping for a slight amount of downtime, but I suspect I'll be overworked. This is a time of war.

The flight back is a blur of nightmare, and pain.  The medic had done a decent job, but your checking on him loosened the bandages a tiny bit.  They get somewhat more loose after an hour of flight.

You spend the last hour of flight with Carmine trying to hold your bandages, and sitting in a small pool of your own blood.

So when you land, you find things going grey as you try to get up.  But then you realize that the seat belt is still on.

You reach for it....

And scream as abused muscles spasm.

Gratefully, things go black.

Some time later, you're laying on  your back, and you don't feel quite so bad.

PT

"You have got...to be kidding me."

I shake off the pain, and look around. I'm checking my injuries, and my gear.

"Carmine? Are you here?"

Your gear is at the foot of your bed.  You're in a ward with metal beds about two feet apart.

Most of the other beds are full.

A harpist is playing something in Gaelic at the end of the room.  It does lift your spirits, and oddly, it seems to strengthen you.

PT

I relax at this point. No reason to be tense. I'm going to remain in place for now, and heal up.

I start thinking about the music I know, and most of its pretty violent and destructive in nature. I wish I could bring classical music into this war. If I could bring a symphony and a composer to direct them into this fight, it would be over in a short time. The power and flexiblity of that kind of music, and an army to go with it...

"Hey." I ask the harpist. "I have any visitors or anything along those lines?"

He continues to play, but speaks as well.

"Bed no. 24, yes, you had a pretty girl come in several times, black hair, distracted attitude..."  He describes Carmine.  "And I also have notes saying that 'when he is conscious, he gets a bath, and another note for a Doctor White's visit, and another note for a Base commandant visit...so who or what do you want first?  Also, I bet I could get the cafeteria to send up some black-eyed peas, and a vensison burger if you like, or a bowl of chicken noodle if you're feeling tectchy."

He strums a few lines and your stomach growls, and he laughs.

PT

"Bath first, then I'll worry about that venison burger." I have some ideas going through my mind, but let's face it: gotta be ready to face the world.

Orchestra powered army is just one step. Another idea going through my mind is an idea based on that: a unit capable of empathizing with the songs of the enemy, gaining the strength intended for their troops and benefiting equally.

It will take some work, but I think these are not impossible.

You review your ideas as you take the bath.  The water is hot, and smells faintly of sulphur.   The soap is harsh and strong.

You feel much better after you get out, and wander over to the cafeteria for a venison burger.

At your table (the 'walking wounded' table right next to the buffet line) you see several others who have paid a heavy price for the war.  And then an axe-faced man with granny glasses on sits down across from you.

"I'm the base commandant. Duke Southhold. And before you ask, my first set of glasses broke,a nd I have a rare astigmatism, and the only thing that works are these glasses I bought off a Rocker up near Graceland Palace."

PT

I think about the BCGs I'm wearing (military slang for Basic Issue glasses, or "birth control glasses."). "I'm not in a position to judge you too harshly. We all make due with what we have, sir." I'm still getting used to the idea of a superior talking to me as a fellow officer.

I've got a lot of questions I'd like to ask, but a lot of these questions are need to know basis. And I suspect these guys aren't to swuft when it comes to counterintelligence games. (No, 'swuft' is not a typo.) Last thing I need is to ask a question and have some smart aleck spy pick it up and pass it on. If Duke Southhold wants to compromise his own position, fine. I'll just listen.

"The first thing I need to ask you is if you and your lady join the Celtic Rennaissance of your own free will, and pledge your loyalty in good honor to it.  I understand enough from talking to your very attractive lady friend that you come from a different world, or time.  Your vehicle is testimony enough of that.  So I need to make the offer clear."

He clears his throat.

"We of the Celtic Rennaissance are not an inconsiderable force. We hold much of the Appalachians up North, and most of the way south to this fort.  Our goal is to reunify the nation of America around principles of honor and courtesy.  We believe in the dignity of every person, but demand that each person behave worthy of that dignity.  For example, we knife traitors because they have disgraced their honor. And if someone offends your dignity, you may challenge them to a duel if they are of your rank one plus or minus one."

He grins slightly.

"I'm two above you, Captain Edward.  Which is another point, despite our lords and ladies, we are really an egalitarian society.  The hierarchy doesn't go very high, or low.  We think that too much hierarchy, and too little honor amongst the leaders of this hierachy was what did in the old America. A leader has to be worthy of trust, and the punishment for the betrayal of your God given dignity is severe."

He pauses again.

"Now any questions? And btw, if you do choose to leave, you can. We'd sorely hate to lose your aircraft, but in honor, you're still a guest.  And you have the right to leave as a guest."

PT

"I've got nothing better to do here. And to be honest, I've got a hunch that running with you guys won't be a bad idea. I haven't encountered a better faction save one, and the one I did see wasn't willing to fight."

"So yeah, I'll lend you some support. I just need an update on my fighting skills. Run me through basic training here. I want to earn my rank, not have it assigned because I happen to have an aircraft."

"That speaks well of you, sir. All right."

He gets up.

"I'll send the Doctor along, and your lady friend. You should be leaving for Warrior's School in the morning....very early."

He leaves, and as you finish dessert, a Doctor White comes in and checks you out.

"You're quite healthy for someone who just got shot in the back, and passed out from blood loss.  I'll make sure they know to start you probationary at WS. Any questions...?"

Carmine is standing twenty feet away impatiently awaiting her turn to talk to you.

PT

"None." I move to Carmine, rather quickly too. Then I remind myself I've been shot, and that it DOES hurt when I move too fast. Not that it's going to stop me tomorrow. It'll just give me an incentive not to get hit in the back.

"I...uh...glad to see we made it out in one piece, huh?"

Jeez, is that the best you can come up with? You suck. Leave it to my own brain to let me know what an idiot I can be.

"Well you left pieces of yourself behind. Sit down, sit down, please." She drags up a chair for you.

She halts, and smiles with no words.

"Sometimes the stress gets to me, but y'know what, I'm glad you landed on that airfield. My life was too banal. Now, I live the life of an adventure heroine, and day by day, I find I like it better."

She grins.

"And these people are so far behind me in tech skills, I'm now the Head of Research of the whole fortress here."

PT

"Your telling me about banal. I was a gas clerk before this." I sit down, going easy on the back. "Now I'm piloting part-time time machines and using up all my luck at once."

"You know, I just remembered something." I lean back. "That aircraft has some pretty good speakers on them. Perhaps you could cook something up to exploit that?"

I think a moment. "Head of Research?" I think about this a bit more. "What have you been coming up with?"

"Yes, I think I could do something with the speakers. And I can get them to patch the holes as well." She looks into the distance. "There is something really odd about the music here. And I've heard tales that are simply incredible. Outright miracles worked by some of the really talented musicians." She raises an eyebrow. "Now I know we didn't have that in our world. We had miracles in the Old Testament and the like, but no one was turning bullets into water with music." She grins slightly. "Just what weird end of reality have you dragged me to this time?"

She puts her fist on her hip challengingly.

"Oh, yeah, weapons. Well, I'm helping them with laser guided weapons." Her voice drops. "I'm ....it'd be really easy to teach them how to use FAE bombs, but I'm not sure I want to. Whatdya' think?"

PT

FAE? You'd think I'd have heard of that one, but I'm actually in the dark. A rarity for me when it comes to military hardware.

"FAE isn't something I'm familiar with." I tell her quietly. "I know what laser systems are and how they work, though. Those systems would only help them out if they have the technology to put it to use. If they do, they are on par with any twenty-first century force, but I would guess that means they either haven't been fighting long, or they are a new faction. High tech armies don't do long wars."

"Laser sights are able to be in limited production, I think.  Its true, they are short on resources, and scientists. FAE is simpler...Fuel Air Explosive...but its not very discriminating, and they are very effective."

She bites her lip.

"I think you're wrong. This is Americans fighting Americans. Its the Civil War all over again. If it was Americans fighting someone else, then yes, I would agree with you.  But my people in my original world were willing to say 'freedom or burn the world to ash'. "

PT

Carmine's one smart woman, and I won't argue with her about technology. But warfare is different, and I doubt she's put the same time into the study of violence that I have. High tech forces are only as strong and durable as the economy that powers them; when the money runs out, the advantage shifts to the low tech forces. On the other hand, for the duration of said funding, to engage a high tech force head-on is suicide. But maintanence is the hardest part about sustaining a high tech army, and limited resources would make this more difficult.

I presumed the sword was standard gear for more than just decoration.

"Hmm." I think a moment before throwing out my next thought on the subject. "I saw the math on this once. High technology would last about a year or two if the militant factions are split up as badly as I think they are. Then they'll start fighting with rocks and sticks. I didn't say the war should be over; I should rephrase that to the technology is newly acquired or rarely deployed due to its scarcity, and that's why I think this is a new development for the Celtics. They've apparently lost a lot of battles up until now."

I don't tell her I think I know the cause. It would end the discussion immediately and force an awkward silence.

"I can understand your reluctance to teach them to use FAE." I think she's referring to napalm or something akin to it. "If we're on the same page, that's a vicious attack method. I would save it for a foe which is totally unwilling to surrender, choosing to suicide themselves rather than accept defeat. An enemy like the Japanese of World War II. Otherwise, I'd hold on to that information and spare these guys the temptation to act on it."

OOC: Good point.

IC: "You're probably right that they only use it infrequently."  She allows.  "And that probably means that fortresses like this one, where they can run factories undisturbed, are absolutely critical to their war effort."

She looks far away.

"Which means if we could find the enemies' factories, and zap them with bombs from your time ship...we might have a chance of forcing some sort of peace."

PT

I think on this a moment. I don't know if I really want to force a peace. As far as I'm concerned, the best way to work out differences of this nature is to simply let all sides kill each other off until they get tired of it and decide on a peace accord simply out of mental fatigue.

Of course, that's pretty much what I'm going to do anyways, and probably what she just suggested.

To be honest, the tidbit of information I'm withholding from Carmine is this: one of the reasons the Celtic forces have been losing is their apparently trusting nature. They've invited a newcomer to a critical base. Now granted, I won't be doublecrossing them, but that's not the point. If means exist to detect deception, surely means exist to fool said detection. The game of intelligence and counterintelligence is a very tricky field, and one that makes even my head spin.

Still, other than that, I don't see anything here that should cost them.

"So, we find the enemy factories and disable them." I start thinking. "It would be difficult to conceal a massive factory for any length of time, so they can be found, the problem here is that they will almost certainly have AA batteries around them, or they will after we hit them a few times."

"I think this may call for something a little more subtle than raw force. Sabotage, smuggling rings and insurrections come to mind. Why destroy an enemy when you can turn them into an economic resource and get them to destroy themselves?"

"After you come back from training, then you will be busy."

PT

"I'll say." I sit back a moment. I'm going to relax a moment. "Carmine, am I biting off more than I can chew?"

"If you're patient, then no.  I think you can accomplish astounding things."

She shrugs. "A lot of my family thought I, the first female in the family to get a hard science doctorate was trying for the impossible.  I got my PH.d. in astrophysics despite their lack of faith.  Or maybe because of it." She pauses. "And honestly, I think you're more tough-minded than I was.  But such a strategy is likely to take years."

PT

"Years, eh? Well, all I've got is time, and this seems to be the right thing to do."

Years. That's a project beyond the scope of anything I've ever tried. Heck, I might even have the time for something like that. The nature of this (dream?) seems to be one of constant flux, and unceasing change. Except, of course, for Carmine's presence.

Carmine smiles.

"You think about it. I'm willing to sign on, my captain." She kisses you on the cheek, and walks away.

The next day, you're taken deep into the woods with two dozen others to a set of three-sided cabins which look like they have been used as animal lairs.  The insturctors rough chop your hair with a pair of garden clippers, and then a very unpleasant man explains at very high volume as cold rain drizzles into your face...

"OUTSIDE here, you may be a lord, or a gentlman. Here, you are scum. No, not scum. Scum has a use. It trips up the unwary, and breaks down logs to return them to use as dirt. You'd trip up the wary, and when I take your carcass out to be disposed of, if you in any  way insult me, nothing but poison ivy will grow in the ground where we dump your body."

PT

Ah, memories. Don't get me wrong, at the moment I am really uncomfortable, and I'm not feeling very detached from this cold rain. Heck, I had been lucky enough to have been spared that (I think, to be honest I might not have noticed...) last time I went through training. For me, this is a second shot, only it should be more difficult then before.

I don't ask any questions, I don't make any smart aleck remarks. I don't have anything to say that would not read as anything other than insubordination, and I'm choosing this path. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't have asked to do this.

I glance at the others from the corner of my eye. Teamwork is very important in this endeavor. They will set one simple objective for us, and our job will be to do it. In US boot camp, everything was teaching order maintanence and how to perform the graduation ceremony as one unit.

Let's figure out what they have in mind.

You deduce that they want you to know how to work with the others in a completely trusting way.  That means, everyone has to have faith in the other guy's training, and that he will make the judgement that you would have in his place.

In between running up hill in mud with forty pound bags of sand on your shoulders (which get heavier as rain soaks them), you find yourself dancing (although they don't call it that) blindfolded in a high-kicking Russian fashion.  A mistake means you fall into the guy next to you, or kick the guy across from you in the face....or someone does it to you.

By the end of the second time you've done this (and its not yet noon.) your 'patrol' has kicked you in the head (once), and chest (twice)....and the instructor explains that you all had better get better soon because you're going to have to do it on balance poles in the air with naked swords in your hands...

PT

Well, that has to be the stupidest training I've ever done. Then again, so is marching up and down the square without end. So I learn to do it. That way, when they hand us swords, I won't kill myself and the guy next to me. I don't know how many people I've kicked, because I'm blindfolded. I'm guessing we've all beaten the crud out of each other, say, kicked the other about five of six times.

Still, it will be weeks before they move on to swords. No matter what pressure the commanders put on, they never ask you to do anything you should not be ready to handle. And when they do, it is just another test of your learning capability and temper control.

That last may be a problem for me, but at least I know what to expect.

But man, that sand is heavy. At least I'll be ready to perform flood rescue services.

Things move on, and you're starting to not kick the other guy.  Your patrol is starting to 'just know' what the other guy is doing.

And then they take you out to a cliff, and show you a number of white crosses at the bottom.

"This is a real simple test. One of you is going to be standing guard duty all night. He will wait for a signal to pick up a metal cord, and clip it.  If he clips it early, he will be electrocuted. If he clips it late....well one of you is going to tie the other end of the rope to your ankle, and jump off the cliff head first....you'll go splat if he fails.  Soo....who wants to be the Guard, and who wants to be the Jumper for the first night?'


PT

Well, well now. That's an interesting test. The idea here is that there are naturally going to be a lot of Guards, and no one crazy or stupid enough to be the Jumper.

Of course, they never had to deal with me before. In the words of Homer Simpson, 'And they said I was stupid. Stupid as a fox!'

Quite naturally I step forward. At the worst, I'll be an example to the others to get the job done right. At best, I'll give the others a sense of courage and increase morale. Besides, how many times have I been killed?

The leader's eyes widen, and he tries to cover it by being sarcastically respectful.  But its clear you've made an impression.

Later that night, you jump.  And for a very long half-second, you fall. You're about convinced that the Guard fell asleep, and did not connect the cable.

"Why didn't I just run to the hills? Am I stupid?" Hammers into your brain.

And then the bungie cord grabs,a nd whips you back up into the air.

You whooop hysterically, tears streaming down your face, filled with the joy of being alive, and insanely brave.

They come and take you down.

"Congratulations, top corporal Mentat." The leader says.

PT
OOC: @1 bonus to Willpower and to Charisma.

Ask, and ye shall receive. Now that I'm ranking member in the squad, that means that the commanders beat me into the ground everytime one of these other knuckleheads botches something. Start getting good at pushups now, because I'll be doing a lot of them.

Well, I better make sure the cord is in position myself when I end up on guard duty. If someone dies on my watch, I can expect harsh punishment. Duh.

In the meantime, all my free time is spent reading up on the responsiblities of being a corporal. In my when and where, exams were one path of promotion, and I intend to be an officer.

Although getting that commission my be a little difficult. But on the bright side, I'm about as experienced as your average lieutenent, so I'm off to a good start.

They have a different idea of exercise pain.  Theirs involves running in place with small sandbags on your shoulders and holding your sword above your head while bellowing out "O' Danny Boy."

You are becoming a better singer, and getting a fair reportoire of Celtic songs.

You gain eight pounds of muscle, and lose a couple pounds of body fat so now you're very lean.  You learn how to fight in a line, and how to 'harry' a foe, a kind of 'wolfpack attack' which involves a lot of footwork, and dashing up to attack, and darting away.

You jump off the cliff several more times.  One person fails to clip it for another squad, and one man dies.  They take the 'failed guard' out, and whip him raw, and send him stumbling out of the camp to live or die on his own.

You can now sing with moderate proficiency about a dozen Celtic songs, and run ten miles with a thirty pound 'bag' of sword, tarp, gun, canteen...

And when you leave, they smack you on the shoulders and on the side of the head with the flat of a broadsword.

"Rise, Knight."

(Its the first level of the officer corp.)

Now your rank is Knight and Captain.  The Knight is your command rank, and the Captain is your general rank.

PT

With every muscle in my body aching, I still don't allow myself to celebrate yet. I've got a lot to do, and little time to do it.

But first, a bit of leave. Visit Carmine, catch up on her end of the story. I know she's been busy doing something. Even her research would be of interest to me. And I'd also like to learn her side of perspectives she's probably picked up. After all, I've probably picked up a list of enemies, and the propaganda that says 'evil.'

OOC: Yeah, I want to know the other factions.

You talk to her about the other factions and learn....

1. Rockers led by the current King of Rock and Roll rule the Divided City of Memphis.  They have a rep as very good at defense, and rather placid otherwise.

2. Country with their capitol city of Nashville are generally considered the best shots in the land.  They believe that putting the working men and women in charge is the thing to do.

3. Extreme and Extremists turn out to be two very different things.  Extreme music is for those who think HALO parachuting on a snowboard to the top of an uncharted mountain to snowboard down it is the thing.  They claim to be trying to teach humanity to overcome their weaknesses. Their capital is Vail, Colorado.

"Extremists" are those who want to step up the war with bigger, badder weapons.

4. Praise and Worship try to deal friendly with all groups, but many see this as part of their scheme of sucking everyone in.  they are sometimes called 'The Octopus'.  Their Shieldsmen with their kevlar shields, and heavy armor and excellent swordwork are generally considered the most fearless and dangerous at hand to hand combat.  No Shieldsmen unit has ever been heard to break.

5. Classical have NYC as their capital.  They tend to be very cerebral, and to use manipulation  and knowledge as their tools.  They also it is rumored, hire from the next group for dirty deeds.

6. Death Metal have underground cells, and no capital.  They are rumored to be in the possession of nukes, or to be seeking them.  They believe that all this lovey-dovey nice stuff is just a cover for the real truth.  And its time people faced the brutal nature of reality.  They don't really like anyone but they really hate P&W.

Rats. And here I was hoping Classical wouldn't be a pack of idiots. Instead, they seem to squander their music on petty games of manipulation. Praise and Worship seems to be a worthy faction, even though most of the music I've heard in that field rots in my opinion. Maybe they've finally learn how not to sound so depressing. Extreme strikes me more as a bunch of thrillseekers than a conventional faction like the others. I don't see where I'd have a problem with them, and they have the potential to be powerful mercenaries. Country has an interesting idea, but it would never work. Still, I could see something friendly going there, and they are the nearest group. They must be dealt with first if for that reason alone. Rockers seem to be a neutral faction, and I see no reason to foul that up. But deals must be made with them as well for the same reason as Country. An alliance with them could put some pressure on the Country forces. The Extremists worry me in that they don't care about blowing up fellow Americans in the name of peace. Dr. Gatling tried that during the Civil War.

Nah, who am I kidding? That idea worked great, the war ended instantly.

Morons. They and the Death Metalists, whom I've already dismissed as a pack of nihilistic vermin, would probably love each other. Any signs of an alliance between them, and I'll have to sour it somehow.

"So Classical, Death Metalists, and Extremists have all hit my threat list." I inform Carmine. "Everyone else is either neutral, willing to swing sides, or a good potential ally."

"Well, okay. I have two Country factories sussed out, and one port controlled by Classical forces with the hinterlands being a no man's zone.  I still don't know why our time craft flies.  However, I've gotten the locals to build about a dozen blimps to use as spotting vehicles."

PT

I look at her curiously. "What do you mean?" Referring, of course, to the flight question about our craft.

"Well, its power supply. I think it has a regular fuel engine, and a secondary power source.  The SPS is a 'tap' for a lack of a better word into the quantum foam submatrix of the universe.  I think you could fly this craft around the world without stopping.  And I have no clue how it works."

She pushes some hair back.

"Plus, its got short stubby wings, but it handles way better than it should.  It should be sluggish, and slow, and tend to stall."

pt

"Well, its from your world, and it was Russian tech." I'm not sure were I'm going with that, so I'll let it drop.

"I've got more training ahead of me. Advanced leadership and swordsmanship. I've got an idea for a Dirty Dozen type group, but I need to earn the right to assemble it and lead it."

I've been thinking in these moments. Maybe the groups I listed as foes are foes simply because I think like them.

"Its time traveller tech, and I'm not sure those Russians were from 'my' world.  Maybe they were trying to change my world." Carmine shoots back.

You do have more training ahead of you.

However, there version of advanced training is to integrate you into the Borderman.  You and a small group of others will patrol a twenty square mile area near the eastern side of the Appalachians.  Its considered pretty quiet.

PT

Guard duty. Mind numbing and boring. The 0200 to 0400 shift is the worst, and is either punishment, or an indication of the short straw being drawn. Still, I was pretty good at maintaining form during this, and I'm a light sleeper.

I train myself at using both swords in tandem, both for an aggressive volley of attacks, or for attack and defense at the same time. It's an attack style either way. For leadership, it will be about initiative, and taking hits when you must.

Two weeks later, you're following your patrol path from one mountaintop to the next in the dark of night.  The circuit is a good ten miles long, and on the top of four different mountains, you spend about a half-hour with binoculars looking for signs of passage in the great mountainous forrest of the Eastern Appalachians.

Your partner is eating his sausage and black bread sandwhich, when you spot what might be a flicker of a campfire.

Your partner is inclined to think it is a reflection of moonlight off a windshield from the junked cars on a road over that way.  It would mean an extra fifteen mile hike tonight as its about seven miles away.

The rest of your squad are at Home Base nine miles away, and except for the HB guard, they are probably sound asleep.

PT

"Radio HQ, tell them we have spotted activity and we are requesting permission to investigate."

I'm not going that far out of my way unless I have to. And this is the military. You ask permission. They talk a lot about initiative. Be my guest and show it. It's your risk.

They dither a bit, and then they give you permission.

You set out on the hike through the night woods.  Your partner, Private John Samuels, starts to flag a bit after four miles.  You help him, and continue on.

"You know what your men call you back at Home base, boss?" He grunts. "Old Ironshanks. They say you could walk from Atlanta to New York without stopping."

A few more miles....and you see a patrol of ten men crouching near a fire.  Its well-blocked from light escaping.  They must have moved a barrier for a second, and that caught your eye.

PT

"Ironshanks, huh?" I'm keeping my voice down. "I don't know about that distance, but thanks."

I focus on the men ahead. I'm presuming that since they are not one of ours, since they are trying to keep hidden. "Ten of them, probably a reconnaissance squad. Long-range if I had to guess. That means they can last at least a few months. Either way, we can't let them leave here." I turn to John for a moment. "Radio HQ again. Advise them we have ten men in front of us who are taking trouble to be unseen, and then tell them we are awaiting further instructions."

Right now I'm sizing up our chances. Two men with melee weapons, attacking ten men with ranged weapons with surprise at melee range. In theory, a defender has a three-to-one combat advantage, and the element of surprise gives a seventy percent combat advantage. Which is why I'm searching for defensive weapons such as a heavy machine gun. They have barricades, but these are meant to conceal, and are probably lightweight. I know they don't have trenches, and since they don't want to be tracked, I doubt they've marred the terrain with foxholes.

Right now, my odds look 2:1 against me, considering we will be using melee weapons agianst probable sharpshooters. Still not ideal; that threshold says I should hang back and defend, which will eliminate my surprise element, and force me to retreat.

So, if I'm ordered to attack, I'll need to draw them off towards us, break them up, and take them out piecemeal. And those concealment barricades work both ways...

"Captain Edwards,,skkkrrkrch, we reques...at u maintain distant skrrchch..rendevous with striker..skrchch ...midnight."

The followup call only gets worse.

"What now, boss?" Pvt. Samuels asks.

"Geez, you'd think the first line of defense would at least be assigned good radios. Than again, we don't have the benefit of being able to make our location known through the use of a tower."

"So they want us to maintain distance. But that rendevous might prove difficult to honor, especially considering how we don't know where they want us to meet."

"So, we need to get ourselves to higher ground, and call them again. That also gives us a nice vantage point, and allows us an advantage if we get detected. Let's move out."

This poor guy is going to have some stories to tell his fellow privates about me. Probably something akin to 'he mercilessly drove me into the ground.'

You get to higher ground which gives you a good view of a storm moving south along the Appalachians.  It looks like nasty weather.

Lightning cracks in the distance.

No radio signal gets through.

However, you do have a good view of a five square mile area, and as long as you stay alert, no one is going to be sneaking up on you unless they are very good.

Pvt. Samuels collapses panting, with his legs trembling.

He's muttering something under his breath.

PT

"Get some rest. We have no orders that I can understand other than to watch them, and I'm not risking an ROE violation by shooting what could be a neutral party."

I keep an eye on the group below, and make sure I keep my head down. After all, if I can see them, there is a good chance they can see me.

They don't move before the storm hits.  After it hits, everything is blanked out, and you and Samuels huddle against the beating rain.

Next morning, it takes an hour to spot them moving through the dripping foilage.

By noon, they're about out of your viewing range, and still heading deeper in Celtic territory...obviously being stealthy...

PT

I call radio HQ. I'm still hesistant to kill these guys, and even though I'm certain they are a scouting sortie, I have to have orders to open fire. Once killed, I can't bring someone back.

I pursue them. I know this area better than they do, having patrolled it for a while.

You follow and move parrallel to their course. You climb a ridge near Two Turkey River to espy which of the fords they are going to use.  They choose the northern ford, and so you swing wide down Paulling Ridge, and loop about to arrive on the northern slope of Gyrfalcon Mount as they toil up the broad flat pastures that lead to the mount.

The mud is slowing them down, and the rain is slashing into their faces.

This is a good, high location so you radio HQ.

"Stennis Mount, meet, Stennis Mount, meet....skrrchchch...."

This is the only answer you get.  Unfortunately, Stennis is a good ten miles south.  If they had taken the southern ford, they'd be headed toward Stennis.

Its getting toward evening.

PT

Four, maybe five hours.

"Samuels, let's get to Stennis Mount. It will take us a while, but we've learned all we are going to learn here, and I'm not killing them yet. Besides, we're overdue for a relief anyways, and we are not equipped to pursue them any further. Let's head back and get some rest. You've done well today."

I'm going to find out what HQ wants.

Samuels groans to himself, and gets up.  You head out in the lead.  Ordinarily, you take turns on the lead, but you can tell Samuel is barely keeping up.  Its only pride that keeps him going the last two hours.

You walk onto the top of Stennis Mount, feeling the burn yourself, and Samuels staggers in, and collapses down on the ground.

Suddenly there is an officer in the clearing, yelling at Samuels, telling him what an unsoldierly disgrace he is. A couple other men follow behind him, and stand at the edge of the clearing with rifles on their shoulders, and snack packs in their hands.

One of them tosses you a water jug.

PT

I proceed to tell the reprimending officer precisely what he can do with himself, inform him he hasn't himself been marching for the past day and night over the mountains carrying full radio gear, and then I take a swig of water and get to the point.

"Long range scouting sortie." I'm talking rather clipped, and making sure I don't drink too much too fast. Cramps the belly. "Not sure what faction, but they aren't ours. Could have killed a few, but it would have set them on alert, and I don't want them knowing they've been seen. Besides, if we send a good force out, we might be able to talk them into surrender."

The other officer stares at you coldly, and you can clearly see he's making a weighty decision in his mind.

"Your personal lack of judgment aside, we've been instructed to attack this force.  So lead us to them."

Samuels is trying to 'send you a message' with his eyes.

PT

I pay attention to Samuel, although I'm NOT looking at him, or drawing any attention to him whatsoever. This is the secret of military bearing: everyone looks the same, and when somebody looks different, you pay attention. Like the look Sam is giving me. If I had to guess, I'd say he's telling me neither of us is in the condition to march.

And he's right. My endurance has limits too.

"Sir, I radioed the enemies last coordinates to HQ, and we've been on patrol for over twelve hours. Now, if you honestly are seeking to kill us from exhaustion, then sure. I'll lead you right to them, because I can understand if we are so strapped for soldiers that we honestly can't send another unit."

Samuel winces, and you realize that was not the message he was trying to send.  But its still a complete surprise when the officer backhands you to the ground.

"Coward!"  He continues on in this vain for a line or two. "I challenge your honor."

"You just don't want to admit you messed up." Samuels croaks, swaying. "And I'm too low rank for you to duel. Its the only thing you're good at, assasinating officers better than you are.  Captain Edward, he perverts our Code of Honor."

"Ten lashes for insolence to a superior officer will teach you respect."

Samuels replies by spitting on the ground.

PT

I stand up, fury blazing on my face. I've been attacked by a superior opponent before, and I force the flashback down. I know my limits, but if it comes down to a fight, I will not back down, break, or yield, even if he beats me down like Mohammed Ali taking on a Girl Scout.

"Let me see if I understand you correctly." I am modulating each word, speaking very slowly, and letting everyone hear the effort I am taking to keep my anger in check. "You want to fight an exhausted commander. Because he refuses to allow you to send his unit into a suicidal situation. Against a mobile foe you are better equipped to track. With a fresh force you have in abundance."

I wave my hand to the others watching this exchange, and while I do this, I watch their reactions. This is as much about the them as it is about me.

"If I fight you, right now, I will lose. I will lose for the same reason I'm not cooperating with you."

"Because my partner and I are completely and utterly exhausted, you moron!" I shout this last, letting my fury burn through my control for one moment.

I then put my composure back on. No point in revealing more weakness than I have to. Truth be told, if this idiot draws a blade on me, I'll shoot him graveyard dead without a second thought. It is with this thought in mind that I take one step back.

If he strikes with bare fists, I can probably dodge it, but my ability to return blows is suspect right now. I'll have to dodge and parry a nonlethal attack, and just try to wear him out like I'm worn out. That I can do.

"He's chosen the time, sir." One of the other men speaks up.

"I suppose he has Pvt. Reilly. Very well, then, at dawn. You'll have had your rest, and I will have expunged the stain you false place on my honor with your blood."

He looks well satisfied, although you can tell he would have prefereed to kill you here and now.  He turns to his men.

"Set up camp."

He goes and sits down under a tree.

Samuels hurries over to you to help you to your feet.

PT

I move myself to a decent location, and set up. I'm not really particular about where, because I'll probably just fall asleep, and sleep until wake-up call. Hopefully, my body clock will wake me up an hour before the fight, that way I can get something to eat.

You're shaken awake, about ten minutes before dawn. Your opponent is already up, and making ready with stretching exercises.

"Last chance." He calls out to you. "Admit I'm right, and you made an error in judgment, and I'll let you live."

PT

"I've got a better idea." I move and get ready, getting dressed and getting ready for what may be my last meal. I've formed a plan of my own. "How about YOU grudgingly admit you were wrong in ordering exhausted troops to engage in a twelve hour march that would lead them into battle too tired to fight? There are ways to do that with grace, especially now that time has passed and emotions have cooled. I'll bow out with grace, if you give me an opportunity."

"Now I'm going to get some chow, and then talk to the doctor. Every part of my body is talking to me. Then I'll duel you, if you still want. I might be a little late."

Truth be told, that's not the only reason I'm paying the doctor a visit. This guy had better recant his desire to duel me, because I'm going to fire the idea to the medic about using his position to declare an officer unfit for duty pending a psychiatric evaluation. I'll only ask the medic to do this if the duel begins, and I'll ask him before the blows actually land.

To be honest, even in the pain I'm in, I'll probably tear this guy up.

He laughs at you, but even to his ears it sounds a little hollow.  Still, he does not bend.

You go find the medic, and spring the idea on him.  He looks frightened, and uncertain, but then the squire of the other group enters.  The medic looks even more frightened to be discovered.

The squire (or sergeant) looks at him coldly.

"Did Captain Edwards give you a valid order, in your professional judgment?"

The medic pauses. Thinks. Swallows. And then nods.

"In my professional opinion, Captain Mason is a high-functioning sociopath with extreme narcissistic tendencies.  In layman's terms, he thinks its all about him, and he doesn't care who he steps on to get where he wants to go."

PT

"Bear in mind, he is likely to threaten you with physical harm or to strip your rank. In addition, this is a grave request I am asking of you. We are at war, and officers are not easy to come by. But I firmly believe that, whether I survive this duel or not, he should not remain in command unless he passes a psychological check, or even a basic morality test."

"He KNOWS he's in the wrong. That's why I am asking this of you."

I get up to leave, and I'm prepping my mind for battle. "Oh, and one thing. If you do this, and I give you permission to refuse, do it before the actual fight begins. And keep some guards on hand for yourself. He might attack you, and I might not be able to intercept him. Take care, Doc."

I leave the tent, go to the intended killing ground, and pray to the Almighty that his will be done. I might finally be meeting him.

Heck of a way to check out.

You pray, and a sense of wrath at wickedness fills you.  Its filled with pity, but angry at the same time, and not willing to put up with anymore nonsense.

You also remember the times you thought you were going to die, but didn't.

So, it is with some peace you step out into the space under the trees.  Your enemy pales to see you.

"I thought you'd run away."

You see the medic advancing toward the field, and Captain Mason turning toward him with a puzzled look on his evil face.

PT

It must be confessed to myself at this point. I have an ulterior motive for the timing of my request to the doctor. No, I have two.

The first of them is that I wish to give this fool a chance to leave with his life. Stupidity is not generally a crime punishable by death. There are exceptions, but this isn't one of them. And I don't relish the thought of being bedridden from wounds while an enemy is scouting us. That would hinder us.

The other is far less altruistic. I want to break his will before the fight begins. If he learns that he is not in command, he will break and accept an offer to back off, or he will attack in a rage and subsequently die.

Of course, this is all a moot point if the doctor tells me he won't do that. Under those circumstances, I will just fight him to the best of my ability.

"I'm giving you one last chance." I tell my opponent. "Walk away now. There is no dishonor in surrendering to your own, as mercy is usually guaranteed. Refuse, and the best you can hope for is the incapacitation or death of one of your own. At the worst, you will die proudly."

"Walk away, and keep your life and honor."

OOC: This is the third time I've written this post.  My computer was acting weird last night.

IC:

He sneers, but uncertainly.  And then the medic speaks.

"You, um..."

Clears his throat.

"Um."

"Yes, out with it, Doc."

"You're relieved of command for medical reasons."  Rushes out of the frightened medic.

"Whaaaaa? You little mouse, I'll..."

Mason is reaching for a pistol, and the Squire, who accompanied the Medic is raising a rifle.  A soldier behind the two is more slowly raising a rifle.

PT

Since I haven't actually drawn my swords yet, I draw my own pistol and drop to a crouch. Two shots to Mason, double tap still the best known way to put someone down.

My plan apparently had a little flaw in it I had not considered: my opponent would cheat and bring a pistol like I did. Stupid of me not to consider that.

I wasn't actually going to shoot him if we had dueled, although the thought was more than a little tempting. I just believe in insurance for moments like this.

Bullets fly, thunder rolls, and flame stabs from various barrels.  The Medic falls, clutching his thigh.

Mason turns to you with a strange, fey look in his eyes.  He has your two bullets, and three of the Squire's bullets in his chest.

He starts to say something, and then drops like a cut tree with a thud to the ground.  He moves once, and then no more.  His pistol drops from his hand.

PT

Even if Mason is still alive, it doesn't matter. He has others watching him for movement.

My attention is on the medic. I move to him and apply direct pressure to the point of injury. A bullet to the thigh can be fatal, and very quickly. "I should have considered the idea he might shoot you instead of charging you with his blade. That was stupid of me."

I'm concentrating on one thing at a time. The medic first, then Mason.

"Stupid? No, that's me. I knew he was a lunatic.  I should have just killed him on the operating table last month when I took out one of his teeth."  He winces as you press down.  "Now, I'm going to be a lot more sympathetic to the next guy who comes to me with a bullet wound.  Ow, that hurts.  Keep the pressure up.  Oh, and get me a blanket. I'm feeling chill.  That's not good. Shock...ah....shockaa-lockka--woookaaa.  Don't let me fall asleep.  Um-ummm-uuuuuuuu---" He stops singing for a second. "So how good are you at sewing? Ever sew a button on.  Its just like that. Easy.  Well, no it isn't.  I lied.  I do that a lot...to my patients. Never to my girlfriends.  I say to my pa-pa-pa-pa-che-ants-aunties....this isn't going to hurt even though I know good and well its going to make  them scream.  This must be like karmic payback.  Ow, that hurts.  Got any vodka?"

The Squires comes over to you.

"Mason's dead."  He says quietly as the Medic babbles.

PT

Interesting. I've seen this twice, a person going into medical shock, and it still never fails to have a very humanizing effect on me. Mason, I'll feel his death later. This man must not die.

"Thae Mason doesn't matter. Get some alcohol and a stretcher ready! We can't have our medic dying on us. And someone with a good voice sing a helpful song! Nothing's occuring to me right now."

The songs I know would probably push him into the grave a little faster, and thus I do not want to be the one singing them. Amazing Grace is not going to increase this man's life expectancy, due to it's relaxing effects. And the rock songs I know might startle him to death.

I maintain pressure and get a little curt with the Medic here. "Shut up about this karma crap. You are going to get out of this quite fine and alive, because our medical setup is not far from here at all, and you know what not to think about during these situations."

As long as his will doesn't give out on him.

One man breaks out into song, but he can't hold a tune.

The Medic is hustled to his tent, and you get the privilege of sewing his leg close as he bites a stick, and as morphine kicks in for him, but not as well as you'd like.  Supplies are short.

Freely sweating, you close up the wound, and stop the bleeding. The Medic nods.

"I'll be okay now."

PT
OOC: 1@2 Stitching Wounds

Well, the suture is lousy more likely than not, but it will have to do for now. I walk out of the tent for now and get a breath of air. I'm still alive, which is more than I expected.

Unfinished business first. That patrol sortie Moron ignored just for a shot at killing me. We have to intercept them and, if at all possible, take them alive. What they know could be critical to us.

But I'm going to let the chaos of this event settle in the minds of the others first. Mason may have been an egotistical fool willing to kill for his pride, but for some irrational reason I will be feeling that one later. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he wasn't technically armed when I shot him. Those KGB agents I ambushed are already coming back to me. (The DJ was cut and dry. I have no remorse for killing that one.)

There is a funeral for Mason.  The Squire says a few words which while not openly condemnatory make it very clear that he has to try very, very hard to come up with anything nice to say at all.

Then he commands a no bullet in the gun, gun salute.  Its a form of silent country, gun salute.  The men then sing the Parting Song, a Celtic ballad about meeting again in the Other Country.

Then the Squire directs everyone to salute you.

With relief, the men turn to the future, and you, and away from what they clearly consider the bad past.  Sharp salutes reach you.

PT

So I'm in charge of the squad now. Well, I didn't have to do a whole lot, so I just rest in place for two hours.

"Well, the enemy has had a two day head start to change their location, which would have only been one if we hadn't gotten bogged down with politics." I note dryly. "Still, I'm not exhausted as I expected to be, and we have to hunt that squad and capture them. Get some chow, rest for two hours, because we are moving out. I need four men to remain behind on four hour guard shifts rotating to protect those who can't follow. And get ready for guests. Are there any questions?"

There aren't, so you implement your plans.

You set out, hiking at a brisk but not man-killing pace, and soon enough make your way back to the site where you saw them last.  Its been policed up, but the signs of man's presence are still there.

For now, its  a mix of tracking and guesswork.  You and your men look for signs of passage, and study the surrounding mountains, and ask yourself which way you would have gone.

You set out after them.  You find their track for a while, and then lose it on some rock. After that, you expect them to head southwest to ward some civilization, but this track leads to nothing.


Night falls.

PT

Well, let's see, they know they are being pursued. In addition, they have learned some of the land well. Still, if they don't build a campfire, they will have a rough night. We, on the other hand, can build a fire at will. We just need to put it in a location that is resistant to attack, and then camp a little aways from it. Make sure we pad the sleeping pads.

If they are wily, they will turn around to attack it.

I relay the message to the others and then tell them the catch. "While the rest of us are sleeping and prepping for the counterattack, one of us will have to serve as live bait. Sentry duty. So naturally, this means one of us will be cut off, and prone to attack, capture or possible death."

I pull straws for the first shift, and then in order for the next five rotations.

"And if I'm being paranoid, we have nothing to worry about."

No one comes for you in the night, nor are there any signs that they came near.

PT

I wake up bright and early. One of the things you learn in boot camp and working lots of night shift jobs is how to get by with less sleep than normal folks.

I assemble everyone and continue the search. "Radio HQ. Let them know we are going to be a little late getting back. Oh, and one more thing. In the field, don't salute me. There are Country snipers who would not hesitate to shoot brass or command." I allow myself to smile. I'm in a better mood than I should be. "Now show me that lack of respect and let's march. They won't leave these hills if we have a say."

You make contact with HQ, and they agree to your plans. They also, after receive testimony, validate your decision, temporarily, on Captain Mason.  Although you gather that when you return, you're likely to face an investigation.

You search, not finding any sign of the enemy, and come to the small town they should have been heading toward.  Looking down on the town, your squire scratches his jaw.

"Sir, I would have sworn they would head this way. Raid here. But I don't know..."

PT

"They are probably hiding in the village itself. Either they have support there or they have made support at the point of a firearm." I'm looking at the village. "The question is: how do we flush them out without alienating the people? Another question is this: if they are not here, what do these townpeople know? Surely one of them noticed an out of place unit."

"That's if they came this way at all. Do you want to send in one man, or go in a group?" the squire ask sympathectic to the problems of command.

PT

"Go in a group. We are soldiers, and it won't bother them to see a group of them doing what they should be doing anyways. Open formation, spread out like we are facing grenadiers. Question the townsfolk each on your own. We will meet back outside town in one hour and cross notes, so get as much information as you can. Don't be afraid to annoy the same person for the same information. If two of you get inconsistant results, we might be able to use that."

"Move out." I proceed to do exactly what I said I was going to do. I'm checking anything that looks like a long-timer's house. They will be the nominal leader of the community, and thus will prove useful in getting information. Since we are not seeking supplies (this time), they will probably be a little more amicable than normal.

Your men start spread out, but then begin bunching up for the feeling of security.

Your group enters town, and greets the locals.  They seem curious, but not nervous.

You go to the local Lady's house, and meet an old woman, full of wrinkles, who is gardening. She looks up.

"I once was a great lady, played Celtic music for tens of millions of fans, and drove men nuts with my red hair. But that was a very long time ago, and now I'm an old woman of seventy who likes to garden. I'm one of their great heroines, but that was then, now I find those old songs boring, and prefer a good beefsteak tomato. What can I do for you, sonny?"

"Hold on one moment, ma'am." I turn back to my squad. "I was clear about spreading out! This is not negotiatable! Keep line of sight with a least two others! If you can't see two, you are spread out too far! If you see more than two, you'd better be asking for backup!"

"My apologies, ma'am, but we are searching for a small squad of the enemy that passed through here. There alligence was unclear, but I'm presuming they were Country forces on a long range recon. Have you seen anything like that by here?"

Embarrassed, your squad spreads out, although not quite as far apart as you order.

"In the old days, men fought shoulder to shoulder. It comforted them to face Death with a brother nearby. Of course, in the very end, we face the door without human help."

The Lady replies quietly to your command.

"As to groups, no, I think not. This is not to say that some don't come here, but not in the last week." She pauses. "Fetch me my hourglass." She points to a foot tall hourglass hanging on the fence. "I use it to make sure I spend an hour gardening each day. Otherwise, i start to trim time off the end."

She points at the hourglass and explains that in shape it is much like the Celtic lands of the Appalachians. There is the southern end, the bottom, where you healed. Here is the northern end in Philadephia. And here in the middle is where you are, and where it is pinched close. Country on one side, and Rockers on the other.

"If these two were to make alliance, they could cut us in half, and that would be bad.  However, there are few rail lines in the area, and so moving in an army for anyone, us included, would be very difficult."

PT

"Hmm..." This lady could be a spy, but I'll speak freely nevertheless. "These hills make moving an army in close formation not merely impractical, but impossible. This kind of terrain favors militias, volunteer forces with high morale. I don't know if the Rockers could field a large force like that, but could Country? Absolutely."

"The problem of course, is that anyone who attacks anyone has to wipe them out with one or two pitched battles; otherwise someone else will move in on them, and they will be fighting a two or more front war."

I look directly at her. "So where did this talk of an alliance come from anyways? I didn't mention anything about that, or even suspecting one."

"Rockers? No. But, if the Country forces could screen them the Rockers could move in, and put in defensive redoubts that we'd never winkle out. Most of the old Corp of Engineers went over to the Rockers when America broke apart. They are very good at defensive combat..."

She reaches down, and plucks a caterpillar off a tomato plant.

She flicks it through the air so that it lands on a bird feeder.

"I hadn't considered the two-front war part. You might be right about that. Thing is, a few years back, we had envoys from the Country try to make a deal with us in this village to help an alliance. I don't think the Country folk know about excellence, about really good tomatoes. They are too comfortable being mediocre. Celtics give space for greatness. Now, it occurs to me someone on the Country side might try this again, but this time avoid us. I don't have any facts to back this up, just geography, and a feeling."

PT

"So, you have not had anyone pass through here, but you have a hunch." I think for a moment. "Well, you take care ma'am. If you see anything, inform us."

I move to the rest of the squad. I pick a few people at random, and do a door-to-door. I don't care if it annoys them or not, I'm doing my job. If I don't encounter anything unusual, I'm going to head out and cross notes, just like I promised.

A guy breaks from behind the hut you've just walked up to, and arms and legs flailing the air, he takes off lickety-split, dodging around buildings, and heading toward the northern edge of the village.

PT

"Men, to me!" I'm yelling and running. "Stop that man!"

I'm going to keep my pace so that I can see him, but I don't need to catch him. If we move at a pace, he will slow, and be caught like a deer.

You keep after him, never gaining, often almost losing him as you both dart around buildings and leap over fences.  He startles a large dog, and out paces it.  You leap the fence as well, and the dog is barking at him as he clears the opposite fence.  You run past the startled dog, and follow him over a fence, through a bramble bush, and then see Samuels leap from behind a hut near the edge of town, and take the runner down with a flying tackle.

The man is yelling out protestations of his innocence as you come up to him with Samuels and one other private sitting on top of him.

PT

"I will hear you out," as I approach him, I am talking between breaths. "And then I will judge your innocence for myself. For the moment, I would like to know what on earth possessed you to run from forces you are supposed to be relatively neutral towards, unless of course, you happen to be a spy of some kind."

I emphasize those last four words, because I want his expression to change. In war, that is the most terrifying accusation anyone could receive, because if guilt is presumed (as is often the case), it is hard to disprove.

"This doesn't look good for you, so you'd better start talking."

He flinches when you say 'spy', and a look that might be guilt passes over his face.

"Um, well, I thought you being soldiers, you might, ah, liberate...."

Pvt. Samuels snorts.

"We are in Celtic lands. Honorbound to do justice. Try again."

"Well, its just that I, ah, served as a, a post office drop. People would leave me letters, and I would pass them on to other people, y'know. Mothers wanting to check up on sons, that sort of thing."

PT

"I'm sure."  I smirk at that last statement. "First of all, that statement regarding 'liberate.' Curious choice of words, and a choice I'll ask you more about later. Second, you claim you are a letter carrier. Where would these letters of yours be at right now?"

Frankly, I'm prepared to consider every word this guy fires off as a lie, and if I were more in touch with my inner psychopath, I'd probably just kill him and search his house myself. However, the fact that he is such a poor liar is something I can work to my advantage, and fully intend to. Some people end up telling me more from what they don't tell me than from what they do tell me, if you take my meaning.

As it is, I'm content to question him while he has two of my fellow squadmates sitting on him.

"Ah, in my kitchen."

He tries to look honest and trustworthy. Its not successful.

"Y'know, some soldiers, they 'liberate' or just pick up anything that is not nailed down. Send an army through a county, and every chicken in the county is in someone' s pot by nightfall, and very few of them got paid for."

PT

"Uh-huh. Riiight." I'm definately not believing this guy, and it's starting to annoy me. "Okay, so you think that we are on the wrong side of the fence, because you are convinced that we will loot your homes under the banner of patriotism. So you've appointed yourself to allow another army to march through here, with the exact same ideals we have, and expect different results because you are naive and stupid."

"Look, I'm just going to flat out ask: how much are you getting paid to sell us out?" This question does not have an accusatory tone, I'm actually curious, and I have a sense of irony I might be able to employ. "Because if you are helping to do what I think you are, both Celties and Country are going to be on the losing end of that deal. Rock, though, will come out just fine, because they will have a fortified central point from which they can strike with impunity. So you might as well come clean with me, because watching Country get betrayed by Rock would actually be worth letting you go. I know things too."

He whimpers and begs a bit until one of your men tells him to 'shet it', and then he calms down enough to quote you a monthly figure that is about half of what one of your private's makes in a month.

He tells you where his mailbox is, and it is in his kitchen...underneath the floorboards. Its a small wooden box, and underneath the fake 'letters to Mom' which ring false to you with their drippy sentiments, is a hidden compartment with two wax-sealed letters in envelopes, and a small cache of gold coins.

"I've cooperated. You can let me go."

PT

"Not yet. I've got a better idea." I look up at him with a smile on my face. Those who have seen that smile know I've got something either very reckless or very insane in mind. "How would you like to keep your job as a spy, deliver these messages anyways, and get not one, but two, count them, two paychecks."

"Bear in mind, you will feed information to me as well as them. You tell me your contacts, and in the end, no matter who wins, you can claim you supported the victor."

I'm not sure how my squad is going to take this, but I'm hoping they won't mind too much.

"First question: do you have the seal to these letters, or are you just a messenger?"

"Both," he says with a grin. Then he takes out a pot, fills it with water, some wax paper, a few pins, a candle, and some other gear.

He first sketches the seal with a good hand on a piece of paper as the pot of water begins to boil on his kitchen stove.  Then he rests the wax paper over the pot, and the envelope on the paper.

With infinite care, he pries the wax seal off with the pins, and leaves it warming on the wax paper.

He hands you the envelope.

He then starts on the other envelope after resting from the half hour endeavour.

The envelope reads...

"Dear Markson, I trust the Christmas season finds you well at Graceland. I've often wanted to visit as I've heard that your Christmas parties are the best in the land, even better than the Celties. Do you think this might be possible in fall?

Your friend,
Light Colonel of Horse, Roger Barrister."

PT

"I can see employing you might pay off well." I smile as I read the letter. "It's a simple code, and thinly veiled once you understand the subject. From the looks of things, they intend to attack in the fall, and hope or expect to break us in three months time. So, that means they've signed truces with all of their other neighbors, and expect them to be honored."

"That in itself has interesting implications...but nevermind that detail." Personally, I'm finding this easier than I'd like to believe. Why would anyone want us to believe that an attack would occur here? And based on an alliance? The only motive for that is that it is a diversion of some kind based on intelligence.

But that's getting paranoid. I'll run this past my superiors later. For now, I'll just take his word for it, and assume the intelligence gathered is accurate.

"Troops! Good work! Radio HQ and let them know we will be on our way back within the hour. We may not have found quite what we were looking for, but this is good enough for one day, and our medic needs attention."

"As soon as you can get the other unsealed, I will gladly read it." Meanwhile, I'm looking for any variation between the old seal and the new one, while trying not to make it obvious that I am doing so. If I see variation, this guy is in trouble.

"They wouldn't attack us." the mailman spy says nervously.  He seals the first one back up, using the sketch he made to guide his hand. It looks almost identical.

"It will look better once it cools." He says with a bead of sweat on his upper lip.

The next one gets the same fastidious treatment.

It reads...

"O King,
Beethoven sings most sweetly, and the hicks are sincere. I believe between the two of our sides, we can break the Celties in two. The Classics are demanding much of the northern half for their cooperation. DM is ready for a provocation. Soon, the Celties will be ours, and America will be one step closer to reunification under the King of Rock and Roll.
Hail Graceland,
Amb. Wendellson, your most obedient servant."

PT

"So this is going on with the approval of the Classicals as well. Figures. Not two enemies but three, one just hides in the shadows." In games I've played, usually that one ends up winning.

As for the seal, close enough. If he betrays us, we can compensate through tactics and strategy. Because I've already begun forming a plan.

I hand the letter back. "I didn't hire you to engage in sabotage, only spying. Thanks for the report. You'll get your money when my superiors pay me; this is coming out of my pocket personally, and I'll find a way to get it to you, directly or otherwise. I don't betray my informants."

"Gentlemen, you all did good work today." I'm speaking to my soldiers now. "Let's go home."

To be honest, I think the Classicals want this alliance to be discovered, because it would make these two sides look like jerks, eliminate the element of surprise, and force them into a protracted fight against an entrenched and readied foe. Namely, us. Then when the truce time expires, the Classicals can just manipulate some other side into knocking us all out, or, better yet, enter as a "mediator" and make us all willing pawns. Many weak sides are easy to manipulate and the second idea can be done quickly, truce or not.

You receive congratulations over the radio, although it is necessarily vague just in case their are other listeners.  Ordinary tactical data is not treated so securely, but then it needs to be quickly acted upon to be useful. Data about spies can be useful for a long year to come.

They order you to come back to HQ to make a more detailed report than they let your men make on the air.

Assuming you don't have a problem with this, two days later, you're back in a decent sized settlement talking to the March Lord responsible for maintaining the border for a hundred miles up and a hundred down on this side of the Appalachians.

"DM could be Death Metal. Probably is. Means we've got a cell operating in one of our cities."

He's not that tall, although he gives the impression of being a foot taller than he is. His hair is iron-gray, and balded down the middle with the rest, including the mustache being bushy and thick.  His eyes are calm, judging, listening, and yet implacable. He speaks slowly and definitely with the voice of one who takes time to make up his mind, but once its set, is not likely to change.

"Excellent work, by the way. Do you have anything you'd like to add to the bare bones of your report?"

To be honest, I should have known what DM stood for, but for some reason it had eluded me at the time I read it. Guess it will make it easier for me to sound intelligent now that I know.

"If I might add an opinion, sir." I am speaking respectfully, and likely at military ease. "None of the factions arraying against us are allies with each other. Likely, they preceive us as the weakest and just seek to knock us out. Therefore, turning the enemy against each other will not be difficult, and, if such a strategy is timed right might even allow us to turn to the tide."

"Better still, we could seize the initiative, and strike Rock while they are dispatching engineers. If we captured or killed even a few of them, this plan would be set back quite a bit. Engineers are educated and are therefore difficult to replace. Rock won't act if they can't be protected."

"Another route would be to set up machine gun nests and give Country something to think about. Even a handful at the usual passes would slow Country down. If they anticipate a long and brutal campaign, they might back off. Three months is the enemy's projected campaign time."

He nods thoughtfully.

"We're hard to winkle out of these mountains, but the long supply chain between the North and the South has always been our weakness.  I've been asking for more forces for years, but things like the failed campaign to take Atlanta always took priority."

He stands, and gestures you over to a map table that shows his lands in good detail with tiny train cars representing the trains he has although not to exact number or scale.  Using a pointer, he marks a town, Lindford, for you.  Its west of the Appalachians in the plateau region.

"This should be their jumping off point, Captain Edwards. You've proven yourself personally brave, and reliable, especially in unusual and surprising situations. That kind of coolheadedness in surprise is not common. Many men can be brave, if they expect trouble, but will fold under a sudden attack from a supposed ally." He's clearly referencing the spy in Atlanta. "Also, I've been briefed on your...vehicle. I wonder if you could take a team, grab the engineers, and use the vehicle to extricate yourself.  After all, the enemy does not know what your vehicle can do.  It represents an unknown capacity at this point."

PT

"You want me to capture the engineers personally?" Figures. Law of Bureaucracy dictate that the idiot who comes up with a risky plan is usually the one who ends up in charge of it. And the worst part is, it's not unreasonable.

"I can do that. Give me the same squad I led the last time; they're very good soldiers. All I ask is a day or two to rest and get ready."

Personally, I'd like to speak with Carmine. Not just because it's been a while, and I'd like to talk to her, but also because I've got an idea. That napalm I balked at; why? That's unlike me, but I suppose the actual reality of seeing men get burned alive didn't really appeal to me. Besides, it's a dangerously high collateral weapon that can get out of control quickly (fires spread by wind), and using it on an urban/residental zone is, well, ruthless on a level even I would find questionable.

Using it on military installations in the middle of nowhere, on the other hand...

I also need a day or two to work on these Death Metalists. These guys are full of surprises. You'd think a group of nihilists would be easy to spot, but these guys are pretty good at maintaining low cover. Barely. The last one I encountered had me ready to literally abandon him to die. And then he shot me.

I'd like to avoid that next time.

"Two days. And remember, we don't know when they might arrive in Linford."  He nods approval. "I'm not sure this means much to you, sir, but succeed, and you will have a promotion."

After leaving him, you go and seek out Carmine. She looks tired as she directs a couple people in how to build an RPV aircraft drone.

But her smile lights up when she sees you.

"I hear things. You seem to have a knack for finding trouble."

PT

I'm smiling too. Again, she's the only source of stability I actually have. Crazy, but true.

"You're telling me. I keep stumbling into 'these guys are going to lose' situations. A mercenary would have considered changing his contract if he was running with these guys." I light up. "But, I've got some good ideas, and so do you. You know that flaming stuff you mentioned last time? I've had a change of heart. Make it, and show these guys how it's done. I've had enough of this stupid war as is, and I've only been on two patrols. Someone has to win, even if it isn't this side."

"I know the proper order is small talk first, but I've got this on my mind, and would like to get it out of the way. Besides, unless you are occupied, I've got as much time as I need. How's life behind the lines, and what do you make of these guys I've gotten us mixed up with?" I've got a lot I would love to talk about, but the March Lord made it pretty clear we can be ordered to deploy without warning.

"If the Celtics had managed to take Atlanta, they probably would have been able to pinch off the Country controlled East Coast, and take it, and then negotiate harshly with the Classicals in the northeast. It could have been the start of unification."  She blushes. "One of my fellow workers is an enthusiast for the Atlanta Plan as they call it. He wants to try again. The situation is fairly fluid. I don't think its hopeless."

She turns and whistles.

An Oriental girl looks up.

"I'm going out for the day."

The girl gives her a 'you go, girl' sign, and Carmine blushes again.

"I've got vacation time saved up." She says as she turns to you. "I like the Celtics which kind of surprises me as I wasn't remotely a Highlander in my home world.  I do agree with you that it would be better if someone would win, well, as long as it isn't the Death Metalists. But, be careful. Saying things like that to the wrong person could get you in trouble."

PT

"True. You have a good point there. Good soldiers don't have opinions. But if I weren't a good soldier, that's what my opinion would be." I am walking and talking, but I'm not really walking anywhere in particular. "I'm not worried about the Death Metalists winning. All they promise so far from where I stand has been death and anarchy. They can grip the Americas in chaos, but they could never truly control it. They'd just be a span in history at worst."

"On the other hand, these guys have a respectable talent for going undercover, and I can't help but wonder if there is a group within them, or without, that is somehow keeping them together. The Death Metalists would be easy to manipulate, and I'm guessing whoever's pulling the strings there has something to gain from using the cause of anarchy and violence as an end rather than a means. What's messing with me is what; that's what I can't figure out."

I actually have a guess, but it's not quite an answer. Not yet.

"By the way, I couldn't help but notice the reaction of your friend back there. I take it I'm gaining a reputation as an eligible bachelor." I'm smiling at her as I say this, a restained half-smile I usually wear when I'm making a light jab at the listener's expense. To be honest, I would never have said something like that before the explody incident. "That, or you've mentioned me in conversation to her, which is also cool. Thanks."

I probably wouldn't have said that either. Even now, there is a second guessing part of my personality asking me what on God's green earth I'm doing.

She leads you up out of the factory area, and to the upper battlements where cool winds whipcrack the banners, and ease the summer heat. Here on top of the fort, there are far fewer people.

"Thats an interesting way to look at it. My people were sort of obsessed with fears of a post-apocalyptic future after we had the Big One. I don't think we ever came up with anything as crazy as a future organized around Music."

She sits down, and dangles her legs over the edge with the ground about eight stories below.

She smiles.

"Well, Captain, you are a noble, not bad to look on, brave, intelligent, and thisi s a big plus, you have a mysterious past exemplified by your 'it can't fly, but it does airplane.' Women like mystery. I still don't know how I got on this merry go round through time and space with you. I'm sure if you tried, you could find a Celtic girl to spend time with instead of a dark-haired aerodynamics engineer from a world that might not have ever really existed." She smiles a bit painfully. "At first, I talked. Tried to make sense of things. Later when I realized no one in this world had a clue as to what was going on, I stopped. But I'm afraid by then, I'd built you up into some sort of superhero, and they kept wanting to hear.  I suspect its the war, too. We're from somewhere outside their grim circle. We're fresh air in a stale, dying land."

PT

I just smile. "Don't worry about it too much, and thanks. The hero worship thing isn't just here, civilian side. It's starting to creep into my life as a soldier too. That's one reason I asked for the same unit; they know I'm human and prone to mistakes. I trained with them, and part of training is messing up until you stop messing up. Correction: that is training."

I stop and think for a moment, than I sit down beside her. What the heck. I'm not looking at her, though. I'm staring at the horizon line.

"I don't know how this whole thing started. My journey began with my death, or at least I think I died. But I'm not dead or dreaming; my senses are operating too vividly, and while there is evidence of dream logic, it's also...not. I know all my questions have an answer, and that's what's bugging me, is that I don't just know. In my dreams, there are no mysteries. Even stupid things have explainations. Here, though..."

Now my gaze shifts to her. "To be honest, up until very recently, I thought you were some kind of illusion my mind conjured up, a fair lady for the idealized me to rescue or something." And now, I'm just babbling like a complete retard. "I'm doing things and acting in ways I would never have considered doing in life. It's as if I needed to die before I could truly live. Needed to believe none of this was real. So I'm acting much more boldly and decisively than I would have acted otherwise. Now?"

I stop again to think about where I am and where I am going. "Now I don't know what to believe. All I've got is my faith, and since I'm not in an afterlife, I don't know how much truth that carries. Maybe that's the real test."

And inside, my inner psychopath is laughing at me for being such a wimp and unburdening my troubles on her. Way to go, Casanova. Maybe you can get a pity hug out of her for that tirade.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:20, Sun 11 May 2008.

"I'm an odd fair lady, a princess. Italian-American, short dark-haired, and an aerodynamics engineer. I'm definitely not Rapunzel, or Cinderella, some Nordic fair-haired princess in a tower. And it seems I have some sort of strange ability while in a time field, like I have more probability energy than you, as if there are other possible me's, and they're all me." She shakes her head, and her dark wavy hair. "Doctor Carmine is not  what most men think of when they think of a princess. Although you did rescue me from a boring job on an Air Force base which could count as a tower, I suppose. And have presented me with more fascinating puzzles than I can handle. Sometimes I think I'm not real, but thats because of the time fluctuations. Its not because you've created me. I know you, Captain, and if you'd created a girl, it would not have been me. I'm too messed up, too many different contradictory things, too odd."

She scoots up next to you, and smiles for just a bit longer than normal.

"And thats why I know you're real too, because I like you, and yet at the same time you're nothing like the guy I would have created. One of my old teachers used to say he believed in Occam's Razor. The truth is simple, and yet it hurts just a bit. You're real, I'm real. It hurts a bit that you're not Todd Michaelson, the movie star, who I was holding out for before I got whisked through time and space, but it hurts only a little bit."

She pauses, and holds up her hands, and starts raising fingers as she counts.

"I agree with your faith. So we have two facts. Our shared reality, and an afterlife. Another fact. We're not dead. Another fact, I have more 'me' than you have 'you'. Another fact, I think I'm human, and you think you're human. Another fact, you think you died. Well, what if you didn't die, but aliens transported you to some other world where they had made humans with more probability energy than you have? Maybe we're both the product of some alien experiments, and the aliens decide to hybridize their two experiments, and see what happens when you put them together. And that would make this world another alien experiment which kind of explains the whole Music Wars thing."

To be honest, the Razor is along my train of thinking, but with an addendum: the simplest solution is usually the most probable.

Coma dream? Possible, and convienent. A great escape from the consequences of morality and reality. In addition, it seems to match her conclusion nicely. The flaw: too convienent, and this doesn't feel much like a dream. The continuity and the feel are just...wrong.

Reality? Okay, when I die, I reincarnate. Makes perfect sense, I'll figure out why later. The flaw: that contridicts with more than a few aspects of my faith, which is something I'm willing to set aside for now in the name of objective truth. In addition, this seems different from reincarnation, more sudden and crude, yet precise, almost scientific. I think even a Buddhist would have a hard time with this.

There isn't much that needs to be said, so I'll just shut up and enjoy her presence for now. I can't bring myself to shoot holes in her theory, because right now, it's what I call a patch theory, just something to hold you over until the real truth comes along.

Besides, it would be a karmic kick in the pants if she turned out to be right.

"Say, that reminds me." Don't ask what reminded me, my brain works in very bizarre ways. Probably the kick thought. "Would you like to learn basic self-defense? If you already know it, could you teach ME basic defense?"

You spend time laughing and talking with her, and the sun moves across the sky.

"Well, I know what's called 'Drunken Idiot Kung Fu', or more properly 'Personal Defense System-Basic. We call it Drunken Idiot, because thats really what its used for. A woman mmets a drunk who gets too friendly. This lets you dump him on the ground, or break his nose, and then run away."

She shows you one move which involves her stepping close, putting her leg behind yours, and then shoving.  Its basically a trip.

"They also taught us how to knifehand for the eyes.  Even if you miss, the targets going to dodge which gives you time to do something else which might work better."

She shows you some more moves, and within about an hour, you've picked up a few tricks.

"That's it."

OOC: 1@2 PDS-Basic. PDS is extremely basic, and simple, and designed for a small person to simply and quickly disable a larger person, and then make their getaway.

Well, hopefully, with the rehash of Anti-idiot Tech, I've taught her a thing or two as well, punch delivery and where to connect, and basically a darker view of combat than she was running, although I encourage her to keep her own views as well. Me getting into a fight is not the same as her getting into one, but I'd like her to hold her own in a fight where she ends up in my situation.

"Downside of being seen with a celebrity general is becoming a valid secondary target."  I look around to insure no one is listening, then I speak quietly to her. "Maybe there's a bit of controlled information which you didn't hear from me. Command believes there is a Death Metalist cell here. That's one reason I've asked about the subject, because I can't protect you very well if I'm five hundred miles away flying a special operation."

At this point, I change my tone a bit and speak back in my normal tone. "Of course, rumors of paranoia are commonplace, and I wouldn't attribute a lot to anyone else who tells you things like that. Still can't be too careful, though."

"I think I'm more paranoid that this lot. After all, I had a Top Security clearance in my birth world. We knew the Sword and Shield of the State, the Russian State, was out to infiltrate us. These people seem to believe their honor will protect them.  I'm only surprised that it seems to work as well as it does. And they can get things done faster than I could with all the paperwork I had to fill out back home."

She slaps her hand to her mouth, and then smiles.

"All this talk of paranoia made me remember something. Follow me."

She leads you down ten floors into an apartment zone, and makes you wait outside her room. When she comes back, its with a Bowie knife that she hands to you.

"Its a Survivor Knife. If you flip the secret something, the hilt opens to reveal fishing hooks, and wire, and a wire saw...Its in case you get lost, or get taken prisoner."

PT

"Sweet!" And for once, I'm not being a smart aleck. "You are, without question, the coolest girl ever! And a heck of a lot more considerate, and pragmatic, than I am. Remind me to do something decidedly more romantic than Hand-to-hand the next time we meet."

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got to go inform the rest of my unit we will be moving out tomorrow. If I have time, I'll come back tonight. Keep a spare couch ready for me, because I'll probably be to tired to head back to barracks."

And with that, I head off. It's abrupt, I'll admit, but I need time to sort my head out. I need to talk with Samuel, about our mission in two days, and tell him to prepare the unit. I stash the knife under my shirt and front of pants (I'm presuming it has a sheath). I've got to get ready.

You track down Samuel. He's in a pub throwing darts, and enjoying some beer with a few friends.

"Its Ironshanks!" He yells out with a big grin. "Care for a game a?" He turns to his friends. "This is the guy, my officer, so be polite, the guy I was talking about."  He's obviously had a few beers,a nd is quite cheerful.

OOC: And the knife has a nicely tooled sheathe.

PT

OOC: Awesome.

"Not today, we've got two days to prepare for the next mission. Find the others aand let them know we need to get ready for mobilization. Just us, this is not an offensive, but it is important and has the potential to be, like all missions, rather dangerous. Yay, fun." That last I add dryly.

I stop a moment. "Scratch part of that. I can stick around for darts and talk, than I have to prep the shuttle."

I accept his challange of a game. It's been a while since I played, but I learn to always aim slightly above the bullseye. The 60 point section for some reason seems easier for me to hit than the bullseye itself, and even if I go low, I hit the fifty point section of the bullseye. High, and I hit part of the twenty. Good enough for me.

You play well enough that one of the better players in the bar comes over to take you on,and thorougly demonstrates his superiority.

As he leaves to go back to his bar stool, he turns back to you, and tosses off a line.

"You're holding your feet wrong, just start them like this." He shows you his stance. You find it helps, and you're hitting more sixties now than twenties, and even a bullseye now and then.

After food and jokes, and long, improbable stories about dauntless heroics....

"There I was. All me mates were slipping in the mud of the ditch, and I was standing up on the road, and up came twenty Rocker troopers...well I drew my sword and charged..."

...the night is well spent, and you walk out into the night with the sweet strains of a pretty girl singing a Celtic ballad to find a knife caressing your ribs but ten feet from the door. The man had been hiding in the shade of a trash can.

"I hear you're the man to see about a plane that isn't supposed to fly." The cold voice is filled with controlled hatred. "You can call me Madness, my partner Mayhem has a crossbow on your back from across the street."

PT

The knife is rather making it difficult for me to come up with a smart aleck reply to that, of which there are so many.

So I go a little crazy instead.

With an animal-like roar/scream I've actually trained myself to use, I aim to bash his jawline in with my elbow. If that works, I'm going to hinder his ability to reproduce via knee-to-groin technique.

You feel a burning pain in your ribs, and then slam him hard in the jaw. Something goes snap, crackle, pop, and then you knee him hard.  Gagging he slumps to the ground with his eyes rolled up in his head.

He doesn't move.

You turn around to see a crossbow quarrel, but a foot from your chest. Its hanging in air.

A man with red hair and blue eyes that you recognize is standing there with a woman in an old-fashioned dress.

"Perhaps we can return you two feet to the left. I'm recruiting versers, like yourself, for a small problem I have. I'm Christophe and this is Annie. I'll bring you back, to not quite this space/time coordinate. Maybe a second later so you can miss your chance to verse into another world."

He doesn't seem to recognize you at all.

Everything but him, the lady, and you seems frozen.

PT

OOC: This is your chance to join Krillis' temporary gather, and yes, Carmine and the timecraft will go with you. However, the timecraft probably won't time travel...call it the tech level is too low to allow time travel if you like.  But it will still fly even though it seems like it shouldn't.

PT

"So, in exchange for my life, I go with you. Gee, I don't know, I REALLY have to think hard about this one." I'm still in crazy mode, so I'm a little more caustic than I would normally be. "Yes, I'll go with you. Maybe you or someone else will actually start giving me answers."

At this point, I step a little to the side of the bolt's flight, just in case he changes his mind.

You're back in the street with Christophe and Annie. Christophe throws his light saber in the Jedi boomerang trick, and slices one of your enemies in half, and Annie rolls her eyes at his showing off, and shoots the other one dead between the eyes with a small pistol.

"How are things going back there." You feel the wind move against your face, and Carmine comes running up to hug you.

Christophe shrugs.

"My spell, the whole matrix just totally crashed. Some other verser fell through it, so some folks might be a tad mad at me in a few minutes. On the plus side, it means I have a couple minutes here before I head out to find something that needs killing."

He reaches out, and tags you with one finger between the eyes. Its so unexpected you don't dodge. Your rage just shuts off as cool rationality washes through your brain.

"Its possible to learn how to access the body's special gifts. The Jedi teach a calm method. You seem to be learning a method more favored by the barsarks of the Viking north. A lot of things are possible to one who knows how to master their body. I've seen a man flip a car, and a woman kill a dozen men armed with a broken hairbrush.  I've seen a guy with five fatal wounds in his body get up, and still stab his enemy before dying himself. But the Path of Rage has its dangers both physical and mental, so be careful."

"What Christophe has forgotten to say is 'thank you.'" Annie says reprovingly.

Christophe blushes. "Indeed, thank you for you help. I owe you both."

PT

"You're welcome." I rub my face a moment, remembering the slot machine. Even enraged I wouldn't be able to shrug that off. That's a big object flying at high speeds, and might have been able to kill me.

I hold Carmine close as I talk. "I know fury is nothing more than false power, but it's what I have for now. Had I gone against Wrath, I'm aware I would have had to improvise a bit. I just need to calm down and take a breather. A real breather."

I just live for now. I also need to remember what business I had here aside from finding the rest of the Death Metal terror cell.

"False power?" Christophe says quizzically. "Power is power in my view, but perhaps you're more subtle than I. In any case, until we meet again." He nods with a smile, and Annie curtseys and they both dissapear.

"What odd people." Carmine says. "But charming all the same."

You walk her back to her apartment, and drop her off.

The next morning, you are summoned to the commanding officer's desk.

"Sir, we found two dead men outside the pub you had just left. One was cut in half by....well it cauterized him. The other was shot in the head with a .17 calibre bullet made of depleted uranium. When we checked out their bodies we found Death Metal symbols tattoed on their backs. Right now, we're running down known associates. You wouldn't have anything you wanted to tell me about the simply impossible things that seem to trail along behind you like you're a comet of impossibility, now would ya'?"

PT

"Sir, if I had a clue, I would tell you. As it is, I'll just be as honest as I can: I tossed impossiblity out the window long ago. If I told you a fraction of what I've seen and experienced, you would discharge me on psychological leave. This sort of thing seems to haunt me like a bad punchline." I maintain attention, not forgetting I'm still in the military.

"My first CO told me that one thing an officer needed to learn of his men was WHEN not to ask questions. I see this is one of those times. I will say my plan worked marvelously."

He pauses and studies you.

"Carry on with your duties."

PT

"Yes, sir." I salute him and smartly leave.

Now, to play catch up. All the excitment over the past few hours made me forget what I was doing. Oh, yes, I remember now. This was supposed to be my R&R before being sent out to capture a group of engineers. So much for that, but I had tossed that out the window right about the time those Death Metalist jerks decided to wreck my holiday.

The ship. This thought crosses my mind. I move to where I last remember it being. And this time, I notice the boton under my coat.

I pause a moment at this, and then slip it back under. Nothing surprises me anymore. Still, the Jedi (I still can't believe the absurdity of this thought train) had a point. Power or no, I need to learn to fight with a cool head. I can start with one, but pain erases my discipline. I must learn to work around that.

I continue towards the ship.

OOC: "boton under my coat" ????

IC: The ship is just down the street. It seems Christophe and Annie manipulated space. You get the feeling Christophe was able to do that because his spell had gone to pieces and so he was willing to freelance with the results.

It seems fully functional.

"You know, I saw myself there. Like most little girls, I've had a dream or two of being a singer, a star, but you know, she didn't seem very happy." Carmine says as she walks up behind you. "However, I have to say ....great outfit. I bet you noticed that."

PT

OOC: I was armed with two of the blasted things. Knowing me, I'd put them away without even being aware of it.

I grin at Carmine. "Yeah, actually, I did. It was kinda hard not to. To be honest, I was half certain she really was you. I'm kinda glad I went with my second plan instead of my usual first reaction of 'enough bullets or cash solves all problems.'"

"Seriously, I thought she was you. It was actually kinda shocking."

"Doppleganger or alternate me. I was afraid to talk to her and trigger some magical curse since dopples are supposed to kill their originals, I think. On the other hand, I suspect nothing would have happened. She was an alternate me from that casino town."

She smiles.

"But she was popular. I had a number of people come by and want to take photos with me and the timeship as you were fighting inside. I even had one proposal of marriage. I let the poor fellow down as gently as I could with a kiss on the cheek which seemed to make him happy."

She turns away.

"One thing I noticed with Christophe and Annie was how Annie was a full partner to her husband. I want to be  your partner, and not just the girl you stash outside when things get hairy. I have a degree in astrophysics, my doctorate, a Top Security clearance. I can climb mountains, and play tennis, and I'm really very good at bridge. I'm also an excellent cook. And I'm learning a bit about fighting techniques from you, and how to be a Deputy Director of Military Research from the Celties.  Also, I seem to have some sort of extra reality energy or something that you and most of the people I've met since I met you don't have. So...I wonder if I should apply to boot camp or something."

PT

I'm a bit surprised. I'm not sure what I think of the idea of her and boot camp. "Uh, well, I don't know about that, but I have a better idea. Since you want to come along, we could pull some strings and get you sent along as one of two people who actually know how the machine here" I gesture towards the time machine. "works. Tactical Civilian Support or Rear Echelon. Something of a misquote, though, because you would be in the frontlines with me and the guys. Not sure what they'll think about it, but since I outrank them all, they'll get over it."

She grins, and accepts your offer graciously, and its only an hour later as you walk home to your apartment to wonder if she 'managed' you and you offered what she had wanted all along.

The next day, you make your pitch to your team, and they seem to find it unexceptional. In fact, one of them laughs and points out that you'll have to be nice to them because she can't outwalk the whole team like you can.  The others seem to take the attitude that Tech Support would be useful, and it seems she has a bit of fame of her own as a Deputy Director of Military Research.

"Say, boss, you think you can get her to cut loose some new techy device we can test? Something that goes Ba-boom, real loud like?" One of them asks you. "I don't want to be gimmick testing cause thats too easy to get killed, but if she's got something solid, well, my pa always said....can't have too much dynamite."

PT

I know Carmine got what she wanted. In fact, the only part about it was trying to figure out how to mask it under a cloak of offical bureaucracy. I'd rather not have her near the front at all, but she's got a valid point. Besides, if she's going to be traveling with me, she might as well learn the crazy stuff I go through.

"I don't know if Deputy Carmine has anything ready to go yet. Hear rumors, and I say they are just that. Besides, this is a capturing run. We only need ordinance for initial distractions. Flashbangs are what will be very handy for us, and I'm hoping for a low body count."

"I'll see what I can arrange. Get everyone ready." I head out to retreive Carmine and ask her what is usable for a Bagging Run.

Carmine has nothing that she trusts enough to take on the run, and that is not a 'ba-boom'.

She hosts a meal at her apartment for your team on the night before everyone has to go.  And as you eat the Cajun crawfish from the local streams, and the mint tea from the woods, and the masses of pasta made by her hand....she comes out and apologizes for the disjointed meal.

"Getting major amounts of supplies means catch as catch can so no corn cobs like I'd usually make for a Cajun boil, sorry. But at least we have plenty of food, so dig in."

The scents are fragrant, and Mint-Cajun crawfish is a strange taste, but it goes together surprisingly well.  Your men are having no problem emptying their plates and filling them again...and again.

Carmine is now a friend to every man in your patrol and you catch a number of 'the boss is lucky' looks.

PT

So I've noticed, and so I agree. At least she's getting along well with the others, and vice versa. And, on an admittedly more self-serving level, that I'm not facing competition, although that will come later if I'm not careful.

Now for my own train of thought. Samuel is likely to be the man I talk to for communication. Carmine, hmm....she should get the shotgun. Hard to miss, and a great defensive weapon. And if she needs to fire it inside the craft, it won't do as much damage to the interior as, say, a rifle.

I'm always uncertain lately it seems. My endless focus on the missions in front of me seem to be almost my own brain trying to shunt out the reality of what I've been doing. Dream or no, the actions I've taking and the reasoning behind them should be food for thought for me. The officer I shot: that moron honestly had it coming, and any guilt I have for him is somewhat irrational. Certainly, there are shades of grey to my actions, but that one was an acceptable kill.

The KGB agents are another matter. The first two men I killed, and the ones that are actually reprehensible. I struck from ambush, and I could have left and let the authorities hit them both for murder one. Certainly, I didn't have to kill them.

The reminder to myself that premediated murder is definately a big no-no (in point of fact, one of only three laws I submit to) is not helping any. And I overthink, so I'm just going to have to figure this one out. Maybe I should ask God. That always seems to work.

I shake myself out of my musings. Bah, I'll answer for that in due time, if I haven't already. Tonight, I enjoy the meal, and relax. This will be the last time for a while. I have a weird feeling something is going to complicate this mission, and it's not going to be Carmine's request. Something else is going to shake me up. I see it.

You take your team and Carmine up in the time craft. It handles a bit differently than usual with the heavy load, but this is easy flying compared to dodging ground fire in the evacuation of Atlanta.

You soar over mountain ranges and swoop through valleys until you get near to the hinterlands of Linford.  The ground is hilly with lots of pasture land breaking up the forrests (although you can see plentiful evidences of forest taking over abandoned farms.)

You're in the land controlled by the King of Rock and Roll now, and so you avoid populated areas.

What now? Its about ten in the morning.

The target is supposed to be in Linford at their community college.

PT

I check the supplies. I am hoping for the love of Pete someone remembered to bring colored smoke bombs. The idea of lighting something on fire to mark the extraction point is not appealing to me. I was expecting a military installation, and I'm wondering if the directions I got are right. I'm wondering right now if greed was the primary motivator for the spy, and if he double-crossed me on the grounds that he thinks I won't pay.

Well, no point wondering now.

"Okay, we need to infilterate, get our targets, and get out. If we now where they will be and when the engineers will be there, we are gold. Be aware, at least one of our targets will have some other business or a distraction come up that breaks routine. This is acceptable. As long as we get most of them, that will paralyze operations here." I turn to Samuel. "Choose two men for sentry duty. They will remain behind with our support and keep the craft safe and be ready to assist with the extraction. Have your medkits ready."

"Ms. Carmine." I smile at her. "You have the most inportant job, and it will only start boring. You are in charge of extracting us from the hot zone. I can't direct the capture and fly this at the same time. Make sure you have a good song ready for us when you pick us up, and if you feel the need to fire the munitions, please make sure you hit industrial or military targets only."

"So, any questions?" I insure we have flashbacks and some kind of signal flare. "If not, we do one recon operation, a few thefts as needs demand, and then we move on our targets."

There are colored smoke bombs, four of them. It turns out that one member of your team thought that another was bringing the other bag of them, and he thought vice versa.

You and your chosen few stroll into town, trying to act inconspicuous.  You seem to manage just fine although you note how the Queen song 'We are the Champions' that blares from a bar you pass seems to grate on your team, and be liked by the others in the street. Its got a peculiar power to it that you've only felt a few times for a few songs.

You make it to the community college, and find that its been taken over by the military.  There is a gate with a bar, and a guard, and an eight foot tall fence. From the outside, you can see five buildings in the community college on what looks to be a five acre plot of land.

The back gate is simply closed with a chain link gate, but not guarded. However, on the back side and the other two sides, the fence is eight foot with razor wire atop it.

I kick myself in the pants for not thinking to bring Carmine along for a spying operation. No matter. If we have modern bayonets, we can get past the gates with ease. Modern ones have an edge and destroy razor wire well. If not, well, I don't plan to worry about it.

The real information I am looking for, and I impart it quietly to the others, is the habits and living quarters of our quarry. I intend to hit their bunks at three forty in the morning. If they maintain an hourly guard changing schedule, this will catch them at an hour in which reinforcements will take five minutes to get battle ready. This includes squad portable weapons. Ten, and they will man the big guns and be ready to destroy an army.

Of course, I'm not including the guard already prepared, which, if they are properly trained, only need to be willing to delay us long enough for their friends to hit us.

Get the info, if necessary, buy or steal suppies, and get those engineers.

Hmm...I just got an idea...

Your team has spatha swords with a double-sharpened edge and a point.

You spot the barracks, and the single crew-served machine gun on top of the Memorial Auditorium.  It has an ability to be spun about to cover practically the whole campus with a couple blind spots.

Looking at those blind spots, you see that they are oddly placed flower beds.

They have an hourly changing of the guard schedule.

You buy some supplies, and the clerk laughs.

"I almost sold all of them to those engineers over at the college base. Those boys are going to mess the Celties up good, I bet."

PT

"Really?" I warm up to the clerk as I check the bagging on the things I am buying: rope (lots of rope), chain (10 ft of the two-inch links), crowbars, a sledgehammer, and a small butane torch capable of melting metal. I don't want to buy them all at one place, though, if I can help it.

"How are they going to do that? Fortifications take time to build. Surely they thought of something like that, and if the Celties swing at that point, surely the engineers will be in danger."

I've already heard this. I read the letter. I probably know more than this guy. But I want to hear what the man on the street knows. I want to know what they know.

"Well, I don't know all the details, but I helped when I was in the Army. I served as a skirmisher keeping the Rappers off the engineers, and in my spare time toting bags for the engineers. We helped build Fort Raging Waters, and its still standing, never been taken."

He leans forward.

"Thats why Rock is going to win this war, my friend. We can build forts, and put minimal guys in them to defend them, and the rest of us go back home to keep things running. Its efficient. Everyone else has to spend a lot more workers to get soldiers."

PT

"That sounds so cool." I'm trying to sound starstruck. The truth is, while I know for a fact that defensive positions increase a soldier's combative power threefold, defense has never destroyed any foe's ability to fight, and thus it does not bother me. What does bother me is that the base will be used to aid a very aggressive and mobile foe, one that is willing to engage in some daring maneuvers and possessed good snipers and strong militia. In the mountainous regions, they would be hard to eliminate under normal conditions, but with a strong fortress to work from...

"Say, do you know how I could get a tour of the college? I would love to see the engineers learning how to do their stuff, and a field exhibition would be awesome if I was lucky enough to see one."

Truth is, I just want to see who I'm abducting, and I want to know exactly where the living quarters of each one are organized. Last thing I need to do is blindly search each barrack one by one.

And I need to let Carmine know how many guests to expect. I don't want to engage in an impromptu execution of prisoners because we don't have the carrying capacity for the crowd I'm trying to gather.

"I don't know man, maybe." He looks a bit pensive. "I should know a couple of them, probably. They might remember me. I mean I was just one more bag toter to them, but they were good guys. They didn't just ignore you the way some high-falutin types do."

You speak to him a bit more, and convince him.

He takes you over to the college, and begins to talk to the guard. The guard is a bit exasperated.

"Look, sir, I'm glad you served the King of Rock and Roll in the Ice War...."

"And the retaking of Destrey Hydropower from those idiot Death Metalists!" Your new friend adds in.

PT

"Oh, come on." I speak to the guard. "We aren't asking to just barge in. Your solution is straightforward. Whenever you can, call your immediate superior, and let him know you have civilian guests seeking a tour. It's good PR. Exhibition and all that. Besides, I'd like to have a look at the brave souls that are going to stop the Celties dead in their tracks."

I also want to see the daytime superior officer. This too, can be useful. Know who advances in this army. Impressions of my enemy.

The guard grunts, and then nods. He picks up a phone, and calls his superior.

The officer, tall, thin, with a neat mustache and well-combed hair, comes marching up.  He reviews the claims and suggestions without a word, and then nods to the guard.

"I'll send Saunders up to escort them."

He nods to you two impersonally, and walks away.  Five minutes later, a guard with a hamburger in his hand comes strolling up.

"I'm Saunders, or Frankie." He holds out a greasy hand for you two to shake, and then walks with the both of you into the area just inside the gate as he continues to munch on his burger.

"So, what do you want to see?" He asks casually almost flippantly.

PT

"Well, as I was telling your friend there, we were wanting to see the engineers. Not up close mind you, as I imagine they have a lot of things on their agenda, but close enough I can see them doing whatever it is they do. I must confess, I have a thing for construction."

"Sure, no problem."

He takes you over to a two story building, W.R. Foster Gymnasium, and leads you inside through the plated steel add-ons to the door, and up a slender staircase hallway in the space between the two sets of double-doors. This stairway leads up to the controllers booth for the announcer for the basketball games.

The door at the top is reinforced too. It looks like wood, but its very heavy.

He points out the window to the court.

On it you can see a number of large tables, and six men with some helpers, are directing the construction of models on the tables.

"See, the engineers, they make some measurements. Survey teams. Then they make a model so everyone knows whats what, and they do for sure, and then they take that model with them, and build it wherever its supposed to go. Let me tell you, I've been in a fight in an open field and one where I was in what them engineers call a mini-fort. Whew, daddy, I'll tell the King of Rock and Roll myself which one I prefer. We held off a charge of them mad Celties, they was screaming and hollering and that bagpipe was wailing and I was fearful as anything, but then I heard the blessed strains of 'Hoop there it is.' and suddenly I could fight, and I had a nice place to rest my rifle, and pop...pop. Thats all she wrote. I got a medal out of it, but really them engineers and the company DJ deserved it."

PT

"Hmm...I see. That's quite a story my friend." I look at the nearest timepiece. "Oh, blast. I've overstayed, and my wife is going to kill me if I don't head home shortly. I appreciate the stay, and if my newfound friend wishes to remain for the tour, I don't want to stop him. However, I will need to be escorted out. I'm ready when you are."

I've got a plan, but I'll need to meet up with the others and guide them out of town. I'll also need to see what we thought to bring, because I'm going to need a tape or CD of one of our songs. I now know what the engineers look like, where they bunk (or at least I can narrow it down quickly) and I am forming a rough plan for how to do this. I'll need anymore information the rest of my squad gathered, and I'll need Sam to code our extraction with the plan.

This, presuming it is not some kind of trap, should work wonderfully.

You're able to extricate yourself at the cost of listening to another story on the way to the front gate.  You part company with the clerk who waves goodbye, and then you head out of town.

Once you get there, you find Carmine has opened up the engine of the timecraft and is studying it.

You spend an anxious hour waiting for one of your troop to show up. He finally does.

"I had to hide, sir. I saw someone who I had guarded in a prison camp two years ago. I thought he might remember me, and since he was sitting for lunch, I had to sit in the toilet until lunch was over."

PT

"Good thinking. Better to maintain cover than to get information and lose surprise. So, what can you tell me about this man? Past and present. Is this man going to be a problem, and how is he walking free?"

My plan explaination will wait until I have more information.

"He gave a one-year parole, sir, and we released him. Back then, there was some hope of things being smoothed over, of some sort of grand alliance being formed, but that hope went out the window like others before it." He shrugs. "I don't think he saw me. I think he would have given a sign if he had. I mean, he's just a soldier, not a trained spy or anything."

PT

"Hmm...well, we will cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, let's focus on the present. Two men guarding the rampway for the airship, you are our rearguard. Set your weapons for semi-automatic and make sure you know what you are shooting at. You won't be caught up in the swirl of battle like us, and you will have time to control your shots. Your job will be to stop the enemy from killing us. Suppressive fire in short."

"Another group of three will form Team A. Team A will wait until either the signal, or they will kick off the attack at 0345, whichever comes first. You should bring Molotovs or the man-portable equivilant thereof, take out the guards as quietly as you can, take as many explosives out of the dump as you can carry and light the rest on fire. This will eliminate or hinder their ability to lay heavy weapons fire down on us. With the explosives or without, your next target will be administration. At that time, they will have minimal staffing, and collateral will be minimized."

"Another group of three will form Team B. Samuel, you will command this one. Team B will take advantage of the confusion caused by Team A to nab the engineers. This will be difficult, as they will not be very cooperative. Do whatever you must, as hard as you have to. Just bring as many back alive as is reasonable."

"And finally, I have one question: do we have a CD or tape with a traditional song on it? I have a good idea to extend on my own mission. I'll enter their gym myself, and either play one of our songs, or just destroy it."

"Any questions?"

A Prudent Thief, Jedi Song, and Skye Boat Song are the first three songs on the track list for something rather like an MP3 player. Its rather treasured by the owner as its one of the last such in the world.

"But if if helps keep me alive, well my life is worth more than a bit of electronica from the old days."

There is a few questions due to nervousness, or a need to make sure they have it down pat, but your team knows you, and you know them.

"We'll get it done, Ironshanks." One says as he pats you on the arm.

And then your lady smiles at you, and turns to your men.

"Up the Celts!"

They cheer back, but quietly, and grin fiercely like a bunch of pirates.

PT
OOC: And when I went searching for Celtic music, one of them listed was the Jedi Song, so I figured if it was good enough for that band, then it'd be good enough for Music Wars' Celitcs.

"All right. I'll try and bring it back." I refer, of course, to the MP3. I simply smile as I move into position. I wanted the vessal to land south of town, and I have encouraged the men to memorize large landmarks to the south, since at night sense of direction will be gone. I also encouraged them to get into uniform and stay hidden outside of town until 0340 (five minutes to get to the attack zone).

Why would I do something that stupid? Because we are soldiers, not spies, sabateurs or terrorists, that's why. A uniform separates us and gives us honor.

Yes, this actually matters to me. Even though I'm using a battle plan that would make Xanatos of Gargoyles fame proud, I still hold to my misguided idealogy, even when lives are on the line.

I gave the men an order to surrender if they believe they are overwhelmed, and I told Team B to signal Team A, and to have both cover the other, with Team B receiving proirity, as they have the objective. Why surrender? Because I'd rather rescue prisoners later than explain to their families why I ordered them to die.

I muse on all this, and wait for 0320. Hurry up and wait...

0320 comes, and you slip away into town. You spot three separate patrols on your way in, but the dark, and your woods skill and your being only one infiltrator aid you.  Its not hard to evade them.

You come up outside the college, and see a couple more roving patrols working through the streets below you.

PT

OOC: And I quite understand the logic of uniforms.  It is a commonly accepted practise in this world.

PT

The patrols will be a bit of a problem, but I might be able to get by them. The only thing that will give me trouble is the guard. I move into a position where I can see him, and I wait. He should go on a patrol at some point, and the backup guard will stand by to watch his post, if this is done right.

The hard part is going to be getting close enough to the aforementioned guard to hit him with a blade. I need to kill him before an alarm is raised.

You see the new guard pulling out a cigarette, and lighting it. This destroys his night vision.  So, you slip forward, and just reach the lee side of a garbage can before a patrol walks by.

The four of them stop to chat with the guard for a bit.

"Yeah, Hooten thought he remembered seeing someone. Idiot. You either see someone and act, or don't and save us a night of sleep."

"Yeah, I'm going to pound him tommorrow." One of the patrol adds.

The guard laughs.

"See ya'."

They chat some more as the patrol is really bored, and you realize time is slipping by.  Finally, they leave, and the guard smokes on obliviously his cardboard tube of really rank tobacco. The Apocalypse has not been kind to cigarette smokers.

You stand up, and stab him through the chain link fence and into the neck. He gurgles, the cig drops from lifeless fingers, and he slides dead down the chainlink fence.

It took a lot longer than you wanted it too. Very soon, Team A is going to be lighting things up. In fact, they may already be in motion.

PT

Well, no time like the present. I quickly search the guard through the fence for anything that feels like a key or keys. If I find something, good. I take it and move. If not, I leave the body and head inside. I don't know if they will have anything as sophisticated as a camera system, but I'm not taking chances. They have electrical power, even if it is limited.

At least I was smart enough to go early. And I'll know when my crew hits the ammo dump. If they light it on fire, everyone in town will know.

To the gym...

Thirty seconds pound by, and you find the keys. He's sitting on them. Somehow in the fall, they got dragged around on his belt.  You flip him over, and grab the keys. A couple yanks convinces you that the leather strap holding the keychain, nor the leather belt are going to give.  So, its reach in their with your other hand with the knife and saw through the leather strap.

Time is fleeing and you're in hot pursuit.

You open the gate with a key, the forth key you try, and sprint in what feels like molasses across the parking lot to the gym. You're working your way through the ten keys for the door when ....

Whoommmm!!

The ground trembles under your feet.

Alarms start blaring.

PT

Well, good work guys. Now I need to get in. I continue for the gym, and prepare to take down anyone between me and the gym. My own team should be passing through here shortly, and I don't want to get shot by my own. However, if an engineer comes between me and the gym (a possiblity), I have to be honest: I can't be discerning when split-seconds matter. I'd probably kill him.

In any case, I just need to get there and take out everyone in that soundbooth, because I'm not the only one on the way there right now.

You whip through the keys until you find the right one, almost breaking the next to the last one off in the lock, and then carom up the stairs. The door at the top is heavy and shut.  Behind it, you can hear faint murmurs of panicked people.

PT

Wonderful. At least I haven't been specifically identified yet, so it could be a lot worse.

I don't know if they took the time to lock the door, so I test the door slowly. If it turns, I'm going in quickly. If not, I go through the cycle of keys. I'm going to hit one I haven't used, and hopefully, one for this door.

Its locked.

You search through the keys starting with the ones you haven't used. Its not one of them. You search through the others. Its not them either.

Maybe you missed it. Its possible. Maybe the gate guard doesn't have this key.

You hear machine gun fire start up above you on the roof. And shouts inside of 'Brace the door', and shouts outside, and then a shot below you.

PT

Forget this: I don't have time for subtlety. I pull my pistol (aka Ed's Special Lockpick) and shoot the hinges if they are visible from my side. If not, I shoot through the door, aiming for anyone trying to hold me off and break it in. I'm aware I might get shot as soon as I get through. Oh, well. Plans go bad often.

You blow the hinges off, and the heavy concrete filled door slams to the floor inside. It dents the floor.

There are two guys inside on the far side of the room behind some chairs. They both have pistols. One is yelling into a mike about a strike team breaking in, and he doesn't get a shot off yet.

The other is lightning quick, and he shoots.

You don't feel a hit.

You fire back. You hit him in the off-arm.

They're not surrendering. In fact, both of them are pushing their chairs forward, crouching behind them, and putting their gun hands up on the chair back in an obviously pre-planned rush-crazy-firing battle plan.

PT

Why on the green earth they think the chairs are cover, I don't know. I don't have a lot of time to think, so I fire a few rounds though both chairs. I'll probably empty my clip doing it, but I'm not feeling conservative right now. I have to complete this objective, and quickly.

Guess I'll have to keep my promise to my comrade later. If I live, because I'm apparently not smart enough to seek cover myself.

You feel like you're moving through sludge, but thankfully one of the men slips as he tries to propel himself forward.  You rake the chairs with fire...

One man goes down hard, and the other is wounded, but the first man with his dying gasp slams his chair into you, and suddenly you're heading head over heels down the stairs.

You tumble wildly, and fail to make the tumbling ball you wanted, and hit hard. For an uncertain amount of time you simply stare at your shoe draped on the wall where might have been a railing, and above your head. And then an awareness of time and of possible action comes back to you.

You hear firing outside, but its too hard to say if its your side or the others.

A chair is draped over your right arm, and you realize the stairs are gently swaying back and forth in time with your heartbeat.

PT

I fling the chair off me wildly, or at least I try to. I unhook my shoe from the railing, and it probably doesn't hit the stairs to gently. I readjust my body so that it is more aligned with gravity as I understand it, and make sure my pistol is in my hand. I don't have much time left, and the others are counting on success from me.

I shake my head, and through the blur, attempt to continue on, or stagger on, more likely. I have to find that panel, and insert the iPod. As soon as I turn that thing on, I'm likely to have a lot of attention my way, so I have to clear my head.

One thing at a time. Are my foes still alive? I reload my pistol anyways, because I'm convinced I'm out. I can't count bullets in the middle of a firefight.

The chair surges off you, and then comes back down on you. You threw it up the stairs, and it came back. Blearily, with your head aching, you toss it sideways, and get to your feet.

The room spins around your head.

You reload, and mount the steps one at a time.

Only your superlative endurance keeps you going.  You have to keep your head down and eyes almost closed to keep from falling over.

At the top of the stairs, you see a man laying on the floor. He jerks his hand around with a gun in it...

You fire and hit the wall right above his head.

He shoots and you feel a burn in your chest area.

A clean miss as you almost fall back. And him too.

You hit. He doesn't. Desperation crosses his face as he realizes there is no going back. You miss, he hits you in the leg.  You fall to one knee.

You shoot him in the chest, and he collapses.

Dragging yourself forward, you slam in the Ipod as blood seeps from your body.  The strains of Celitic music invigorate you a bit, and keep you from falling unconscious.

1@2 Bonus Morale/Bonus Strike Celtic Battle Music (Magic).

PT

I tear off a scrap of clothing, using the sword to shape it if needs be, and stuff the cloth scraps in the wounds, both sides of it, if it blew through me. I use at as wrapping to secure the improvised cloth plugs in place. It hurts, and I bite a bullet while doing this. I want to laugh at the joke, the accidental pun I just had. But I don't have time. In fact, I likely have a large force of very angry (if somewhat demoralized) soldiers coming my way.

The fact that the pain of my little procedure is bringing tears to my face isn't helping my sense of humor much either.

I start staggering down the stairs, using the wall to brace me. I put the sword away as an afterthought, and redraw the pistol. I might have half a clip. It will have to do. I'd use the rifle, but I don't think I have the strength to shoot it, given what I've been through.

This was a time buying strategy. One of two diversions meant to buy us time. If I get pinned, I'll have to surrender, because I'm in no condition to continue fighting. Besides, the time spent securing me will aid the others. I don't like it, but then again, I don't like testing this seeming immortality even less. A funny thing about that: how do you really test immortality, and what happens if you are wrong? Just once is all it takes.

You stagger down the stairs, and step over a dead guard. One of your guys, wide-eyed jumps around the door from inside the gym, and almost shoots you.  He hollers at you over the music in rage, and then he notices your wounds.

His manner changes, and he drags you over to a chair in the gym.

"The blow up team got the depot, sir, and we got in here, and got the engineers, but there's a couple guys outside who've got a good position behind a small truck, and one of them's a real good shot. They got us pinnned in here."

PT

I grin in spite of myself. Generally a bad sign to those who know me. I have friends who swear that when I grin, a puppy dies somewhere. It usually means I think I'm absolutely screwed, but intend to go down in a blaze.

"Get me to Communications, quickly. Lend me a shoulder, so I can do this right." I prop out an arm, and get ready to move fast. "I got stupid and got myself shot a few times."

"Pardon my saying so, but you look like the roast pig after the feast is done. Sir."  He takes you up on his shoulder, and you grit your teeth to hold back a sudden whimper.

"Easy now, sir. Listen to the music."

You do, and it helps. The power of the songs lifts your spirits, and emboldens you, and makes the nearly unbearable not so bad at all.

You've reached Communications without a loud scream of agony although it was a close run thing a couple times.

PT

"Righty-ho, boys. We are still alive, and that counts for something!" I request comms and deliver the following message. "Unit Devestator." They'll know who I'm referring to. "As soon as you have a moment, flank our enemies, and get us the heck out of here."

I look at the others, and unhitch the rifle. "Those are some brave men shooting at us, boys. Let's kill them. Suppressing fire. And keep those prisoners secure!" I rest the rifle on the nearest piece of cover, and start aiming a shot at the enemy pinning us.

You spend a long and nervous thirty seconds looking out the front door from behind a trash can at the pick up truck. Nothing happens.

You see a flicker by the back tire.

A flash of flame, and you feel something rip through you from top to bottom.

You're being dragged backwards, and your men are over you.

"He's hit bad. Top of his shoulder, and down his chest, and I'll bet he's holed a bunch of internal organs on the way."

You don't have enough strength to stand up.

You hear a thrumming noise, and several shots.

Carmine walks in helped by one of your guys. She looks pale.

"Never been shot before." She says looking for some sympathy for her bullet hole in her thigh. "OH NO." She collapses next to you forgetting about her wound.

PT

Probably got myself hit with a fragmentation grenade. No, they brought a mortar. Guess we missed a stockpile or two. Whatever. I got hit with something that blew me up nicely.

"Cover your own wound, and complete the mission." That's what I want to say. Can't say I honestly know how it comes out. If she's here, the airship has landed, and the hostages are being loaded up. I'm out of this fight, live or die. I am just curious as to what I was supposed to learn from this. This sort of thing happens to all soldiers, regardless of status? Guess I was just careless or unlucky. Use cover next time, shoot better next time.

I want to be awake when we land though, and when I get on the stretcher. I'm rather curious about transporting our guests.

You pass out on the way up in the air as Carmine (who has taken your advice) slams the shuttle into maximum takeoff mode to try to avoid the Really Good Rifleman outside. You come back to awareness, sort of, on the flight, and then drift out to concern from your fellow soldiers.

And then there are dreams of sparkly snowflakes discussing whether to vote for McCain, whom you've heard of, or some guy named Obama whom you've never heard of....

And then you wake. You're not in pain.

You're laying in your shuttle on the floor.

Carmine is standing next to you.

"You wake up slow." She says. "We're somewhere else. I got the crew off the shuttle when you started turning blue from blood loss. We dropped them off on a road well inside Celt country."

PT

OOC: Bullet wound that tunnelled through your shoulder and down into your chest. It lodged against your pelvic bone after turning your insides into confetti.

I'm not really inclined to yell at her. She acted out of a belief that she would save my life, although how I'm not sure. Besides, I didn't think Country forces had already taken up position in the town. The only question on my mind is this:

Why am I not in pain? Shouldn't I be, you know, incapicitated?

"A muslim running for president against some Senator I didn't like...man, I have a crazy imagination." (OOC: I know. I know. Don't care.) I study myself for a moment, and rise up if I can. "So, we actually pulled it off? Well, I suppose that's good news. So, why didn't we go to the hospital?" I stop a moment. "Carmine...is something wrong?"

I have a inkling I know what's going on, but then again, she has surprised me. While I'm wondering, I try and see what she has done about the bullet she caught.

You hear a k-lunk in the ship, and Carmine races over to check the control boards.

"We just got reloades with rockets." She says baffled...

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Next thread....

PT