NationStates Jolt Archive

The shell flew into the air, as the artillery piece slid along the ground to a new firing position. A Messian ammunition dump had been located in the night; and Messian supplies were Farmina’s first concern. Adequate supplies were the one thing Snyder hadn’t properly accounted for. Another shell flew toward the Farminan positions as though to say tit-for-tat. Further down the line was a small burst of machine gun and rifle fire, just as though to interrupt the silence that seemed to always fall but never last.

“Blast, how can any one sleep with these continual skirmishes?” muttered General William Salamander, strolling into the campaign room of his temporary headquarters.

“And good morning to you to General,” replied his adjutant Major Richter, “Coffee strong and black?”

“Indeed,” commented the General, “Blast these Messians, can’t they just pack up and go home?”

The major poured out the coffee and passed it to the General, “It appears the Messians may not have anywhere to pack up and go home to. This has been playing all over the airwaves this morning.”

Richter turned on the radio and a voice spoke firmly, “Hello, fellow Messians. You probably have heard the lies and deceit of Snyder's dictatorial rule, stating that I have gone mad. Today, I am here to announce that Snyder has plotted to take over power, and that I am not mad.

Snyder has plotted against our very nation. He has hundreds, if not, thousands of supporters. They are known to be Snyder's loyalists by having the special uniforms that you may or may not have noticed by now. They are our nation's enemies. On investigating, I have found that Snyder was responsible for plotting the bomb on the command center, and moving our best men and women including two force commanders into the blast area just before the explosion. He has ordered the assassination of my wife, and arrested Dasch and Kaider on completely false charges.

Today, I must ask our nation, to stand up behind me, stand up behind the force commanders, stand up against Snyder, and stop him, before it's too late!

To the people of Farmina, I personally apologise for this mess. I would have never agreed to this war, and I hope to stop this illegal war as soon as possible. And to the people of Northern Colonies, you have been misled into a false war of aggression. We need all of your help and strength to stop this war in its tracks!

People of Militia Enforced State, I close this speech by admitting that we have failed you. I hope to correct this, but the damage was done. I'm sorry.”

The General’s face light up, “I see your point. That was Ackvick the Messian himself. The Messians can’t avoid civil war now, not when a deposed leader calling for the downfall of the tyrant. The wheel of industry will stop. The supply lines of the invaders will be strangled dry.”

An artillery shell exploded some distance to the right. “Causalities during the night?” asked Salamander, after the prompt reminder.

“Minimal,” said Richter, “Ten confirmed dead on our side. The Messians are more interested in rebuilding their strength after the hard slog through Alice.”

“Their strength!” exclaimed Salamander, “What about our wounds. The Army of the North doesn’t have the might to take on an entire Messian invasion force; even with these second rate reinforcements Commander Aricar is sending.”

“None-the-less,” said Richter, “President Tobias Grey issued orders over night for us to hold the Pass of Farmina at all costs.”

“President Palmer,” corrected General, slurping his coffee.

“The Parliament dismissed Lord Palmer and re-appointed President Grey overnight,” said Richter.

The General spluttered and spat coffee all over the table, “The Parliament can’t do that.”

“I think the courts will decide that,” said Richter, “But for now everyone seems to be happy to do as Grey says, so Grey is President.”

“Everyone doesn’t have to hold the Pass of Farmina against the Messian hordes,” observed the General, wiping the coffee from around his mouth, “But hopefully they are too busy worrying about each other to bother us.”

---

President Tobias Grey dropped his cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with his foot. Tobias Grey was no small man; but his great dimension was outwards and not upwards. He had a taste for liquor, smokes and gambling. But yet in contradiction, he had the aristocratic tastes, the tastes for fine art and music, not to mention more liquor.

Two months were undone as if the never happened. Last night the Presidency of James Palmer abruptly ended, and he had been restored. James Palmer was no doubt still banging on his cell door demanding to be released, and soon as he calmed down, he would be. Tobias Grey looked down into the silent city of Verica from the White Palace. Moralist Enforcers, black-shirts they were so mockingly called, the acting police force, marched dozens of Reaction Corporation men down the street. “Corporatists scum,” muttered Grey, describing the Palmer backers who used force and money to get their way. Now they were on their way to prison and the front line.

“My dear Elaine,” asked Tobias of this dead wife, “Terrorism, war and now Daniel Rickhart himself has betrayed me. How did it come to this?”

As always, she never responded, but he knew how history came about all the same. It began those few short years ago, with a bomb landing on the Golden Abbey. That saw the dramatic rise of Justinian as master of Farmina, king and priest; the servant and lord of the Church. But then Justinian threw off the shackles of the Church and ruled independently as Emperor; before his dramatic and disastrous fall following the death of his companion, Kerria Sirade. Tobias Grey saw the opportunity; the Moralists came to power, bringing democracy with them. Then crisis after crisis came, culminating in the questionable election of James Palmer. But now with Palmer dealt with and the backstabbing Rickhart put back in his box, everything was going to improve.

Tobias Grey spat over the balcony; nothing was ever that simple. He couldn’t help wondering what cruel hand fate would play against him now.

---

The Puppeteer sat in the dark, his eyes flicking from screen to screen. “How has this happened?” demanded the HateSpeaker, leader of the Cultists, “The Moralists are back in power. All our work is undone.”

The Puppeteer spoke firmly in his elderly voice, “This is as I have planned it. Dan Rickhart is probably dead, and even if he lives, his relationship with Tobias Grey is shattered. The perfect team of logic and bluff is no more. Better still, the Moralists and their Labour allies are more divided than ever. Grey’s Moralists worked with Palmer. The Labour and the Moralist left and right purposely circumvented democracy to prevent a revote then removed Palmer; splitting them from the Grey’s own Moral Democrats. Left against right; democracy against authority, Rickhart’s supporters against Grey. Gentlemen, our plan is complete. We have defeated the Moralists!”

There was a stunned silence, then a digitized applause recognizing the true genius of the Puppeteer’s plan. Traps within traps. A plan so intricate, yet it had been there from the very beginning. Soon everything would change; soon everything would turn full circle.

Force Commander Jason Snyder looked into the camera. Yet again he would have to make a speech. He was a little distracted by James Ackvick's speech. He let go of the strings too much, and look at the mess now. Now it was possible, yet ever so unlikely, that he could pull off a civil war. But he won't make the same mistake twice.

"Today, citizens of Militia Enforced State, traitor James Ackvick pirated into the airwaves, preaching his propreganda to try to turn facts into lies, and to change public opinion on this war to counterattack Farmina's own deceit."

The video feed switched to a satellite view showing the two personal aircrafts, landed in the bush. "James Ackvick has gone to Farmina, to work with them, as a traitor. He is giving intelligence to use against us. This is why he was removed from power, just like Alexander Jackson Dasch. If you find them, please report them to the Black Guard. Information leading to their arrests will we well rewarded with four million credits."

The video switched back to Snyder. "We must make this right. We must make Farmina accountable for its actions."

Then Snyder looked over, and was handed a sheet of paper. He quickly read it since he was still on the air. He then looked back at the camera. "President Tobias Grey, We are willing to stop hostilities to your nation if you unconditionally send former President James Palmer to our custody. He must be accountable for his actions against us with him and his Reaction Corperation. If you refuse, we will continue hostilities."

"People of the MES, fight for freedom. Fight for Farmina. And most of all, fight for Militia Enforced State!"

--------

Snyder stepped into the control room. "Report," he said.

"Mi'lord, we have nearly finished the invesigation of the loss of the Annihilator. Apparently, the entire crew was...best to describe it, boiled."

Snyder picked up the report in the officer's hands, and read it. He then gave it back to him. "How do you think they did it? What else have you found?"

"Our satellites picked up an emission of some sort from other satellites at the time of the incident. It was very small, it could have even just been a misreading. That said, we are investigating, and we have no clue what satellite, if it indeed was that, it was. We also cannot find out what they used or how they used it, but we are working on it to find out how it happened."

Snyder nodded, and looked up toward the sky through the front window of the bridge. "Get our best scientists to look at the data, and try to come up with an idea of what happened. That said, let me give our scientists a second chance to read the data."

"Mi'lord?" the officer said in curiosity.

Snyder loaded up the weapons satellite on his console. He zoomed in to a small Farminan destroyer located with the rest of the fleet in Rico. He locked on, and commenced the firing sequence.

--------

The large satellite in orbit, with a large emmiter beam with a focusing lens in the front of it opened up its solar panels. The main capacitor started to hum with energy as it charged. The lens focused to a size large enough to go through the center of the ship. It then fired the powerful capacitor's energy in a quick and sudden beam, instantly striking the destroyer, and cutting it in two.

--------

Snyder smiled. "If I read them right, they are very 'tit-for-tat'. If I assume right, they'll boil one of our own destroyers. When they do, we should be able to get a better reading on what happened on the Annihilator."

Snyder moved to leave the room, and then he stopped and turned around. "Commander."

"Mi'lord?"

"Pass on to Admiral Gleeson to order his troops to start using sleeping gas weapons, and rubber bullets from our limited stockpile to use against infantry. If we do this right, we can cut down on casualties, and then we can strike them hard with real weapons as soon as they think we're playing nice."

"Yes, mi'lord!" the Officer responded. Snyder smiled, and left the room.

--------

Force Commander Chris Kaider saw Snyder enter the infirmary on board the MESV Punisher. He felt a little nervous, now that he saw that Ackvick and Dasch slipped through his fingers. He should have risked his allegences to keep them on board. "Mi'lord, it is a pleasure to see you."

Snyder looked a little pissed. "I've already punished you for the mistake, so I won't kill you. But Ackvick has become very dangerous. We must eliminate him and his friend as soon as we possibly can."

He then looked at Kaider's leg. "How's the leg?"

Kaider squirmed a bit. "Painful sir, but it'll heal. I can already walk on it for very short periods."

Snyder grinned, to Kaider, perhaps a little deviantly. "Then I have a job for you."

--------

James Ackvick stood next to Daniel Rickhart's bed. The man looked horrid. Half of his face was covered by a metal plate, because one side of his face was incinerated in acid. His body was skinned, and he found out that his genitals were cut off. The pain he must be feeling must be incredible; yet he is somehow still alive. Somehow...

Black shirts stood at the door, guns out, but no longer being pointed at them. Ackvick wasn't sure if they were allowed out of the hospital. Ackvick then opened the envelope that Lisa, who now was in the morgue after using some of the special chemical that Rickhart normally used, gave to him. He saw entries regarding chemicals and vials that Rickhart used that he needed. Ackvick looked down at him. "I'm guessing that you need the strength and pain control vials." Rickhart's eye made a nod yes, and Ackvick turned to Dasch. "Dasch, I need you to go to Rickhart's place, and get the following things..."

The Prime Minister ate his donut. He was at a cafe, and sitting next to him, was the Foreign Minister. He was also eating a donut.

"Heard what happened last night?" Asked Alexander Peters, the Foreign Minister

"Two steps ahead of you Peters," replied John Anderson, the PM. "Seems Grey is back in power. Quite illegally if you ask me."

"Well, that's for the courts to decide."

"You know I'm a lawyer, by trade. I like to do these things."

"Anyway, what should we do."

The PM sat there for a moment. He sipped on his coffee and finished the donuts.

"We talk," he replied.

"What!" Exclamed Peters, "After all that you want to st.."

The PM pointed his finger at him, in a jokingly manner.

"Hey, you were the one who didn't want the war."

"But we're in it now, we've wasted money on this," replied Peters.

"Anyway, we need to get out of this," the PM began. "The MES look like they could be on the brink of civil war. Farmina is going to use that as an advantage. And in any case, we have succeeded in our objectives, which to remind you, was to get rid of Palmer from power."

His voice changed to a more sinister tone.

"In any case, you must realise, that Tobias is weak. He has lost everything that has value to him. His wife, his most loyal friend, the MES. He wants democracy, but in a place that does not value free speech, he can't get it. He would be easy to drop. Especially if we send a friend. O'Brien."

Peters nodded.

"So we have O'Brien do a cease fire deal," he replied.

"With a few things going our way, yes," the PM responded.

The PM checked his watch.

"Holy cow, we're late," he said.

He nodded to the several bodyguard from the FIB. They opened the limo door, and the Foreign Minister and the PM walked in, ready for another day's work.

Jamie Palmer was sipping on the glass of red wine, when he heard the cell door open. The elderly Chancellor Sullivan glared down at the former president, “Tobias Grey has dropped the attempted imprisonment charges. You are free to go Lord Palmer.”

“And about time,” said Palmer putting down the wine glass, before standing up, “I warn you Phillip, I will be restored. You should choose what side you pick very carefully.”

Sullivan however was not a man to leave Palmer the last word, “I’m told there will be an inquiry into the illegal actions of Reaction Corp, and your connection to them.”

Palmer paused for a moment, but then continued his arrogant strut.

---

Tobias Grey poured the rich, black coffee into his cup, before adding a shot of brandy to give it a kick, “What panics you Lord Aricar?”

“We have lost contact with another ship,” said the head of the military, “The Messians have fired their super weapon. We must respond in kind.”

“That is logical,” said Tobias, who then paused feeling a hint of caution, “Logic has led us no where. We have seen what logic has made Rickhart; deformed and friendless. If Snyder knew we would respond in kind, then it would illogical for him to use his super weapon. That makes me think Snyder wants us to use our weapon.”

“That is…logical,” said Aricar completely baffled, “Or is it illogical? I’m not quite sure.”

“Perhaps it is better to strike the Messians where they cannot afford to be struck,” said Tobias, “We will strike them in a way they cannot match. That should be more than a sufficient response.”

“As you wish Lord President,” said Aricar, his image flickering off on the audio screen, as there was a knock on the door.

“Enter,” said Tobias, which was quickly followed by Phillip Sullivan entering the room.

“Tobias,” said Sullivan, “The Messians are want to trade Palmer for peace. Rumour has it the Northern Colonies are going to try and get out of the war.”

To Tobias that was all perfectly reasonable. Snyder was facing civil war, which would force him to withdraw from the war. If the Mes got out of the war before the Colonies did; it would be disaster for the Colonies, in a war against Farmina by itself.

Tobias sighed, “Typical Snyder, talk of peace then blow things up. Let us ignore the Colonial issue for now. If they want peace, let them ask.”

---

The camera was ready in front of Tobias Grey’s desk. The camera man indicated action, and Tobias began to speak.

“Lord Snyder of the Militia Enforced State. You have already lost this war. Your nation is collapsing in on itself. Your stewardship is a failure, but worse a tyranny. Lord Snyder, you think you make demands; but it is you who have lost. People of the Militia Enforced State, Farmina stands behind you, Farmina supports your drive freedom. People of Farmina, we shall fight on. And each day at word, remember your brothers and you nation. Glory to the Republic!”

---

In the orbit above the Earth, two weather satellites revealed what it truly was, opening up to reveal the projectiles buried inside. The two missiles flew out, towards the Messian super-weapon, with the sole purpose of its destruction.

---

In the Pass of Farmina, more missiles were being assembled. “Tobias Grey seems keen to annoy the Messians,” noted General William Salamander, “Not to mention use up the weapons stockpile.”

“We have a massive advantage in terms of capacity,” observed Major John Richter, “I suppose its logical to use some of it.”

“The Messians are awful protective those hydrogen ships,” Salamander sighed, leaning on a pile of unmarked crates, “I guess they must be worth all this effort. I reckon they must be pretty easy to set off.”

Richter said nothing and nodded. The General waddled back to his headquarters, but Richter remained to observe the operation. Within minutes Captain Sarck came over to the two men, “We have all twenty five rockets assembled. Shall we commence the strike?”

“Immediately,” nodded Major Richter.

The Captain who had been flown in just to supervise the missile launch, began barking orders. Richter looked down at his watch, counting the time it took for ‘immediately’ to occur. Half a minute later, there was a blast and intense heat as the twenty five guided rockets flew into the air. They would fly around Alice and slam into the Messian hydrogen ships. If Richter understood the Messians, which he doubted would be the case, this would be a massive set back, in what had been a generally disastrous invasion.

TO: Tobias Grey, Acting? President of Farmina
FROM: Jonathan O'Brien, Surpeme Governor of the Colonies
SUBJECT: Cease Fire

The Colonial Government has requested a possible change to talk about a cease fire. It is to the benefit to both our nations if we are able to solve or differences as soon as possible.

Yours Sincerely
Jonathan O'Brien SGNC SGPG SGOG MC DSM GC
Supreme Governor of the Colonies

P.S. I want to play poker again.

Snyder heard a lord buzzer go off, startling him.

"Mi'lord! We have missiles inbound to the weapons sats! They came out of nowhere!"

Snyder slammed his fist into the desk. He knew best how to operate the sattelites. They were already tracking the enemy missiles, and one was focusing to intercept, though the second one was still recharging from the previous shot. He quickly switched the armed sattelite to manual, the closest one to the missiles. He aimed, and ordered a short energy burst.

The satellite focused its beam to a narrow stream, then firing in a bright yellow flash, blasting the first missile into pieces. The second one kept flying towards the second satellite, and from Snyder's manual orders, rotated to fire again, as only a part of the capacitor was fired. The weapon focused and fired again, hitting the missile on the corner of the rear. The missile spun out of control, but still roughly on course with the second satellite. It spun, and exploded.

Snyder looked at the console, and the second one went from green, to flashing red on parts of it. "Damnit!" Snyder yelled. He quickly ordered up one of his nearby CamSats to look at the second satellite. He aimed and focused it to it. He could see the satellite venting gas, as well as having some gaping holes in its hull and solar panels. The blast was enough to fill it shrapanel, but not enough to destroy it outright. Snyder growled. "They will pay for this. They think they can continue this tit-for-tat." He furiously typed in new firing orders to the second satellite. He aimed north of The Pass of Farmina, and fired.

--------

A bright yellow beam came down on the open desert, nowhere near the Farminans, but fairly close to the Messians. It dug a three meter deep trench into the soft Farminan sand, and contined along the Messian front line. Messian ground troops watched in astonishment as they saw their newly dug trenches being created effortlessly. One of the Messians threw down his shovel. "I suppose I won't be needing this anytime soon," a Private said, smiling.

Commander Griffin Clark also grinned at the beam cut a light scar into the land of Farmina. Soon, his forces would prepare to move out. He already ordered the front-line units to be armed with a combination of rubber and lead munitions, lead in case the Farminans didn't fall for the bait, and sleeping gas-filled artillery shells loaded into the artillery. He ordered a volley of shots to be fired into the pass.

"Commander! We have multiple missiles inbound!" a Private yelled back in urgency.

"What are you waiting for?! Fire at will! Take them out!"

The mobile Messian anti-air units opened fire with various 20mm, missile, and flak munitions, flying into the missile hoard. A few blew up, a few more blew up, but the majority kept flying. The Commander cringed at he heard them streak towards him...

He opened his eyes. He wasn't dead. He looked behind him. "Shit."

--------

Admiral Gleeson heard a panicked Clark on the communicator. "Slow down! Report!"

"Admiral....we...we have a swarm of missiles on an intercept course towards the fleet!"

The Admiral's face turned pale. "Thank you Commander. Red alert! All anti-air batteries prepare to fire!"

To Jonathon O’Brien
Supreme Governor of the Colonies

I am willing to accept you to Farmina for discussions, however we shall take no responsibility for your safety, considering the continuing threat of the Militia Enforced State. For the period of any peace talks, we accept that a ceasefire should be put in place; however require all Northern Colonial ships in Farminan waters to dock and their crews to be placed under Farminan custody for the length of the ceasefire. Once a treaty is signed, the ceasefire will lapse as will any associated insurance conditions.

Tobias Grey
President of the Republic

TO: Tobias Grey, President of Farmina
FROM: Jonathan O'Brien, Surpeme Governor of the Colonies
SUBJECT: Cease Fire

This talk needs to be done on netural terrority, without the MES knowing.

Yours Sincerely
Jonathan O'Brien SGNC SGPG SGOG MC DSM GC
Supreme Governor of the Colonies

To Jonathon O’Brien
Supreme Governor of the Colonies

The President, Tobias Grey, has made his requirements for a negotiation ceasefire known. No Farminan officials will be leaving the Republic due to safety concerns. The Messians would have much to gain by Farminan officials being killed; but only more devastation if Snyder dared attack you. The Colonial fleet must be docked and the negotiations will occur in Farmina. There can be no further clarity, the Republic won’t negotiate without these ceasefire conditions.

Phillip Sullivan
Chancellor for Foreign Affairs
Democratic Republic of Farmina

Tobias Grey
President of the Republic

TO: Phillip Sullivan Chancellor for Foreign Affairs, Farmina
FROM: Office of the Supreme Governor of the Colonies
RE: Cease Fire

It is not likely that the SGC would just walk into another warzone to do peace talks, especially where the nation is going through internal strife. The MES would not likely involve another nation into the war by attempting to kidnap one of your officals. We will be able to nominate a netural party to assist in this matter.

Yours Sincerely
Jonathan O'Brien SGNC SGPG SGOG MC DSM GC
Supreme Governor of the Colonies
Northern Colonies

To Jonathon O’Brien
Supreme Governor of the Colonies

Considering the Messians are at all-out-war with Farmina, I do not see how Farminan officials, especially those bearing any rank, could be safe leaving Farmina; nor how the Messians could be providing any more provocation by doing so. Farminans have never had the ability to move through air or sea with out some danger, or some time of exposure.

If you cannot allow our officials, especially if you with to negotiate with the President, the security of remaining of Farminan soil; then our nations have nothing further to talk about.

Phillip Sullivan
Chancellor for Foreign Affairs
Democratic Republic of Farmina

Tobias Grey
President of the Republic

TO: Phillip Sullivan Chancellor for Foreign Affairs, Farmina
FROM: Office of the Supreme Governor of the Colonies
RE: Cease Fire

It seems sad that the Farminan Government is not willing to protect the lives of it's own citizens, because of a fear of reprisals. You must remember, you are looking at our barrel and not the other way around. You can save your citizentry just by allowing to go to a ceasefire by our terms, not yours. When this war is ended, I hope your guilt will not kill you. The offer is still on the table. Take it or leave it.

Yours Sincerely
Jonathan O'Brien SGNC SGPG SGOG MC DSM GC
Supreme Governor of the Colonies
Northern Colonies

To Jonathon O’Brien
Supreme Governor of the Colonies
I believe that if the Northern Colonies believes it can force us to endanger our leadership, they are mistaken. Perhaps the leadership of the Northern Colonies has forgotten:

-Farmina is a far larger nation, with a long military history and national service.
-Farmina has more than twice the industrial muscle to use than the Northern Colonies and the Militia Enforced State combined; which in modern war has greater value than manpower.
-The Northern Colonial government will feel greater political backlash over military actions than Farmina; being the aggressor that has run out of excuses for war.
-The Northern Colonies is still involved in a second war.
-The Militia Enforced State cannot continue fighting; with exception of against itself.

It puzzles Farmina to know the Northern Colonies possibly has the upper hand. We maintain our position that the Farminan leadership shall not be exposed at the time it is needed most. Your offer is rejected outright.

Phillip Sullivan
Chancellor for Foreign Affairs
Democratic Republic of Farmina

Tobias Grey
President of the Republic

Reading the last message, Jonathan felt a strong urge to hit his table. He refrained, however, and then proceed to the War Room.

"It seems the Farminans do not want peace," he said.

The only man in the room was the Chief of the Military, Adm. Flt. Patrick Robinson. He turned out.

"And you seek my counsel?" He asked.

"Yes," Jonathan replied. "We need a demonstration, a show of force."

"And I have a taget, Your Excellency," he replied. He took a pen on the table, and threw it onto the map on the wall. It hit perfectly at it's target.

"Ricco," he said, mysteriously.

"Isn't that sucicide?" The SGC squinted.

"No, if we play our cards right. We use the B-2 Bombers, load it with the MOAB Mark Threes."

"Isn't that still experimental?"

"It's been tested. It's the heaviest bomb we have in our arsenal. Anymore and we have to use nuclear weapons."

"Oh no...."

"In any case, we have tested the weapon. It's ready for use, just not in full production yet. We have six in our arsenal. It will be ready as soon as you call for it."

The SGC wasted no time.

"Do it!"

_________________________________________________________________

Only hours later, the B-2 Bomber was in the air. It had taken some effort; the plane nearly flew off the runway at the Air Base. The plane was at it's MTOW (Maximum Take-Off Weight). Nevertheless, they had gotten past the first hurdles and now they were on their way to Ricco. The trip would take most of the night, and it was expected the bomber would launch its payload at midnight.

[OOC: I'm gonna skip the journey part]

________________________________________________
2330 Zulu, Off the coast of Farmina

The two pilot were working at the controls. The auto-pilot took care of most of the piloting, and the two were just practising the bomb launch sequence.

"Bomb, armed!" One of them, Flight Lieutanant Robert Anderson shouted.

"Bombs away!" The other, Flight Officer Alex Nguyen replied. He pretended to switch the bomb launch sequence to launch. This would have normally had dropped the bomb, but since he was only pretending, the bomb did not actually launch. Outside, the black camo paint of the plane made it hard to see. The fuselage was made from a special material to absorb radio waves and not sending anything back, rendering the plance invisible to RADAR. The shape of the plane also helped in that regard.

___________________________________________________________
0010 Hours, Ricco.

They were late by ten minutes, but now they were ready. They focused on their targets. Moments laters, they would begin the sequence to launch the bomb.

OOC: Can you tell me something more than 'the bomb is really big.'

OOC: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MOAB

OOC and a *bump*

“We have reports of a very large bomb exploding in Ricco,” explained Commander Aricar, his chin wobbling on the videophone, “We have inaccurate reports that the weapon was nuclear; though footage can be deceptive. We have slipped it to international media outlets and made no further comment. I think we can allow international outrage to spread quickly.”

“Causalities,” asked Chancellor Sullivan, before flicking his eyes over to the President, “These Colonial bastards will be crucified by their own people if they behave like this.”

“Well over a hundred,” said Aricar, “Mainly civilian. The bomb seems to have been anti-personnel. Shall we respond with full force?”

“No Commander,” sighed Tobias, “We have the power, they know that, no need to flex it. That will be all for now.”

The video screen flicked off. “These Colonials are going to become a pain,” warned Phillip Sullivan, “We must act decisively.”

The President relaxed and poured himself a glass of scotch, “We shall fight at a time of our choosing. The Colonials can’t win and Prime Minister Anderson must surely be facing the end of his political career. The Messians are even in worse condition. Would you like a drink Phillip?”

“Please,” said Sullivan.

Tobias poured more of the fine scotch into a second glass, before sipping the first, “Speaking of the Messians; that gives me an idea. I think we shall maintain Farmina’s reputation for cunning above all other things.”

Sullivan’s face twisted in caution as he made firm grip of his glass, “What exactly are you thinking?”

---

To Force Commander Snyder

Your fight with Palmer and Reaction Corp is over. The time for peace is now; especially considering rumblings from your own land. It has been suggested that we unite against the true aggressor, the Northern Colonies, lead by the corrupt and warmongering Anderson administration.

In other interest, note the attachment. We will release one every hour if you do not cooperate.

Phillip Sullivan
Chancellor for Foreign Affairs

Attached to the electronic message was a photograph; in a non-descript hospital room, containing the three men most dangerous to Snyder under black-shirt guns: Dasch, Rickhart and Ackvick.

John Anderson walked onto the press confrence the next day.

"I will be making a quick statement today. Today, we have made our first decisive attack on Ricco, a city in Farmina. Reports suggest that the objective of hitting military targets have been achieved. The weapon was the new MOAB, recently approved for field use. The bomb was launched, not to destory, but give a sign of peace. The Farminan Government has continuously refused offers for a peace treaty. They want to organise a peace treaty in a middle of a warzone. Why should we risk our men like that? If they can not learn the language of peace, then they must learn the language of war. Thus we needed to teach the language."

He stopped for a second, to give an effect, before continuing.

"To the Farminan Government, the olive branch still hangs. Take it, or you will force our hand."

He walked off, not letting a chance for the media to question him.

TO: Phillip Sullivan Chancellor for Foreign Affairs, Farmina
FROM: Office of the Supreme Governor of the Colonies
RE: Cease Fire

You may have noticed that Ricco has disappeared off the map. We have no quarrels about attacking your more major cities if need be. The offer is still on the table.

Yours Sincerely
Jonathan O'Brien SGNC SGPG SGOG MC DSM GC
Supreme Governor of the Colonies
Northern Colonies

TO: Phillip Sullivan Chancellor for Foreign Affairs, Farmina
FROM: Office of the Supreme Governor of the Colonies
RE: Cease Fire

You may have noticed that Ricco has disappeared off the map. We have no quarrels about attacking your more major cities if need be. The offer is still on the table.

Yours Sincerely
Jonathan O'Brien SGNC SGPG SGOG MC DSM GC
Supreme Governor of the Colonies
Northern Colonies

To: Leader/Leaders of the Northern Colonies
From the Desk of President Andrew Volker of the SSUN

I would like to have sent this before getting off on the wronge foot but after looking at a review of what has happend the distruction in Ricco was not provoked to the point of using near nuclear power. I do not see how it would be wipes off the map but a bomb of that size should not have been used to end quarrels with Farmina. We have offered our support to the Farmina Military and backed their government in saying your actions are condemed by the SSUN. Nerotika will see you on the front lines, Have a nice day.

Pesident Andrew N. Volker, High Chancellor of the SSUN.

To: Leader/Leaders of the Northern Colonies
From the Desk of President Andrew Volker of the SSUN

I would like to have sent this before getting off on the wronge foot but after looking at a review of what has happend the distruction in Ricco was not provoked to the point of using near nuclear power. I do not see how it would be wipes off the map but a bomb of that size should not have been used to end quarrels with Farmina. We have offered our support to the Farmina Military and backed their government in saying your actions are condemed by the SSUN. Nerotika will see you on the front lines, Have a nice day.

Pesident Andrew N. Volker, High Chancellor of the SSUN.

OOC: Err.. That was supposed to be encypted... i.e not public

OOC: Err.. That was supposed to be encypted... i.e not public

OOC: Farmina showed it to the world on another thread...

OOC: Farmina showed it to the world on another thread...

OOC: yea, i didnt know that when i posted that

Snyder got word of the negotiations, from various news reportings coming in from the Northern Colony's media networks. He looked out from the MESV Punisher's bridge at the fleet around him. They've been deadlocked in battle against Farmina's navy for a week. Casualties on both sides have been high, though at the moment he seemed to have the upper hand, but only slightly. Although outnumbered in the air war over Rico, the timely drop of the MOAB did severe damage to the Rico-based fleet, giving them the cover they needed to bring the battleships and dreadnoughts into range.

"Mi'lord, we have word that the Farminans are attempting to leave the country. Should we pursue?"

Snyder grimiced. If he let them go, the Northern Colonys would probably drop out of the war. But if he were to stop them, the other nations would undoubtedly get involved and greatly overwhelm his forces. He had a major dillema.

"Dispatch six XG-99 fighters from the Final Victory's Black flight, equipped with droptanks. Have them intercept the diplomatic flight, and order them to return to Farmina or be shot down. If they refuse..."

Snyder stopped for a moment. "If they refuse, have them break off."

"Mi'lord?" the officer asked in curiosity.

Snyder glared in general. "It's public knowledge that the war is not going well for our cause. Casualties are high, and Ackvick's speech had greatly undermined loyalty. I'm concerned about an internal uprising."

"Mi'lord, we still have your loyalists in high numbers. As well, our nation is one of the best defended on the planet. We can defend it!"

"...And yet, with our weakened state, and against vastly superior numbers, it does not auger well."

"Then what do you want us to do, sir?"

Snyder thought. "Try to get the traitors back here when they attempt to leave Farmina. They are too much of a risk alive. After they have been recovered, commit to a slow, fortified withdrawl."

"Mi'lord?" the officer asked, appalled. He looked like he felt that Snyder lost his mind.

"This battle is lost," Snyder grumbled. "Lick our wounds, and try again later. I think we have more luck with manipulation from within, which we're well adept at."

Dasch arrived at the old two story house that was described on the note to be Rickhart's residence. He looked around, trying to keep out of common sight, and walking up to the door. Dasch turned the doorknob to find the door to be unlocked. He slowly entered the room when he saw a figure moving. “Hello?” Dasch asked nervously.

“Is that you Mister Rickhart?” called out an old and squeaky female voice from the kitchen, “I put an apple pie on to cook for your desert, after you went out. It should be just about done."

Dasch wasn't sure whether to pretend to be Rickhart or be himself. He waited until the figure came closer.

A rather old lady, that looked like she was wearing something that matched Rickhart's carpet emerged carrying a pie tray full of ash, “I hope your hungry. Oh and if you see my glasses, could you please tell me? I seem to have misplaced them.”

The house gave Dasch the creeps. Even with that factor, Dasch decided to tell the truth, “It’s not Rickhart. I'm here for him though. He asked me to pick up some of his things.”

“Does he want his pie now?” asked Ms Turner.

“Sadly, I don't think he can eat it,” Dasch said admittedly. “He’s suffered grave injuries, which is why I need some things of his to help him.”

“I’ll pack his a hospital bag,” said Ms Turner.

“Alright, but could you also pack these vials that he has listed here?”

“In the lab. I’m not allowed down there,” said Ms Turner, “Would you like some pie?”

Dasch chuckled, “Sure, I'll have a slice.”

Ms Turner cut out a slice of the ash and put it on a plate; handing it to Dasch before running off to pack Rickhart’s travel bag. As the woman left, Dasch picked up the pie plate, and ate as he snuck out of the kitchen. He looked for the stairway to the downstairs. As he looked, he noticed how spooky Rickhart’s place there. The hundreds of books lined the endless rows of aging bookshelves. The books varied from brand new to older than Rickhart himself. The curtains were all drawn preventing much natural light entering, though that could possibly have been the fault of the housekeeper. The carpet was tattery and clearly had not been replaced in a long time. The plaster was cracked, yet Rickhart seemed to have acquired several wooden statues to decorate his house, mainly of rather vicious looking birds. He also had a couple of watermark paintings, but they could barely be considered of value. Down the hallway, the walls were wooden, a second-rate chandelier hung from the roof, providing a dim light. A wooden carving of a hawk seemed to keep watch, guarding the hallway from the middle. Four pot plants were evenly along the corridor, as though to place some life in the old house. Upstairs came a very large thump, assumed to be from Ms Turner packing Rickhart’s bag. Dasch jumped from the sound, but then got back to looking for the stairway, taking a small bite room the stale, burnt pie. It tasted pretty awful, and Dasch dumped it into the garbage, but hung onto the plate.

Proceeding down the metal stairs, they echoed, and verged on shaking with every step. Upstairs the loud banging continued, before the sound reached the top of the stairs; at which they shook more violently. The lab at the bottom of the stairs was incredibly dim, the only light provided by a large computer screen on the far side, that Rickhart had obviously forgot to turn off. Dasch looked around the room while stepping off the stairway. He noticed a light switch, and he flipped it on. The long fluorescent lights flashed on one by one, revealing row after row of long metallic tables, covered in orderly glass equipment, Bunsen burners, tripods and plastic pipes. The walls were unpainted concrete and the floor simply white tiles. On the far side sat a large metallic door, with a large wheel, undoubtedly some security.

Dasch moved up to the security door, when the computer caught his eye. He decided to look at that first. He walked over, and looked at the screen. There was a plain blue desktop, with a series of icons linking to a series of documents, with numerical rather than descriptive names. There was also a word processor and several analysis programs. Dasch took at look at the analysis programs, and he saw a series of incomprehensible chemical equations. For most a set of chemicals were entered in; and they apparently supplied some sort of information. Another was used for modeling what reactions had occurred in experiments. Dasch decided to save the documents loaded on the computer, and to shut off the computer. It seemed that the documents were password protected; but despite this they copied over, password and all. Dasch shut off the computer, and checked the back of the computer for security devices. None could be seen; it seemed Rickhart had been plain careless, although expecting to die probably hadn’t helped.

Dasch proceeded to take off the cover from the back of the computer with a nearby screwdriver, and proceeded to remove the hard drive. Upon opening the case; it revealed itself to be empty; and following the large wires of the monitor; it became clear Rickhart had hidden the heart of the computer, behind the concrete wall. Dasch chuckled as he put the case back on, and proceeded to get up and go to the security door. The loud clanging continued as Rickhart’s solid security door seemed to be trying to intimidate the unwelcome. Dasch walked up to the terminal, and he looked at the note that Rickhart gave to him. Dasch then took a hold of the wheel, and turned it.

The door didn’t budge and there seemed to be the faint sound of Rickhart laughing hollowly in the background. Dasch sighed in frustrated, and bopped his head on the large door. The door shook, making a clang to match those made by Ms Turner. Dasch backed off, then the noise stopped. He decided to bang it again. Ms Turner came down to investigate the racket to find Dasch banging his head on the security door. “Well you aren't going to open it like that,” she laughed, folding over in hysterics.

Dasch laughed at his own stupidity. After a lengthy mutual laugh, Dasch looked at her with curiosity. “Then HOW do I open it?”

“Don't worry, people fall for the head banging every time. We’ve had thieves who’ve killed themselves trying to open the door that way. Quite entertaining, and rather messy,” said Ms Turner, before pulling a tube of explosives out of her backpack to answer the question, “How else?”

“Explosives?!” Dasch exclaimed. “I thought this was a safe!”

“Soon to be a safe minus one door,” explained Ms Turner, grinning gleefully, “Unless you know the combination.”

“Then what’s the combination?” Dasch asked to the very disturbing old lady.

“How should I know?” said Ms Turner, throwing Dasch a tube of explosives, quickly followed by another, “Now lets open that door.”

Dasch made a weak smile. “How come you’re so interested in having this opened?”

“For the boom,” said the old lady, “And to help Mister Rickhart.”

“And how come you trust me so?” Dasch asked, as he placed the charges, and swore to himself to never take a vacation in Farmina.

“You have a honest and pretty face,”said Ms Turner, “Then again, most people look like that when I can’ find my glasses.”

She then threw Dasch a box of matches, before flying up the stairs.

Dasch sighed, as he took one more quick look around the room for anything of any possible value. Nothing stands out, except for the possibly expensive lab equipment; but Ms Turner yelled out, “Hurry up.”

Dasch lit the match, ignited the explosives, and ran up the stairs. Seconds later there was a massive blast, that suggest the explosives were more than enough. The sound of smashing glass was significant. “Yippee,” declared Ms Turner, running down the stairs, “We sure made a mess.”

Rickhart's lab was ruined; his orderly equipment ruined, his computer gone, and his security door planted firmly in the opposite wall. But the way into the store room was clear. Dasch sighed. He was hoping it wasn’t nearly as bad. He grabbed a fire extinguisher, put out a few of the flames, and then moved to walk into the saferoom. Rows upon rows of orderly shelves, with vials neatly labelled and numerically arranged. In the corner was a small fridge. Ms Turner opened it up to reveal even more vials, as well as champagne and chocolate milk. Furiously Ms Turner began throwing chocolate milk, champagne and cooled vials in her backpack, where she clearly also had more explosives. Dasch looked at the list, and looked for the vials on the shelf. Quickly he located nearly one hundred vials of the drug that Ackvick required. Ms Turner however seemed far more interested in variety, grabbing some of everything. When it was clear to even Ms Turner she couldn’t take any more, she went back through the ruined lab and up the stairs.

Dasch then looked for the elusive computer. Rickhart however had buried the mainframe behind another wall. Dasch headed upstairs, and found Ms. Turner finishing the packing. “Any extra explosives handy?” Dasch asked. “I have a wall to knock down.”

"Oh we must keep some spare," said Ms Turner, placing the backpack down, alongside several suitcases, a stack of books, a Christmas tree, and masses of seemingly worthless junk.

“I need to reach a computer on the other side though,” Dasch persisted. “It may have more important things than some of this.”

“Oh all right,” said Ms Turner, throwing Dasch a few sticks, “Don't take out anything structural.”

Dasch nodded. “Could you point out a weak point for access?” he asked. Ms Turner shook her head, before observing a statue she thought Rickhart might need in hospital, and began dragging it over. Dasch headed downstairs with the sticks. The wall where the computer had been was littered with glass and the remainder of Rickhart's metallic lab tables. Dasch laid down just a single stick of the explosives against the wall where the computer is located. He lit it, and ran back upstairs. There was a loud bang and bricks flew in every direction; revealing in a small room containing the computer, and a long unused washing machine. The computer was not complete, perhaps because part of it had been outside in the lab. There seemed to be no apparent reason why the washing machine was there. Just one of the many oddities that described Rickhart’s house and life. Dasch saw the computer, and noticed the computer had one hard drive. He checked to see it was turned on (since the box outside may have been just decoying a shutdown). The computer had not been off; but a flying brick had unplugged it in the explosion. He then carefully removed the hard drive, and held it carefully as he took it upstairs.

“Ready to go?” asked Ms Turner, as she carried the oven into a truck waiting outside.

Dasch found a plastic bag, and put the hard drive into it. He then put it into his pack. “Yes I am. Thank you for everything,” Dasch said.

Dasch heaved the bag into the waiting taxi, careful to not ruin the hard drive, then climbed into the passenger seat. Ms Turner hit the accelerator at a degree that could barely be legal; swiping Dasch’s taxi before flying down onto the street. Dasch apologized to the driver before giving instructions to go to Verica Hospital.

Ms Turner calmly parked the truck, in a brick wall, blocking the ambulance lane. Calmly she stepped out the truck, opened the back and removed two backpacks, a large box, two rifles, an old German Lugar and a hand grenade. People seemed quiet alarmed by her presence; yet they gave her all the directions she requested to ‘Lord Brown’s’ room. Even security dare not tackle her.

Outside Rickhart’s room she was finally stopped; by the two black-shirts. “You can’t take those in there ma-am. This patient isn’t allowed any firearms.”

“Shame,” said the short, plump lady with no glasses, handing over the weapons, “Can I see him now?”

“I can’t see why not,” said one of the black-shirts, “Who menagerie of strange ones in there.”

Ms Turner continued into the ward, not seeing Rickhart in the bed and simply observing Ackvick and Alana. Not having her glasses didn’t deter Ms Turner, placing down the box, “Its so good to see you err…”

One of the blurs seemed more commanding, “James and err…”

The other blur was much shorter, leading the old lady to an incorrect identification, “And lovely to see you again Tobias.”

Jamie Palmer entered his country manor quietly. If Timothy was still alive and free he would have come here. Here they were hidden; out of their enemies reach.

He proceeded up the stairs before pushing open the door to his living room, “Timothy are you here, my love?”

Footsteps. Firm steps; not the quiet tip toes of the house hold staff. “Jamie,” exclaimed Timothy stepping into view, “Your alive.”

“It was you who was in the Reaction Corp headquarters when it burnt,” noted Palmer, his eyes flicking up and down Timothy.

Timothy had changed over night. Fine blue suits had been replaced with a white singlet and tight faded jeans. The hair was cut short and bleached yellow; in comparison to the rich red of Jamie’s hair. The beautiful blue contacts were replaced with Timothy’s natural hazel.

“So different,” said Palmer, rubbing his hand through Timothy’s hair, “You could be anyone, anywhere.”

“I missed you Jamie,” said Timothy quietly.

Jamie said nothing and put his strong arms around Timothy’s chest. For several moments there was a peaceful silent, before James said, “I want revenge Timothy. They outwitted us badly.”

“Rickhart is dead,” whispered Timothy boastful, “I struck him down with my sword. Hanshuck ingested an unnaturally large amount of poison and won’t be saying your name. Doctor Steinbeck was throttled to death by Rickhart. That only leaves Lord Absar alive with our little secret.”

Jamie wasn’t interested, “I’ll slice Snyder in half with my own blade. Grey too. And Mister Anderson just for the sake of it. They’ll pay for this, the dirty stinking traitors.”

Timothy pulled Jamie’s lips onto his before pausing, “I have something more entertaining than cutting people up we could do.”

A sly grin covered both men’s faces. As Timothy dragged James towards the bedroom by his tie; Jamie noticed a decapitated body of a tasty young man on one of the sofas, “Timothy, love, shouldn’t that boy have a head.”

“He changed his mind as to whether he consented afterwards, I could barely have him running around yelling he’d been raped, so I shut him up,” said Timothy, stopping.

Jamie looked into Timothy’s eyes; and they exchanged another long passionate kiss.

“You are incorrect, madam,” Ackvick replied. “I'm James Ackvick.”

He then glared at Dasch, wondering who the hell she was.

“Ack...Ackvick of course,” said Ms Turner, “Pleasure to finally meet you.”

She had absolutely no idea who Ackvick was.

"May I ask who you are, since you obviously know who I am?" Ackvick asked, dumbstruck, while Dasch took his bag over the Rickhart's bedside. He looked for the drugs that Ackvick specified.

"The housekeeper," said Ms Turner, "I make sure Mister Rickhart's shirts are ironed and his dinner 's cooked."

"I see," Ackvick replied, then turned to Dasch. "Do you have what Rickhart was looking for?"

Dasch turned around. “Right here,” he said, who then turns to Rickhart.

Ms Turner looked over to the blur she assumed was Dasch, “Well cure him; hurry up man.”

Dasch quickly grabbed a needle, put it into the vial, filled it to the prescribed directions, and carefully injected it into Rickhart.

Rickhart lay still for several moments, then the visible half of lips twisted slightly, before pausing.

“Rickhart?” Ackvick said, looking at the crippled man.

“Water,” whispered Rickhart.

Ms Turner promptly opened the box she was carrying, to reveal a small water feature.

Dasch gave a look of incredulity, “You thought of everything, even if it broke my back doing so.”

Ms Turner plugged in the water fountain, and the water began to flow in its ornate patterns.

Rickhart sighed before whispering more details, seemingly annoyed, “In a glass, from the jug.”

Dasch was already grabbing a glass as he said that. “Here,” he said, as he poured it into the glass, and took it to him.

Rickhart tried to move his arm; but could only bring it a small distance; so instead he slipped his mouth open.
Dasch gently propped his head up, and softly poured the water into his mouth.

When the glass was empty; Rickhart moved his hand a little more as thought to push the glass away.

Dasch pulled it back. “Better?” Ackvick asked.

“Indeed,” said Rickhart, his voice still sounding incredibly harsh, “I need a walking stick, a clean suit, a pair of gloves, cotton wool, that water fountain and some young strong men.”

Ackvick chuckled. “I suppose you're talking about us then?” Ackvick chuckled. “I'll see to the other stuff, unless of course your lady brought that too.”

“I have a variety of suits and canes in the truck,” said Ms Turner, “Would you like me to get some?”

“Now,” instructed Rickhart.

With that Ms Turner dropped her backpacks and hurried off.

Suddenly, Ackvick felt something rumble in his pocket. It was his communicator. He picked it up.

“...What?” Ackvick said quietly.

He flipped it over. “Ackvick here…Yes...I understand. Yes. We’re at the hospital near your area. Good. We'll meet you there.”

He closed the communicator. “Wow,” Ackvick remarked.

“‘Wow’ yourself and help me up,” said Rickhart, trying to stretch the aging muscles of his heavily bandaged body.

Ackvick went over and helped him up. “Remember how we captured Tobias?” Ackvick said.

“I’m afraid I wasn't around at the time,” said Rickhart, dryly.

“Apparently, our special ops team was...forgotten about by Snyder, if you can believe it,” Ackvick said sheepishly, as he sat Rickhart up.

“Nothing surprises me about Messians,” said Rickhart, who was trying to roll his shoulders.

“It surprised me,” Ackvick remarked. “But it looks like they'll be helping us get out of the country.”

Ms Turner bolted back inside carrying the range of items. “Unfortunately I couldn't find any strong young men,” she explained, “There was a muscular orderly; but he wouldn't come voluntarily, so I clobbered him. Now he ain’t strong enough to be useful.”

Rickhart rolled his eye at the old lady.

Ackvick chuckled at the remark, at how outlandish it was, “We'll take care of it, don't worry. And please, don't clobber us.”

Ms Turner pulled out the dark black suit, with white shirt and black tie, “Will this do Mister Rickhart?”

“It will do fine,” said Rickhart, “But I'll need a little help getting into it.”

Ms Turner walked over to Rickhart; openned the suit case and removed the trousers, “Could you help me Mister...Ackvick? Mister Rickhart is rather long and heavy for an old dear like me.”

Ackvick looked back at Rickhart, and grimaced. He really didn’t want to see his grotesquely destroyed body, “I suppose.”

Ackvick proceeded to dress Rickhart, noting the amounts of bandages on him.

Ms Turner did up the final button on Rickhart's shirt, “You look magestic Daniel.”

“Gloves and cotton wool,” ordered Rickhart.

Ackvick took the gloves, and took them to Rickhart. Ackvick proceeded to put them on.

“Stuff the three middle fingers of the left glove with cotton wool,” instructed Rickhart, “I shall put these on myself.”

Ackvick stopped. “Okay,” he said, handing them over with the wool.

Rickhart slowly slipped on the black leather gloves; the stuffed fingers replacing those he had lost. Despite his weakness; somehow he again looked fearsome and powerful. Perhaps the metallic mask added to the effect. “Help me up Lord Ackvick,” requested Rickhart, as he saw Ms Turner bringing over a long oak walking stick, plated in gold.

Dasch and Ackvick took an arm each, and helped him up onto his feet. His fearsomeness was even stronger now, and Dasch look at him in awe, how such a crippled person could be so downright fearsome.

Ms Turner handed Rickhart the walking stick, which he placed all his weight on, “Now let us begin. Ms Turner, put some more water in that water feature and plug it in at the powerpoint next to the door. Turn it up to full speed.”

Ms Turner was a little confused, but hurriedly carried out Rickhart's orders.

At the sound of gushing water recommenced, Rickhart seemed to pause until he heard the faint sound of footsteps, “Follow me.”

“Will do,” Dasch replied as the three Messians headed out of the room.

Outside, there was now only one black-shirt, the other having had a sudden need for the bathroom. “I'll show you an old Jedi trick,” said Rickhart.

The black-shirt looked startled to see Rickhart out of bed, “You can't leave.”

Rickhart hobbled up to the guard, resting his wait on the cane. With his free hand, he wave his hand in front of the guard’s eyes, “I have permission to leave.”

“No you don’t,” said the black-shirt.

Again Rickhart waved his free hand in front of the black-shirt's eyes, “I have permission to leave.”

“No you don’t,” repeated the guard, watching Rickhart’s left hand.

With great speed, Rickhart’s right hand slammed the cane up between the black-shirts legs.

“My mistake,” gasped the black-shirt, falling down.

“Lets go,” said Rickhart hobbling off.

“Oh, Jedi, I BOW to your POWERS!” Ackvick mocked, jokingly, making a slight bow.

“Let's go,” he then said.

“First stop the mortuary,” said Rickhart, “Lisa has something of great importance.”

Carrying on to the mortuary Rickhart quickly located the small envelope he wanted. He then allowed Ms Turner to take the lead, towards the truck.

“Where am I taking us?” asked Ms Turner.

“Perhaps someone else should drive,” observed Rickhart, looking at the truck, badly parked in the middle of the ambulance bay; blocking all traffic.

“I'll drive,” Ackvick replied.

“We want to go north,” said Rickhart, adding ominously, “To Grey Spire.”

“First things, first,” Ackvick said, “What about the my special forces team in the industrial sector? They need to get picked up, and chances are they'll help us to no end.”

“Pick them up on the way,” said Rickhart, “Stroke of good luck really.”

Ackvick nodded. “Then lets go!” he said, as he flipped on the vehicle, and moved it, just before a tow truck pulled into the hospital lot.

“I'll ride in the back,” said Ms Turner, “There a few armchairs and sofas in there.”

Ackvick leaned over to Rickhart and whispered, “Why is she so strange? Are all Farminans like her?”

“Ms Turner is unique,”, said Rickhart, “I needed a cheap housekeeper and she had just got out of the asylum.”

Ackvick rolled his eyes. “Where's the bazooka she hides under her skirt?” he said, chuckling. He pulled the vehicle out of the lot.

Rickhart didn’t say anything.

Two Hours Later

The truck came to a halt. “Lord Ackvick,” said Rickhart, staring up at the old stone tower, “Welcome to Grey Spire.”

Rickhart withdrew a syringe and a vial from a small black bag; before carefully filling the syringe.

“Looks creepy,” Ackvick remarked, as he got out of the truck.

“Well we won’t stay long,” said Rickhart, injecting carefully into his arm, “I just need to ask Chief Cardinal Tried for a few documents...or else.”

Putting away the used syringe, he then held up the yellow envelope he had collected at the mortuary.

Ackvick nodded. “We'll hold the fort until you get back,” Ackvick replied. As Rickhart walked towards the building, he walked over to Dasch, “Dasch. Follow him.”

Rickhart continued to hobble forward for several minutes before halting, as though anticipating something. “Commander Dasch,” said Rickhart, not turning around, “If you intend to follow me, would you please bring some of your armed to the teeth grunts."

Dasch sighed. He flipped open the communicator. “RAIDERS move in to my position, quietly. Bring weapons.” Dasch then pulled out his gun

“Come along,” said Rickhart, hobbling foward.

The younger, healthier men would have no trouble keeping up with Rickhart, if not for his lead. Once he reached the gates, he paused before two men cloaked in crimson; neck to toe; with long flowing capes.

“I am here to see the Chief Cardinal,” explained Rickhart to the Crimson Guard, “You will allow me to enter.”

“Excuse me Mister Rickhart,” commented one of the guards, “But I heard you were dead.”

“I am,” responded Rickhart, “Now let me in.”

“The Chief Cardinal isn’t in,” said one of the guards.

“Send the word ‘Barousa’ upstairs," said Rickhart, “Then we’ll see if he is in.”

The Crimson Guard said into his communicator, “Mister Rickhart says ‘Barousa’.”

He then looked at Rickhart and the Messians, “It appears the Chief Cardinal is willing to see you Mister Rickhart.”

“Come along,” instructed Rickhart again, “We are going to meet the head of the Grey Catholic Chuch, so keep your manners about, and your weapons.”

As they walked in, Dasch turned to the elder Rickhart. “Why the weapons?”

“Men of the cloth are a dangerous sort,” said Rickhart, stepping into the dark, large circular room that formed the base of the tower, the continuous wall decorated only by stained glass and windows and a great spiraling staircase.

“I heard that Mister Rickhart,” said an elderly man draped in crimson, “I heard you word dead.”

“So people keep saying,” said Rickhart, “I need access to your archives.”

“That won’t be possible,” said the Chief Cardinal Maxwell Tried, “Guards!”

With that Crimson Guard stepped out of their hiding places in the dark, and poured down the spiral steps.

“Anything clever Mister Rickhart and you will be as dead as they all say you are,” warned the Chief Cardinal.

“Lord Cardinal,” began Rickhart, “I find this fuss quite unnecessary.”

“We have been expecting this visit for a long time,” warned the Cardinal, “We have planned for this day. We celebrated when we heard of your death. We shall bury you yet, Rickhart.”

“What in blazes is the old fool talking about,” wondered Rickhart. Now he was convinced the answer was here.
“Lord Cardinal,” said Rickhart, “Should you kill me, Lord Ackvick has my authority to publish sensitive facts that would destroy you.”

“Why do you want him dead? What does that solve?” Dasch asked.

“It cleans up our mistake,” hissed the Chief Cardinal Tried “Cleans up the defective goods.”

“Defective,” mocked Rickhart, “I have Cardinal Barousa’s signed confession. You ordered him to Kerria Sirade. Then the entire Council of Cardinals lied under oath to cover it us. If Ackvick publishes that confession you’re finished. The Grey Catholic Church is finished.”

The Crimson Guard stood unflinching in their loyalty. Chief Cardinal Tried looked panicked; not realizing that the original confession had been destroyed; and more importantly the fake Rickhart had made was in that very room.

“Prepare the archive room. Rickhart is here,” said Tried, “I suppose you better follow me.”

Rickhart began to hobble up the stairs, “Lord Commander; I think we shall find something interesting here. Mark my words.”

“Really, like what?” Dasch asked, the randomly armed men and women behind them.

“The end of the world,” said Rickhart, being purposefully ominous.

“The end of the world?” Dasch responded, with curiosity and a tinge of fear.

“Do you think everything that has happened; everything you have heard is just a series of strange coincidences?” supposed Rickhart, trying to keep out of the Cardinal’s hearing.

“I thought it was,” Dasch responded.

Rickhart remained silent, as he stepped off the stairs, onto the corridor that Chief Cardinal Tried was leading them to, “We must be cautious.”

Tried stopped at a set of heavy iron doors and pushed his swipe card through the electronic lock. The Cardinal then remained still, so Rickhart pushed the door open himself.

He stepped into a massive room; big enough to hold a ball; containing millions on millions of filing cabinets. Then something more concerning came to his view; two church staff emptying folders of documents into a paper shredder.

“Stop,” ordered Rickhart. But the two men continued their destruction.

The RAIDERS team noted the situation, and Viper nodded to them. Viper pulled out his silenced Falcon Magnum and shot them both with quickly-fired headshots. The rest of the team had guns ready to fire as the other guards didn't exactly notice the sound of the silencer going off.

The Cardinal stood still in stunned silence. Rickhart hobbled over to the paper shredder and bending down very slowly, read the labels, “Project Beta. Rickhart, D. Grey#128. Cleats, D.”

Rickhart sighed, “Its gone, its all gone.”

“Psht,” Dasch scoffed, “Remember? We did the investigating on your soil, going through paper. This will be like going back in time during the time of the President’ Ball.”

Rickhart picked up one of the millions of tiny paper squares, “I doubt these can be put back together.”

Rickhart looked furiously at the Chief Cardinal, but knew that he couldn't get the fool to talk, “Lord Commander, tell your men that they are to seize all documents relating to the Puppeteer, the Great Grey Line, Charles Thurg and Emperor Justinian. We will take them with us for some bedtime reading.”

Dasch made a nod to the team. “Aye, sir.” Viper replied, while the rest of the team moved around. Dasch took the paper shredder, and removed the garbage bag inside of it. He heaved it onto his shoulder. “Wouldn't hurt to try. They’re on the payroll after all,” Dasch replied.

Rickhart hobbled amongst filing cabinets grabbing anything with an intriguing label. After several searches, he again hobbled off.

Dasch walked up to Rickhart. "What did the search come up with?"

“I won't know until I’ve read the detail,” said Rickhart.

Rickhart proceeded down the stairs, outside and handed his bundle of files to Ms Turner, “Look after these. Keep an eye on Commander Dasch. All the documents we have collected are for my eyes only.”

“Understood,” confirmed the old lady.

Ackvick approached Dasch, who was walking down behind Rickhart. He looked downright angry, “Dasch, what happened?”

“Religious psychos, that's all. Armed religious psychos.”

Ackvick looked at him with a stunned look, “O..kay.”

Rickhart hobbled to the cab of the truck, “I suppose its time to leave Farmina.”

“Yeah, let's get out of this twisted, and warped country,” Dasch said, muttering, “No offense.”

“Coming from the man whose nation is ruled by a murderous tyrant,” sniped Rickhart, climbing into the passenger seat, “None taken.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dasch muttered, as they sped off.

---

Daniel Rickhart pointed Ackvick round the final left as he gently remove the needle from his own arm. “I’ve had this farm for a while,” explained Rickhart, “Its allowed me to accumulate a reasonable amount of wealth and equipment.”

“And where do you get your wealth from?” Ackvick inquired.

“Some from investments, some from work, some from loans,” said Rickhart.

“Just park near the big shed,” said Rickhart, “Then let everyone out the back.”

Ackvick pulls the truck into the shed, and put the vehicle into park.

Rickhart stepped out of the truck and began to open one of the large shed doors to reveal a collection of rather expensive looking planes.

“As I said, where do you get the money?!” Ackvick said in awe.

“A great deal of investing,” repeated Rickhart, “This farm alone brings in hundreds of thousands of Haren a year. That and Ms Turner is a member of the nobility.”

“That would explain it...” Ackvick replied, “Now where do we take off? And who is flying?”

“I’ve never done any of my own crop dusting,” said Rickhart, although it was clear that crop-dusting wasn't the primary use of many of the planes, “And Ms Turner can't see straight, none the less fly a plane. How many of your lot can fly?”

All of the Messians raised their hands.

“We all can fly. Part of our training.”

“Then I suggest we take several planes,” said Rickhart, “We will need to take a lot of supplies with us.”

“Are any of these planes armed?” Ackvick inquired.

“There are minor adjustments we can make to these crop dusters,” hinted Rickhart.

Ackvick then heard the sound of jets from the sky above, distant, “Well, we better hurry. If we're spotted by either a Farminan or Messian air patrol, we're all done for.”

“Ms Turner,” ordered Rickhart, “Organize for everything that we can take with us to be taken with us. Food, water, medical supplies, computer equipments, generators and the like. Each Messian is to choose plane. Ackvick will be flying with me. Dasch will be flying with Ms Turner.”

“Then let’s get a move on!” Ackvick announced.

“Tobias,” said Phillip Sullivan, entering the President’s office, “With the Colonies trying to quit the war; we have reason to believe that Snyder will withdraw his forces from the north to try and crush any insurgency.”

“An insurgency we must ensure survives,” noted Tobias, “What do you propose we do?”

“Prevent the withdrawal,” said Sullivan, “Kill or capture every last one of these soldiers. Snyder wants them to crush his people and he can’t have them.”

Tobias Grey looked up from his paperwork and pressed a small button on his intercom, “Get Varius Aricar on the line.”

Tobias Grey then returned to confirming the increase in small arms ammunition production. Within moments the giant video screen light up, “Lord President?”

“Varius,” began Tobias calmly, “Is it possible the Messians will withdraw from Alice?”

“It is,” confirmed Aricar.

“Can we prevent a withdraw?” asked Tobias.

“No,” said Aricar, “Not without a full scale naval blockade of Alice.”

“Can the Army of the North seize Alice?” queried Sullivan.

“Insufficient troops on the north,” responded Aricar, “The attack would be a moderate success at best.”

“Can we move enough troops north to attack during any withdrawal?” suggested Tobias, “Overwhelm the rear guard, use insurgents in the city to tear their lines apart, supported by submarines.”

“We could overcome a rearguard,” suggested Aricar, “If I was allowed to deploy a comprehensive force against Alice.”

“If you can assemble it quickly,” said Grey, “You can have. I want to see assault plans by tomorrow.”

“Immediately Lord President,” said Aricar, before the screen went blank.

For a moment Tobias presumed he would get some peace; when a black-shirt captain ran into his office, “Lord President, it appears we have mislaid Daniel Rickhart.”

The convoy of airplanes flew over the ocean while heading towards the Militia Enforced State. Ackvick turned to Rickhart while the planes flew high and stable. "It'll take about five hours to arrive at my private airstrip," Ackvick replied. "Getting down undetected is going to be the hard part."

"Whatever you say," said Rickhart, "I don't suppose you have training in abstract logic?"

Ackvick looked at him with curiosity. "Not exactly, but it's worth a shot. Why do you ask?"

"You never know when these things might come in handy," said Rickhart, "Keeping a grip on what is real can often be important."

Rickhart then made a gesture as if he were showing some cards. "Suppose I put in front of you four cards," said Rickhart, "They read A,B,1,2. Then I tell you that each card has a letter on one side and a number on the other. Then I ask you to test a hypothesis that if a card has a vowel on one side it must have a odd number on the other side. How many cards, and which cards do I turn over to test this hypothesis?"

"Hmm..." Ackvick said, thinking. "Two cards, and you would flip card number one, and card A."

“Incorrect,” said Rickhart, “You do flip the A. However you don’t flip the 1. A vowel must have an odd; not an odd must have a vowel. An odd number may have any number. Instead we flip the 2; why?”

"To make sure that the 2 has a non-vowel, of course."

"Correct," said Rickhart, "Because if there is a vowel; then the hypothesis is violated. Still there is much to teach you."

"Not necessarely," said Ackvick. "If you really wanted to test the hypothesis, you would flip all four cards. Cards 1 and A would have the vowel/odd combination, and the B/2 having the even/non-vowel combination."

"You gain nothing from flipping the other two cards, except wasting your time," said Rickhart, "A consanant-odd card is allowed."

Ackvick smirked. "Yes, Rickhart, but what if one of the unturned cards contradicted the hypothesis?"

"They cannot," said Rickhart, "Either alternative cannot contradict the hypothesis."

Suddenly, something caught his eye. "Uhh...Rickhart. Hate to conversation short..."

"Deal with it," sighed Rickhart.

The radio came alive as Ackvick saw ten...no....twenty....no....no less than thirty aircraft in front of them. "This is Messian flight wing Beta two to unidentified aircrafts. Immediately lower altitude to two-thousand meters and fly vector two-two-zero."

Ackvick's heart started pumping adreneline. He could feel it. "This is an unlisted flight, carrying important," said Rickhart, into the radio, "Attack us and you will draw the wrath of the Pacitalian people."

A short pause was interupted by the Messian flight. "This is Messian flight. We do not care who you are, or what you're carrying. You have fifteen seconds to lower altitude, or we will shoot you down, and make sure you are never found."

Rickhart clicked on the transmit button again. "This transmission has is being recorded and relayed to Pacitalia," warned Rickhart, "You have just signed the confession to a crime you are yet to commit."

A short pause was broken by a harsh demand. "This is Messian flight. All communications outside of your aircraft are being jammed. You have ten seconds." The jets swarmed past the planes, and formed up behind the planes, and fell into target position.

"Check your instruments," said Rickhart, fiddling with his laptop and some technological bits and pieces, "We are still transmitting."

There was a pause. "Hello, Rickhart."

Ackvick's heart stopped. The voice was no one else but Snyder's. The countdown stopped and they were still flying, but it was probably to do with Snyder wanting the chance to speak.

"Lord Snyder," began Rickhart, "We meet at last. Well, talk at least."

"Whether or not the messages have been sent, we have already send out relays to the nation in question that the fugitive Rickhart has hijacked or falsified communications to their nation." Snyder replied. "Now lower altitude or I will order them to fire."

"Lord Snyder," said Rickhart, "Do you realise that I have onboard with me information of extreme value? If you want to defeat Farmina; you need to go through me?"

Rickhart then turned and looked at Ackvick; wondering if the Messian was planning on doing anything. All of a sudden, tracers flew past their planes. "I am fully aware of this, Rickhart. I saw your movement from the Grey Spire. I have been tracking you all. Now get down here."

"We are travelling to Ackvick's private airstep," said Rickhart, "If you want to meet; we do it there." Ackvick then saw the fighter jets gain altitude. Rickhart looked at Ackvick, "Can we possibly win in the air?"

Ackvick looked back at Rickhart. "Not likely. Even though my men and women are well trained, we're outnumbered three to one, and I can almost guarantee that additional flights are inbound."

"Lucky he won't shoot us down," said Rickhart, "So much to do."

Suddenly, gunfire erupted again, but only in a few bursts. The plane shook as the planes' wings get rattled by gunfire. Alarms went off as fuel linked out of the wings, and loud screams were heard as the jets flew past in a 45 degree dive. Then then leveled off and flew back. As the klaxxon filled the cockpit, Snyder's voice came through. "Now you have no choice but to land on the Final Victory. If I were you. Land. By the time you land, you will be out of fuel. You have no chance to make it even halfway to the MES."

"You didn't mention the Final Victory before," said Rickhart, "I'll just commence self-destruct sequence."

"Heh, and let me take over the planet?!" Snyder scoffed. "And let me bury your name into the mud, and to let the Grey church go without persecution? And let Grey bumble around, powerless as the rat he is?"

"Bring the plane in to land on the Final Victory," said Rickhart, as he reached for some of Ms Turner's explosives.

Snyder's voice continued to go over the communications. His voice was filled with a sound of intimidation. "Right now, every single one of my main enemies are in the same place at the same time. Blowing yourself up will not be martydom, and you will destroy any chance of overthrowing me, like there was any chance."

As Ackvick brought the planes lower, more jets flew by them. But they were different, and irronically, a type he has never seen before.

"Lord Ackvick," said Rickhart, "Order Dasch and the others to make a break for it."

"Commence vertical stack formation," one of the Messian pilots announced. As that came through, Ackvick looked at Rickhart. "To be completely honest with you, if they tried, they would die. These planes can't fly as fast as the Messian fighters. We're outmanned, outgunned, and outarmoured. It's best to take our chances with him...as much as I would hate to admit it."

As the convoy of planes flew into stacked formation, Rickhart again began typing on his laptop, "What if I can ruin their communications systems?"

"It's worth a shot, Rickhart, but the chance of getting away is still..."

Suddenly, the plane shook as something thumped on the fuselage. A loud bang quickly filled the plane just afterwards, and then a clanging sound.

"Any sign of hostility and I'll destroy all these documents," warned Rickhart as he executed his disruption program.

"What the..." Ackvick responded as a flashbang knocked the two men into a state of psychosis. A few moments later, Ackvick saw a bunch of armed Messian troops rush over, and fired tranquilizers into the two men.

--------

Dasch froze as he heard the communication. Alana held onto Dasch's shoulder as he moved into formation. Moments later, his plane's door gets blasted open, and flashbang detonated. Dasch also felt stunned, but he saw the flashbang before it detonated, which he covered his eyes in time. The old landlady and Alana were knocked down by the blast, but Dasch pulled out his Falcon Magnum, and fired at the men. It hit one of the men, the man screaming, and getting specks of blood onto some of the papers on board. Another fired no less than three tranquilizers into Dasch, and the world went black.

Ackvick woked up groggily. There was a fairly bright light blinding him, but not enough to hurt his eyes. As his vision came to, he noticed the room he was in. He never thought he would end up in the interrogation room of his own flagship, but he was, and he could tell that the star-shaped bed, and classic restraints that his designers developed were in use here. He felt the two solid heavy metal loops on the legs, two on the arms, one around the chest, one around the neck, and one around his waist. Unless released, no living creature could break from it. To make matters worse, he knew that there was an electrocution device hardwired into the system, and any attempt to break free without an unlock device would end in fatality.

"You...son of a bitch!" Ackvick muttered as his eyes fixated on the familiar person in front of him. "You goddamned coward. I would kill you right now if I could!"

"Calm down, James. No need to get into a tizzy now. You're in no position to argue grudges."

Ackvick struggled against the restraints. "You son of a bitch! Why, why, why?!! You're on the same side you jackass!"

Snyder shook his head as he stood up. "Your rule, with the others, is heavily corrupted. Your nation is in dire straights." He paused. "Actually, our nation is doing okay. But the world is in dire straights. Countless wars. Famine. Corporate greed. Murder. This world is set to be destroyed, and all the nations are against a united Earth government! I have plans to unite the planet under my banner! Bring civility to the planet! And I shall crush those that stand against me!"

Ackvick stopped struggling, but it wasn't clear whether or not it was due to fatigue or shock. "You're fucking crazy. Fucking. Crazy," Ackvick muttered. "I will make you suffer for this!"

Snyder turned away from him. "Ackvick, you must realise, that you are not in the position to argue," Snyder restated, as he took a syringe from his pocket. He could see the needle of it, and the reddish liquid inside of it. "You have one chance, and one chance only. Stop this rebellion, and I will let you stand by my side."

Ackvick spat on Snyder. In a rather surprising move to Ackvick, Snyder grinned. "Exactly as I thought, traitor," Snyder said. "Do you realise what is inside this syringe?"

As Snyder walked up to the side of Ackvick, Ackvick got a closer look.

"Oh fuck no," Ackvick said in cold fear. "Not Agent X! NO!" Ackvick screamed. Snyder jabbed it into Ackvick's arm, and pushed it in. Ackvick started trembling as his body started to fill with the feeling of fire, like he was through into lava. The feeling went from his arm, to his heart, then the rest of the body.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" Ackvick screamed in extreme agony. "AAAGGGHHHH!!!"

Snyder chuckled. "Ackvick, I will give you the antidote, to stop the lifelong pain, if you agree to work on my terms. Now I'll let you suffer while you think about it."

Ackvick kept screamed as the door shut behind Snyder as he left the room.

Snyder arrived on the bridge of the Final Victory. "Report," Snyder stated.

"Sir, the fleet is three-hundred miles away from the northern invasion front."

"Excellent, keep me posted," Snyder replied. He'd be lying if he ever said that this little diversion was cheap on life. But it wasn't. Eight-thousand dead Messians. A few dozen tanks. The losses were the heaviest though on the naval side. Two-hundred and thirty-one aircraft destroyed. Three ships, the MESV Lurker, MESV Rebel, and MESV Helios, sunk. Eight ships crippled, one of which, the MESV Houston flattop, adrift and scuttled. The rest of the fleet had various amounts of damage, but the Final Victory weathered it well. There were a large amount of holes to fill, but the actual structure was untouched.

Snyder walked down the deck. He had someone in particular he wanted to talk to...

Rickhart was feeling very drowsy and in a great deal of pain. However, that was how he had felt since waking up in hospital. There was a bright light, but he doubted it was his just reward. “Where am I?” he whispered, struggling for strength.

“My lair,” Snyder replied darkly, “In the place where mortal men die when they cross me.”

“And you, mister Rickhart, are mortal.”

“I am beginning to think that view is mistaken,” said Rickhart glumly.

“Nonsense, mister Rickhart,” Snyder said, smiling. He pushed a joystick forward, bringing the bed forward to twenty-two and a half degrees, giving Rickhart a full view of Snyder.

“You may be a legend. The telepath. The prophet. The freakjob. Many people know you, and much less respect you.”

Snyder got up and walked up towards the side of the bed, dragging his hand along the contours of the edge of the bed.

“You may be a legend, but I know your secrets. I have it all. I have caught you in my net.”

“You may have conquered the present,” said Rickhart, “But you have not conquered the future.”

“And that,” Snyder responded, “Is what I am about to do.” He revealed one of the jars that Rickhart immediately recognised. “I don't know what this drug is, but I'm sure it has something to do with your magic.”

“I am chemist,” said Rickhart, “I have many drugs. Some are for strength. Others are for disease and illness. Search the planes and you should find hundreds of my product.”

“I have noticed,” Snyder replied, “I met with Dasch, and I used my own miracle drug on him, as he didn't want to talk. It wasn't pretty, but he told me about the list he received from you. That list has narrowed it to a select few.”

“The drug I asked Dasch to collect is to help me keep strength up,” said Rickhart, “Nothing more.”

“I don't believe you,” Snyder replied, “There was more than one. Right now the drugs are being analyzed. Either we find out now, by you telling me, or I make you suffer, and I find out anyways.”

“Dasch was only instructed to collect one drug,” said Rickhart, “C-P-17; a temporary strength enhancer. Your tests will confirm what I am saying Lord Commander.”

“Alright,” Snyder responded, “Then tell me your prophecy, as of now?”

“I see you fall Snyder,” said Rickhart, “Unless you find your hidden ally, you will fail. Perhaps you will outlive this insurgency and see the back of Tobias Grey. However I have read something recently that changes everything. I see a great prince, majestic, tall, blonde, young and incredibly handsome. He shall raise a great sword, heralding an army of five hundred million. And ever behind him walks his shadow.”

“Palmer...” Snyder replied grimly.

“I do not think it is Palmer,” said Rickhart, “He has red hair; not blond.”

Snyder gave a barely noticeable sigh of relief, “I hope you're right; he's downright mad.”

“Whoever this prince is, I would like to see him myself,” Snyder responded, “I would like to have your visions.”

“You cannot just have a vision, you need equipment,” said Rickhart, purposefully forgetting to mention the training that prevented the false reality becoming poisonous.

Snyder grinned, “And what sorts of equipment do you need? Machines? Drugs? Training?”

“The drug V-X-2, pens, paper and special charting equipment,” said Rickhart.

Snyder looked back from Rickhart. Rickhart noticed a black one-way window, which was really hard to make out in the minimal light. Snyder made a nod, and turned back. “You speak the truth, Rickhart. Good, that means I can spare you the ‘rod’.”

“There is nothing you could put me through I haven’t already suffered,” mocked Rickhart, moving his head in the dim light to emphasis his shiny metal plate.

“Rickhart,” Snyder commented coolly, as he revealed the red-filled syringe, “This, is Agent X, my pride and joy. Imagine those acid burns all over your body. And living with it until you get the antidote. I hope a man with your strength will not need to be persuaded by this.”

“The drug is not fatal, just excruciating. You would live life in uncontrollable pain with no way to stop it, and the inability to use your limbs by the nervous overload.”

“I have seen loved ones die excruciating deaths. I have seen the truth slip through my fingers. I have seen honour taken and bestowed on evil men,” said Rickhart, “That is pain. That is my horror.”

“Then, what if I removed the pain? Removed it completely? What if you were the way you were before?” Snyder responded.

“I’m listening,” said Rickhart.

“You have to promise that you will work with me. Side, by side. You are a man of great power, and I'd hate to squander that power,” said Snyder.

“The ends?” asked Rickhart, “To what ends?”

“To rule the globe together. To bring peace to the planet. To crush corruption, scary religious practices, and crime forever. To bring a new age of exploration of space. To bring a new era to humanity, before it is destroyed by utter idiocy and lunatic ideals.”

“Then I must decline,” said Rickhart, “A global empire is even beyond our reach. And such dominance will only perpetuate war; continual rebellion and hatred. Unity will be replaced by civil war.”

“And this system is surviving how?” Snyder commented, “It is not working, and by bringing governments down from the inside out, can we commit change. The war with Farmina was just a cover to recover you, as well as bringing my agents into the core of Farminan leadership.”

“You will create anarchy,” said Rickhart, “You dream and your nightmare is one in the same.”

“I have it all planned,” Snyder replied, shaking his head, “Until the world has fallen in line, the major groups under my control shall conquer the smaller, resistant countries. With my weapons, I can destroy them outright. And three-hundred thousand feet up in the sky is my contingency plan, if this world fails.”

Snyder grabbed a data pad, turned it on, and put it in front of his face, “The MESV Galactic Star.”

The ship was truly awesome. It had sixteen rocket engines, and was two kilometers long. It had a capacity of fifty-thousand of the world's brightest. “This ship will bring humanity to a new beginning. A new era. A few years from now, this ship will be ready to launch.”

“You were the child who tore up the board when you lost at Monopoly,” commented Rickhart, “Can't have your own way, so you just find a new planet?”

“Not at all, Rickhart, but even you can't fix the world, so if I fail, I don't know who could," Snyder responded.

Snyder walked slowly around the table some more, then walked back to the chair where he started at.

“You can’t fix the world against its will,” said Rickhart, “The world must want to be fixed.”

Snyder chucked, “Humanity is such an animalistic, immature species. It will never want to be fixed,” Snyder scoffed. “In the meantime, I am aiming for a grand coalition of countries. The new allied alliance that becomes the sole ultra-power of the globe. Are you with me,” Snyder said, holding his hand, “Or not?” Snyder clenched his hand into a fist.

“I am offering everything you have lost for your partnership, and I can kill you at any moment if you decline,” Snyder responded.

“Abandon these foolish plans for war,” offered Rickhart, “And I will help you crush your insurgency. That is the path to peace.”

“I suppose we can look at the short term problems for now,” Snyder responded, “Then we have a deal, except for one thing.”

“Your correct,” said Rickhart, “I also suspect Dasch stole something from be. A disc? A USB key perhaps? Have you retrieved it?”

“Yes, we have,” Snyder responded, grinning, “The information from that hard drive...it was very...intriguing. It will advance my drug research forward by a decade. The foolish Dasch said he wanted to protect your data for your future usage. He didn't think for one second that I would intercept him.”

“I’d rather keep that information private for now,” said Rickhart, “I don't want my monopoly on cures torn apart just yet.”

“And you said that I was the one freaking out over monopoly,” Snyder said, chuckling, “You will get it back, don't you worry. But the data's already been uploaded.”

“Now the real last thing, Rickhart. Did you by any chance leave anything out when you made that list about that drug?”

Rickhart paused thoughtfully for a moment and then said, “Did I mention tea-leaves, a crystal-ball and star charts?”

Snyder looked back at the window again, “Are you sure? I don't want you to poison me.”

“Clean around the injection point,” said Rickhart, “And be careful, your mind is a dangerous place to go.”

“Very well,” Snyder replied. He looked back, and picked up his communicator. He ordered for the drug and the nurse.

Rickhart noted that he hadn't given Snyder the first clue what he was supposed to do other than stick a needle in his arm. No doubt Snyder presumed, he'd just have a dream and that would explain everything.

A moment later, the door opened, and a nurse with another vial walked into the room. Snyder put his down, and set up a chair.

Snyder pulled up his sleeve, as the nurse wiped the area clean on Snyder's arm. The nurse then inserted the needle, and slowly injected the serum into Snyder's arm.

Rickhart tried to take a more commanding voice, “Do you moving shapes, Lord Commander? Simple, coloured geometric objects?”

“No...at least...not yet,” Snyder said.

“Close your eyes and wait for it,” said Rickhart, “"Tell me when the drug takes hold, I'll walk you step by step.”

Rickhart knew what Snyder didn't; the drug could only show you your own thoughts; Rickhart would manipulate what Snyder saw by making him think certain things.

Snyder stuttered, “I...see. I see the shapes now.”

“Now we must wait for the future to come to you,” soothingly lied Rickhart, adding, “We must find answers. Do your cities burn?”

Rickhart had carefully added the burning cities reference; so just that thought would pop into Snyder's mind

“Yes...no wait. I see...something else.”

“What?” asked Rickhart.

“I see....the burning command center...after the bombings...”

“Who is there?” said Rickhart, trying to add people into the hallucination.

“I see it...I see myself in the restaurant across the street. I see people running, screaming. I feel anger. I can see guards, both mine and regular men running around,” said Snyder.

“What are you doing?” asked Rickhart.

“Eating food...my favorite meal at the restaurant...I'm talking on the phone. I'm talking to...” Snyder suddenly gasped, his eyes bulging.

“Who?” said Rickhart, seeing Snyder’s reaction.

“I see it now,” Snyder said, relaxing more, and seemingly more in control, and ignoring the question. “I see the rebellion. I can see...Lance Foster?! Impossible, I thought he was comatose!”

“Is he behind the flames?” said Rickhart, “No one else. No foriegn king or president?”

The use of the word ‘king’ was to reminder Snyder of Rickhart's Prince; to try and incorporate this great prince into Snyder’s vision.

“He is...he is brown haired. I don’t think he can be,” Snyder remarked, “But he does appear to be behind the flames. As if his fury was all-consuming.”

“And his hair is blond in this vision...”

“How great is his army?” asked Rickhart; expecting Snyder to repeat Rickhart’s ‘Prophecy.’

“I don't see an army...but I see great fury. Great fury against my rule. I must crush this insurrection. Crush it before...”

Suddenly, Snyder went into a momentary state of shock.

“Nurse!” yelled Rickhart.

The nurse moved over to Snyder, who still had the look. Just as the nurse was about to inject something into his arm, Snyder's arm grabbed her arm. She yelled from the strength of his grasp, yet not enough to break her arm.

“Everything is so clear now. So utterly...clear...” Snyder said distantly, then with more tone. “This drug isn't a prophecy drug,” Snyder remarked.

“Its a poison,” confirmed Rickhart.

“A poison you say?” Snyder replied, disturbingly determined and deep. “I know this. I can see it now. I can feel it now. I am...in control now, control of it...this is no prophecy drug. It clears the mind. It makes complex logic make sense...”

“I can see right through your plots...your ideas. I can see Ackvick's motive. I can see betrayal among my own ranks. I can see...everything.”

“It also causes delusion,” commented Rickhart.

“Time will tell, Rickhart, time will tell to see if my delusions have any truth or false to them,” Snyder replied. He stood up slowly, bracing himself as his body protested the chemical inside of him. He somewhat staggered to Rickhart, “Do you fear me Rickhart?”

“Did you see the Prince?” asked Rickhart, sounding concerned.

“Yes,” Snyder said, “I see him. I see him with the sword. I see him with the army. The army is Messian. And that character...is no one other...” Snyder closed his eyes and glared at him. “No one other than you.”

Rickhart blinked to represent shock. “Well that complicates things,” said Rickhart, adding silently, “Does this mean he distrusts me or that he sees me at his right hand?”

“That said, mister Rickhart, that army I see. It's clearly got my new type of uniforms. It could mean you working for me.”

“Then it appears I have no choice,” said Rickhart, “We men of knowledge know the future is the chains that bind us.”

He paused, “I like the sound of ‘The Prince’. It compares pleasantly to the title of a Farminan commoner.”

Snyder scoffed. “Don't take that as the rule of thumb. I was not in the vision. It could mean that you somehow gain control of my own personal army. Fate will tell.”

Snyder turned to the nurse, “Nurse. Prepare for a full-body transplant. This man deserves a new body.”

The woman saluted, and left the room. Snyder turned to Rickhart, “Remember not to cross me, Rickhart.”

“There are only ever two people to survive V-X-2,” said Rickhart, “Do you think me a fool? By the way, do you mind untying me?”

“Don’t worry Rickhart. You will be soon enough,” As he spoke, the door slid open, and three medics entered the room with a gurney. Snyder turned to Rickhart, “One more thing. Your new body will have an explosive charge inside of your heart. It is directly inside of it, embedded. Any attempt at removing it will probably destroy your heart, and thus, kill you. The explosive is set up to a detonator that I have. Try to even attempt to double-cross me, and your body will have a nice hole in the chest.”

“This body will do fine,” commented Rickhart, “Especially if I must reinfiltrate the traitors.”

Snyder shook his head. "Reinfiltrate which traitors?"

Rickhart explained, “I thought if we allow the insurgency to grow; then we can find our real enemies. Striking to early, will just deal with the surface of the problem.”

Snyder thought for a very quick moment. “Are you sure this isn’t because of my threat?” Snyder responded.

“Carrying around an explosive doesn't make me comfortable,” said Rickhart honestly and openly, “But weakness hiding strength; its traps within traps Lord Commander.”

“Do not worry about the explosive,” explained Snyder. “You should only worry if you decide to doublecross me. If you don’t stab me in the back, then there should be no worries, should there be?”

“Still I would like to proceed with my plan,” said Rickhart, “The principle has been very successful before. I applied it in Arandior.”

“I still have an alternate plan. I can seed the fact that I transplanted you to be able to inflict pain on a fresh body,” Snyder replied.

“I doubt they would buy that,” said Rickhart, “I wouldn’t. And I certainly don't want to be a bomb in the middle of the enemy camp. You might get temptations.”

Snyder sighed, and waved the medics off, “You have yourself a deal. But in order to be by my side, this must be done after you've crushed the rebellion.” Snyder then grabbed another needle. It was filled with a clear liquid.

“When the rebellion is crushed,” said Rickhart, “My loyalty will beyond question.”

“Good. Your job begins, now,” Snyder put the needle into the arm of Rickhart, and injected the liquid in.

“And what is this?” asked Rickhart.

“As I said,” Snyder replied, “Your job begins now...I'm a man of my word...”

At that, Rickhart fell asleep.

Rickhart awoke inside a damp, echo-filled jail cell. Three sides were metal cell bars, and the fourth, having a small window near the ceiling. This setup was repeated down the hallway a somewhat fair distance.

“It's about time you woke up,” Dasch commented.

“I don’t have much else to do,” observed Rickhart, opening his eye.

Dasch folded his arms in relaxation, “You were brought here about a half hour ago, though I could have lost track of time; there's no clock in here."

“What do we know about the locks?” asked Rickhart, sitting up.

“They’re mounted inside the roof,” Dasch replied, “Solid metal interlock. The pole that holds the door shut is mounted inside the ceiling. There's no way to circumvent it. That is, unless we have an explosive to blow the lock out.”

Dasch then shook his head, “I highly doubt we would have the means to do it anyways. Snyder more than likely took everything off that wasn't clothing from us.”

“Where is everyone else?” asked Rickhart.

“I’m here,” Alana responded somberly. She was sitting in the corner, out of Rickhart's field of vision. “Ackvick was probably interrogated immediately.”

“Any ideas on how to get out and get our stuff back?” said Rickhart.

“Until Snyder wants us out, or at least, a non-convert to let us out, we're stuck, I’m afraid,” Dasch replied quietly. He looked around the room. He could see some other prisoners. Some were Messian, while others were Farminan in aviation uniforms, probably those who were shot down.

“Guard,” yelled Rickhart, “Guard.”

A moment later, a Snyder loyalist walked into the room. He held a baton in his right arm, “What do you want, whelp?”

“This accomadation just won't do,” said Rickhart, “And I demand to know where my house keeper is!”

“Well,” the guard responded. Then a grin formed on his face, “What if we hung you from a net over the bow, about two meters from the water below?”

“Then Lord Snyder will have you disembowled,” said Rickhart, “We are incredibly valuable and he knows it.”

The guard shook his head. He grabbed his communicator. He spoke a few things into it, then looked towards Rickhart.

“Snyder wishes to speak to you,” the guard replied.

Dasch looked at the guard suspiciously.

“He had his chance,” snarled Rickhart, “Now where is Ms Turner.”

Just as Rickhart said that, the door opened, and two guards brought the old woman into the room. She was barely able to walk.

“Good grief Jane,” said Rickhart, “What have they done to you?”

“She's here now. And Snyder told me to tell you, no."

As the woman was brought up, the guard pressed a button on the outside of the cell. It caused the floor in the room to give a small electric pulse, stunning the three prisoners. As they were stunned, the door opened, and they brought the old woman in, and shut the door behind them. Dasch tried to stand up and get through, but the door clanged closed and the lock shuting down.

Rickhart frowned at the guards, “Tell Lord Snyder that he will pay for this. Furthermore, if he wants to talk to me, he must come here.”

The guards then walked out of the room. But then Rickhart could hear Snyder's voice. He couldn't explain it, but he could hear him if he were in the room.

“While you were in the interrogation room, I had a small voice communicator installed into your ear. I did this so we can work on our...agreement. I must appoligise for the rough quarters, as well as the abuse to Jane. I got them to stop as soon as I discovered your loyalty. The conditions cannot be changed; otherwise it would be blatantly obvious that you are working for me.”

The communication stopped.

“Those bastards!” Dasch yelled in frustration, banging his fist on the metal bars.

“Get here you bastard Snyder,” yelled Rickhart, “If you want to talk, we barter here.”

Dasch looked at Rickhart suspiciously, “What? Who are you talking to?”

“The guards,” said Rickhart, “They’ll be passing word up to Snyder.”

“Not the point,” said Dasch, “You were talking like you were talking to him. That does not auger well with me.”

“Dictators hear everything,” said Rickhart, “Especially in their own command ship. I bet he's watching us right now.”

Dasch kept a suspicious look at Rickhart, “Are you working for him?”

“Absolutely,” said Rickhart satirically, “I’m going to be a mole in your little rebellion, in your new Republic that stretchs this entire cell.”

Dasch sighed. Suddenly, the door swung open and four guards came into the room. They came up to the door, zapped the prisoners, and went into the cell. They proceeded to grab Dasch and Alana.

“Tell Lord Snyder,” warned Rickhart, “That if anyone else leaves this cell; I will refuse to co-operate with his HIV cure project.”

“You bastard...” Dasch said darkly. “I knew it.”

The two Messians were dragged out, stuggling, out of the cell. As they left the room, the door opened again. Rickhart could see Snyder walking up to the cell. Patiently Rickhart hobbled over to Snyder, supporting himself against the wall.

“Bring them back here,” hissed Rickhart, “This isn’t Alana’s fault.”

“You said you wanted to see me,” Snyder replied, “They are only being moved out of the room for the time being. Alana is not the one being interrogated, just Dasch.”

“Again, my appologies for the old lady,” Snyder said with a tinge of regret, “If I knew your loyalties, as well as your information, I wouldn't have allowed it.”

“I’m going to tell Ackvick everything,” said Rickhart, a wink suggesting otherwise, “I’m going to tell him how I made a deal to work in your cures department to save their lives. They are already aware that I have an interest in saving lives; your offer allowed me to do both at once.”

Rickhart dropped to a whisper, “However, I felt you had reneged on our agreement. And hence I provide Ackvick with a cunning plan to steal the Final Victory.”

Rickhart returned to full volume, “I also want my walking stick. Its hard to be mobile without it.”

Snyder shook his head, “You don’t understand, Mister Rickhart. How are you supposed to be tricking them, if you get the luxury estate?”

“When I give Ackvick the Final Victory,” whispered Rickhart, “My value and loyalty to him will be ‘proven’. However I must have my walking stick. By the way, do you speak sign?”

“Yes, I do know sign,” Snyder responded, “And I will get you your walking stick.”

“Thank you,” said Rickhart, “I expect to find Alana and James in one piece.”

But as Rickhart spoke, his hands moved, “They’ll never know what hit them milord.”

“Very good,” Snyder said, grinning, “Remember, backstab me, and your life is forfeit. I can kill you at any time.” He then nodded to a camera, and the cell doors clanged as they unlocked, “Do you wish to head somewhere?”

Rickhart said, “I would like a walk around the ship.”

However his hands said something different, “Lock the door. Play the tease.”

Snyder nodded, and gestured to the camera to lock the doors again. The doors made a locking sound, as Snyder walked out of the room. Moments later, Ackvick was dragged into the room. A moment later, he saw two soldiers dragging Ackvick towards the cell.

“Lord Ackvick,” asked Rickhart, “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Ackvick replied, with a weak chuckle. “Much better...” The cell doors opened up, sans shocking device, and the guards let him go, falling onto the metal deck below. The guards then shut the door behind him.

“At least you still have your skin,” said Rickhart, sounding poor himself, “Among other things.”

“And what did they do to you?” Ackvick asked painfully, coughing.

“Snyder offered me a deal,” said Rickhart boldy, “I accepted without hesitation.”

Ackvick turned to him, “I’m almost afraid to ask what the deal was, and why the hell you would work with that madman.”

“Lord Snyder has accepted my help with life saving medical research,” said Rickhart, “In exchange for the lives of you and your comrades.”

Ackvick glared at Rickhart, “Snyder won’t want your wonderdrugs for medical use. He’ll want it for weapons, weapons that will destroy us all.”

He coughed again.

“I will be very careful what I give to Snyder,” said Rickhart, “Or I would have been. The deal is off. He seems to have forgotten the no torture part.”

Ackvick looked at him with more interest, “I’m listening...
”

“I have a plan,” said Rickhart, “But I need my walking stick. Lord Snyder has promised its return.”

At that very moment, a guard walked into the room, and was carrying Rickhart’s walking stick. “Here’s your stick,” the guard said unemotionally.

Rickhart painfully hobbled over, leaning against the wall on the way. After securing his walking stick, he carefully hobbled back again. Sitting back down on his bed, he said, “I’m proposing we steal the Final Victory. If we are lucky enough, we can capture Snyder and Kaider in one great sweep.”

“I think the acid burns have made you mad,” Ackvick replied gloomily, “The ship is over a kilometer long. For just the three of us, or best scenario, five of us, we’re going against ten-thousand men and women, if Snyder was smart, mostly if not all Snyder's loyalists. I’ve heard of being outnumbered, but even the best logical thinker can't beat those odds.”

“Two Force Commanders, two old foggies, five elite commandos and the Farminan POWs,” counted Rickhart, before adding, “Plenty.”

Ackvick looked around the room. It didn’t occur to him about the additional men. He did a quick headcount.

“Alright, one-thousand to one,” Ackvick said.

“I think you’re over stating the case just a little,” said Rickhart, “And we don’t need to sieze all the ship.”

“Hmm...then maybe it’s worth a shot,” Ackvick said grudgenly.

He tried to get up, but his muscles failed him. “But right now my body isn't going anywhere. They hit me with Agent X...and by God, I hope you never have to feel the pain for as long as I, or ever.”

“Guard,” yelled Rickhart, “Tell Lord Snyder I want the cure to Agent X immediately, or I’m not even going to consider the common cold.”

“They already gave it to me,” Ackvick replied, “That doesn’t mean that my body’s recovered from the strain. The pain is gone now though."

“Well we shall have to wait a little longer before we act,” said Rickhart, securing his walking stick between his legs.

“The compass in the top can be very useful,” commented Rickhart, observing Ms Turner knitting a scarfe in the corner, chatting to the Farminan POWs, “Shame it doesn’t point north.”

Ackvick looked at Rickhart funny again. Ackvick lost count how many times he's looked that way to the very peculiar man, “Where does it point?”

“Depends,” said Rickhart, “Sometimes it points north, but generally it just spins wildly in circles.”

Rickhart placed his hands over the head of the walking stick, as though to cast a spell. Then carefully Rickhart declared, “Kakarote.” With that there was a fine humming noise of whizzing machinery as the gold head of the walking stick openned up like a delicate flower. Inside was what appeared to be a small collection of very small machines and electronic devices.

“And I’m SURE Snyder didn't consider that when he gave it back to you,” Ackvick replied.

“I hope to remotely unlock the door,” said Rickhart, “Then we need weapons, including sleeping gas that Snyder was rumoured to be collecting. Last we storm the bridge and take control of the security protocol, hopefully capturing Snyder and Kaider.”

“Alright, do your magic,” Ackvick said, struggling to get up. He finally made himself steady.

“It will take some time,” said Rickhart, “Its complicated and moving to soon will be disasterous."

Ackvick more of less flopped back onto the bed, finally off of the cold floor, “How long should we wait? And shouldn’t we try to get Dasch back?” Ackvick then moaned, and flopped onto the hard matress. He felt exhausted, but he knew he would need all the energy he could spare.

Rickhart flicked his eyes from the exhausted Force Commander to the old lady knitting and chitting with great vigour; a clear contrast. The fallen chancellor returned his attention to the task at hand, studying the problem carefully.

As Rickhart worked, he felt the lock clang, as the door unlocked. As this happened, Ackvick sat up. “Figured it out?”

“Apparently,” said Rickhart, well aware he had nothing to do with it.

“Ms Turner, the guard,” said Rickhart, still unsure where she had found her sowing kit.

Ms Turner walked outside, knitting a second scarf, “Guard, we seem be having a problem with the lock; the door just swung open.”

Rickhart stood up on his walking stick and moved toward the door. Looking at the security camera, Rickhart realised he had another problem. This time Rickhart worked on the task of taking over the camera using his box of tricks.

- - - - - - - -
One of Snyder's elite guard officers watched the security camera from the main security office of the building, “Sir, should we intefere?”

A voice from the background responded, “Yes. Move all my loyalist units off of the ship, and transfer my command to the Punisher.”

The voice then turned to someone else, “Kaider, your job is to deal with them. Make sure they don't get too out of hand.”

“Yes, Mi’lord,” Kaider replied.

- - - - - - - -

The guard turned to the old lady. "Stay in your cell. I will be sending someone up to take care of the lock."

“Would you like this scarfe?” asked Ms Turner, still knitting with great speed, “Its just your colour.”

The guard chuckled, “I don't see why not?” He walked over cautiously to the old woman, hand on gun, to the gate.

“Don’t be trying something on me,” the guard said with authority.

Removing the knitting needles from the scarf, Ms Turner passed it to the guard, “Lovely isn’t it.”

“For a lady of your senior, you are quite talented,” the guard responded, grabbing the scarf, and backing away from the two men.

In one swift move, Ms Turner leapt, striking the two knitting needles into the guard’s left temple. As the blood, bone and brain matter splattered, the guard fell to the ground, bleeding all over the scarf. “Red is just your colour,” said Ms Turner calmly.

She then removed her knitting needles from the side of the guards head, causing more blood and brain matter to splatter on the floor. “I see you have become quiet good at ‘knitting’,” commented Rickhart, still messing with control of the security cameras.

Ackvick shook his head, “That was Jameson. He was a good man. I don't know why he went with Snyder, but I sensed he still had the good in him that I remembered...”

“Good men die,” commented Rickhart, “The ends justify the means. Now take us to the armoury. You lot, with us.”

“Good men die,” commented Rickhart, “The ends justify the means. Now take us to the armoury. Then we break these other guys out.”

Ackvick motioned Rickhart to follow, “Follow me, I know just the armory we should go to...”

“Hurry up Ms Turner,” said Rickhart, to the old lady who was in ahead of him.

Ackvick moved fairly quickly down the hallway, which had a few guards here and there. The Snyder Guard were myseriously missing, though standard Messian uniformed men were patrolling the hallways. Some gave weird glances at the three vastly different people rushing down the hallway. However, they saw Ackvick, and assumed that he was leading the brigade. Ackvick turned around a bend, and arrived at a large metal double sliding door, with the word ARMORY written across it. There was a security booth right next to it, and the guard, a standard Messian, looked at them with a suspicious glance. “Force Commander, I must say you have a very interesting set of friends with you.”

“Not interesting,” said Ms Turner, “Mister Rickhart is incredibly dull actually.”

Ackvick looked back at the old woman, then back at the guard, “Davis, glad to see you. Now you can only guess why we are here.”

Davis looked both ways down the hallway from his kiosk, then looked at the Force Commander, “We have a small insurgency ready to overthrow Snyder's elite guard. I’ll let you in, and I’ll see if I can pass on the word.”

Davis then pressed a button, which a series of complex heavy-duty locks unlocked on the big door, and slowly slid open. What Rickhart saw made his heart stop.

Rickhart and the old woman saw row upon row of shelves lining down a good quarter kilometer full of various weapons. Pistols, grenades, rifles, rocket launchers, portable SAM's, submachineguns, sniper rifles, and high explosives like C4.

Rickhart grabbed a submachine gun and a pistol. Ms Turner grabbed several grenades and a rocket launcher. “I don’t think that’s very appropriate,” commented Rickhart.

Ackvick motioned for Rickhart, and walked up to the wall on the right side. He flipped open a panel, and pressed in a combination key. “There is a reason why I like this particular armory on this part of the ship,” Ackvick responded as he hit the access button.

The wall all of a sudden flipped over like a bifold curtain, revealing additional weapons, including exotic Messian weaponry, gadgets, and a big plastic case, with the words C5 written on it.

Farther down the row, there were even more guns, but those of other countries. M16's were there, as well as AK-47’s and even the Farminan pistol.
As Rickhart examined the weapons, “Did I notice very few of those fancy uniforms soldiers on this ship?”

“I believe you are correct,”Ackvick responded.

As Rickhart examined the weapons, “I]Did I notice very few of those fancy uniforms soldiers on this ship?[/I]”

“I believe you are correct,” Ackvick responded.

“What does this mean?” said Rickhart, “Would this be some type of trap? Or is Snyder expecting a ship wide rebellion and fleeing? If Snyder is fleeing we need to get anti-air weaponary active to shoot down all Snyder loyalists. If this is a trap; then its probably too late.”

“Well,” Ackvick replied cooly, grabbing one of the specialised MR-20 assault rifles, “I ain't going down without a fight if that is the case.” He then proceeded to grab two Falcon Magnum pistols, that were in a luxurious silver.

“I assume you want to liberate the other prisoners first,” said Rickhart.

“Of course,” Ackvick said smiling, “We have a hell of a lot of people to liberate.”

Ackvick then grabbed a few of the C4 grenades from the main rack. At the last minute Rickhart switched his SMG for an assault rifle before adding, “Then you better lead the way Lord Ackvick. Ms Turner!”

Jane Turner hurried over to Rickhart, still carrying her rocket launcher.

Ackvick stopped the woman, “Ms Turner, I have a better weapon that would fit your tastes.”

Ackvick then headed back to the specialised rack, and walked down a fair way down. He then stopped, and picked up an unusual-looking assault rifle. He then went back and gave it to the old woman.

“Okay,” said Ms Turner cautiously taking the rifle.

“It’s called the MSG-2000. Pull back the level, point, and shoot. Just make sure no one friendly’s in the way.”

“Whatever you say,” said Ms Turner, aiming at a random lightbulb in the corridor, expecting to pick it off. When she pulled back the lever, and pulled the trigger, the rifle jerked heavily, as a massive energy discharge expelled from the gun, creating a massive one-meter diameter hole into the ceiling.

“Ms Turner!” said Rickhart, sternly, “We need this ship in one piece; not three. Lord Commander, could we begin? I’m old enough as it is.”

“Yeah...” Ackvick replied in spaced-out shock, “Right this away. Ms Turner, PLEASE aim for the yellow sleeved people. Otherwise I'll take the gun away.” Ackvick led them out of the armoury after hitting the panel again, closing the bifold doors.

Ms Turner looked at her shoes, then briefly leveled the rifle at Ackvick when he wasn't looking.

Ackvick caught her from a reflection off of a window, and his spacial perception. "Ms TURNER!" Ackvick growled quietly. "Chill with the gun!"

Minutes later, Ackvick arrived at the control center without much incident (the three large holes in the ceiling notwithstanding), and typed in the command code to unlock the door. The door made a beeping sound, and the door slid open.

Inside the room was a bunch of security consoles, TV screens, and cameras. But strangely enough, no one was inside.

“I don’t like this,”said Rickhart, a comment as much for Snyder as anyone else.

Ackvick typed into the main security console. “i]This is very odd...[/i]”Ackvick replied, “The security codes have already been entered. All I have to do is press enter to unlock the entire security unit.”

“Perhaps you should just count your blessings,” suggested Ms Turner.

“Perhaps this is too easy,” Ackvick responded as he activated the unlock protocol. A moment later, a single loud klaxxon buzz filled the brig as all the doors unlocked.

“Is that a bad sound?” asked Rickhart, unfamiliar with navy and Messian protocols.

“Normally, yes,” Ackvick responded, “But we’re doing it on purpose, so no.”

Ackvick headed out of the room and entered the brig. Rickhart followed, keeping a suspicious look on his face. Inside the brig, the Farminan, Messian and other prisoners were looking at the three very different people, while comprehending why they’ve been released.

“My fellow prisoners,” declared Rickhart, not wanting to let Ackvick steal the limelight, “I have a plan to seize this ship off the tyrant Snyder. Now you can assist me in this effort; or I can put you back in your cell to rot for eternity. If you refuse both those options, my housekeeper will turn you into a fine white powder.”

“Snyder is a threat to us all,” Ackvick interjected, “Work with us and you will be well rewarded.”

A moment later, Ackvick saw the five special forces member walk out of a distant cell.

“Lord Commander,” said Rickhart, turning to Ackvick, “I didn't see sleeping gas at the armory. I suggest we search the others, then move to immediately storm the bridge.”

“That is incorrect,” Ackvick replied, “There's sleeping gas in the ventillation shafts, for in the case of an enemy boarding against superior numbers. We just have to reach the environmental controls, or at least, the bridge.”

“Then you better lead the way,” said Rickhart, “Although we should probably arm our new recruits first.”

“Then back to the armoury?” Ackvick said, “And perhaps, a smaller gun for your lady?”

Ms Turner clung onto her gun very tightly.

Or maybe throw her in the brig... Ackvick thought as he led the ragtag group down the hall.

“Any ideas where to find Dasch?” asked Rickhart.

“The interrogation room,” Ackvick replied solumnly.

"Puh!" Dasch moaned as he was slapped across the face.

"Snyder, you traitor! I will have you hung!" Dasch yelled.

Snyder walked around the interrogation bed. "Look, your days of command are over. Now, you are going to tell me how to access the private archives. Locking me out of them before my leaving for Farmina was a ingenious idea on your part, but now it will cost you if you don't give me the decryption sequence."

"Go to hell," Dasch strugglingly said. "You and all of your minions."

"I don't want to have to do this," Snyder replied solumnly, "But it looks like I have no choice."

Snyder walked back to his chair, which had something on the seat, covered in a black cloth. He pushed the lever on the seat, causing the interrogation table to lean forward towards the seat. Snyder then jerked the black cloth off of it, revealing Alana, bound up by her hands and feet, and gagged.

"Alana...?!" Dasch said in quiet shock.

"Yes, we won't find much interrogating her, so I decided to make her one of my most potent tools against you," Snyder replied. "Now, you have one minute to tell me, or she dies." Snyder drew out his pistol, and cocked in. "Time's ticking."

Dasch's mind started rushing, his heart pounding. "NO!" Dasch yelled, struggling against the restraints.

"Fifty seconds," Snyder replied.

"You wouldn't dare! You would not fucking dare!" Dasch yelled.

Snyder aimed the gun at Alana, and fired the pistol. The round flew into Alana's arm, causing her to scream, though it could barely be heard from the gag. "Fourty seconds."

Dasch's eyes started to fill with tears, as did Alana's. It was if Dasch was feeling her pain. "Thirty seconds."

"Please, I beg you. Don't do this to me," Dasch said sadly.

"Twenty seconds."

"Alana..."

She nodded. "I love you."

Her eyes filled with more tears, nodding.

"Ten seconds..."

"Don't do this, Snyder, don't do this." Dasch said.

"Five. Four. Three..." Snyder replied unemotionally.

"I'll tell you! I will!" Dasch said in great fear.

"Too late," Snyder said, as he pointed the gun at Alana's head. A loud bang filled the room, and breaking glass. Dasch's eyes shut, then opened wide. He saw Snyder lying on the ground with a bullet hole in his head. Dasch then turned his head slowly torwards the one-way glass. Through the mainly destroyed glass, he could see Ackvick pointing his pistol at Snyder's body.

"Thank you so much," Dasch said shakingly. "Thank you so damn much..." Ackvick hit a button on the panel in the viewing room, which unlocked all the bolts that held the restraints on. Dasch quickly got himself off of the table, and untied Alana, and ungaged her. When he ungaged her, he held her very tightly, as did she. "My god...I don't know what I would have done if he shot you!" Dasch said, both of them crying while embracing.

Ackvick walked through what was left of the interrogation window and walked up to Snyder's corpse. Ackvick noticed the strange lack of blood. Although there was some, the regular amounts of blood were not there for a headwound. He took a closer look at the hole, and noticed metal.

"I've only heard rumors about this technology," Ackvick murmored. "Snyder's still alive. This is a clone with a mental-feed microcomputer inside its head."

Dasch turned his head around to look at the body. "Damn. What a damn coward," Dasch muttered, as the door opened, and Rickhart walked in.

“How many of these clones will we have to deal with?” asked Rickhart, before adding lightly, “And where can I get one made?”

“I do not know,” Ackvick said grimly, “The fact that he has access to this technology is scary enough. And as for the second question, you can get it at the MES.”

“I’d like to inspect the corpse later,” said Rickhart, “But first, sleeping gas.”

“Yes, right this way,” said Ackvick, motioning them towards the engineering section.

The group arrived at one of the ‘hyperlifts’ on the ship, to help move men from the bow to the stern, and vice versa. “Get aboard,” said Ackvick

“I assume you are going to show off another incredible waste of Messian resources,” said Rickhart cynically, as he stepped aboard.

“This isn’t showing off, it’s saving you from walking a kilometer,” Ackvick said fesiciously.

“The kilometer is my point exactly,” said Rickhart.

“A kilometer is a distance, not a point,” said Ms Turner helpfully.

Ackvick rolled his eyes as he moved to operate it.

“Keep you eyes peeled,” said Rickhart, “The clone suggests that Snyder is still planning some resistance on this ship.”

Ackvick lifted his rifle. “You’re probably right,” said Ackvick.

“Only one way to find out,” observed one of the Farminan pilots.

As the lift stopped at the end of the track, Ackvick vaulted over, and headed down towards the engineering section.

Rickhart followed behind promptly and silently, followed by the other Farminans.

Ackvick came up to a door marked “Environmental”, which was right next to the main door to the engine room. He opened the door and walked in to find no one inside. Inside the large room, Ackvick could see the breathable substance injectors hooked up into the athmospheric systems. There was pure oxygen, various innoculants for various viral weapons, fire retartant, and sleeping gas.

“Alright, here’s the sleeping gas. I can direct this into a specific part of the ship,” Ackvick instructed.

“Gas masks?” suggested Rickhart.

“Plenty on board,” replied Ackvick, “However, since that we’re sending it to the bridge, that isn’t exactly necessary.”

“We’re going to the bridge,” pointed out Rickhart, “Furthermore, I want the entire ship shut down. We use the lot.”

“Alright,” said Ackvick, “That will require shutting down the nuclear reactor. Easier said than done.”

“Just pump every room full of gas,” said Rickhart, “I don't want anyone trying to save the bridge.”

“Alright,” said Ackvick, “Get your men to get those masks on [that are on the wall].”

“Masks!,” yelled Rickhart, pointing at the wall, “Otherwise you will have a sudden nap.”

He hobbled over himself, fumbling a mask onto his head, over the top of his plate. The other Farminans put on their gas masks more smoothly.

“Commander Ackvick, Dasch, Alana,” called out Ms Turner, as she passed them each a gas mask.

As the hundred men and women donned their masks, Ackvick pressed a few buttons on the console, then rotated a large valve, opening the sleeping gas. A loud gas sound could be heard as the gas filled the ship.

“Two problems,” said Ackvick, “First one is that anyone outside will obviously not be affected.”

“And the second?” inquired Rickhart.

“It will take about four minutes for it to reach the bridge,” Ackvick replied with a skeptical grin.

“One of us needs to stay behind to ensure the gas does flow,” said Rickhart, “The rest of us will have to take four minutes to get to the bridge.”

“Let me clarify,” said Ackvick, “Four minutes to reach the bridge. Then an additional four or five until it's discipated.”

“Six minutes to reach the bridge,” revised Rickhart, “Now who is defending weapon numero uno?”

“We will,” Dasch replied, “Alana and I.”

“Very well,” said Rickhart cautiously, “Command Ackvick, shall we head off?”

By the time Rickhart said that through the muffled mask, Ackvick was already heading out onto the main deck.

“Follow me heroes of the future,” said Rickhart in his most commanding voice, following after Ackvick with walking stick in hand, rifle over his shoulder, pistol on his belt and a metal plate buried under a gas mask on his face, his suit fine if mildly crumpled.

The ragtag arrived at the rear-bridge access, and stood in armed position. Ackvick made a nod back, pulled the lever, and swung inside, gun aiming in. As the rest started to move up, Ackvick made a motion to stop. He took a few steps in to look around, out of sight of the group, then walked in all the way.

“Rickhart, we got a problem here,” he said.

“That doesn't surprise me,” said Rickhart, “What this time?”

Ackvick looked back, “There’s no one here. No one at all.”

“Is Snyder trying to drop me in it?” thought Rickhart, before adding aloud, “Any signs of a trap?”

Ackvick looked around, and checked a few consoles, “I don't think so. Everything seems to check out.”

“Count our blessings,” said Rickhart, “Snyder has delivered us a victory in fear.”

He walked over to the control panels, “We need to completely lock this place down, then search section by section, dividing the loyal from the unloyal.”

Ackvick then heard a thump from behind a storage locker on the back wall, startling him. He drew his gun, and pointed his gun at it. Rickhart turned to the locker, but then did nothing more that lean his walking stick. Ackvick slowly approached it, rifle at the ready. He slowly pulled the lever, and violently swung it open.

"K...Kaider?!" Ackvick said in surprise as well as shock.

Kaider crumpled onto the floor in front of him. He was moaning in pain, bleeding from two gunshot wounds in the chest. He also had a bandage around his leg.

“Seize him!” roared Rickhart.

“Hold it!” countered Ackvick, “He’s not going anywhere! I’d rather have him alive than dead!”

Ackvick noticed the yellow shoulderpad on Kaider's shoulder. Ackvick shook his head.

“I said seize,” said Rickhart, “Not kill. Plenty of time for that later.”

“Keep your hands off of him,” Ackvick requested cynically.

“Your judgement has been faulty with regards to your colleagues before,” said Rickhart, “I suggest an intensive interrogation.”

“I don’t think that is necessary,” Ackvick responded. He looked back at Kaider. “Why...why did you do it man?!” Ackvick said in some sadness.

Kaider looked up at him. “I’m so...sorry. I tried to stop him. I tried to stop him by joining him....I should have killed him when I had the chance..!”

Ackvick shook his head, “You dumb fool...”

“Speaking of chances,” said Rickhart, “Ms Turner!”

The elderly lady leveled her weapon at the two Commanders, “I think you should step away Lord Ackvick.”

“Gas mask!” added Rickhart.

“You wouldn’t dare...” Ackvick responded angrily, “Kaider...will you tell us everything?!”

Kaider responded weakily, “Yes...that man...has to die!”

Ackvick turned back.

“I still require you to stand away from Lord Commander,” said Rickhart, “Gas mask!”

Finally someone passed Rickhart a gas mask which he threw beside Kaider. Ackvick put the gas mask onto Kaider’s face, and pulled him out carefully.

“Ten,” warned Ms Turner, “Nine.”

Ackvick turned to Kaider. “Don’t kill me...please,” Kaider mumbled, “I want to help you. I need to repent to the cause...”

“Stand back Lord Commander,” said Rickhart, still meddling with the ship controls, “I’ll see he gets medical attention.”

“Eight,” counted Ms Turner.

Ackvick looked back at him. "Fine, but if you or your houselady kills him, you will die for it," Ackvick threatened. He stood up and clear of Kaider.
Michael says:
Rickhart signaled a couple of Farminans marked as medics, "Treat him then take him to the brig."

“Lord Commander,” he said turning to Ackvick, “I hope that I can leave you to mop up on this ship.”

Ackvick walked over to one of the consoles. “Rickhart...I don't think that will be necessary,” he said, “Just glanced at the launch reports. It’s marked having two transports and a personal fighter being launched about forty minutes ago. That would be about the time we broke out of the prison.”

“I believe the entire Snyder Guard has left the ship with Snyder.”

“Snyder Guard aren’t neccisarily the end of the threat,” said Rickhart, “There may be problematic persons wearing your old uniform.”

“True,” Ackvick replied, “And I’ll be doing a full roster report, but it would be suicide for them to fight as one or two people against the remaining eight-thousand troops left onboard.”

“Then get on with it,” said Rickhart, “If you find any of my stuff, contact me in my office.”

Ackvick looked at him incredulously, “Your office? Since when did this become your ship?”

“I’m only the Captain,” suggested Rickhart, “You’re still the Force Commander. Oh and probably best to tell Dasch to stop pumping the gas as soon as you've done a quick sweep.”

“The gas has probably stopped pumping by now, we only have so much, and we have a kilometer of ship to cover,” said Ackvick. “I’m pretty sure it's clear now,” he said as he took off his mask.

“See? No problems,” Ackvick replied. He then felt a whoosh of tiredness, and he collapsed onto the floor.

“Idiot,” muttered Rickhart, “Ms Turner. Captain. Find this man a bunk. He's probably exhausted as it is.”

Rickhart then heard the ship’s communicator beeping.

Rickhart went over to the communicator, before observing a Farminan marked as a Colonel, “Take control of security. I want to be sure that everyone knows that I'm in charge.”

“Immediately Lord Rickhart,” said the Colonel, although Rickhart wasn't sure where the 'Lord' came from.

Turning to the computer he looked at it, “Anyway to indentify the other person?”

One of the Messian prisoners walked up to the console, “I’m not too sure myself; I only work on maintenance. But I believe that this over here identifies,” he said, pointing to a computer screen showing the sending vessel. It showed as the MESV Thunderer.

“Snyder,” muttered Rickhart, before activating the communicator, “Captain Daniel Rickhart of MESV Final Victory.”

“Snyder? Who the hell are YOU?” heard a surprised reply from the communications, “Wait a second...Daniel Rickhart...THE Daniel Rickhart?!”

“Who are you?!” demanded Rickhart.

“This...” the voice said. He sounded out of composure, but a moment later, he regained it, “This is Force Commander Lance Foster of the Task Force 4 flagship MESV Thunderer.”

“Snyder mention Lance Foster,” thought Rickhart, “Snyder saw him before burning cities.”

“Lord Commander,” said Rickhart, “Can you give me Snyder’s current location?”

“I’m sorry, Rickhart,” Lance’s voice in the communicator said, “But since you are on board, I assume that Snyder is no longer on board. I’ve been tracking him down for quite some time. My force has splintered from the Messian navy, and I’m rallying the troops to openly revolt against his dictatoral rule.”

“So Snyder was right,” thought Rickhart, “I underestimated him. And now he knows he was right too.”

“Commanders Dasch and Ackvick are with me,” said Rickhart, still wearing his gas mask, “However Commander Dasch is busy subduing resistance...and Commander Ackvick is taking a much deserved nap.”

“A nap?” the Force Commander responded in surprise. “I’d doubt now is a good time to have a nap, especially with an infamous Farminan criminal at the helm of our largest vessel.”

“He’s been working very hard,” said Rickhart defensively, “For now could I ask that you send an infamous Farminan criminal satellite feeds for the co-ordinates I’m sending to you. I haven’t had time to hack your satellite system and I doubt I could. I won’t say any more; I have concerns that the ship might be bugged.”

“Ackvick has to think I’m covering all the possibilities,” thought Richart.

“May I ask what this is for?” Lance responded as he fed the co-ordinates to Rickhart.

“I have to decide the best course of action so can I advise Commander Ackvick when he rouses,” said Rickhart. He paused deciding it best to tell Foster before Ackvick or Dasch could, making Rickhart appear a liar, “I should also mention that Commander Kaider is in the brig.”

“Kaider?!” Lance responded, “What the hell for?!”

“He was deputy to Snyder,” said Rickhart, “However I feel that Ackvick may go soft on him. I feel the best course of action would be for him to have a sudden accident, but Commander Ackvick has warned of reprisals if there is a Farminan anywhere near said accident.”

There was a long pause. “Don’t worry, Kaider will be dealt with accordingly. You don’t need to make up an accident,” Lance said.

After another lengthy pause, another satellite readout came through. “If you’re looking for what I think you're looking for, this might interest you,” Lance said. On the view, it showed the MESV Punisher, Snyder’s original flagship.

“I’m not sure what they are for,” Lance replied, “I assume you're looking for Snyder.”

After a short pause, Lance exclaimed, “Look at the feed over the Punisher!”

On the Punisher feed, two VTOL transports fly overtop towards the ship’s nearby carrier, while the fighter landed on a free space on the deck.

“I think those are the two transports Snyder borrowed without permission,” observed Rickhart.

“I think so too,” said Lance, “We should....wait. Look at the feed over the Messian airstrip.”

They then saw again two VTOL transports, and the personal fighter landing at it.

“There’s them again. That’s odd. They’re in both places at the same time,” observed Lance Foster.

“There is more than one Snyder,” said Rickhart, “I probably should have mentioned that earlier.”

“Now look...” said Lance, “Check the feed at his private estate.”

Again another two VTOL transports and a personal plane landed, but this time at Snyder’s estate.

“That’s three Snyders,” said Rickhart, “But I must presume that is all of them. Now which one is the real on.”

“I’m setting course for your flagship. We should be there in a few hours if you match an intercept course,” said Lance, “From your location, it would take about fifty minutes to reach the airport, fifty-five for his estate, and fifteen minutes for his flagship.”

“Leave them,” said Rickhart, “If we kill every last Snyder, someone else will take his place; even if that person is in our brig. We’ll meet up half way and inform you of the plan.”

Rickhart looked around and observed he had no crew other than Ms Turner, “Actually it might be closer to here that there.”

Turning off the communicator for a minute, he looked to Ms Turner, “Relieve Dasch and Alana. Tell them not to remove their gas masks. If they can move this vessel, I want them here, otherwise they can remove their masks and take a nap. Furthermore, when Dasch and Alana are out of sight I want you to give Commander Ackvick another dose of sleeping gas. His softness could put us at risk.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” said Ms Turner jovially, “Can I be first mate?”

“I think there might already be first mate,” said Rickhart, “Now get to work. I have plans to make for Lord Foster.”

With that Ms Turner waddled off.

---

Down in the environmental controls, Dasch and Alana snuggled, sitting on one of the chairs. “You know, we haven't have some ‘us’ time since this whole thing happened. We are SO taking a vacation after this,” Dasch said.

“You can say that again,” Alana said grudgingly. “I’m so glad that we're still alive,” she murmured, burrowing her head into his chest.

Waddling into the Enviromental Control room, Ms Turner found Dasch and Alana snuggling with gas masks on, “Captain Rickhart needs help. He can’t work out how to move the ship. If you can’t help, you’ve been given refs to go and have a nap.”

Dasch looked at Alana. “A nap is appealing,” Dasch replied, “But I think we need to get this behemoth going. Alana, come on sweetie.” Dasch helped her up, as she was napping, “Where are we going anyways?”

“Bridge,” said Ms Turner, “The Captain is taking his orders directly from Force Commander Foster.”

“Foster?!” Dasch exclaimed in pleasant surprise, “He’s alive!”

“He didn’t sound dead,” began Ms Turner; suddenly remembering she added, “And don't take your gas masks off. The sleeping gas is higher grade than anticipated.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dasch replied, “I do remember a work report before this whole thing about the enviromental systems being upgraded.”
“I don’t think the Captain wants to be kept waiting,” commented Ms Turner, “He isn't renowned for patience.”

“Let’s go,” Dasch muttered, then paused briefly, “...What captain?!?”

Snyder woke up as he was pulled our of the CT scan machine in the MES's specialised hospital for neurology. He was knocked unconscious so they were able to get a better scan, and to test out V-X-2 under lab settings.

"What did you find, doctor?" he asked, a little groggily.

The woman in a doctor's uniform held a clipboard with some papers on it. "It was fascinating, though at the same time possibly worrying," she said. "The CT scan showed a definite change in your brain. Normally, we would consider it as brain damage, but in this case...something was different."

Snyder looked at her with curiosity as she kept explaining the diagnosis. "Apparently, your brain has...evolved. Somehow, the chemical has actually improved your mental functions permanently. As you have described, you don't seem to have any mental damage in any known areas, and your IQ testing that you took earlier has shown your IQ test to have improved by twenty-seven points since the drug was used."

Snyder slowly sat up as he regained his senses. "I think I've noticed that change," Snyder replied. "I find calculating things in my mind to be a lot clearer, and make more sense."

"Other than that, there was one other change, and we aren't sure what to think of it," the woman said.

Snyder looked at her, waiting for an answer. "With the development of the brain, a part of the brain that was inactive before, which seems to be dormant in most humans, appears to be active. If I'm not mistaken, this could mean we could be seeing the beginning of the development of psychic powers."

Snyder, now fully aware, had a full look of both surprise and confusion. "Very interesting, indeed," he said with an interesting grin. "But assuming the fact that X-V-2 is a drug, I assume there's a side effect."

The woman nodded. "There is one...side effect," she cautiously mentioned. "With this brain development, although it has its boons, our neurologists have suggested the possibility of the brain either expanding to the point of being crushed within the confines of the skull, or the drug causing an overdose that would kill you."

Snyder looked to the side. "But would the proposed drug-feed work?" he asked.

She nodded. "It would work, but I would not recommend a dose above one drip every ten minutes, or one solid injection a day. Any more and you could risk brain damage, internal hemoraging, or poisoning."

Snyder then spun around to sit off of the side of the bed. "Alright, set me up."

--------

Snyder walked down the underground corridor towards the main Messian complex in downtown Angelas-Fransisco, deciding that he needed the walk after being in the thick of things for such a long time. The electronic feed device attached to his arm was injecting the poisonous liquid into his brain at the prescribed amount, and he could sense the clarity that he had. He felt the changes in his mind. He could calculate how many more footsteps it would take to make it to the command complex. He could also figure out how long it would take to be transfered back to the Punisher.

He then saw a female Snyder Guard officer walk down the corridor past him, in formal posture (due to his presence). Snyder could then hear a voice in his head, but he couldn't figure out immediately what it was. It then clicked, and turned around.

"Officer of the Guard!" Snyder announced in authority.

The officer snapped around on her foot, and saluted. "Force Commander Snyder, reporting mi'lord!" the officer announced loudly.

Snyder looked serious at her. "Are you finding me to be a very attractive person, and being attracted to me officer?!"

The woman paused uncomfortably. "Uhh...mi'lord?"

"Answer the question," Snyder responded firmly, but not as harsh.

"Mi'lord...I..I do," she replied cautiously and embarassingly.

Snyder grinned. "So it does work," Snyder said, as he walked away. "As you were, officer."

The officer just gave a very disturbed look as he disappeared around the corner.

--------

After meeting with his superiors, and boarding the flight to the MESV Punisher, Snyder looked at the device that was installed onto his arm. He could clearly see the injection control knobs that he was swore to not touch. He had plenty of the medications duplicated after analysis, so if he increased the dosage, supplies wouldn't be a problem. He twisted the knob on the dosage while activating an instant dosage, bringing it to two, then three drips every ten minutes. He felt a strange sensation doing this, as he leaned back, then everything went black.

After the moment of darkness, he saw a bunch of bright lights spinning, he looked around and saw more lights spinning. Where am I? he thought as he looked around. Then a reality came back much like his own, but it was like life was skipping frames. There was also a lot of darkness and bluryness He was standing on board the Punisher, ordering his men to his stations. He could see the Final Victory, as well as Task Force 4 engaging his fleet as they withdrew from Alice. He could see his ship being fired upon as he fought back.

Everything then went black, and he was sitting on his deck on his property. He could see himself enjoying the view. He looked at his watch, looking at the time, but his conscious noted the date, a few days from then. Suddenly, he saw a few men grab him, and he struggled against them. He tried to break free, but then his face was covered by a hood.

After everything went black again, he saw himself in a dark room, sitting on the chair. There was a voice, but it was mumbled. He tried to clarify the voice by hard concentration. "Who are you?!" Snyder heard himself say.

"...The name, is Justinian." the voice responded.

Suddenly, things went black again, and in the same drifty state, he could see himself on the same airplane as he knew he was on at the moment. He saw himself looking at the secure datapad on the back of the seat, then noticing one of his officers on the plane walk up beside him. "Mi'lord," the officer stated, "You have been requested to report to Beta sector as soon as this operation is over. As well, check the illegal accesses being made outside of your control, level ten."

Snyder gasped, then looked around. He could see normally again, and the sensation went away. He immediately toned down the dosage back to the prescribed levels, then flipped on the dataseat on his screen, to check on old reports. His hands were still shaking by the shock he endured. As he was loading it up, he saw one of his officer...the same officer he saw just before, approach him, in the same manner he just saw.

"Mi'lord," the officer stated, "You have been requested to report to Beta sector as soon as this operation is over. As well, check the illegal accesses being made outside of your control, level ten."

Snyder shook his head. "Excuse me?" Snyder said in confusion.

"Mi'lord?" the officer responded in kind.

"Sorry...I just had a sudden occasion of De-Ja Vu," he said. "I just imagined you saying that in the exact same way as you just said it."

"Mi'lord...that's unusual," he said.

"Thank you, Officer of the Guard," Snyder replied, sitting back, and recollecting himself. The officer saluted, and walked back to his seat. Snyder thought about what just transpired. If what just happened is any probability of what just happened there, he just had a glimpse of the future. If he could harness it again, he could not only change the tide of the war, but change the tide of the world.

--------

Snyder's aircraft landed on the MESV Slasher, in the Task Force 2 battlegroup. As he got out of the airplane, his officers saluted him. "Force Commander Snyder on deck!" the officer on charge announced, bringing all non-busy personnel to turn and salute, as he walked down. The officer approached him. "Sir, our forceful withdrawl is working according to plan. Our combined airforces and reinforcements are keeping the Farminan counterattack at bay as we pull out our troops."

"Very good, Admiral," Snyder reponded. "But we need to prepare for a massive naval battle. We have a potentially disasterous situation on our hands."

"Mi'lord?" the Admiral asked.

"Prepare the fleet for a naval battle, against Task Force 4 and the Final Victory."

"Mi'lord?!" the Admiral said in shock.

"The natives are restless," Snyder replied. "And we cannot allow the natives to grab a foothold against my plan. Prepare for battle, and use all means necessary to sink, disable, or capture all enemy forces. We can stop this once and for all."

"Yes, mi'lord, but what about survivors?" the officer asked, barely believing what he just heard.

"Kill them," Snyder said as he walked down the deck, away. "Kill them all."

"Today, my fellow Messians," Snyder announced in front of the camera in the media room of his flagship, "Today, the troops are coming home. We are bringing them back in an attempt to reconsolidate against the odds against us."

"That said, today, I am bringing in a new chapter to our glorious nation. Effective immediately, our national flag will be changing to this:"

The large Messian flag draped behind him fell to the floor, revealing a yellow-toned Messian flag. "Today, our nation shall be known at the Snyder Timocracy of Militia Enforced State. I am uniting all of our glorious peoples under my competant rule."

"The traitors Ackvick, Dasch, Alana, and Foster are still at large. They are also working with the fugitive Rickhart. Any information leading to their capture will be greatly rewarded."

"Now, it is a new chapter in our glorious nation, a new beginning for mankind. For Militia Enforced State, do your duty!"

The camera shut off, and the camera light dimmed as Snyder got up from his seat, and headed out of the room, after thanking his subordinates.

He walked into his quarters, and shut and locked the door behind him. He looked at the arm-mounted X-V-2 injector attached to his arm. He turned the knob again, feeling the liquid entering his veins. Everything went black again.

He saw the swirling shapes and colors again, and he tried to concentrate. Then he saw the blurry, frame-gap visions again. He could see himself taking off from the Slasher in his personal fighter. As he took off, he saw a massive number of ships. He immediately recognised the Final Victory, and his task forces. But what he didn't expect to see was not only the Riccan-based Farminan navy, but also the Northern Colonists moving into the battle. He couldn't tell sides, but he knew that what was coming up was going to be explosive.

Then everything came back again. Disturbed at the lack of any additional premonitions, Snyder turned back the dial to its original setting, and walked towards the main deck to be transfered off ship. That is, after he dealt with the Final Victory.

Rickhart held the pen in his mouth, standing over the map and stills from the satellite feeds. With three fingers missing, though hidden by the glove, his left hand was of little use. Luckily his right hand was his writing hand, but he was using that to take measurements between distances.

“Sergeant Williams,” said Rickhart to a Farminan soldier, “Have you found all the computer equipment I needed?”

“Yes Captain,” replied Williams, “Its all set up in your office as you asked. You should have complete control of the systems from there.”

“Well done,” said Rickhart, “Colonel Samson should have another task for you.”

The Sergeant saluted Rickhart and left, as Dasch and Alana reach the bridge of the Final Victory after some walking and transit rails.

“Lord Commander,” said Rickhart, a tone of cynicism in the use of title, “I hope you have the ability to make this ship move.”

“I do,” Dasch responded, “Where should we set our heading? And what should we do with the nine or so thousand of unconscious Messians?”

“My men,” said Rickhart, “Are processing them one by one. They will return to their duties under strict guard. Their weapons will be confiscated until we can be completely sure on their loyalty.”

Rickhart looked at the map one last time, then handed Dasch a note, “Set a course for these co-ordinates. You have full access to whatever staff you need to move this leviathan.”

Rickhart then paused and pointed to the word below the co-ordinates, “Bugs.”

“What?” asked Dasch.

“Listening devices,” said Rickhart, “So silence on important issues. Like co-ordinates.”

Dasch nodded, “Now, what about the disturbing lack of ships?”

“I suspect,” said Rickhart, walking over to the map, “That there may be a concentration here.”

He pointed to Alice, “Something big is about to happen. Now get the ship moving.”

Dasch looked at Rickhart as he set the course into the ship’s navigational computer, “Keep in mind Rickhart, even with the firepower of this ship, the combined mights’ of three Task Forces would decimate this ship in seconds.”

Ignoring the annoying voice known as Dasch, Rickhart walked over to the communicator and commenced its function, “Captain Daniel Rickhart calling Commander Lance Foster.”

“Foster here,” came the response.

“I’ve consider the best course of action,” said Rickhart, “I believe we should meet up not at the original destination but at the first set of co-ordinates I’m sending you. Then we move make a decisive move at the second set of co-ordinates.”

The second set of co-ordinates were for Alice.

“Alright, may I speak to Dasch please, just for confirmation,” Foster asked.

“If you wish,” said Rickhart, gesturing to Dasch, “Lord Foster wants to speak with you.”

“Dasch here,” he said.

“It’s good to hear your voice, guy,” Foster said happily, “Shall we shut down that bastard?!”

“Hell yeah, Foster. Let’s light him up,” Dasch then gave the communicator to Rickhart.

“It’s a go,” said Foster, “Let’s give them hell.”

“Good, over and out,” said Rickhart, before turning to Dasch, “I have plans to, well, plan. I assume I can leave you in charge here?”

“Will do, but where’s Ackvick?” Dasch asked.

“He’s having a rest,” said Rickhart, “So leave your gas mask on unless you want to take a nap too. Plus that Agent V or whatever it was, shook him up pretty bad. Perhaps its for the best.”

“Alright,” said Dasch, “Where is he?”

“I’m not actually sure,” said Rickhart, “Ms Turner put him in a bed, somewhere on the ship.”

“Alright, Alana, go with Ms. Turner to Ackvick, and check up with him. I’ll man the bridge,”

“I also don't know where Ms Turner is,” said Rickhart, “I told her to find you, then take a break for four hours.”

Dasch sighed, “Alright, Alana, go with Rickhart. Where he goes is probably where Ackvick is, and if not, well, keep him company.”

Rickhart rolled his eyes and began to walk towards Snyder’s old office where he was making himself at home.

Rickhart placed his maps and satellite pictures of Alice all over his desk and began measuring distances, reeling off a stream of seemingly abstract numbers, then pausing to type at his rather large computer, before starting the cycle again.

“Anything I can help with?” asked Alana, “I know enough about our fleets to know about speeds, ec cetera.”

“I’m fine,” said Rickhart, not looking up, “Seventeen, forty nine, six, negative two...”

As Rickhart worked, Alana walked towards a nearby console. She logged in with Dasch's password, and accesses the orbital satellite feed.

She did a general overview of Farminan, then focused it, scanning the ocean. She then saw silhouette, “Uhh...Rickhart, we might have a problem.”
“If Snyder attacks us now he is a fool,” said Rickhart, not necessarily to Alana, “Surely he knows we are more value alive than dead. Let me look at that. You warn Dasch.”

“Rickhart,” Alana cautiously said, “I’m not talking about Snyder. It appears that they are being followed as well.”

She moved back in her seat to let Rickhart look.

Rickhart looked at the satellite photos, “I was right. Something big is going down. Very big.”

“Alana, contact Dasch and Foster tell them about this. I believe they will want to know,” said Rickhart, “Then if you could find Ms Turner for me, that would be appreciated.”

She nodded, logged out of the console, leaving the data she had on it left on for his use, and headed out of the room.

Rickhart, watched Alana down the hall, then quickly sealed the doors, “Snyder. I am setting up a computer communication but its not ready yet. You must have heard you were correct. Commander Foster is alive and plotting. Your prophecy was correct.”

“Excellent work. For a moment, I thought you decided to betray our agreement,” Snyder said darkly.

“Not yet,” said Rickhart, with a cruel tone, “There is still too much to be done. Foster has agreed to move against Alice. A massive Farminan force and also a Colonial force is looking likely to join the fight. You must get out of there. Regardless of who fights on what side, your fleet will be stuck in the middle.”

There was a pause. “I saw myself in a vision, taking off from my ship, not long ago,” Snyder confided, “I saw this coming, and honestly, I don’t think we can outrun the Royal Farminan navy, and we can't leave our men behind; that's the whole purpose of this so called ‘massive attack’ on Alice, to pull out.”

“Attacking and retreating are difficult to do at the same time,” said Rickhart, “I suggest you organise an emergency to attend to and write off your losses.”

There was another pause, longer than the first, “Alright, here's what I want you to do. I want you to turn the Final Victory around, and confront the Farminan fleet directly. It will buy us time to fall back. It will take about three hours to fully evacuate at our fastest possible time. If you’re lucky, the fact that you're on board will keep them from firing.”

“Too risky,” said Rickhart, “And it will arouse suspicion. Especially from Foster. We need to get him back to MES to reveal his core. Beating a rebellious navy is small fry. We are here to prevent internal collapse, not a few ships.”

“Alright...” Snyder said finally, “I will submit an order of surrender to the Farminan land forces, and I shall bring the dissidents back to the MES.”

“But remember...stab me in the back, and you will die. If you stay loyal, I will promise asylum, and you to be by my side,”

“As your deputy,” added Rickhart, “Speaking of which; what do you want done with Kaider? I have tried to convince Ackvick to have him tortured, to minimise suspicion.”

Rickhart was sure Snyder knew what happened to Ackvick.

“Kill him,” Snyder said, “He is no use to me now. Just made it look like he died from the injuries I gave him personally earlier.”

“As you wish milord, now I must go silent, Alana may have found my housekeeper,” said Rickhart, noting that Snyder hadn't responded to his insistence for the deputy leadership.

“Very well, Deputy, carry out your orders,” said Snyder.

The comlink when dead. Dasch looked at the console with great fury, as he watched and listened to the audio feed coming from the encrypted feed from Snyder that Dasch had cracked. “I knew it...I knew it all along,” Dasch muttered. He pulled out his Falcon Magnum, and headed towards Snyder's office.

Rickhart sat down in his seat, observing Commander Dasch on the security system, “Stupid boy, very stupid.”

Removing his gas mask, he paused, then decided it was time to take a gamble, picking up a small communication device that he had secretly hid from the Messians...

---

As Dasch ran down the hallway, he bumped into Alana heading the opposite direction. “Alana! Rickhart’s working for Snyder!”

She looked at him with a look of non-surprise. “I’ve been thinking the same thing, the way he's been trying to get rid of us. Anyways, I need to get to the bridge. The Farminans and Northern Colonists are moving against us as we speak!”

“Damnit!” Dasch cursed, “Alright, forward the warning to Foster, and tell him to contact TF3, in hopes that maybe they could join the fight against us. After that, find Ackvick as fast as you can!” Dasch removed his mask, gave her a quick kiss, and ran off, leaving Alana standing for a moment, absorbing what she just heard.

Dasch came around the corner, and arrived at Snyder's former office. He leaned over, holding his gun at the ready, and typed in the access codes into the door, but to his surprise, it was already unlocked. Dasch cursed. “It must be a trap,” he muttered, “But I need to stop him!” He pressed the door access button, and leaned around the corner carefully as the metal door slid open.

“Commander Dasch,” said Rickhart, “I’ve been expecting you.”

He wasn’t wearing his plate or his gas mask. In fact he was polishing his plate, as scarred, twisted, burnt flesh hung for all to see. “Take your mask off,” said Rickhart, “If there is to be one final confrontation, we should be able to see each others faces during it.”

Dasch slowly and menacingly walked around the corner, gun drawn, laser sight pointed at Rickhart’s forehead. He wasn’t wearing a face mask, probably due to him wanting to kiss Alana.

“Alright, Rickhart, what are you scheming?” Dasch said with a heavy tone that you could cut with a chainsaw.

“Peace,” said Rickhart, “An end to this pointless fighting. Now tell me Commander Dasch, what do you know about chloroform?”

At the exact same moment Ms Turner grabbed Dasch, placing a damp rag over his face, “Take a lesson.”

Dasch jumped, elbowed backwards, hitting Ms Turner in the chest, knocking her backwards.

Rickhart stood up levelling his pistol at the distracted Dasch, “Too slow Commander.”

He turned the gun back at Rickhart, and tried to squeeze the trigger, “You bas....”
He collapsed to the floor.

“Guards,” called Rickhart, “Take this man down to the brig. Then collect Alana from the bridge. She’ll probably wonder why the security protocols have suddenly turned against her.”

“Give her a nice cabin,” he continued, noticing the Colonel was entering the room, “And Colonel, your in charge. I think its time me and Ms Turner took a break. If Foster get curious, tell him that such questions are for me to answer. When he asks where I am, say that I’ll be back in six hours. If Ackvick tries to wake, give him another dose of sleeping gas.”

“Immediately,” said the Colonel, barking orders at the Farminans, as Dasch was dragged away.

Suddenly, a message from one of the Farminans on the bridge came through the communicator, “Lord Rickhart, we have a situation up here.”

“What is it?” said Rickhart, “If Ms Alana is being aggressive, deal with her patiently.”

“She’s dealt with,” the Farminan said, “It’s the helm. It appears that Dasch has set the helm controls to move the ship into three-hundred and sixty degree circle, and he locked out the controls, and disabled the manual override.”

“Fix it!” yelled Rickhart, “Between you, you should be able to outsmart the arrogant little pup.”

“Immediately sir,” said the Farminan cautiously.

“Colonel, I’m relying on you,” said Rickhart walking off, with Ms Turner following him step for step.

---

The two elderly Farminans walked into the small medical bay. “You know what you must do,” said Rickhart, his hands signaling the words to Ms Turner, in their twisted form of sign.

“I have your instructions down exactly,” responded Ms Turner, speaking back in sign.

Rickhart passed Ms Turner his plate, who placed it on a nearby table, before checking the door was locked. Quietly picking up a needle, Ms Turner filled it with anesthetic, then injected it into Rickhart. As Ms Turner picked up the scalpel, Rickhart noticed the world was getting very blurry.

OOC: You messed up a line in there, just before the first ----. You added in the confrontation twice by mistake.

---

Ackvick groggily woke up. He found himself inside a crewman's quarters. He looked around, and sighed at his own stupidity. “I forgot, the upgrades,” he said sheepishly. He started to move to get up, but then he heard someone coming down the hallway. He laid back in the bed the same way he was before.

He closed his eyes, and lurked them to watch.

The Colonel looked at the camera in Ackvick’s room, “We need another dose. Very small. We can't allow his to work it out.”

The Colonel hit the environmental control button for the sleeping gas, then beeped at him in protest. A symbol showing the capacity of the sleeping gas on board was completely depleted.

“Rickhart,” muttered the Colonel, “Can’t you check supplies?”

He activated Rickhart's communication network, “Jones and Sullivan, could you check on Commander Ackvick, he looks incredibly ill.”

Ackvick heard the footsteps go away, and he sat up on the bed, rubbing his eyes. He got up and checked the console on the wall.

Two guards stepped into the room, “Commander Ackvick, there are concerns about your health after exposure to Agent X. Captain Rickhart has put you on sick leave.”

Ackvick loaded up the console, and messaged the bridge, “Ackvick to Rickhart, what's the situation up there after my untimely stupidity?”

“Rickhart has just gone to bed,” said the Colonel, “He has been awake a long time, and combined with his significant wounds and him losing his medication; he might have an excuse. He has also insisted everyone, especially you, get more rest in preparation.”

“Roger,” Ackvick said, shutting off the console, and loading up Dasch’s communicator, “Ackvick to Dasch, come in.”

There was a long pause, “Ackvick to Dasch, come in!”

Ackvick looked around suspiciously, “Ackvick to Alana!”

Ackvick took a quick look around the door, and saw a metal towel holder on the wall. He untwisted it, and stood behind the door. The footsteps came closer, then stopped. He heard a voice behind the door.

The door slide open, “The Captain insists you get back to sleep. You will be woken up for the battle.”

When the guard looked inside, Ackvick was nowhere to be found.

“Colonel,” spoke the guard, “It seems Ackvick has gone walkabout.”

“He’s still in there,” said the Colonel, “Leave him. If he wants to play silly buggers, so be it.”

The two Farminans left and the door locked behind them. As the door shut, Ackvick slammed the metal towel pull into the door, jamming the mechanism.

The Farminans spun around and leveled their rifle. However it was the Colonel's voice that spoke, “Commander Ackvick, I have orders from Rickhart and Foster to keep you alive. Now you are becoming quite annoying and there is no one to give me advice. It strikes me that if I have you shot dead or pump your room full of nerve gas, there is little Captain Rickhart can do. Bedtime, now!”

The door kept making a whining noise as the door kept trying to shut with the bar in the doorway, and Ackvick backed off slowly.

“Are you ready to be reasonable?” asked the Colonel, “Because Daniel Rickhart is not going to be impressed when I have to wake him up to deal with you.”

“Believe me, he’ll be less pleased when he sees me,” Ackvick muttered, “Now let me out of here unimpeded. This is my ship!”

“Daniel Rickhart feels your judgment is faulty,” said the Colonel, “He’ll discuss everything with you when he gets up. Now please, we have an attack to plan, so leave us be.”

“Fine,” Ackvick muttered. He sat back on the bed, waiting for the guards to remove the towel pole which was still keeping the door ajar.

One of the Farminans stood back and readied their gun to prevent Ackvick running off, while they other gave the towel pole a solid kick. “Get some rest Lord Commander,” said one of the Farminans, “Captain's orders.”

“Who’s the captain?” Ackvick muttered.

“Daniel Rickhart,” said the one of the guards, finally unsecuring the towel pole, “Off to bed, now.”

Ms Turner gave the area one final sweep for bugs before Rickhart stepped up to the bars, “Commander Dasch. I can say confidentially no one is going to touch you. Now. I could release you or you could have an unfortunate accident before Ackvick wakes up. Keep your mouth shut and trust me, then you will be released.”

He allowed a silence before he added, “Your fiancée is fine. She is resting in Kaider’s cabin. You will be allowed some private time alone with her.”

Dasch glared at the older man. “Now where is Ackvick?” Dasch said angrily.

“In his quarters,” said Rickhart, unaware of the commotion, “Resting peacefully.”

“May I see him?” asked Dasch.

“When he wakes up,” said Rickhart, “We have had little peace and soon we will have little again."

Dasch muttered something unintelligible, but obviously something rude. “Bring me to my fiancée.”

“You haven’t agreed to anything yet,” said Rickhart, “Now, do we have a deal. You're going to trust me and I'm going to trust you.”

Dasch sighed. “Before I consent, give me one good reason why I should trust you?”

“Because when you asked what I was planning, I could have said anything,” began Rickhart, “But I said peace.”

“Alright, alright,” Dasch sighed. “I’ll trust you, but only if you let Ackvick out.”

“As soon as its time,” said Rickhart, “But I suggest you read the fine print. First you will have to wear a bug, so I can insure my trust is well placed. Secondly, you have to wait, we are going to have another conversation, for the benefit of Snyder’s bugs. Thirdly, you will support my push to become a Force Commander.”

“F....Force Commander?!” Dasch yelled. “Now why on earth would you want that?!”

“Because my voice will be vital in defeating Snyder,” said Rickhart, “And I must ensure my voice is heard.”

“...And after?” Dasch said, more calmly.

“Rebuild the Messian state,” said Rickhart, “And I shall continue that great task until my homeland needs me.”

“So I suppose you’re homeless now,” Dasch said.

“I have many homes,” said Rickhart, “Now do we have a deal.”

“No promises regarding the Force Commander bit,” replied Dasch. “You have to pass the testing in order to be accepted as a Force Commander. Even with my former power, I even don’t have the power to change those rules.”

“Your support is all I’m asking,” said Rickhart, “Now do we have an agreement.”

Dasch looked at him for a moment, then held out his hand. “Let’s put it this way. I’ll trust you as long as you don’t do anything like knocking us out or keeping us out of the loop,” Dasch said, with a small grin. “I want peace as much as you do.”

“You’re dodging the question,” said Rickhart, “Please give me a direct answer.”

Dasch lost the smile, “I trust you.”

“Do we have a deal?” said Rickhart.

“Yes.”

“Finally,” said Rickhart, “I’ll be back in a few hours. You’ll be released then.”

“Few hours?!” Dasch exclaimed.

“The powers that be, believe I’m sleeping. I can’t be sleeping and releasing you at the same time,” observed Rickhart.

“Then why not release me, and go to sleep?” Dasch said with a weird look.

“Because I’m asleep right now,” said Rickhart, “I’m not here. We never had this discussion.”

Dasch nodded, with understanding. “I think I know what you mean. Could you at least leave me with something to do?”

“I suggest you sleep,” said Rickhart, “Because I doubt you will be having any, when I send you to Alana's cabin. I’ll have one of the guards give you a crossword if you like.”

“Alright,” said Dasch, now calm. “Go back to ‘sleep’.”

“I was never awake,” said Rickhart, walking off. Jane Turner followed in lock-step behind him.

---

Fours later

“Commander Dasch,” said Rickhart, walking into the room, his tone twisted and cruel, “Ackvick will be rousing soon. You being in the cells will make him suspicious.”

Sitting firmly in Rickhart’s ear was the bug that allowed Rickhart to decided when and when not Snyder would listen to his conversations.

“What’s with the tone?” Dasch asked, getting up in preparation of the door being unlocked. He put the crossword into a back pocket for later...he never knew when it would come in handy.

“I’m going to offer you a deal,” said Rickhart, “Your freedom and the fact that I don’t lay a finger on Alana. You see I have a lot of men here you see, and they could get really lonely on a ship like this. Now we wouldn’t want anything to happen to her would we?”

Ms Turner held up a sign for Dasch’s eyes, “Snyder’s listening.”

Noting the cue, and not missing a beat, Dasch acted emotionally. “You wouldn’t dare! You bastard!”

“Now Commander I expect that you will do a few things for me,” the scorn not falling from his voice, “Firstly, Commander Ackvick doesn't need to know about this little episode. Keep your mouth completely shut, same for your pretty lass. Secondly, you will support my push to become a Force Commander. Thirdly, you will allow Ms Turner to give you a small bug so I can keep track of you.”

Dasch gave a confused look, “I will do that for you, Captain.”

As Ms Turner pulled out a scalpel and a syringe, Rickhart spoke firmly, “Now if you betray me, this is what will happen. I’ll tie you up and make you watch as your lass is taken again and again. And as you watch, my men will take you again and again. And when you both eventually die; then I’ll I feed your bodies to the sharks and call it an accident on a slippery deck.”

“I will never fail you...” Dasch said with mock fear, though he thought that it probably wasn’t an empty thread.

With that Ms Turner opened the cell and entered. As she injected into Dasch’s arm, Rickhart’s foul tone continued, “I’d hate to hear you apologizing to Alana as she is raped again and again.”

“Rickhart....you bastard,” Dasch muttered.

“I’m freeing you,” said Rickhart, giving the offer an optimistic spin.

Dasch looked at him angrily, again, “I’ll behave, but it looks like I have no choice either.”

“Ms Turner,” said Rickhart, “The anesthetic doesn't seem to be shutting him up.”

With that Ms Turner placed another damp rag over Dasch’s face, holding down with all her might.

As Dasch passed out, Rickhart quipped, “Commander Dasch can just go on, can’t he.”

Colonel Thompson walked into Aricar’s office, “Satellite photographs show Colonials are on the move near Jean. What action should we take?”

“If they get too close to the city shoot them down,” said Aricar, “Otherwise keep watching them. Clearly they aren’t planning a full scale invasion; so I want to know what they are planning.”

OOC: Satelite can detect small things; state of the art can detect baby’s foot prints (helicopters then to be larger than this). It can also detect things at night using alternative modes like infer-red. That you are flying into Farmina’s second most alert zone (other than the Pass of Farmina); it strikes me that one of Farmina’s thousands of defense analysts watching thousands of satellite feeds will spot a Colonial aircraft leaving a Colonial ship. Spotting an aircraft doesn’t require locking on.

Rickhart stepped towards Ackvick’s cabin, “Open it.”

Rickhart walked quickly down the corridor. With Dasch being dealt with by Ms Turner, that left Ackvick and Kaider to be resolved. “Milord,” he said to no-one in particular, “I’m sure you’ve heard; I’ve resolved the Dasch situation. He is taking yet another nap. I’m going to meet Ackvick and then eliminate Kaider, as you requested.”

“Excellent. Make sure they do not leave the Final Victory alive,” Snyder’s voice said darkly.

“If you knocked them unconscious even, I can sink the Final Victory, while giving you plenty of time to escape with you and your commando granny.”

“We must ensure Foster is not suspicious,” said Rickhart, “The primary goal must be for him to lead us to the heart of the Messian resistance. Timing will be everything. For dealing with Kaider, I have the perfect solution. Initiating silence."

Rickhart stepped towards Ackvick’s cabin, “Open it.”

They obliged immediately. Rickhart stepped in, “I hope you slept well. There is much to do.”

“Rickhart, what the blazes is going on?!” Ackvick angrily said, as he got off of the bed.

“Commander Foster is taking control,” said Rickhart, “He tells me he is still alive.”

“Foster’s alive?!” Ackvick said, a quick reversal in mood.

“Apparently,” said Rickhart, “Half the crew nearly passed out. Then again, I'm still alive, so I guess anyone can be.”

Ackvick stepped out of the room, "Alright, then bring me up to speed.”

Rickhart spoke with authority and pace, “Force Commanders Dasch and Foster have endorsed my plan to support the Farminans at Alice, smashing Snyder's naval capacity and depriving him of troops that could be withdrawn to the homefront. The crew is being reinstated slowly; but has been disarmed. We have instated a wide rest program. Commander Dasch is currently on break. Commander Kaider is still awaiting interrogation.”

“May I see Kaider?” Ackvick asked.

“That’s where we are going,” said Rickhart, “I doubted you would let a Farminan interrogate him. So you will, with my assistance.”

“Very well,” Ackvick replied.

Rickhart led Ackvick into the interrogation room, where Kaider was chained up in the middle of the room, his arms to the roof, his feet to the floor, stark naked. Rickhart gave a small nod to the guard who placed down a small leather bag and left the room. Rickhart spoke softly in Ackvick’s ear, “All methods on interrogation have been allowed.”

“Rickhart!” Ackvick exclaimed, “He was willing to talk!”

“Willing to lie,” corrected Rickhart.

Ackvick sighed. “Let me at him first,” he exhaled.

“I won’t be interrogating him,” said Rickhart, “You can begin now.”

Ackvick turned to Kaider, “Alright Kaider. Tell me, what the hell were you thinking?!”

Kaider muttered. The large bandages on his chest were rather blood-soaked. A still-healing bullet wound was visible on his leg, “I thought by infiltrating...Snyder’s unit, I could stop it...at the source.”

“Liar,” said Rickhart.

Ackvick glared at Rickhart, then turned back. “Alright, how many loyal troops does Snyder have under his command?”

“Six-thousand...fifty nine at last count,” Kaider muttered.

Ackvick started pacing. “What ships does Snyder have under his command?” Ackvick asked.

Kaider then started making a list of ships from Task Force’s 1 and 2, as well as one ship in Task Force 3, and one in Task Force 4.

“All Foster’s ships are overwhelming loyal,” said Rickhart, “I know what you are Kaider. You were sent here as a mole. To observe us. To hope that Foster will lead us to source of the rebellion.”

“How long have you served Snyder?” asked Rickhart, “Be honest.”

“Since about a month before the sinking of the Reaction Corps fleet,”, he said, “As for the one ship in Foster’s fleet, wouldn’t you think it would be foolish of Snyder to not have a single ship to track movements? As well, who says his loyalists aren’t in standard uniforms?”

“Commander Foster has checked, I’m sure,” said Rickhart taking a seat, “Now would that mean you were loyal to Snyder before he began to wipe out the Force Commanders?”

“No, during,” Kaider muttered, “I did it to try to stop the slaughter. I was able to. I was able to convince him to tarnish their image and to get information from them, rather than murdering them like he did before.”

“So he spared Commander Ackvick and Dasch, because of you,” said Rickhart, “How generous.”

“Not really,” Kaider muttered, “He planned on torturing them to death. But they escaped.”

“So you really didn’t do much,” said Rickhart, "Other than act in complicity to a few murders and a few attempted murders."

“I also did something else," Kaider muttered in the pain he was in.

“I know,” said Rickhart, “Should you tell the interrogator, or should I?”

“Let’s hear what you think I’m thinking first,” Kaider muttered.

Rickhart opened up the leather bag to show Kaider the full range of torture instruments available, “No you first, I insist.”

Kaider shuddered, causing the chains to rattle, “James, your wife is still alive.”

“Its a trick,” warned Rickhart.

Ackvick’s mouth dropped open, “You’re kidding me.”

“He’s had plenty of opportunity,” said Rickhart, “Why tell you now?”

“No...” Kaider muttered, “I had her transfered to one of the cloning facilities. I...I had her body fully replaced with a new one, due to the damage. She’s survived the surgery, and...and is now...working with the Resistance.”

Kaider leaned his head back to gather strength, then looked forward again, “I didn’t say anything until now...because if I said it earlier, Snyder would have killed us both.”

“This is a trap,” warned Rickhart, “It was Kaider that oversaw your wife’s murder. He's going to take you into a trap Lord Commander, and the entire resistance with you. Foster would have mentioned it, if it was true.”

Ackvick looked at the two men, “If it is a trap, then it’s best not to trigger it. What if we asked Foster?”

“Ask him if you want,” said Rickhart, passing Ackvick some documents with the markings of those from Grey Spire, “But its here in black and white. Transmissions intercepted between Snyder and Kaider. They were working together before Kaider admits. He was complicit in your wife's murder. We must get the truth of out of Kaider, now!”

Light glinted off the torture implements, as an image of Amy Ackvick seemed to flash before Ackvick’s eyes.

“Think about it Lord Commander,” said Rickhart, “He managed to send your wife to a cloning clinic, but he can’t give you a wink. The story amounts to nonsense. There will be time for grief later; it doesn't mean you can go into denial now, not after all this time.”

“To be honest, Rickhart, proof or not, I honestly couldn’t have seen a point since this whole disaster that he could have told me without Snyder knowing.”

Kaider then mumbled. “Check my room...in the second top drawer...right of the door. There’s a note in...her handwriting that...” His head goes back, then forward again, “In her handwriting that is dated as of two...weeks ago.”

“You can check if you want Lord Commander,” said Rickhart, “But I doubt you'll find anything other than Alana and Dasch...”

He imagined what they would be doing, “Actually, I don't think you should go in right now.”

“Lord Commander,” said Rickhart, “I know you want your wife to be alive; and that is reasonable, but we should not engage in fantasy with a traitor. Those transmissions show him to be a liar; but worse that he was directly linked to the attempt on her life.”

Rickhart backed away from the use of the word 'killer', allowing for Ackvick to maintain the fantasy, even in Rickhart’s version of events.

Ackvick sighed, “It’s not like I’ve not walked in on them before.”

“We can go up there,” said Rickhart, “But I’m betting it will just prove my point. Commander Kaider is a traitor and a liar.”

“Alright, then let's look. Together.”

Rickhart nodded to a couple of guards, confident that the note was removed, along with all sensitive documents when Kaider’s room was searched. After a short walk Ackvick arrived at Kaider’s quarters with Rickhart.

“After you,” said Rickhart, “Now if we don't find this note, real or otherwise, can we please start behaving seriously.”

“Okay,” Ackvick said, as he pressed the door access button.

The door slid open to see Dasch and Alana embracing, not naked, to Rickhart’s comical disappointment.

“Just a random room search,” said Rickhart, “Well perhaps not random; but it is a room search.”

Ackvick moved to the drawer, that was described by Kaider, and he opened the drawer. Inside, there was a pile of neatly folded casual clothing.

“Commander Kaider has convinced Ackvick his wife is still alive to try and save himself,” explained Rickhart, then adding in a way that could be seen as polite or cruel, “You are even more beautiful in this light Alana. You remind me of my fiancée.”

“You have a fiancée?” Ackvick said.

“Had,” corrected Rickhart, “She died a long time ago, during the Arandior War.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ackvick replied apologetically.

Ackvick looked more under the clothing inside the drawer.

“As I said,” commented Rickhart, “That was a very long time ago.”

“Found anything?” asked Rickhart, “Or can we begin to accept that Kaider could not secretly clone your wife under Snyder’s nose?”

Ackvick returned utter silence.

“Perhaps you should talk to him Dasch,” said Rickhart, “He hasn't had much chance to grieve.”

“Commander Ackvick,” said Rickhart sternly, “We must take the threat posed by Kaider seriously.”

“You might be right,” Ackvick mumbled, sliding the drawer shut, “But this room looks like it’s been...searched?”

“Obviously,” said Rickhart, “Why wouldn’t we search the cabin of Snyder’s deputy?”

“You may go through the documentation we recovered,” said Rickhart.

“Alright, but who is Snyder’s deputy?” Ackvick asked.

“Kaider,” said Rickhart, “Its Kaider; his only Force Commander ally.”

“Alright,” Ackvick said, heading out of the room, leaving the couple in the room.

“Good day,” said Rickhart, giving the couple a small wave, “Back to the interrogation room?”

“First things first, where did your men put the stuff that they found?” Ackvick replied.

“In my office,” said Rickhart, moving to secure his communicator, “Colonel; the Kaider documents. Force Commander Ackvick is looking for a hand written note. Can you find it?”

“If we find, I’ll have it ready,” said the Colonel.

“To my office?” said Rickhart.

“To your office,” Ackvick said with a shrug.

Rickhart led Ackvick to Snyder’s office. The Colonel pushed the file over to Ackvick, “See if you can find it.”

Unknown to Ackvick, the note had been removed to prevent Ackvick attaining any false hope.

Ackvick sighed. “Later,” he said.

“Very well,” said Rickhart, “I hope now you will interrogate him seriously.”

“Alright, let's go then,” Ackvick said, dejectedly.

Rickhart stepped in and sat down, giving Kaider only a brief look, “Lord Commander, you know what must be done, in memory of your wife.”

“Yes,” Ackvick said, walking up to Kaider, “We didn't find the letter," Ackvick said.

Kaider’s eyes opened, “I swear! It was in the dresser!”
Rickhart opened a book on eastern philosophy, "There's a scalpal in the interrogation kit. I can think of many things Mister Kaider could do without."

Ackvick shook his head. “I have better,” Ackvick countered. He pressed a key code into the wall panel near the tools. An audible click sound, and a little higher-pitched hum punctuated the panel unfolding open. It revealed three empty syringes, and small bottles with various elixirs were inside of it.

“You’re the boss,” said Rickhart, turning the page, “It was your wife.”

Ackvick withdrew one of the syringes from the holder, and withdrew some red elixir, and a tinge of black elixir into the syringe. He then shut the door, and walked over to Kaider. “You know what this is?” Ackvick muttered, showing the mainly red syringe.

"That...is Agent X," Kaider muttered.

“I’m giving you one chance, to come forward and tell the truth,” Ackvick said.

He then looked at Rickhart for a response. “Not very permanent is it,” observed Rickhart, “I’d still remove something.”

“Could you ask the questions, Rickhart?” asked Ackvick.

“Too weak to do it yourself,” laughed Kaider.

“Shut it you,” warned Rickhart.

“Now why don’t you ask me questions, instead of causing me great pain in the first place?”

“You’ve been asked questions,” said Rickhart, “Then you create a nice fantasy land for Commander Ackvick. His wife is dead. Do you think that will help him grieve. Have your karma!”

Ackvick injected the serum into Kaider. He could feel the pain slowly eating into his system. Ackvick pushed the entire injection in, and pulled out the needle, as Kaider started to spasm and scream.

“Do they normally do this?” asked Rickhart.

“Yes, it’s like being thrown into a vat of acid, from the inside out,” commented Ackvick.

Kaider however also had another drug in him. One to make his heart fail under the strain of the interrogation. A drug to convince Ackvick that he had killed one of his brethren.
Kaider all of a sudden stopped shaking, and slumped.

Rickhart put down his book, “Is that supposed to happen?”

Ackvick stood in shock, then moved closer to him, “No. The virus isn’t supposed to be fatal.”

Ackvick quickly took Kaider down, and started CPR.

“Anything that can hurt can also kill,” observed Rickhart, “Is he dead?”

Ackvick checked his pulse, “He might be.”

“Get to my office,” said Rickhart, “Killing him could be embarrassing. More likely he fell overboard trying to escape. I’ll have the body moved.”

Ackvick sighed, “Give me a moment with him, alone.”

“Commander Ackvick,” said Rickhart, “I must insist you trust my judgment on this. In the past, your judgment has proven flawed.”

“Rickhart...” Ackvick said, “A few minutes to say my goodbyes?”

“Very well,” said Rickhart stepping out of the room.

There Ms Turner was waiting for him, moving his hands rapidly he communicated, “I want the Commander alive. The injection I provided should revive him.”

Ackvick looked at Kaider with some sadness, “Damn that fool.”

Ackvick then went to the injection pullout, and grabbed a second needle, and a special vial. He walked over to Kaider, and stabbed it into his heart. The shock of the impact shook his heart, and the medication immediately reversed the medication.

Kaider gasped awake as Ackvick pulled the needle out. “I knew he would use our own fake-death drug against you,” Ackvick reflected, “Don’t say anything. I want you to act dead, and when they put you wherever, deal with it.”

At that, Ackvick walked out of the room, leaving Kaider lying on the floor where he was before. Ms Turner walked into the room, along with one of the Farminan pilots. Carefully she injected the mixture provided by Rickhart that would both cure Agent X and reverse the effect of the first drug Rickhart used.

At that, Ackvick walked out of the room, leaving Kaider lying on the floor where he was before.

Ms Turner walked into the room, along with one of the Farminan pilots. Carefully she injected the mixture provided by Rickhart that would both cure Agent X and reverse the effect of the first drug Rickhart used.

Kaider shivered from the pain from being stabbed twice, and the medication made him feel a little sick.

“Oh good your alive,” said Ms Turner, “Now we just need to put you in a body bag.”

Ms Turner and the pilot loaded Kaider into a body bag and carried him away. One of the guards on the door observed, “Your corpse is still moving.”

“Nonsense,” declared Ms Turner, belting Kaider’s head several times with a spanner, “Not moving a wink.”

OOC: I've redone the post.

0000 FET
Off the West Coast of Farmina, near Abbey Ruins.

NCS Deadly, a Los-Angles Class Submarine moved below the sea. Running slowly, so that it could not be heard. It's objective was not to shoot anything down, but transport a few men over. It had been travelling for weeks, away from it's fleet, but finally reached it's target

"So, our objectives are to sneak across to our various targets, located here, here, here, and here," ordered one of them. "You have your cyanide tablets, do not let yourselves get caught. And remember, we don't exist."

Outside of the seamen shouted to the leader.

"We're in position, best head to your zodiacs.

"Thank you, Petty Officer," he replied.

The fifteen men moved in the submarine to the launch deck. After listening to sonar, they concluded that there was no threat. Thus, the submarine surfaced to sea level and the zodiacs launched.

The two Zodiac sailed across the sea. The men dressed in various black civilian clothes, moved the zodiac to the coast.

"What's your mission," replied one of the men.

"Can't tells ya," replied another, in a thick Scottish accent. "Classsifed."

Apon reaching the coast, they quickly disperced, with two ensuring that the landing proof was hidden.

Supreme Commander Varius Aricar watched as green-sleeved Farminans raced back and forward making sure everything was ready. In the time since the Army of the North had been forced into the Pass; massive amounts of construction had occurred both above and below ground. Enormous amounts of equipment, men and supplies had been shipped from the south; huge amounts hidden carefully, while other quantities were hidden just well enough for the Messians to discover the ‘secret’ Farminan build up. The Messian withdrawal was expected soon, especially with TaskForce 4 and the Final Victory; both believed to be in rebel hands, fast approaching.

A buzz overhead indicated to the Supreme Commander that the Messians were once again trying to work out what the Farminans were up to. There was a brief sound of Farminan anti air fire but the Messian aircraft buzzed away. Ignoring the brief intrusion, Aricar walked back into the small hut that General Salamander was using as a command post.

“Lord Commander,” said the General, putting down a full glass of scotch, “We have the link to the President. I’m putting him through now.”

The screen flashed up with a fat man, unmistakably Tobias Grey, “Supreme Commander, General Salamander. I’ve been aware you are ready to move. You are just waiting for Snyder to begin the withdrawal, correct?”

“That is correct,” said Varius Aricar. In fact the decision to attack at the first sign of a withdrawal was Tobias’. Aricar had insisted commencing the attack halfway through the withdraw effort, balancing the weakness of the enemy, with the amount left to crush; while maximizing confusion. Do you continue the withdrawal, or race withdrawn troops back forward to slow the attack? Tobias Grey was having none of it, no matter how ‘reasonable’. Attack at the beginning of the withdrawal, to prevent nearly any Messian soldier reaching the ships; and to seize the element of surprise. Even after that, Tobias Grey had no intention of letting any Messian ship leave international waters. On that he agreed with his generals.

“Shall I review the opening phases of our plan?” said Aricar.

“Indeed,” said Tobias, “But why only the opening phases.”

“We need to respond to the situation,” said Salamander, “We cannot be sure what Snyder will do. We can only allow ourselves the best position to respond to whatever Snyder does do.”

Aricar took turn to speak, “The land offensive shall begin with two air waves.”

That sounded like a contradiction in terms, but Aricar had divided the offensive into two halves, the attack on Alice and the simultaneous destruction of the Messian fleet by attacking it from all sides, with the entire scope of naval weaponry.

“The first wave will be decoys,” said Aricar, “Seemingly aimed at the Messian fleet, but serving the purpose of finding Messian anti air weapons within Alice, any decoy that dares survive, will be crashed onto Messian carrier decks, to cause chaos. Long range artillery and aircraft will them strike the anti-air weaponry. The second wave of aircraft will also include helicopters that will paradrop large numbers of troops onto the bridges that threaten to divide the battlefield in two. We shall also release a signal to begin massive unrest in Alice. We have at least one hundred thousand armed partisans ready to cause chaos in the city, preventing troops and supplies being moved back and forwards through the city. They have been alerted to the importance of the bridges. These will be supported by two and a half thousand special operatives, who will be responsible for the more organized brand of chaos; as well as elimination of enemy supplies and troops. This massive rebellion will be supported by superior Farminan airpower and artillery, as well as naval firepower.”

General Salamander took turn to speak, now describing the planning for front line combat; not just the ability to make Messian operations near impossible, “My force [2] will begin an attack all along the line at the same time as the rest of the attack starts. Massive amounts of artillery, supported by the heavy Leviathan tanks and infantry will engage the Messian forces. Although our forces will move forward; this will be mainly to gain superior firing positions. It is not my force’s primary role to roll back the Messian position; but simply to put so much firepower against them that they will be forced to keep their heads down and not withdraw from their positions.

General Walker will also move his force [1] against the western flank of the force, with a huge force of light tanks and infantry. This will be supported with large amounts of FastFirer artillery and airpower. General Walker’s priority is devastating the small west flank of the Messian force and bringing his force in behind the rest of the Messian army, causing them to be ham in our sandwich.”

For no logical reason, Varius Aricar again took control of the explanation, “General Williams [3] has bolstered the infantry positions in the Walters. His army will sweep down and we expect him to meet little opposition and if he does, he can scurry back into the safety of the mountains. The General has a variety of targets including securing the river and river crossings; supporting the previously landed paratroopers, as well as helping General Walker’s attempt to attack the flank of the main Messian force and move behind it. Any resistance encounter trying to secure his stretch of front will be driven towards the bridges, where they will be forced into the awaiting paratroopers. We don’t expect the Messians to foresee us using the mountains; due to the hostile nature of the mountains and the inability of anyone, even locals, to move heavy equipment through it. Once this side of the river is secure and the main Messian force is surrounded, General Williams will move the bulk of his infantry up against the west flank of the city and begin to sweep through the city.”

The General paused before continuing, “General Lions shall also be leading a second infantry army [4] and charge down from the Grey Mountains to attack broadly. Unlike General Williams, Lions has no predesignated capture targets and is only meant to surprise the Messians by the size of his force and relieve pressure from the other fronts. Again we expect his force to meet little resistance and be able to sweep widely against Eastern Alice and assist General Walker in cutting off the Messian forces.”

“That seems comprehensive,” said Tobias, “What numbers are we looking at?”

“About twenty million from the army. Our estimates of Messian estimates are probably about two million, at the most five million. We have an especially high level of FastFirer IV artillery pieces gathered, nearly every one in Farmina,” said Aricar, “We also have ten thousand aircraft and the entire Farminan navy.”

“Good,” said the President, “With that force you should have no excuse for failing. The Republic needs a victory, with heroes, lots of heroes. The Colonies appear to have no intention of backing down. Good news gentlemen, or I shall have you boiled in oil.”

With that the screen faded.

OOC: Map (http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y145/Farmina/Alice2.jpg)

Rickhart walked swiftly through the corridors; his suit creaseless and his walking stick no longer required. His plate was freshly polished; which only made him feel more impressive, “Milord; Commander Ackvick has dispatched Commander Kaider, with a little assistance. I always felt Kaider had a weak heart; I think this proves it.”

“Excellent. It is almost time. Are you ready to act for the cause?” Snyder cruely said.

“What do you want now?” said Rickhart, “I have a Force Commander to blackmail.”

“I mean, our forces will be converging in about an hour’s time,” said Snyder.

“I suspect that Grey has you beaten,” said Rickhart, “Double all your estimates of his forces. Then double them again. He wants to sweep the board clean; so he has a free hand to use his forces as he sees fit, without responding defensively.”

There was a pause, “You mean we're all falling into a trap?”

“I have already suggest you flee,” said Rickhart, “For that exact reason. Tobias Grey doesn't want a single Messian to escape. This move is to secure Farmina for a long time and allow him to strike at his enemies freely.”

“Alright,” Snyder muttered, “I better get off ship as planned.”

“In addition,” said Rickhart, “Just as Tobias plays his hand; you might want to consider ordering a surrender. An act of mercy to your doomed troops. It will also deprive Tobias Grey of this huge victory he has been planning. There are no heroes without dead men.”

“I’ll get on it,” Snyder responded, “And make all the necessary preparations.”

“I’ll talk to you soon,” said Rickhart, “Initiating silence.”

Ackvick grumbled, “I’m not the type to sugarcoat things. I killed him.”

“Things are too sensitive,” said Rickhart, “We can’t afford to inflame the situation.”

"For now," Ackvick replied in agreement. "We'll keep this under wraps. Now what's the plan?"

“We continue with TaskForce 4 to Alice,” said Rickhart, “Once securing victory there; we go MES and the heart of the resistance. For now I have a simple request.”

“Name it,” Ackvick said, resigningly.

“The Council is short several Force Commanders,” said Rickhart, “I hope you would fully support my application to join. Obviously in the circumstances normal protocol must be overridden. Immediate elevation to the rank.”

Ackvick shook his head, “I can't believe you’re asking this, but I suppose I can put you into the program. But anyone can become a Force Commander, but only a very few make it in.”

He added, “As well, we've never had a non-messian be a Force Commander before/”

“I am invaluable,” argued Rickhart, “When you defeat Snyder; your new order will be weak. You will need someone cunning, some who inspires both fear and respect, someone brutal and just. Commander Ackvick I suggest you have little choice.”

He added afterward, “Commander Dasch has already expressed his support.”

Ackvick had a look of surprise, “Not long ago the man swore to kill you. What changed in him?”

“He both fears me and respects me,” said Rickhart, “So he will obey me.”

Ackvick shook his head again, “If you’re going to use fear to control me, then you’re going to fail the test. One of the tests involves ethics.”

“The Council needs obedience,” said Rickhart, “When you return to power; every minority group there ever way will launch its own small scale rebellion, trying to gain its self rule. If Commander Dasch can see the light; surely you can.”

Ackvick sighed. “Time will tell, let’s put it that way,’ Ackvick said, “First let’s see if we can survive this!”

“Your full support?” asked Rickhart.

“...Full support,” Ackvick responded.

“Good,” confirmed Rickhart, “I think that whole incident can be forgotten now. You can present Foster with the ‘information’ Kaider gave to us. Next stop, Alice.”

Colonel Greaves ran up to Supreme Commander Aricar, “We’ve intercepted a communication. Suggestions say it is a Messian evacuation order.”

Aricar lent over to his radio, “Initiate Operation Retake. All units commence attack.”

The sound of planes filled the air; soon the Farminan military would throw a massive weight against Alice.

After the beachead landing, the teams split apart, each assigned on different missions. Two of them walked for days to get to Tedaston, where after purchasing additional supplies, and a car. They used forged money in an attempt to inflate the Farminan economy, and thus making things more expensive. After the supplies were brought, they drove as near as they could to the Farminan forces without them see the two. They took out their binoculars.

"How the fuck are we going to pass that," replied one of them, in a soft tone.

"By this," the other replied.

He went to the boot of the car. Inside was two bags. He took both bags out and opened one. Inside was two Farminan military uniforms. He threw a set to the other man.

"Your now Private Kevin Conklin, of the [insert supply unit], I'm Sergeant Denis Lazarus, of the [insert enginerring division]. You know what our mission is. Remember the cynaide if you are under duress. And for God's sake, don't swear. Remember the Farminan are ultra-religious."

"Bit of a fuckin' oxymoron really," replied the 'Private'.

"Just do your job," replied the 'Serge'. "Now, how to get in."

After the beachead landing, the teams split apart, each assigned on different missions. Two of them walked for days to get to Tedaston, where after purchasing additional supplies, and a car. They used forged money in an attempt to inflate the Farminan economy, and thus making things more expensive. After the supplies were brought, they drove as near as they could to the Farminan forces without them see the two. They took out their binoculars.

"How the fuck are we going to pass that," replied one of them, in a soft tone.

"By this," the other replied.

He went to the boot of the car. Inside was two bags. He took both bags out and opened one. Inside was two Farminan military uniforms. He threw a set to the other man.

"Your now Private Kevin Conklin, of the [insert supply unit], I'm Sergeant Denis Lazarus, of the [insert enginerring division]. You know what our mission is. Remember the cynaide if you are under duress. And for God's sake, don't swear. Remember the Farminan are ultra-religious."

"Bit of a fuckin' oxymoron really," replied the 'Private'.

"Just do your job," replied the 'Serge'. "Now, how to get in."

OOC: How many people were on the boat exactly and where are they now? This boat can't be a supply of infinite commando teams pouring off one after another. Also buying a car; in a middle of a war? Buying supplies; without ration coupons? And you really aren't going to inflate a trillion dollar economy by buying a car; especially with wartime price controls.

OOC: I've written 10 already in a previous post. I've only mention two, cause i havent thought what to write in regards to what to do with the rest yet. And you haven't seemed to post anything about wartime rationing yet, so I'm assuming you havent initalised it yet. Not all countries do such a thing the moment a war starts, so I assumed such. And everything adds up, so that there will use more forged money as you go along.

And you haven't seemed to post anything about wartime rationing yet, so I'm assuming you havent initalised it yet. Not all countries do such a thing the moment a war starts, so I assumed such.
You assumed wrong. The concept of a full-war economy is exactly that. No wasting resources; and just as importantly, no wasting time.

OOC: If I had them posing as bums needing a cars, would the civilians give them the required ration tickets?

Snyder walked onto the bridge, just as General Quarters was sounded. "Red alert, all hands to battlestations!" Snyder heard over the intercom.

"Report!" Snyder yelled as he entered the bridge.

"Mi'lord, the Farminans have sent an invasion force headlong into Alice! They intercepted our fallback order."

Snyder sighed. "Alright, order all units to hold fire unless fired upon. Now patch me through to the Farminan military. I'm declaring a ceasefire for a chance for negotiations for peace."

"Mi'lord?" the officer said in surprise.

"Put me through. I have a message to announce."

========
By General Proclamation of Force Commander Jason Snyder,
Father and Protector of the Snyder Timocracy of the Militia Enforced States

The fires of war have bathed the great armies of the Timocracy as they should not be bathed. Blood of our people has been poured in a foreign land, far away from families and from homes. Farmina has moved to bring overwhelming strength against us and there is no logical point in resisting. Any attempt to do so would see only the loss of life on both sides, parents killed and families broken. It is my duty, my moral responsibility as the national and military leader to announce the complete surrender of all land, air and naval forces of the Timocracy in Farminan waters and on Farminan territory, to the Democratic Republic of Farmina.

May the children of both nations remember what was done today.
========

OOC: Been gone for awhile, now that im back I noticed this thread. Dont know if its still active but I do remember pleaging troops to Farmina so im gunna just jump in randomly.

To: The Desk of the Farminian Leader
From: Andrew N. Volker, High Chancellor of the SSUN

In a return to my office from an army inspection I noticed a few letters from your country. I have also heard reports of combat in your lands. As I have said before we will aide any country in oppressed termoil and so the SSUN is pleadging our newly operational Shadow Ops teams are willing to be sent in. They are perfect for night assault as well as keeping a special forces tactics style to their movments. An imediate responce would be much appreciated.

Your Ally,
The SSUN, Andrew N. Volker, High Chancellor of the Socialist States Union of Nerotika.

OOC: The Hawk Strikes is perhaps a more relevant thread; once it eventually gets moving.

IC:
To Andrew N. Volker, High Chancellor of the SSUN

We feel it is perhaps best that these forces are readied for an assault currently prepared against the Northern Colonies. It is our intention to force said nation into a complete surrender after they violated the sacred traditions of negotiation.

Tobias Grey
President of the Republic
Democratic Republic of Farmina

Across the Farminan frontline, there were mighty cheers, Alice taken without a fight. Farminan troops poured into the city, taking prisoners and supplies. On the water; naval vessels were taken in the name of Farmina without resistance.

The only Messian ships not to comply with the surrender order were the rebel vessels, which failed to reach Alice in time for the battle that didn’t happen. Aboard the Final Victory, Ms Turner was carefully carrying out her duties. Kaider had been subdued and returned to the body bag; with a tracking and flotation device. Finally pulling the body over the side, she announced, “Bon voyage” as the unconscious Kaider dropped into the water below, that would drag him to Alice and the Farminan troops.

President Tobias Grey faced up and down the room; the fallout from the Messian surrender the day before was growing. The Colonials were now moving firmly into Tobias Grey’s sights; but despite such a major accomplishment he hadn’t forgotten about the rest of Snyder’s forces.

Sitting down, the President picked up the first paper in a large pile. The headline read “Messians Surrender. Alice Seized without Causalities.” It had been weeks since the Colonial threat hadn’t dominated the headlines. Snyder had been all but forgotten about by the media. That was a good headline; though Tobias would have preferred a glorious ride into Alice; fighting a bitter and cruel enemy that would not surrender whatever the cost. Picking up another newspaper the headline was less favorable, “Snyder allows peaceful surrender. Refuses to allow unnecessary bloodletting.” The next paper was more favorable, “Cunning Farminan tactics force Messian Surrender. Massive Supplies Captured.” The next paper sung the praises of a Snyder who saved lives on all side. Growing support for Snyder threatened the war effort. Before the incident in Macisikan and the bombing of Ricco; Farminans considered the Colonies a sideshow. Tobias Grey still did; Snyder was the real threat to Grey’s ideal.

“What do we do,” sighed Tobias, as Phillip Sullivan stepped into the room, “The papers seem to have forgotten that Snyder was trying to invade us.”

“Everyone has forgotten that,” said Sullivan, “The new target of rage is Prime Minister Anderson. Now the public sees Snyder as the sideshow; a sideshow not worth too much effort.”

“Last thing we need is the public thinking Snyder is secondary threat with a soft spot,” said Tobias.

“It gets worse,” said Sullivan, “Lord Palmer is addressing the Parliament. He is calling for a ceasefire so all efforts can be concentrated on the more serious threat from the Colonials and that a lasting peace can be reached with the Messians. He’s offering to host Lord Snyder in Ille de Moree. He’s appealing to a Parliament that is tired of war, yet furious at the Colonials.”

“A war that he caused,” observed Tobias.

“A war that Snyder and Anderson caused,” returned Sullivan, firmly in line with beliefs of most Farminans; and to a great extent a more reasonable attribution of the blame.

But the Parliament was getting increasingly troublesome. Tobias Grey could feel the Moralists and their coalition collapsing, “I feel my presidency isn’t going to survive after this war. The Parliament is only unified because the majority are ruled by the desire to win the war.”

“Perhaps we should consider a new alliance,” said Sullivan, sensing that Tobias Grey wouldn’t be completely upset if he lost the Presidency, “One that will live beyond the war.”

“The Socialists I suppose,” he spurted, rejecting the notion out of hand, “The only feasible alliance is with the Liberals and they swore revenge after the end of the Palmer presidency.”

Mentioning Palmer made Tobias uncomfortable; there was something unseemly about one man he didn’t trust requesting to host another man he didn’t trust. “If the Socialists ally with Labour and the Moralist left they may be able to form a Parliamentary majority,” warned Sullivan, “Even the Liberals might be able to gather up the appropriate votes. Decisive action will be needed.”

For a moment it sounded like Tobias was grinding his teeth, “Tell Palmer his proposal is accepted. We can’t be seen to be the warmongers here. Let the left see us sue for peace. That should soothe them for a while.”

Sullivan nodded firmly. Tobias waited for Sullivan to do something and then yelled, “Now!”


To Lord Snyder

President Tobias Grey hereby offers you a ceasefire to extend the period of any negotiations between our countries. You will be welcomed to Farmina and made a guest of James Palmer at Ille de Moree. Your personal safety is assured should you remain in obedience of Farminan law. You may bring a small contingent of bodyguards and advisors. As soon as negotiations breakdown; the ceasefire will be withdrawn; however your delegation will be allowed safe passage back to the Militia Enforced States.

Phillip Sullivan
Chancellor for Foreign Affairs
Democratic Republic of Farmina

James Palmer read the note from Tobias, “It appears Snyder has accepted the ceasefire. Furthermore he has accepted residence here.”

“Does he suspect something?” asked Timothy.

“I’m not sure,” said Jamie, who wasn’t even sure who ‘he’ was, “But you will have to look after our guest initially. I have business in Verica to attend to. Parliamentary votes will not accumulate themselves.”

Jamie kissed his partner briefly and then said, “Actually I have to go now. I’m sure you now exactly what to do.”

Rickhart was standing on the bridge of the Final Victory looking out towards Alice. No smoke or flames were rising; the Messian surrender had taken even him off guard. He hadn’t believed Snyder would follow through with the suggestion. “Amazing,” muttered Rickhart. He hadn't been completely convinced it was Snyder's best course of action if self interested; but the surrender had prevented destruction and death on both sides. Rickhart felt a satisfaction to that; if a grim one. Turner walked in gave a small nod and kept going. Rickhart expected Ackvick to arrive soon and Dasch to bumble in eventually. However he had made the decision to begin the conference with Foster without them. “Commander Foster,” he said openning the communications channel, “This is Captain Daniel Rickhart on the Final Victory. Are you recieving?”

After a lengthy period of static, Foster’s voice came through, “Foster here.”

“Commander Foster,” said Rickhart, “Before the others arrive; could I ask a favour?”

“Name it,” Foster replied.

“I want the three surviving Force Commanders to promote me to their rank immediately,” said Rickhart, “Skip the normal tests considering the circumstance. Call the circumstances the test.”

There was a more lengthy pause, “I can accept you into the program, but sorry, but I cannot bypass the testing. It is a law that even we cannot break.”

“Time is of the essence,” said Rickhart, “And the laws are beyond shattered. After the war reestablishing the program will be difficult beyond words. There will be a Force Commander shortage of crisis proportions.”

There was another pause, “Sadly, no. Protocol 519, paragraph 4 dictates that in the case of the massacre of the force commanders, then the group of the highest ranking military officers immediately starts a recruiting procedure for the testing. During the recruiting, the group immediately takes command until a Force Commander is chosen. If the group fails to recruit a new Force Commander in the allotted time, then the next group down makes the decision. On a side note, they are also our normal checks and balances anyways.”

“Though I suggest rebuilding a government that way is logistically impossible,” said Rickhart, “The laws are no longer in effect. We are working with a fresh slate. It is time to rewrite the rules.”

There was another long pause. “We’re not dead yet,” Foster replied, “If Ackvick and Dasch are still alive, that is still enough to properly operate the country. The minimum is three. You will have to go through the testing like everybody else. It’s not like a death sentence, Rickhart, and if you are of good character, you should be able to pass it.”

“Have you Force Commanders no concept of timing,” yelled Rickhart, throwing his hands up in the air, “I need to be a Force Commander as soon as the war ends. I'm not waiting for you lot to screw it up.”

There was another pause, “Then as soon as I come on board, we can do the testing then.”

“Good,” said Rickhart, “The next matter is what do we do now.”

There was another pause, “Stand by, I’m receiving another hail.”

Then there was silence.

“Hello,” said Rickhart, annoyed about being abandoned, “Is this thing still working? Hello...”

The static returned, “Foster here. Okay...that was...odd.”

“What was?” asked Rickhart; wondering what was taking Ackvick so long to arrive.

“The other hail was Snyder,” Foster said, in a matter of fact.

“Strange choice,” said Rickhart, realising he hadn’t heard from Snyder for a while himself.

“Yes...Snyder just asked us...to join them in a joint action against the Northern Colonies,” said Foster.

“And why would he want that?” said Rickhart, “Apart from as part of a double cross?”

There was a chuckle, “He’s probably pissed off at them for similar reasons why I want to down them as well.”

“So a brief interlude before we continue blasting each other,” suggested Rickhart, “The intermission in the middle of the movie.”

If he hadn’t heard Snyder’s justification; he would be completely baffled. Instead Rickhart was only somewhat baffled.

“Rickhart, you should be entering viewscreen range of us,” Foster replied.

“We are going to be seriously outnumber if we try to take on Snyder while he isn’t busy fighting Farmina,: said Rickhart.

There was a pause, “Alright, I'm bringing my ship alongside to dock and transfer crews on board, as I assume you are undermanned at the moment.”

“Not heavily,” said Rickhart, “We have the Farminans; but we are still rounding up traitors.”

“There should be a book in the bookshelf behind you, which has docking procedures for the Final Victory. I recommend reading it, because it’s not like docking an aluminum boat,”

Rickhart grabbed the book and threw it at one of the Final Victory crew, “Being dealt with.”

The crew began the docking procedures immediately. There were rumours amongst them about what Rickhart did when he got annoyed; although it was Rickhart himself who started the rumours.

General Salamander stepped on his cigarette. In the dark Alice warehouse, Commander Kaider was cold, wet, and tied to a chair.

He had been unconscious, but he wasn’t any longer. “The President’s been informed,” said Salamander, “About this man and Rickhart’s note. He agrees we need to keep Kaider’s existence secret; although he also thinks we should burn him at the stake.”

Salamander walked over to Kaider, “He’s awake.”

There was a startled tone in his voice, but he had know that Kaider had been awake all along. Grabbing Kaider by the jaw, he shook the Messian’s head, “You are in a lot of trouble. The president wants to see you tried for tyranny. Now we can help you; but you are going to co-operate.”

Kaider mumbled something unintelligible, yanked his face from the Farminan’s hand, and glared at him. “Ackvick, or Rickhart just faked my death,” he muttered, “If I’m being interrogated to help your country against Snyder, I’m all ears.”

“We want information on Snyder,” said Salamander, “And on the Council of Force Commanders; and most importantly on Rickhart.”

Salamander wasn’t sure why they wanted information of Rickhart; but the old man had made a lot of Farminans very concerned.

“Alright,” Kaider replied, “Where do you want me to start?”

“Any secret locations where we can find Snyder?” asked Salamander.

Kaider coughed up a bit of blood, and looked at the Farminan with a much less hostile look than before.

“They aren’t really secret,” Kaider said, “Could you give me a drink?”

Major Richter poured a small glass of straight scotch and then signaled for Kaider to open his mouth.

Salamander continued, “Would you be able to map us all the Messian military instillations, along with anywhere we can find Snyder?”

Kaider slowly swallowed the alcohol, “I was meaning water, but thank you,” Kaider said, “I'm not going to reveal our entire network, because that would be a national security risk to us.”

Kaider said, but before the Farminan approached him to hit him, Kaider yelled. “Wait!” The Farminan stopped and Kaider swallowed some blood again. “But I can tell you what relevant locations where Snyder is most likely to frequent, including his own personal military bases.”

Major Richter put down the glass and drew a small pocket knife. It was however, Salamander that spoke, “We need all Messian military instillations. We can move onto industrial targets after that.”

Richter just touched Kaider’s ear with the knife; thinking, "Messian industrial targets. Now that would be a short list.”

Kaider moved his head away from the knife, “I’m willing to help you, but what you’re asking me to do is to surrender my entire nation to you.”

“I must assume you’ve met Dan Rickhart,” said Richter, the knife digging just a little into Kaider’s left ear, “We can stop him. But we need your help.”

Kaider had a stiff tone, “Stop the knife, and I will tell you everything you need to know.”

Salamander had taken precautions; just in case Kaider tried to lie, “Untie him.”

Richter removed the knife and cut Kaider’s ropes as Salamander brought over a pencil and map, “You can include any hydrogen refineries we don’t know about.”

Kaider took the pencil, and looked at the map. He circled Snyder’s residence, the headquarters building, and three grassy fields in different parts of the country.

“I’m sure we can find more military locations than that,” suggested Salamander, “Keep trying.”

Kaider looked at him. “Humor me,” he said. “This is his personal residence, and here is the central command.”

Pointing at the two circles near the main city, not pointing at the three circles in the middle of nowhere.

Salamander nodded, so far this was the truth, “Keep going.”

“These three circles are Snyder’'s hidden underground command centers.”

“He built them himself while he was vying for Force Commander.”

Salamander was willing to believe that, although he was going to make sure the claim was tested with thermal imaging, “Now lets have some military target put on the map. Killing Snyder may just cause an even bigger power vacuum, or deliver Rickhart straight to the Messian throne.”

Kaider looked at him, “He what?! Messian throne?!”

“I believe I was asking the questions,” said Salamander; as a glint of light bounced of Richter’s blade.

“Right,” Kaider replied, a little nervous. “Here,” he said, circling another spot on the map, confirming Farminan intelligence, “Is the nerve of the Snyder Guard, and his major command center.”

“Strike here, and the entire threat should be destroyed. His units would be completely disorganized.”

“For every lie,” warned Richter, “I get to remove one part of your body. And I assure you that I can be imaginative.”

Kaider sweated a tear, “I just want to go back to my family. You do not need to worry about me lying.”

"Good," said Salamander, “Now just keep naming sites.”

“To strike his command center, you will need to attack the Dylaria Shipyards, here. Both locations are heavily defended by static defenses, and two airfields, both of which are guaranteed to be controlled by Snyder Guard,”

Once Salamander believed he had a full list, he gave the map outside to a guard for processing, “Now lets discuss Rickhart and the Force Commanders.”

“What is your opinion of Daniel Rickhart?” said Salamander.

Kaider shuddered, “The world’s second most dangerous man. If you get the chance, kill him.

“Of the Force Commanders,” said Salamander, “How many do we have to deal with?”
“In service, or out of service?” Kaider suggested.

“Any that could have a claim to political power in a post-Snyder power vacuum,” expanded Salamander.

“Well,” Kaider, “All of them technically could, but whether or not they're like Snyder I can be more specific.”

“Of the active Force Commanders,” said Salamander, “We may require leverage to force them into premature retirement.”

Kaider thought of the statement as a double-edged sword, “Of the previous Force Commanders, there's myself, both Ackvick, Dasch, apparently Foster, and of course, Snyder. The rest are dead.”

“Now if we want them to go and plant petunias,” said Salamander, “What action do you suggest we do?”

“How about going to hell?” Kaider said angrily, “Not all of us are like Snyder! You should be more concerned about his own new cabinet!”

“Then tell us,” said Salamander, “We shall return to the problem of the Force Commanders later.”

“Right,” Kaider replied, “Snyder has completed his recruitment of new Force Commanders, using tainted recruitment rules, though they are still brilliant. They are the heads of the Snyder Guard, and together they're plotting the fall of world governments, including yours, as we speak.”

“A list of names,” suggested Salamander, “And good places to kill them.”

“Places to kill wouldn’t be easy,” Kaider replied, “Other than the specified locations, chances are they've changed their movements.”

Kaider started to write down some names as he spoke, “However, they do fly in the super-elite black squadron. If you see their fancy car-glossy airplanes, chances are, you're in a lot of trouble. That said, that's your best chance.”

“Kill people in black planes,” noted Salamander, “After we secure the destruction of Snyder; what regions can we expect the most trouble from. Where will we find the breakaway states?”

Kaider shook his head, “Our nation is very loyal, and our nation is one of the very few in the world to have mandatory military service for every person over eighteen and under 50. That means that although everyone does military duty in 3 month shifts in a large cycle, everyone’s been trained to fight. They’ve been drilled with our beliefs of over eighty years, and we have weapons lockers all over the country.”

“You’re nation has enough trouble making enough material to keep itself running,” observed Salamander, “Should I believe that you can make enough munitions to keep half the populations fighting?”

Kaider shook his head. “Probably not,” Kaider responded, “But we have a massive stockpile built up over eighty years.”

“We have plans,” said Salamander, “Stockpiles will be bombed. A massive propaganda campaign will have your people so confused about who the enemy is they will probably end up shooting themselves. The Farminan military will launch a massive campaign based on speed; of which we are more than capable. But we have the industrial power for the long game. We have it both ways Kaider.”

Kaider shook his head, “To cut down on casualties on both sides, can't we both come to an agreement?”

“The President finds Snyder most unagreeable,” said Richter, “However we are hosting negotiations. We are taking the long run view. If we quit the war, we save a few men today; but the world loses for generations.”

“Well, believe me,” Kaider responded, “The old cadre's completely open to negotiations, unlike that arrogant bastard.”

“This is beyond compromise,” said Salamander, ignoring the attack on Grey; after all he voted Palmer, “We are approaching a great clash between good and evil; right and wrong. President Grey hopes to catch the Snyder, Rickhart and the Force Commanders all in one big net. It is time to clear the slate; time to give the MES a new start.”

“Well, sir,” Kaider replied, “You will be greatly disappointed in your attempt to create change. Read our history to know exactly what happened when another nation tried to do the same thing.”

“One failure will not ensure another,” said Salamander, “And if your nation implodes; that certainly means you can't threaten anyone again.”

“Well then...” Kaider muttered, “Then expect millions of Farminans to die.”

“Its been an expectation since we were attacked,” said Salamander, “It is now that millions will die on your soil; not ours.”

“It’s not like we ever had the choice!” Kaider squealed in rage; his voice was going from his previous injuries..

“Neither do we,” commented Salamander.

He then put on a tape from the night of Force Commander Donald’s death; when Ackvick practically declared war on Farmina. When the tape finished Salamander said, “The threat must be culled; we shall die for our children.”

Kaider shook his head, “It was probably heat of the moment. I admit what he said was wrong. That doesn’t mean that you're right though.”

“If it had not been for Rickhart’s quick thinking,” said Salamander, “This war would have been months earlier. There was a threat. There remains a threat. The threat shall be terminated. We shall secure Farmina for a very long time to come.”

Kaider glared at him, “If you are so rigid in your thinking, then I refuse to help you any further.”

“I don't make policy,” said Salamander, “Richter; make the prisoner talk.”

Richter brought his blade up to Kaider’s face, “We still require a full list of Messian targets. We shall be crushing Snyder with or without your help. Its up to Ackvick and Grey; not you, to determine what happens after that.”

Kaider looked at the cocky Farminan. “I will tell you one more secret.”

“You will tell us all your secrets,” assured General Salamander, “We can be very patient.”

Kaider’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the Farminan, “Snyder has the command codes to 2500 of our ICBM's left over from the great war. Most of them are still operational. And I'm sure that he wouldn't care if you nuked his nation in retaliation. He has a backup master plan that doesn't involve neither of our countries. So unless you want your nation to be plate glass, I suggest we negotiate”

“We have intercept systems,” noted Salamander; knowing they weren’t foolproof as he guestured for Richter to restrain the blade, “But what could Snyder possibly offer us; other than equal peace. Even then we will know that he continues to wage a subvert war against us.”

“That’s the problem,” Kaider replied, “If you just try to aim for Snyder, and do it carefully, he might hold off plate glassing your nation. But if you indiscriminately attack our nation, heck, whoever takes over for Snyder will fire them. I believe that he's still following the fair-play rules.”

“All our projections show that we will need an invasion force to capture Snyder,” said Salamander, “So an invasion force it will be. And we already know Snyder is building some new space weapon.”

“Yes,” Kaider replied, “That is true. And you will need to invade. But what you’re asking for is to indiscriminately attack our entire nation, not just a part of it. I will not allow that.”

“We have run the scenarios,” said Salamander, “An effort to capture Snyder would work similar to a standard invasion scenario. We shall drive for Francisco-Angelas to divert troops from the south; using a massive sweep. Once we have spread our enemies as far apart as possible; we go for the kill.”

Kaider shook his head, “I know you want Snyder, but I promise you, you will never find him. At least, never alive.”

He looked at the man again, “And I still disagree with overthrowing the entire government.”

“The future of MES is out of my hands,” repeated Salamander, “Perhaps Tobias will see the benefits of leaving some elements in place; but that is between him and whoever survives. However every inch of dictatorship that survives; I assure you Tobias will use it as an excuse to place an additional crushing weight on your nation.”

Kaider again shook his head, “Let me speak to him first. That will make me decide whether or not I divulge all or not.”

“I think that isn’t the best idea,” said Salamander, “You’re the second highest on his list of Force Commanders to execute. Details shall be settled at the end of the conflict. When the dust settles; the path to take is far more clear.”

“Then I refuse to indulge anymore information,” Kaider replied.

“I can however divulge what I suspect will happen,” said Salamander, “Using what I know about the plans for the Northern Colonies.”

“Then tell me,” Kaider offered.

"A democratic constitution will be forced on you," said Salamander, "This much is obvious. Tobias Grey will remove as much of the old system as possible; without creating complete anarchy. However he will prefer a little anarchy; something to set the MES back a few years, but not insurmountable. A civil war would threaten the massive reparations he wants."

Kaider nodded, “A democratic institution was in the works. Perhaps it can be fast tracked.”

“There will also be weapons restrictions,” said Salamander, “And the Colonies may have to give up some territory; however the MES don’t seem to have anywhere natural to chop off.”

He then paused, “Alright, I’ll indulge now, but I am warning you, if you abuse my nation in any way, don't expect peace for the next one thousand years as those weirdos always say.”

“That, if what you are saying is about accurate, is acceptable,” resigned Kaider.

Kaider then pointed at a laptop that one of the Farminans had. “Can you pass me that? Let me show you Snyder's ace up his sleeve.”

“We expect you to mark out all Snyder's aces,” said Salamander, “And all his other cards, including twos. This includes cards that might be used by the Force Commanders to prevent Grey's planned reforms or any groups that might try to create anarchy in a new MES.”

Salamander then passed the laptop. Kaider typed into the laptop, linking into the Messian command central database. He loaded up a database, which seemed to have been seperate from the normal Force Commander interface, “Because of Snyder's actions towards the other Force Commanders, while I was still with him, I downloaded the schematics to the MESV Hurricane.”

“Sounds fast,” said Salamander, sounding interested.

“Technically speaker, faster than an aircraft,” Kaider responded. He then loaded it up.

Salamander was hoping it was an aircraft; but that the Messians were planning on building fast weapons didn't bode well. Messian aircraft designs were now being copied and modified. Not much else the Messians did interested the Farminans; it was all too slow, “What exactly is it?”

The picture of the giant colony ship loaded; with a massive weapon on the front. “And how many has Snyder built?”

“One,” said Kaider, “Its nearly complete. The weapon is capable of melting the icecaps; to wipe the world clean.”

“It would be rather bad form to nuke your nation during a ceasefire,” said Salamander, “Can we just steal an engine?”

“Nope,” Kaider replied, “All components are up in space now. Maybe...we could send a spacecraft up with soldiers, but there has never been official tests of bullets in space. And with the amount of nuclear power up there, I'd be afraid of the fallout of any attack on it, other than a boarding party.”

“Could we somehow get a nuclear weapon aboard,” said Salamander, “Detonate it in space?”

“Not likely,” Kaider replied, “And if you did, the fallout on the planet would be most likely fatal to billions.”

“Poison gas?” suggested Salamander, “Acid?”

Kaider pondered, “If you got a covert team up there, disguised as eccentric geniuses, you could possibly try to disable the weapon. I’m quite sure that the guards are already up there, but I don't think that the civilians have been sent up yet. Mind you, if they went up as such, civilians would have to be on board.”

“I think that might have to be our course of action,” said Salamander, “I suppose that covers everything. As long as provide us with a comprehensive targets; I’m sure Tobias Grey can be persuaded to pardon you.”

Kaider nodded, “Alright, then let’s start with the rest of the important information. We can start with...”

The fleet of limousines stopped in front of the large country manor; one of Palmer’s grand collection of property. Apparently this was one of his favourite, where he stayed when he wasn't needed in Verica. The brickwork was a little old; but the garden was green despite the stifling heat and everything looked new. A few of Palmer’s house guard could be seem; but the presence of force certainly wasn’t overwhelming.

The head chauffeur got out the middle car and proceeded to open the door for Snyder; now known as the “friendly dictator” after sparing so many lives in Alice. “Milord,” began the chauffeur, “Ilel de Moree, my master’s estate.”

“Thank you, sir,” Snyder replied in a friendly tone. If it weren't for his history, you would think that he was a very cheerful person.

The big wooden doors opened and a housekeeper that looked incredibly like Ms Turner stepped out, yelling orders at the domestic servants. It was almost as if Farminans had it stuck in their mind that a housekeeper had to be a plump, elderly lady with grey hair a nice, but strict tone and a small eccentric streak. In the case of Ms Turner, this was a rather large eccentric streak.

“Lord Snyder,” said the housekeeper, “Leave your staff and your people. Let me show you to your room.”

Snyder made a slight bow. “Thank you milady,” and gestured her to show him the way.

As she led Snyder up the spiraling oak stairs, covered in crystal red carpet, she commented, “You arrived a little later than planned. Now I suggest you have a nice cool shower, then get into your dinner suit. You will dining with Mister Timothy tonight; he has been dying to meet you. Lord Palmer is out on business in Verica, I’m afraid. Political or economic, I’m not sure.”

Snyder grimaced. “And I’m looking forward to seeing him too,” he lied.

The housekeeper opened the door to Snyder’s room. “Your window gives you a view of the entire rear of the estate. Bathroom ‘s on the left. I’ll go outside. You get have a shower. Leave your clothes on the bed. I’ll collect them and wash them later.”

With that she left the room and closed the door.
As the woman left, Snyder grabbed his dinner suit, and took it, along with a towel and a knife, and headed to the shower.

As the woman left, Snyder looked at the shower, and thought, I'm almost concerned to try, considering Palmer. He decided to do it anyways, and headed to the shower. Walking into the shower, he inspected it, checking the walls for any hidden devices, unexplainable cracks, and other devices, however, no flaws can be found. Snyder then locked the door behind him, and took off his clothing, then putting it right beside the shower, and withdrew a knife, and laid it onto the soap holder.

After he showered, Snyder put his clothes back on, grabbed the knife, put it back into his hidden holster, and walked back out into the main room.

“Ah Lord Snyder,” said a man looking out the window. He was a similar height to Jamie; with the same muscular build, styled carefully to be fashionable above all else, “I’ve been expecting you. You didn't need to put anything on; this is after all the most liberal house in Farmina.”

The unnamed figure wore only a pair of jeans and designer singlet. His hair was cut short; dark and spiky with bleached tips.

Turning around he added, “I hope these quarters are appropriate.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Snyder said, walking out of the washroom dressed, “Anyways, yes they are acceptable.”

“Good,” said Timothy, “It is no coincidence you were offered this house to stay at. Take a seat, please, there is much to discuss.”

“Then discuss. Hopefully you aren’t as mad as Palmer himself,” Snyder remarked as he sat down at another seat.

“Jamie was particularly mad when you went back on your previously alliance,” said Timothy, walking over to Snyder, “But Jason; Jamie is a forgiving man. He is prepared to give the alliance a second chance.”

“Hmm...I seem to have forgotten what sort of alliance you were referring to,” Snyder said.

Timothy then knelt down next to Snyder and ran a finger along Snyder’s little beard, “Your rule is troubled to say the least. The support of a Farminan president would see you secure in your seat.”

“Whoever you are,” Snyder muttered, “If you try something like that again, I’ll make sure I’ll leave enough blood for Palmer that he'll be able to donate two types of blood at once.”

“The name is Timothy,” responded the younger man, “And I suggest doing any such thing would make your protection void. Such a homophobic response. You know that homophobic responses are most likely to come from closet homosexuals. You aren’t married are you Jason?”

“Divorced,” Snyder replied, “I’m not homophobic, or homosexual. But I don't trust either you or Palmer. If you were any other homosexual, I wouldn't care, but you...are different.”

“Liberal,” suggested Timothy, now moving behind Snyder, speaking softly in his ear, “I’ve had female companions. But there is so much more a man can do to you.”

“Stick to business,” Snyder murmured, “Life isn’t all just about sex.”

“Life isn’t all about business,” responded Timothy, gently massaging Snyder’s back, “Its about balance; and I'm suggesting you've lost it.”

Timothy however did return to the topic, “Tobias Grey isn’t planning to make peace. He’s going to list demands that he knows you’ll refuse and there declare that you’ve come here with a closed mind, that you are completely unreasonable.”

“I know. I foresaw this,” Snyder said, “And I also know you plan on raping me.”

Timothy rolled his eyes, behind Snyder's back, as he continued to massage the flesh, moving onto the neck, “I think you are a little paranoid. There are many things I could do with you; but I assure you, not without your consent.”

Snyder turned around, ignoring Timothy’s attempts to disturb him or to get a reaction, “Timothy, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Though I’m sure it won't be a secret after I tell you this, more than likely.”

“Jason,” said Timothy, “We seek an alliance; we will not gain it by a betrayal of trust. This room is not bugged and my lips are as sealed as you with them to be.”

“Timothy, I took some of Rickhart’s prophecy drug.”

Timothy gave a look from behind Snyder’s back, that seemed to suggest he though Snyder wasn’t completely sane, “Prophecy drugs. Rickhart? He didn't even realise Tobias Grey was going to lose the Presidential election. Jamie has run circles around him more than once.”

“That’s the thing, Timothy,” Snyder said, getting closer to Timothy, and giving him a sly and attractive grin, “According to our top doctors, it has caused my brain to develop by thirty IQ points. Not only that, but I can start to read people’s emotions.”

“Is desire an emotion?” asked Timothy, noticing that Snyder somehow looked more attractive than before, with that cute little beard and a more pleasant smile, "Love and power. Those are the great desires. Can you read my desire?”

“Yes,” Snyder said, “I can sense your lust...your hornyness...your urge to mutilate and kill...” At that, Snyder shoved Timothy backwards onto the bed. Snyder pinned him down with his arms. “Your urge to lay me for the pure pleasure of sexuality and torture.” Snyder had a very creepy ‘turn on’ look on his face, which Snyder was doing on purpose to taunt him.

“Torture is for enemies,” said Timothy, not looking afraid, but excited, knowing he was untouchable, “But a bit of rough between friends..”

“Timothy, are you my enemy, or my friend?” Snyder said, rubbing his leg against his crotch, intentionally trying to arouse him to bend his mind.

Timothy went to bite at Snyder’s neck, his hands trying to remove Snyder’s shirt, “Allies. Now lets sign the contract.”

Snyder held Timothy’s head back, other arm holding his other hand at bay. “Now now, little child. Can’t have the treat before the food, can we?”

Timothy stopped somewhat disappointed, yet still very tense and excited, “We sign on the dotted line afterward dinner. But we shall sign it thoroughly, won’t we?”

“No, Timothy. I’m not signing any deal until you tell me what the deal requires in exchange for your services in Farmina,”

Snyder then got off of Timothy, and stood our of arms length. He intentionally got into a flirtatious posture.

“We’ll discuss over dinner,” said Timothy, now driving at Snyder’s passions, “You’ll find your bags have been left in the hall. Now I must get dressed. Dinning room is the first door on the left from the entry hall.”

Snyder nodded. “Alright. We shall ‘discuss’ this later," Snyder said, “I’ll be...wai-ting.”

Timothy smiled at Snyder, “I look forward to it.”

He then promptly left.

As the door shut behind him, Snyder thought to himself. I so have him. Just he wait.

Timothy sat quietly at the dinner table, several metal dishes were waiting suggesting dinner was already serve. The previously less formal clothing was replaced with a white dinner suit. Patiently he waited, for Jason. “Is the air-conditioning broken?” he commented, “This heat is bad.”

“I’ll turn it up Master Timothy,” said Samantha Brooker, the house keeper.

At that moment, Snyder walked into the room. He had a standard black tuxedo, with a light grey top. His tie was black. He came up to Timothy, and sat down beside him. “To business?”

“To business,” said Timothy giving a quick clap. The house guard immediately lifted the metal lids revealing the night's meal. It was somewhat Spartan, yet plentiful and fine. Fish in a lemon sauce, with fresh bread and variety exotic salads. Then the houseguards left to the two men in peace. “Its not much,” admitted Timothy, “But with a war and only two eating.”

Timothy then said grace quickly, before seizing a bit of fish and several salads, “What will you be drinking?”

“Tonight I’m up for a bit of red wine, if you don't mind. I love the taste.”

Within seconds one of the houseguard walked in with two glasses of red wine, “Palmer Estate. 1932. The family only owned one vineyard then. Along Verica River, just south of Verica.”

“Thank you Peter,” said Timothy, giving the houseguard a little wink and a wave as he put down the wine glasses.

“That’s some old wine,” Snyder commented, as he took a sip.

“Jamie’s family is one of the oldest in Farmina,” said Timothy, also taking a sip, “The Palmer family rivals the Greys and the Walters in age and prestige.”

That was possibly an overstatement; but the Palmers were the third great family of Farmina, some would measure it as a distant third.

Snyder passed himself some food, and started to cut the fish for eating. “What exactly are you planning with Grey anyways?”

“We see a failed President, with a difficult Parliament,” said Timothy, “But if the Liberals could propose a candidate to unify the Parliament; perhaps even Jamie himself; we would be back in control.”

Snyder hummed as he took a bite from the fish, “I somehow don’t think Palmer would get back in. With the information supplied against him, I doubt he will ever lead the country again.”

He took another bite. “That said...” He turned to Timothy with a mischievous grin. “As far as I know, you don’t have any baggage. Heck, you aren’t even known well, other than the fact that you’re a lookalike..”

“I’d rather stay unknown,” said Timothy, “I clean up the mess. I help cleaned up Reaction Corp. They are a problem we won’t encounter again. The charges against Jamie are unproven; people are getting very cynical that they were just part of a Moralist power grab. There is some feeling that Tobias cheated, which earns sympathy. We don’t need to be elected, just sometime in the job to prove that we won't make the same mistakes twice. The same goes for our alliance. We do it properly this time.”

“The only way we will make this work,” Snyder replied, “Is if work with me, and if possible, under me. It was your own men that attacked my fleet."

“Reaction Corp double crossed us,” said Timothy; not being completely clear who ‘us’ was; but it seemed to imply both Palmer, Snyder and Timothy.

“That they did,” Snyder replied, taking another bite, “Alright, if I let you get into power, what is keeping you from double-crossing me?”

“Whatever stops you betraying us," said Timothy, “There is benefit in mutual protection of our regimes.”

He paused, sensing that Palmer had additional security in mind, that he wasn't aware of.

“Timothy,” Snyder said, “As long as you don’t double-cross me, you will live. I will even reward you. Just remember, that if you don’t want to end up like Rickhart, you won’t betray me. Your faith in me is not misplaced. Just remember who you are talking to.”

As far as Timothy was aware Rickhart was dead. “The same goes for you Jason,” finishing off his fish, then his wine, “Shall we go upstairs and ‘sign’ this. ‘Signing’ an agreement is my favorite part.”

Snyder sighed, “It’s a deal. But remember this: Do not ever fail me.”

Timothy began to walk out of the dinning room, still holding firmly onto Snyder’s hand.

Snyder followed Timothy through the building to Snyder's room.

When they entered, Timothy closed the door and locked it. The sky was dark now and the stars shone brightly through the window. “Hit me,” said Timothy, “Hit me hard.”

Snyder shoved Timothy back onto the bed where he was before the meal. Snyder walked up to him, and unbuttoned his tuxedo. Timothy lent up a little, grabbing at Snyder’s buttons; undressing him and pulling him closer to the bed. As Timothy pulled him closer, Snyder again pinned him down. He reached into a pocket, and quickly withdrew a needle with a green liquid inside of it. Before Timothy noticed, Snyder injected it into him.

A moment later, the drug kicked in, leaving Timothy in a completely hallucinogenic state. Snyder waved his hand in front of his eyes, and they didn’t move. “Let’s do it,” he said to Timothy, pushing him down. While Snyder packed his things, he could hear Timothy talking to Snyder, but not realising that he was taking to himself.

---

The steaming foods awaited down stairs as well as jugs full of fruit juice as Jamie Palmer took his seat waiting for his guest.
“Good morning Palmer,” Snyder said, dressed in much more casual attire.

“Good morning Jason,” said Jamie, pouring himself a glass of pineapple juice, “Sit down. Try the croissants. Ham and cheese very good. I’ve been talking to Timothy. He says you signed the deal.”

“That I did,” Snyder replied, “He told me it was the best time of his life.”

“At first I thought nothing of it,” said Jamie, throwing Snyder a dubious eye, “But then he started mentioning other people being there; not to mention singing trees and the President playing rugby. Jason, I thought we could move past this.”

“Palmer, Jamie, whatever you rather be named, the drug only works if someone helps the dream along. One of the people he saw was real,” Snyder lied, “I used it to make him even happier.”

“I doubt that,” said Jamie, “So this time we make sure. Timothy is very capable in the field of pleasure; I assure you he will leave his mark.”

Jamie’s tone became hushed, “You want leverage; take him with you back to MES. Your little plaything; to keep you warm, to aid you on the cold winter nights. I have heard a rumor dead men whisper in your ear. Timothy will far surpass the man from the rumor; in both company and thought.”

Snyder sat down beside him, “Explain.”

“Rickhart is alive isn’t he?” said Jamie, “Timothy failed to finish him off. I would not want to depart from a lover of the quality of Timothy; but he has much use to you as well.”

Snyder shrugged. “Sadly, I don't swing that way,” Snyder remarked, “And as for Rickhart, yes he's alive, but I have him under a...let's say, a tight leash.”

“What does it matter whether someone is a man or a woman,” argued Jamie, “A pair of warm arms is a pair of warm arms. Good advice is good advice. Ecstasy is ecstasy. People don't swing one way or the other; they swing both and don't realizes it till they’ve tried. Timothy will provide you with all these things.”

Snyder sighed, “I suppose you’re right. I’ll take him back to the MES. I still wonder why I’m working with you though.”

“While you’re here,” said Palmer, “I shall make sure you are provided with whatever you require. Whores, boozes, drugs. Heroin, cannabis, cocaine...”

Timothy took a seat interrupting the conversation, “Cocaine really gets up my nose.”

“Not necessary,” Snyder commented, responding to Palmer, “I don't believe in such indecencies.”

Timothy grabbed a croissant, as Jamie continued, “This house tries to be flexible; cater for every interest.”

Palmer then continued, “Tobias will be arriving after lunch. I will be in my office most of the morning; as I have to try and persuade parts of the Parliament to be flexible in their loyalty. Timothy here will be given the job of keeping you entertained.”

“Alright,” Snyder said, grabbing some breakfast.

Palmer finished off the last bit of his croissant, “A tour through the grounds would be suitable I hope?”

“I suppose,” Snyder said as the men got up.

“Timothy” said Palmer, observing that his partner was dressed in shorts, a singlet and wore two sweat bands, “Get dressed appropriately. You aren’t going to the gym; you are escorting one of the world's most powerful leaders.”

As Timothy walked off, Jamie sipped his pineapple juice, “I haven’t told Timothy that he is to leave Farmina yet. I still expect you to seal the deal. But do it tenderly. Show him gentleness, so that the news should not be harsher than it must be. And when he is with you; exchange care. A man who has lost pleasure and comfort; is a failed man. Tobias Grey is just the perfect example.”

“If he’s like this, then why not keep him for yourself?” Snyder asked.

“I think you need him more,” said Jamie, refilling his drink, “I have plenty of company. You also wanted a security against betrayal. I have no greater security; not even my fortune.”

Snyder thought for a moment, “If he’s that important, then perhaps you are worth working with.”

“The Presidency of Farmina is within our grasp,” said Jamie, “I assure this alliance will be of immense value. The Farminan military will fall in my hands. That will give you the power to crush the resistance. The Colonial menace is nearly finished.”

“Very well,” Snyder said, holding out his hand in a handshake, “Just make sure your ‘sweetheart’ doesn’t have any STD’.”

“Nothing to worry about there,” said Palmer, shaking Snyder’s hand, “Now there is a nice soft grassy spot on the opposite side of the valley. No one goes there. Very romantic. I suggest you ask Timothy to take you there on your walk.”

Snyder had a look of deep thought, “I’m not even sure if I’m ready personally to do this.”

“I sense caution,” said Palmer, “That is to be expected. Every one is cautious about everything to begin with. I suspect the young are cautious about leaving their mother’s breast for real food.”

Timothy re-entered the room. He wore light blue jeans; so tight as to leave nothing to the imagination. He also wore a tight black shirt, with the top buttons undone; allowing everyone a good idea of his fine figure without seeing much flesh. Snyder looked at Palmer with a look of discomfort.

“Perhaps I could get you something to make you more relaxed,” suggested Palmer, “I’ll send a bottle of wine and picnic basket with you.”

Snyder shrugged. “Best we get this over with,” he said.

“The baby never looks back,” said Palmer, standing up, “See you at lunch.”

Snyder looked at Timothy with an awkward smirk, “Want to go for a walk?”

“Indeed,” said Timothy, “Would you like to start with the vineyards or the courtyard? Somewhere else perhaps?”

“What about behind the valley?” Snyder suggested with great caution.

“We could,” supposed Timothy, “Its a bit more of a walk. We'll have to go around to the bridge down stream.”

“Alright, then let’s go,” Snyder said.

Timothy led Snyder around back behind the valley. Eventually they reached their destination, looking back down on the estate over the valley.

“This is the spot,” said Timothy, “I rarely come here. It is beautiful but.”

“But...?” Snyder asked.

“But I rarely come here,” said Timothy, “We are always at different estates.”

There was a sudden sound of two cats meowing aggressively, then they dropped out a tree, just near Snyder and run at full pelt in direction that the two men had just came.

“What was that about?” Snyder asked in curiosity.

“Nozick and Hayek,” said Timothy, “Jamie’s cats. They wander far and wide; and make an incredible nuisance of themselves. Sometimes they disappear for days when they do exploring.”

Timothy sat down, “They prefer it here to Palmer House in Verica. So much roomier. More natural. More trees to climb. I think I agree with them.”

“That’s true,” Snyder said, “This is comparable to my own estate at home.”

“Do you spend a lot of time there?” asked Timothy, “Or do you live somewhere else?”

“Not enough time, actually,” Snyder confided, “Too much time at work.”

“Perhaps when you and Jamie have crushed your respective enemies,” said Timothy, “We can go to visit.”

“Actually...you will get a chance a lot sooner than you might think. Jamie wants to send you with me,” said Snyder.

“You must be confused,” stammered Timothy, “Mistaken. He wanted me to come with you here; nowhere else. He needs me. I keep him warm at night. I keep him advised and happy.”

“Timothy...” Snyder said comfortingly, putting his arm around Timothy. “I wanted to take you here, but Jamie wants you to come with me to the MES.”

Timothy burrowed his head into Snyder’s shoulder, “Why Jason? Doesn’t he care for me anymore?”

Snyder sighed, “He does care. But he wants power more, apparently. He wanted to sign a deal with me, and he wanted to give his most prized possession...I mean, soul mate, to me as a sign.”

“A good to be traded,” resigned Timothy, grasping onto Snyder’s body, “And I suppose that you will just trade me back at a time of most benefit to you.”

“I...don’t believe in such practices,” Snyder said calmly, “As long as you don't betray me in any way, I can't see why you couldn’t live in the MES, where sodomy is not a crime.”

“How are you planning to get me out of the country?” asked Timothy, “The Moralists will notice that you have one more person traveling.”

“Well...I’m sure that Jamie will figure something by then,” Snyder replied.

“You’ve been so honest with me,” said Timothy, putting his head gently in Snyder’s lap.

Snyder sighed. Just by agreeing to this assignment he wondered if he could actually be bisexual. But it didn't matter.

“Allow me to say thank you,” said Timothy, crawling around to the front of Snyder.

Timothy put his hands on Snyder’s belt and undid the buckle with sound speed.

“Alright, I suppose,” Snyder replied, as Timothy got ‘involved’.

Timothy began the task that he was so very professional at, applying a wide range of skills. When he was finally finished, there was no gag just a polite spit to the side, “I normally do that only for one person.”

After the task was finished, Snyder looked at him, “You are quite good at that.”

“I’d hope so,” said Timothy, “I put a lot of effort into the technique.”

He then flexed a powerful, but covered, arm in front of Snyder’s face, “Do you find me physically impressive?”

“I think so,” Snyder said, though he didn’t find him attractive. At least...not yet.

“When I was still developing,” said Timothy, “I would twist in front of the mirror; watching my muscles elegantly change shape. Completely fascinated by the beauty of how naturally if flowed.”

“Let me ask,” Snyder said, “Are you attracted to yourself?”

“Not attracted,” said Timothy, “I find myself attractive; but I am not attracted.”

“I see,” Snyder said.

“Put your hand on the bicep,” said Timothy, moving his forearm up and down, “Notice how perfectly the flesh moves.”

Snyder follows his command, and he notices it, “You are definitely a testament to the human body.”

“Would you like a better look?” asked Timothy, “We are no longer in limited territory. All your past has disappeared now; along with your rules.”

Snyder sighed, “I think we’re going a bit too fast.”

“Its just my arm,” said Timothy, a little bemused, “Which is less than I just did.”

“Sorry, thought you were meaning something else,” Snyder said. “Show me.”

Carefully Timothy undid his shirt buttons and removed his shirt, placing it on the grass beside him. His powerful biceps were clearly visible, along with strong breasts and a complete set of stomach muscles; as always carefully toned for looks as well as strength.

“I suppose you are attractive,” Snyder said, “I just am not sure if I feel attracted to a man.”

Timothy moved back next to Snyder, placing his arms around him, “Are my arms warm and firm?”

“Yes, they are,” Snyder replied.

“Am I pleasant company?” asked Timothy.

“Hmm...I don’t know you well enough yet, but for now, yes,” said Snyder.

“Has my ‘sampler’ suggested I have certain talents?” asked Timothy.

“Yes, Timothy,” Snyder said, with another sigh, “But what I look for in a person is more than just the pleasures.”

“If you are looking for more than pleasures,” said Timothy, “Then you should certainly be looking for more than attraction. Lets face it; you’re not the most handsome bachelor in both our nations while we’re at it.”

Snyder gave a glare at that statement.

Timothy then held Snyder even tighter to him, “But I'm still here aren’t I?”

“I suppose,” Snyder replied. He was starting to get a little uncomfortable towards Timothy.

Timothy softened his grip, “So why did you get divorced?”

“She didn’t agree with my line of thought,” Snyder replied.

“I suppose she wouldn’t be the first,” said Timothy, “Do you miss her?”

Snyder sighed, “Yes, I do.”

“Not enough to give it all up for her but,” suggested Timothy.

“No, not that. When I admitted the truth behind my motives, and beliefs, she left me.”

“Where is she now?” asked Timothy, sure a powerful dictator could keep track of his own wife.

“Ironically,” Snyder replied, “She moved to Farmina.”

Timothy burst out laughing, “Thought a good old fashioned invasion might sufficiently woo her?”

“No, actually,” Snyder replied, “Same country, different motives. I stop caring about her since; I can’t let things as simple as love to get in the way of things.”

“As simple as love,” repeated Timothy, rubbing Snyder’s little beard, “I didn’t realise it was simple.”

“Love can be simple if you can train the mind to think of it as simple,” Snyder retorted.

“Do you plan to visit your wife on your visit here?” asked Timothy, avoiding a comment he didn’t completely understand.

“You know...that’s not such a bad idea. I doubt she’d want to talk to me though,” Snyder replied.

“Where does she live in Farmina?’ asked Timothy, lying down on the grass

“I don’t know,” Snyder replied, “She left, and completely lost touch with me. She learned a few of my tricks to disappear.”

“I suppose we could still try,” said Timothy, “Do you have any other plans for during your trip?”

“Yes,” Snyder said, “Trying to deal with our former allies. They failed me miserably. They shall pay.”

“On to other matters,” suggest Timothy, deciding the Colonies was an issue best avoided.

“Yes, Timothy. We must get back to my nation, posthaste. I have a feeling that my presence here would be against my best interests. I’ve done my business here. Now,” Snyder held out his hand as he stood up, “Are you with me? Are you prepared to go all the way?”

Timothy wasn’t so ready to be rushed, “The question is are you?”

Snyder shook his head. “You don’t believe me? I’m going to take this planet, and bring it in line. Enough of this bloodshed. A single rule for the entire planet is needed for everlasting peace, and if it requires taking our whoever opposes me, so be it.”

Timothy moved in front of Snyder; and then used his powerful arms on Snyder’s chest to push him to grassy floor, “That wasn’t what I was talking about. You didn't come to Farmina to talk; not with me, not with Tobias. You sensed you’d find something else here, now the question is whether you are willing to take it.”
T
Snyder finally relented, “Yes.”

Timothy gently unbuttoned Snyder’s shirt, “Tell me of your nation.”

“It is a beautiful nation. Lush forests, mountain ranges, beaches, snowy mountaintops.”

Timothy began massaging Snyder’s chest, with his hands and tounge, “And shopping?”

“Yes. Everything that Farmina has, except religion and large patches of desert.”

“I never liked the desert,” said Timothy, his hands working at removing his trousers and Snyder's.

Snyder sighed, “I’ll take you to all the best places in the Militia Enforced State when we get there.”

With Snyder’s trousers off, after accidentally fumbling on the Force Commander’s shoes, “Shall I show you a different world?”

Snyder nodded, “I suppose.”

Snyder didn't sound very confident; but what Timothy did could be compared to a decent artillery barrage. It was accurately targeted, long range but didn't overshoot, energetic, about the right amount on force, perhaps a little too much and continued for sometime. After a while, Snyder decided to try a counter barrage, and somehow did decently well.

After they finished Timothy lay down in the warm sunlight next to Snyder, sweating and relaxed, “You mentioned an emergency...”

Snyder sat up, and grabbed his clothes. “I’d hate to be in such a hurry,” Snyder replied, “But Grey’s taken control of a good chunk of the MES’s naval forces, as well as a death wish on my head. I’m sure that we need to get out of the country, now that we’ve dealt with ‘business’ here.”

“How much time do I have to pack?” asked Timothy.

“Preferably before tomorrow,” Snyder replied, “Should be plenty of time.”

“Tobias is arriving this afternoon,” Timothy reminded him, pulling on his own trousers.

Snyder shrugged, “Alright, then instead, I better meet the tyrant himself.”

“However that leaves us another hour,” winked Timothy, patting Snyder firmly on the rear.

---

The small pile of sandwiches suggested rationing was even affecting the Palmer household. Timothy had disappeared somewhere, leaving Snyder alone with Jamie for lunch. “Did you enjoy your walk?” asked Jamie, grabbing a starved looking sandwich.

“Yes I did,” Snyder lied, but only partly, “Cleared the mind.”

“You sound less than convinced,” said Jamie, “But I know otherwise.”

He threw an envelope of freshly printed photographs at Snyder, “You seemed very happy.”

Palmer could see Snyder blushing a little bit. “I am not amused,” Snyder growled.

“They are the only copies,” said Palmer, mildly amused at the blushing tyrant, “Destroy them now if you want. However, you look quite good in them. If we slip them to the correct tabloid with the correct cover story. The benevolent ruler finally finds true love.”

Snyder angrily snatched them aside, folded them, then stuff them in his pocket.

“Trust me Snyder,” said Jamie, “I have the contacts to make this into a love story. Its not who you are; but who you appear to be.”

Snyder shook his head, “It would make me look like a crazy buffoon. The laughing stock of the international community."

“You start appearing in public with Timothy before hand,” said Palmer, “Then we supply these to the correct magazines. You yell about invasion of privacy and that they must have broken into your estate; but it’ll be too late. That you have private relations; will interest the public and bore national leaders.”

“No,” Snyder said firmly, “He can work for me, but I'm not going to be a tabloid mockery.”

“Yet you haven’t torn up the photos,” observed Jamie, finishing off his sandwich.

“I’m just planning on destroying them properly so they cannot be recovered,” Snyder replied.

“Fair enough,” said Palmer standing up and walking towards the door, not entirely sure he believed the Messian.

As he walked passed Snyder, he whispered in his ear, “But you do have a very nice rear.”

Snyder snarled and got up. Palmer decided that it was a reaction worth pressing, “But obviously I’ve had people with better ones.”

Snyder just ignored him, and stamped off, clothes on, leaving a bit of a battleground behind.

“President Grey will be arriving in the conference room in about ten minutes,” said Palmer, “So whenever your ready. I also know about your plans to depart early.”

And like that, he was gone.

Ten minutes later, Tobias Grey was discussing matters furiously with Sullivan at Palmer's conference table; cigarette hanging from his mouth. Palmer took a seat at the head of the table and suddenly silence fell across the conference hall.

A moment later, Snyder walked into a room with a military clap of feet that was instantly recognizable as his. Snyder held out his hand, and in his most polite tone and gesture, “It’s an honor to meet you, I just wish it was on better circumstances.”

Tobias ended the handshake quickly and sat down, “I hope you are enjoying our country. I realise a country estate like this might be boring to some; but Lord Palmer insisted.”

Snyder nodded as he sat down, “No, no, you do have a great country.”

“Do you smoke?” asked Tobias, ash falling off his cigarette, onto Palmer's carpet; perhaps intentionally.

“No thank you,” Snyder replied, “They’re bad for your health, and the last thing I want is to have bad lungs.”

Tobias Grey gave a dismissive hand gesture to lung damage, “We all have vices. Some people smoke. Some drink. Others gamble. Some have tastes a little more sinful.”

That was followed by a harsh glance at Palmer, who seemed concerned about the new scorch mark on the carpet, “So Commander Snyder; what is your vice?”

“My vice,” Snyder replied, “Is corrupt democratic governments, corrupt dictatorships, people suffering, people dying, and people living injustices because of corruption, deceit, and hatred.”

“Talking of which,” said Tobias, “We require you to resign as force commander and re-allow democratic elections in the Militia Enforce State.”

Snyder slammed his fists and stood up, “Preposterous!”

“Clearly not interested in compromise or negotiation,” said Sullivan, as though the reaction and the analysis was prepared.

“Our terms,” said Tobias, “The era of Force Commanders is dead. If you won’t bring this about peacefully; we shall do it by force. And while we’re at it; we'll have Daniel Rickhart back too.”

Snyder shook his head, and sat down again, “Mister President, before I go talking about your double standard, Daniel Rickhart joined me willingly. He is with me now.”

“There is a prophecy,” said Tobias, “So the Church tells me. I dismissed it as reading tea leaves. But I fear it may be more truth than fiction. A great prince; a man who hides evil within good within evil; strong, tall and blonde, shall reveal that carries the devil within him. Who else can this describe?”

“Palmer?” Snyder suggested, “Rickhart ’s an old man if that’s what you're thinking.”

“I’ve never had blonde hair,” snapped Jamie, “And I don't even know who I fit ‘evil within good within evil’.”

“This is the reality,” warned Tobias, “You will accept the way of democracy or I shall bend you to my will.”

“No! You’re wrong! Democracy is the failed system!” Snyder yelled, shaking his fist at Tobias. At that moment, the cigarette in Tobias’s mouth flew out of his mouth, rolled down the table, and fell to the floor. The cigarette extinguished itself.

“Commander Snyder," said Tobias, lighting a new cigarette, “I think you belong in an asylum.”

Snyder calmed down. “Well...that was new,” Snyder commented, “Now, I think that democracy is the failed system. I mean, look at you yourself? You were forced in, not elected! Not only that, but your previous President's police force went rogue and attacked our ships!”

“And you were forced in because someone tried to wipe out the other force commanders,” retorted Tobias, with no question in his voice who someone was.

“Yes,” Snyder replied, “But we also have a 962 part test for leadership, and I passed it with flying colors. You just get elected. We have to prove our worth.”

“I’m a hero of the revolution,” sniped Grey, “Lord Palmer is a very successful business man. An election is the ultimate proof of ability; and requires continual proof. Our system is dynamic. Your system relies on corruptible checks and balances. We admit that checks will inevitably fail; instead we put power in the hands of the great mass. The people cannot tyrannize themselves.”

“Oh yes they can,” quipped Snyder, “And shooting or beating people at voting booths, and banning people from running isn't a tyrannous act?”

“I notice that you ban people from voting by definition of your system,” observed Grey, “Sure a majority can pick on a minority; but not even a book of tests can prevent that.”

Snyder then just stared into Tobias’s, then Palmer’s eyes. Snyder had a look of concentration, then a smile grew on his face.

“You are going down Lord Snyder,” said Grey, leaning over to the grinning Snyder, purposely trying to provoke him, “Your completely mad. We shall save your people from you. We’ve made our peace gesture and you tore it up.”

“No, you are the one tearing it up,” Snyder said, “But I can ruin you both if you do this.”

“We made the gesture,” said Tobias, pushing the point, “You spat in our faces.”

Snyder leaned forward, “You, after all, Palmer, are one of the main players in the game. You know what game I’m referring to. That’s how you get a hold of the Shadow.”

“What in blazes are you talking about?” said Grey.

Palmer gave a look of confusion; but was annoyed Snyder had moved so quickly to betray him.

“And you, Grey, I know that during the time of the ball, you were working with the Shadow,” Snyder remarked.

“You really are off your rocker,” laughed Tobias, full of bluff and bluster, “Completely cracked. Sullivan; have this man institutionalized.”

“I think that would violate the ceasefire,” commented Sullivan, “Even if the man does need specialist attention.”

“And Sullivan, I know that you…” continued Snyder.

Before Snyder could finish, Palmer stood up, “What about what I caught you and the gardener doing outside?”

Gardener was code; but Snyder knew too well what it meant.

“This is getting absurd,” declared Tobias, “We can point fingers at each other all day if we like.”

“Alright,” Snyder replied, “Enough speculation.” He decided to fold that hand. He forgot that Palmer had the trump, even though he had it in his back pocket. “I will never surrender to a democracy. However, if you have alternative terms, or an extended ceasefire so our nation can perhaps bring back a stable government, we can actually get something from this.”

“Unless you plan to hold free and fair elections,” said Tobias, “Get out of my country. And you can take Palmer’s ‘gardener’ with you.”

“I might want my gardener here,” objected Jamie.

Snyder shook his head, “Then, Mister President, prepare for the deaths of not thousands, but millions, upon millions of Farminan soldiers. I'd like to see how you will deal with that debacle.”

“Victory covers all loses,” said Tobias, “We have the economic means, we have the numbers and what do you have; a rebellion.”

He then picked up his briefcase and left; Sullivan and their adjutants following afterwards.

“Palmer,” Snyder called to the man.

“You nearly dropped me in it,” said Palmer, clearly angry, flexing his large muscles for Snyder’s viewing.

“You ruined a shot to make the man drop to his knees! I was looking for the reaction!” Snyder growled.

Palmer was furious, as though ready to strike Snyder, “No one does that to me you bastard.”

“Look, Palmer,” Snyder growled. He leaned forward, “You ditch me, and you won’t find out the location of the boiler.”

“When someone cheats on you,” said Palmer, using his bulk to pushing Snyder against the wall, “You punish them.”

Snyder looked directly into Palmer’s eyes, and concentrated. “If you fight me, you will regret it,” Snyder muttered, “I’m not against you. Unless you want to be against me.”

"I'll settle for reparation," said Palmer, "You're taking my favourite toy; I might as well take you."

“Take me where?” Snyder asked in a deep tone.

“Take you here and now,” hissed Palmer, “I know now; that you are somewhat malleable; so you shall bend.”

“I’ve had enough of your sex games!” Snyder hissed, “What are you going to offer me, and lay down everything.”

“Same deal,” said Palmer, forcefully trying to turn Snyder around, “We do everything to help each other. But I just help myself to a little more meat.”

Snyder refused to budge, “How about this. Work with me, or Timothy dies.”

A knife flashed before Snyder’s throat, “You were trying to kill me. I acted in self defence.”

Snyder looked at the knife, then looked at Palmer. “Alright, fine,” Snyder replied tensely.

The knife disappeared and Palmer moved quickly to secure his “desserts”, only mildly aware that Sullivan walked in to find a pen he had dropped and then walked out again.

Suddenly, Snyder slammed out the palm, hard, into Palmer’s face. The knife dropped to the floor. Palmer lunged at Snyder forcing him again against the wall, “I didn’t realise you liked it rough. You should have asked.”

Snyder again pushed him away, and as Palmer moved to dodge an incoming punch, Snyder predicted it, and hit him in the upper chest.

Palmer wiped the blood from his mouth. Snyder was fighting like Rickhart. Rickhart could be beaten by wildly unpredictable moves. Palmer hoped the same applied here, “You still need my help. And my guess is you still plan on taking home a toy boy to counterbalance Rickhart.”

With that Palmer jumped back, grabbed the light fitting and swung forward, throwing his powerful legs around Snyder’s head.

Snyder quickly vaulted backwards as he was being grabbed, kicking his leg upwards, striking Palmer in the back with his knee, and the back of the head with his steel-toed boot.

Palmer groaned in pain; let go of the fitting with intention of landing on Snyder. Palmer landed on Snyder, but he saw this, and he got his arms in front of his chest before Palmer landed on him. The force took the wind out of Snyder, but it only phased him. He quickly pushed him off, saw the knife, and kicked it across the room. Palmer jumped up and went to punch left; but then used his foot to try and take Snyder's legs from under him.

Snyder let him trip him to give him a false sense of security. As he was tripped, he vaulted himself onto his hands, and grabbed his head with his legs. Palmer propelled his head forward, through the tight vice of Snyder’s legs towards the opponents groin; using his arms to try and force the legs apart.

Snyder laughed with an evil grin, as he loosened his grip for a quick second, then locking his head tight against his groin. He then squeezed, “Oh, cat got your neck?” he taunted, coincidentally as Palmer’s two cats belted through the room on the way to the kitchen.

“I can think of a couple of positions we can try while we are here,” gasped Jamie; knowing Snyder wouldn’t hurt him.

Snyder then released him, kicked him in the face, vaulted backup, did a backwards hand flip to right himself, and stood at the ready, leaving Palmer to stagger.

“That was fun,” said Jamie trying to catch his breath, not sure how he was outclassed, “But I think I'll still be taking some payment if you get the insurance.”

A firm slap on Snyder’s rear explained, I’m still going to have you, to make us even.

“If it hasn’t sunk in yet,” Snyder explained, backing off, “I’m not Rickhart. I don’t predict your moves. I know your moves.”

“Then know that I will be behind you,” said Palmer, “Don’t worry I won’t tell. I won’t even get annoyed if you enjoy it.”
As Snyder lunged forward at Palmer, he accidentally tripped over an object that was knocked to the floor. As he fell to the floor, his injector unit attached to his arm banged off of the floor as his arm swung back. The injector control turned on high, and Snyder was abruptly shoved into a premonitory state.

Palmer rushed over to help Snyder, turning down the injector unit. An international leader dying on his carpet would be difficult to clean up with current mass rationing.

As Snyder returned back to reality, he looked at Palmer, “Oh my...”

“Over dose on your pills old man,” suggested Palmer; trying to be kind and mocking of his adversial ally.

“No, mister President,” Snyder said, “Let’s get this country back into shape, shall we?”

“Palmer,” corrected Jamie, helping Snyder up, “Not president.”

As Snyder got readjusted, he looked at him, “For now I suppose, but in about two hours, twenty-three minutes and thirty-nine seconds, you will be brought back into power.”

“Plenty of time,” said Jamie, putting his hands on Snyder’s belt.

Snyder sighed. “This had better be worth it,” Snyder replied, as he stopped struggling and let the inevitable to occur.

At that moment, Palmer stopped as though to throw Snyder off-balance. In the corner of his eye, he could see Timothy placing his bags in the hall, “I’m going to say ‘goodbye’ to Timothy. I suggest you join us.”

Snyder shrugged. “I suppose,” he said, defeatedly. He hoped that getting him on his side will turn the balance of the war.

Palmer grabbed Snyder by the hand and led him up the stairs, following Timothy, “Its always best to use new things to spice up an old dish.”

A double meaning; with a double meaning, enough to leave anyone puzzled.

---

Timothy woke up. The clock read nine; presumably at night. Palmer had disappeared; but Snyder still lay there. The three had made good use of their time; before being overtaken by complete exhaustion. Where Jamie was; Timothy wasn't sure, but how far could he have gone. Then Snyder began shaking; like he was having a nightmare. Grabbing him firmly around the waist; Timothy tried to hold the man still; not for any logical reason, it just seemed the right thing to do.

Snyder could see much clearer now. He could see a young person. He could recognize the facial features, though he was obviously younger. It was Rickhart, leading the banner and leading Messians loyal to him. He could see him and the others fighting what appeared to be a Farminan invasion on his soil. He tried to block it from his mind, but the feeling was too strong. He also wasn’t sure to know what was scarier; Farmina invading, or Rickhart leading the resistance?

He felt someone come to hug him, and he snapped out of it. Snyder stopped shaking, “Are you okay Jason? Were you having a bad dream?”

Snyder twisted towards Timothy, “Yes. The same one. But the more I see it, the more real it becomes.”

“Like it is inevitably approaching,” suggested Timothy, still holding onto Snyder, “As something gets closer; you can see it better.”

Snyder nodded, “We should get back to my nation. I’m sure that with Palmer now in control, an invasion is less likely. Shall we go?”

“Palmer in control,” said Timothy, observing that Snyder didn't want to talk about his dream, “I guess we better go.”

Timothy got out of bed and proceeded to the bathroom to clean himself up. Snyder reached his arm out of his bed, and somehow drew his clothes from the floor to his hand like a magnet. He then proceeded to get out of bed.

“We need to leave with the same amount of people you arrived with,” said Timothy, “You better call one of your bodyguards in here.”

Snyder nodded, “I’ll set something up.”

“I’ll need to pass off as a Messian,” added Timothy; not exactly ambiguous about where he was leading.

Snyder grabbed his suitcase, and took out some clothes. He then threw them over to Timothy, “Try these.”

Timothy pulled on the Messian uniform; but it didn’t quite fit. He had changed his hair; combing it down rather than spiking it up. “Not quite the right size,” said Timothy, “But how are we going to get the incorrect size of your entourage passed security?”

As Snyder cleaned up and got dressed, he turned back to Timothy. “I’ll bring in a loyalist. He can stay in country and probably not get noticed.”

Timothy nodded, “I’m sure Jamie will take care of him.”

Snyder chuckled, “I have someone here that is...compatible with him.” Snyder gathered his things as he got ready to head out.

Timothy walked down the stairs to say his final goodbye, before encountering the housekeeper, who took a greater share of his time. Returning to Snyder, Timothy brought a small piece of paper, “A ceasefire agreement. Sign each copy; one for you, one for Farmina.”

Snyder nodded, and grinned. He got what he wanted. He signed the ceasefire with great speed, but elegance.

Ms Brooker described the basic detail; suspecting Snyder couldn’t read the document that quickly, “An extension of the cessation of hostilities for two months; it was all Lord Palmer could squeeze out of Tobias Grey apparently.”

Snyder smiled, “I think we can work something out by then.”

“I’ll have your bags taken out to the car,” said Ms Brooker, “If you please?”

Snyder passed his bags over he seemed to have been in a great mood, “Thank you, ma’am,”

Ms Brooker clapped her hands and the houseguard, those that had’t been conscripted, began to ferry Snyder and Timothy’s bags to the waiting limo; before helping the rest of Snyder’s staff with their gear.

“Jason,” said Timothy, “You look like you are about break your face in half with that smile.”

“Well,” Snyder said, “If I have yours and Palmer’s loyalty, I believe that our future is secured.”

“Would you like something to eat or drink before you leave?” said Ms Brooker, “Rationing has completely emptied the pantry; even if it nearly has.”

“No, thank you,” Snyder replied, “My enemies are near. It is best if we left posthaste.”


“Well your car is waiting,” said Ms Brooker, taking a simple copy of the document, “This won’t be filed to the morning; however Lord Palmer won’t be doing anything before then and Tobias Grey needs longer than that to lodge his own reinstatement.”

Snyder nodded. "We better go."

The four scientists walked and vigorously debated all matter. They seemed to be unable to maintain a straight line; but more problematic was that they didn’t know the way. General William Salamander had seen them deinstitutionalized and told about a great ship full of the brilliant and the mad. The military couldn’t stop the four scientists going if they tried. Salamander had given the four men earpieces to link them to Farmina; but the scientists were not intentional spies. After being given a lecture on the ship’s main weapon by Kaider; physicist Lance Titterton and theoretical electrical engineer Darren Hazelmire couldn’t wait for a chance to pull it apart and look at it. Upon eventually reaching the spaceship they found it incredibly well guarded; mathematician and pacifist Shane Harding collapsed at all the sight of strong armed men.

“Welcome to the Hurricane,” a guard said gruffly.

“Our friend needs a little help,” said Titterton pointing to the fainted mathematician; his brown hair like a storm and his polka dot tie so far out of date; it must have just about been ready to come back into fashion.

The guard swung his specially modified Raptor submachine gun, strapped to him by shoulder strap, behind him, then proceeded to grab the spinning scientist, pulled him towards him, and literally pushed him to another guard who took him towards the living area of the ship.

Titterton and the other two scientists followed quickly behind. Having just been given permission from Farmina to inspect the weapon (with the first ceasefire passing out of effect) Titterton asked, “Which way to the front of the ship?”

“Right this way,” the guard said grudgingly, motioning them to follow them, “Hold onto the bars. It can be quite disorienting, especially through the center section.”

The physicist, the chemist and engineer followed behind. The mathematician came round and tried to keep up. The scientists followed behind the guard all the way to the front; talking what seemed a strange foreign language; in which they talked quickly and aggressively, verging on open confrontation.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the center section of the ship. They could see the whole center section rotating around them as they floated in.

“Why does the mechanism rotate?” asked Hazelmire.

“Artificial gravity,” the guard replied, as he pressed a button on the console next to the entrance they came from. The rotation slowed down, but kept rotating, but at a more safer speed for people to enter each port. “Enter Gravity Sector 4,” he said, pointing at a door with a big number four on the wall beside it.

The scientists continued through the door. As the guard opened the door, he turned to the scientists. “Get inverted, and hold onto the rungs. This will get very...disorienting.”

He swung himself around, and starting climbing down the ladder, which to them, looked like he was going up a ladder backwards. As the last scientist entered the door, the guard looked up. “Hold on tight,” he said as the door shut automatically. When it shut, they could feel the gravity increase as the spinning mechanism spun up to about 75% of Earth's gravity.

The scientists did exactly what they were told.

“Hey, Johnson! You're making me nauseous again! What did I tell you about operating the rotation section after night watch!” yelled an unseen voice.

The five people looked down to see a scientist, looking upwards at them from one of the hallways. “Yeah, well, I have some new friends to meet,” the guard said in monotone.

“Hello,” called out Hazelmire; for no good reason.

“Hey, Geek!” the scientist below said enthusiastically, “What’s your geeky specialty? Quantum physics? Math? Or maybe big boom weapons?”

Darren Hazelmire responded, “Darren Hazelmire, Electronics.”
“Lance Titterton, Physics.
“Shane Harding, Mathematics.”
“George Lazarus, Chemistry,” added the chemist who had not having spoken yet.

“Ah, nutta! That’s great! C’mon, let’s show you guys the lab!” The guard rolled his eyes as he swung around to let the other eccentric professors down.

“So what do you do?” asked Titterton; who seemed to be the unofficial leader of the Farminan scientists.

“I’m leading the weapons design,” he said, “Gee, you should see my latest designed for the Devastator. I was having fun with the Thumper, and boy, I really wanted to try something even bigger than just a scout walker!”

“I'd like to hear about that,” said Titterton.

“I’ll show you right away! But first, you really got to see my pet. It’s a Falcon. Snyder gave it to me as a gift for helping his cause. He is so nice...” the scientist grinned.

“Lets see it,” said Harding.

“Wow you’re so impatient,” the scientist mused, obviously disappointed, “You sure you ain’t working for somebody? I know the Nazis are out there. And the Aliens. And the conspirators! Oh my! THIS is a conspiracy!”

“I was talking about the falcon,” said Harding; who didn’t like weapons and much preferred animals.

“Oh okay. Come here Lemar!” the scientist called as they entered the main laboratory. A Falcon took off, and flew over to the scientist. It landed on his arm, and gave him a friendly peck.

“Hello Lemar! Meet my new friends!”

"Lemar?" asked Titterton; mildly amused.

“Yes, Lemar,” the scientist said amusingly, “I named him after an NPC scientist’s pet in this video game called Half Life 2. The original was about a scientist trying to escape a science facility after an experiment went wrong. I figured, heck, with the stuff we do here, we have to have some sort of humor!”

“Lets have a look at your project,” said Hazelmire.

The scientist gestured them in feverishly, “This way! This way! This way to the doomsday!”

He jumped onto the seat and feverishly logged in.

“Doomsday,” muttered Harding, “Summarizes the point of weapons.”

“Of course! Things that go boom!” the scientist said cheerfully, as he pressed the enter key, and the display a great legged machine came up.

“Explain the specifications,” said Hazelmire, aware that Farmina was listening.

Lazerine giggled at the Messian. The other scientists started debating the specifications in their fast noisy style.

“That would take some expense,” suggested Harding.

“Oh, don't worry about it,” the scientist said, “Snyder said money was no object! He wants what he nicknames from the great war, the ‘Wundern Waffen’, but this time he think he'll succeed where the so-called slimeballs failed. He is so nice, he even gave me a seven figure paycheck!”

“Big inflation problem I suppose,” said Harding.

Titterton ignored his pacifist friend, “Surely the legs are a weakness. They can't afford to be too heavily armoured.”

The scientist made a maniacal laugh, “But no one can stop the Galactic Empire! Because I am your father. Oh yeah, this thing is five stories tall. Leg strength has been calculated.”

“You’d have to drain every last resource to build something like this,” said Harding.

“Perhaps he has,” suggested Lazerine, before returning to his natural silence.

“Let me show you something,” the scientist said, ignoring the criticism behind him. He loaded up another thing, that had the title ‘Thumper’.

“Another weapon,” groaned Harding, as his colleagues read the specifications.

“This is a scout walker. And unlike the Devastator, it’s working! I even rode in it! How cool is THAT!” the scientist squealed, “Oh yeah, do you like squirrels?”

"What about squirels?" asked Harding.

"Oh yeah, the squirels. They're fun. They run around, hop, jump, eat acorns, and look soooooooo cute!"

Harding nodded very slowly.

“Perhaps we could inspect the primary weapon on this ship,” suggested Titterton, “I hear it is quite a piece of engineering.”

Harding pulled out a large placard, “Keep Space For Peace.”

The scientist did a little hop. “Oh for sure for sure! That's my favorite toy!” he said, ecstatically.

Harding waved his placard a little harder, hoping someone would notice. The other Farminan scientists ignored him and followed the Messian scientist.

“C’mon! This way this way! My name is Gigant Dick by the way,” he motioned furiously, bringing them back to the ladder.

The Farminans said nothing; wondering if that really was the Messian’s name.

As they exited the rotating section and returned to weightlessness, Gigant furiously motioned towards the forward airlock, “This way this way! Oh, and my parents gave me the name. They hated me. Drug addicts. But I don't care. I killed them!”

Harding gave his pro-peace banner another wave; while Titterton simply said, “Haven't you thought of having your name changed Gigant.”

Gigant shook his head, “I have. It’s just too much paperwork! I don't want to do paperwork! I want to make more toys!”

At that moment, they arrived in the forward most section airlock before the weapons systems. It was guarded by two guards, who were wearing magnetic boots.

“Big boots,” commented Hazelmire.

The guards looked at them emotionlessly. One looked right at them. “Got some guests I see, Dick Wad,” the guard sneered.

“Yes, yes, new friends!” Gigant replied, sounding both excited and annoyed, “Now let us in, posthaste!”

The guard looked at them with an evil glare, “Where are your friends from?”

“Yes, yes, new friends!” Gigant replied, sounding both excited and annoyed, “Now let us in, posthaste!”

The guard looked at them with an evil glare, “Where are your friends from?”

“Earth,” said Hazelmire.

“Make logic not war,” exclaimed Harding, handing the guard a pro-peace leaflet.

“Current residence please, and I mean country,” the guard said, rolling his eyes, and tossing the leaflet aside. The leaflet drifted around inside the room.

“This is our current residence,” said Titterton, “Nationality, Farminan.”

The guard nodded, “Farminans have been banned from being inside any weapons area.”

Gigant frowned, “But...but...my friends!”

“That’s rather unfair,” said Titterton, “Especially since we have permission to be on this ship; and Farmina isn’t fighting the Messians at the moment.”

The guard shook his head, “Orders from the Grand Director himself.”

Titterton shook his head, “I suggest you the Grand Director that Professor Titterton will be inspecting his weapon. I’m sure he has heard of me.”

The guard grabbed his communicator, and talked to somebody for a moment. A minute or so later, he closed it, and put it aside.

“You’re allowed inside, but you have to be strip-searched first,” the guard said.

“Haven’t you people heard of metal detectors?” exclaimed Professor Lazerus, wanting to keep his clothes on.

The guard looked at them with a serious look, “This is the world of plastic knives and guns. We will take you to a backroom to be searched, and given proper clothes that have no weapons.”


The scientists said nothing more; enduring their strip searches before putting on their new clothes.

As the bewildered scientists came out of the change room, the guard unlocked the room. “You may enter. Don’t touch, anything,” the guard said firmly.

Titterton went straight to the weapon, “Tell us about this piece of engineering.”

The room was filled with piping, wires, and a massive nuclear reactor which by guesswork, was the main power source of the weapon. A large protrusion from the front of the room signified the reaction core.

“Oh right, this is the power systems, here’s the capacitor which holds the energy, and far down there is the cannon!” the quirky scientist explained quickly, pointing at various things.

“Could we have a look inside?” suggested Titterton, “It appears quite a masterpiece.”

Gigant frowned, “Aww...I really want to test it out! We were just about to fire it for the first time!”

“Perhaps a double check by an outsider would help refine the systems,” proposed Hazelmire.

All of a sudden, a klaxonic buzz filled the room. “Attention. Attention. Firing systems charging. T-Minus twenty, Seconds, to firing,” a computerized female voice was heard.

A moment later, the sound of loud hydraulic motors filled the room, as the capacitors shifted into position. From a nearby port window, they could see the solar panels shifting backwards.

“Oh goody!” the crazed scientist said in glee.

“What are we targeting?” asked Titterton.

“If they didn't change anything, a 100 square unused island somewhere in neutral waters,” the scientist said gleefully.

The scientists followed the Gigant to a console showing targeting information. It showed a progressively closer satellite view of the ocean, then eventually the island, in a zoom box zoom in fashion. The island was quite big, but unoccupied.

“I doubt I'm going to like this,” observed Harding.

“T-Minus ten seconds,” the computerized voice said. A loud hum that slowly increased in pitch filled the room while the panels kept moving.

“Are you sure we can’t open it up?” asked Harding.

“Not unless you want to get zapped,” the guard said in monotone. The countdown continued, “Three. Two. One. Firing.”

The pitch noise suddenly got much louder, than a very loud hum emitted in the room as the massive array fired. From the satellite view, a large beam came down, and completely engulfed the island. When it stopped firing, there was nothing but water.

“Yee hee!” Gigant said gleefully.

“Bloody waste,” dismissed Harding.

“Okay, let me show you now!” Gigant said gleefully. He ran over to a console, hit a few buttons, then the giant mechanism separated to show a massive capacitor, and other pieces of technology that weren't immediately recognizable.

Hazelmire studied it slowly, and Titterton said, “I’d imagine a simple mistake in the connections or charge could be devastating.”

“Oh, yes,” the Gigant mused, “If the capacitor were to explode from the energy, if it misfired, or if it fed back into the power system, it would destroy the front of the ship!”

Hazelmire knelt down, running his finger along it, “One very fine piece of equipment.”

The guard slapped Hazelmire’s hand away from the device, “I said, no touching it!” he boomed.

Hazelmire elbowed the guard firmly in the jaw, “Say what you will.”

The guard flinched as he was knocked backwards. He regained his balance (as his legs were attached to the floor from his magnetic boots), then grabbed the scientist firmly, and pushed him aside.

“I insist that I be allowed to inspect the technology more closely,” said Hazelmire.

The guard rolled his eyes. “Eccentrics...” he muttered. He then turned to Gigant. “Power this thing down completely, and let him take a peek,” he mumbled.

Gigant hit some buttons, and the mechanical hum from the machine quieted down to silence.

“No weapons in space,” yelled Harding, “Keep space for peace.”

The other three Farminans ignored the mathematician and began discussing finer details of the weapon.

Noticing that once again no one was listening to him; Harding walked over to Gigant, “What do all these buttons do?”

Gigant explained, “Well, this buttons starts the firing sequence, this one stops it, these buttons set the co-ordinates, and these are various other ones.”

“I worked with the military once,” said Harding, as the three other Farminans run their hands over the technology; in awe of what the Messians had built.

Another guard walked into the area, who was much less bulky in muscle tone, and talked to the guard for a moment, drawing his eyes away from the scientists.

“Still do,” thought Harding; as Lazarus put his two hands in on the machine; in a position that would make him the centre of a massive short circuit. It was at this perfectly wrong moment, Harding ‘absent-mindedly’ rested on the control panel.

Suddenly, a loud hum was heard as the unit powered up. Lazarus, as well as everyone else looked up in surprise. A second later, a massive electrical blast shot out between the two capacitors, completely incinerating Lazarus, and causing an electrical cascade, massive voltage electrical arcs jumping all over the place. A loud klaxon filled the room, “Attention. Attention. Priority One cascade failure detected. Evacuate weapons room immediately.”

“Everyone get the hell out of here!” the guard yelled, as Gigant furiously tried to shut down the unit, ignoring the massive cascade going on around him.

The three remaining Farminans ran out of the room, horrified and screaming.

As they ran, the blast doors were slowly closing as they approached.

The guard mumbled out loud. “Get in there!” he yelled, Titterton through the still closing door. He flies down spinning into the forward lobby, bouncing off of the wall head first.

“I suspect the smell of roast that was coming from Professor Lazarus is a rather bad sign,” said Hazelmire.

Rather than pushing Hazelmire, the guard kicked Hazelmire through the still closing door with his steel bottomed boot.

“Point taken,” said Hazelmire.

“And can we stick with leather boots,” added Hazelmire.

The second guard got under the door. The door was almost closed at this point. Gigant continued to furiously stop the weapon from cascading, which was doing some extreme damage marks to all manner of walls and pieces of equipment.

Harding gave Gigant a small wave goodbye and disappeared through the door.

The other guards quickly got out of the room as the door slid to a shut. The klaxon kept ringing, and the nullified sounds of continued electrical arching emanated from the room.

About ten seconds later, a massive bang filled the room, throwing them completely off of their feet, bangs off of the walls.

“I think we’ve survived,” observed Titterton, “Shame about Professor Lazarus.”
A Farminan farmer rushed outside in response to a loud zapping sound that had enough concussion to knock out some of the dishes out of the china cabinet. When he looked outside, he saw a massive trench about fifty meters deep from as far as he could see from one end to the other.

“Darned laborers,” complained the farmer, “They were supposed to put in the irrigation channel months ago. Typical; they’ve also got the specifications completely wrong. Oh grief; they’ve put it straight through my potato crop.”

The Farminan couldn’t quite explain the smell of baked potatoes; and dismissed that strange shaking moments earlier as the effects of new, faster digging machinery.

As the scientists and guards recovered from the blast, a bewildered Gigant came from around a corner from a small door.

“My gawd! What have you done?!” he yelled.

“You tell us,” said Titterton.

“Hardelnut!” Gigant said angrily, jumping up and down, though more slower than normal due to the lack of gravity.


“My mistake,” said Harding, “I knocked the button just at the wrong time.”

The guard glared at him. “What did I say? No touching!” proceeding to give Harding a swift kick.

“Oww," moaned Harding, “You turned a blind eye to them touching.”

The guard muttered again., “How bad is it Dick?”

Gigant sighed, “The front of the ship is all but exploded! It will take months to repair!”

“And a massive cost,” noted Harding, “Especially if you rebuild the weapon.”

Gigant sighed, “I’ll make it even better!”

Foster walked down the plank between the ships and saw the battered, old man. “I suppose you are Rickhart,” Foster replied.

“Do you know anyone else who wears a metal plate and has such a fine tailor?” asked Rickhart.

Foster chuckled. “I suppose the honour is mine,” Foster said, holding out his hand.

Rickhart shook Foster’s hand with a firm clasp, “I’m afraid I don't actually know where Ackvick and Dasch are. Or the Colonel, Alana or Ms Turner for that matter.”

Not that Foster would know the Colonel or Ms Turner; Rickhart realized a moment later.

Foster was carrying some luggage with him. “So, you wanted to do the testing?” Foster asked.

“As quickly as possible,” said Rickhart, walking quickly, trying to show off he was reasonable strong after everything.

Rickhart walked into a testing room on board the Final Victory; the only ship in the fleet to have such facilities. Inside the large mono-colored room, was a single metal table, a few papers, a pencil, and two metal chairs.

“How do we begin?” said Rickhart.

“Take a seat,” Foster replied, gesturing him to the seat with papers in front of it.

Rickhart sat down, dubious about a written test. On the paper, it had one single question on it. It said: “1. Are you willing to sacrifise your freedom of being an ordinary citizen, for life long duty as the leader of this nation, to protect the citizens of the Militia Enforced States and the World, and to never turn towards corruption, when it tempts even the best-willed men and women?”

“I would be unable to protect the people; without greater freedom,” wrote Rickhart, “Discplined use of that freedom I am willing to show.”

Rickhart wasn't sure if that was a trick question; but felt the first part of his answer covered him if it was.

Foster smirked, “It’s not trying to say that you won’t be able to live a normal life in a sense; it just means that once you’re in, you’re in for life, and you are watched very closely and greatly scrutinized by the various anti-corruption organizations our nation has.”

“They were very effective as stopping Snyder,” said Rickhart cynically, “From what I understand; all your anti-corruption organisations were completely corrupt.”

Foster’s smirk turned into a chuckle, “You’re right I suppose. Snyder’s very cunning, and I suppose he's completely compromised the integrity of our entire government.”
Foster then slid the paper a little closer to Rickhart, “Now, answer the question.”

“I already have,” said Rickhart, pointing to the two phrases that formed a sentence.

He wrote in addition to make it very simple for Foster, “Yes; now can we get on with this,” and then glared as Foster.

Foster chuckled again, “Very well. I hope you understand what’s required.” Foster then hit a button on the bottom of the table, that Rickhart didn’t see. A single, loud klaxxonic buzzer filled the room, as various panels in the room flipped over, revealing shooting ranges, computer displays, large TV displays, gym equipment, and a jogging track.

Beside Foster, a file cabinet came out of the floor. As it was still rising, Foster opened the top drawer, pulling out a strange head contraption.

“What do we do first,” said Rickhart, “Apart from wear a silly hat? Lie detector I assume?”

“It does a few things, that included,” Foster replied, putting the device on Rickhart’s head, :First things first, is the physical test. As you are in no physical shape to do this at this time, we will skip that part until last.”

Foster grabbed a few pages from the second drawer. He flipped through a file folder, then pulled out a sheet, “Alright, next on the list is the shooting range. If you will follow me.”

Rickhart followed Foster to the shooting range; knowing he would have a little difficulty picking distance with one eye missing.

They walked up to it, where a sets of shooting range valleys were parked side by side. Foster pulled out a tray beside one of the three bays, and revaled a slide out of a number of Falcon Magnums, a MR-20, a Raptor SMG, a rocket launcher, and another Falcon Magnum, that was painted red.

“Alright,” Foster said, grabbing a Falcon Magnum, “Your objective is to get a minimum of 700 points with the eight round magazine. This is live fire. Watch the recoil; this gun is quite powerful.” Foster than gave it to Rickhart, butt end first.

“The scores on the bulls-eyes are 100 center, 75 second ring, 50 third ring, 25 outer ring, and nil outside. So that means you don't have a lot of leeway.”

Rickhart was careful as he chose his firing position. Lifting his pistol he was staring straight at the target. Any other angle could prove difficult; but here he didn’t need to think about distance. He pulled down the safety and released one bullet after another at the target, till his score reached 675.

“Hmm, not bad,” Foster said, grabbing the sheet, “Not bad for a one eye wonder. Here.” He pressed a button on the head harness, which slowly drove cranial graspers, and a small needle into the back of the head. Suddenly, Rickhart could see out of both eyes, even though only one worked.

“The harness is used to simulate virtual reality, but it also has cameras for visual. Since your eye is destroyed, the Camera can mimic a dead eye.”

Foster moved the cameras down to eye level, so Rickhart wouldn’t be disoriented.

Rickhart paused, “That won’t be necessary.”

He then removed the clip; revealing that he still had the eighth bullet, “I assumed I hit with the first seven.”

Foster smiled, “Sly bugger. But you’ll still end up needing it anyways.” Foster pressed the button on the console, bringing the tattered sheet back, “Fire when ready.”

Rickhart took a great deal of time aiming and then purposefully shot the 25 point zone.

“Jackass,” Foster said, laughing. He motioned Rickhart to the center booth now, while grabbing both the MR-20 rifle and the Raptor, “Alright. This is the repeater weapons test. You are to hit as accurately as possible between all three moving targets. You get one clip per gun total. For every shot into a target, there is an accumulative -1 total for every extra time a target is hit, so hitting the same target repeatedly will cost you a lot of points. 50 points for bull’s-eye.”

“The MR-20 has a 50 round magazine, the Raptor, 80.”

Rickhart slung the MR20 over his shoulder, “How many points am I aiming for?”

“Two thousand points,” Foster replied, “Make em count.”

Rickhart made a quick calculation realizing that meant less than thirty could miss the bull’s-eye.

“Ready,” he yelled.

“Fire when ready,” Foster replied.

Rickhart “accidentally” switched the guns function and then let off three grenades to stop the targets going anywhere.

The explosions caught Foster off guard, “What the blazes man! That's not until the next part!”

Rickhart ignored Foster and began shooting the stationary though rather smashed targets.

Foster grumbled, “I suppose I could pass you for the those two parts.”

Foster then handed him the Raptor. “Alright, same drill, different gun. This gun has wicked recoil if you hold down the trigger, so watch your aim”

Foster reactivated the target machines, dropping the mangled targets, and dropping down fresh paper targets, with a slightly singed bottom from the heat; then took away the MR-20

Rickhart feared moving targets; so he lifted up his rifle and just gave a small pull of the trigger; never firing unless he was sure he could make a hit. It would be a very slow process; but Rickhart wanted some certainty.

When ran out of bullets, a great deal of time later, “How did we go?”

After the process was done, Foster retracted the rather perforated targets. “Excellent, but in a firefight, I’d doubt they’d wait that long to shoot you,” Foster replied.

Foster then grabbed the rocket launcher, and gave it to him, “This is not a functional launcher; it has special electronics inside your neuronic interface that simulates operation, as a rocket launcher is too dangerous to use in here.”

Foster hit a couple of buttons on the console; it loaded up a digital layout of an urban battlefield, in a Battletanks style 3D interface, “Your job is to destroy the enemy tank that will be shooting at you. You have to take cover behind this box once you get the tank’s attention.”

“You may start when ready.”

Rickhart immediately took cover behind the box; but decided it was probably best not to annoy the tank till it came closer.
The tank moved around, searching for enemies. It noticed an enemy tank, and started to shoot at it. The feeling was very retro. Rickhart decided now was the best time to move; and scurried quickly and quietly, though he doubted silence mattered, trying to get around the side of the hostile tank.
Seeing his chance, he dropped the rocket launcher, jumping onto the side of the tank, climbing onto the top.

The game was incredibly disorientating; and suddenly Rickhart realised he didn't a clue what items he had brought into the simulation with him. He couldn't help wonder if his own mind generated part of this game; as looked furiously for something to open the hatch with; or break the rules of the game and cause it to shut down.

The tank started to turn, throwing Rickhart off balance. Rickhart found his pistol and his metal cutter, as he held on for dear life; as he tried to open the hatch; gun ready; waiting for the game to crash.

A moment later, Rickhart saw virtual tracer fire fly past him as another enemy tank started to shoot at him, on top of the enemy tank. Rickhart laid down, trying to use the turret for cover as he continued to try and cut open the tank.

Suddenly, Rickhart felt a sting. Almost like electric shocks, hitting his body. Rickhart thought that must have meant he’d been shot; but kept trying desperately to get inside the enemy tank; but feared the game would neither crash, nor accept the new style of play.

A moment later, his vision went completely black, then faded back into reality. Foster stood there with his arms crossed.

“You failed,” Foster said, “100 points to destroy the tank, and you only left paint scratches.”

“The game was inflexible,” argued Rickhart, “I would have stolen the tank and turned it on my enemies if the game had allowed it.”

Rickhart had done it before in the Arandior War; it was how he won his Gallantry and Bravery medal.

“That is very true, and I don’t doubt it either. In fact, that’s commendable what you were going to do,” Foster said, “The reason this is rigid is because it's a weapons range, not a tactics module. You’ll get your chance to do that later, but this is a weapons range.”

Foster picked up the rocket launcher off of the floor, “I’ll give you another shot,” he said, “Because I know where you’re coming from.”

Rickhart grumbled, but then grabbed the rocket launcher. Foster activated the module. He typed in something which loaded up a different protocol than before. Rickhart turned to face the simulation, to see a truly massive tank in front of him. Gattling cannons on the sides and back, two massive turrets, and cruise missile launchers.

“I figured that since you’re clever, you can take on something that I'm sure you can think of taking out somehow,” Foster said, “Good luck.”

Rickhart blinked for a moment then bolted for cover; not looking back. Diving he turned around and peeked up; wondering if he'd been spotted by another example of Messian ‘compensation’ attempts.

“Armageddon,” he muttered recognizing the design.

Rickhart twisted around behind the cover and let off a rocket; expecting it to hit something and explode off to the tank’s right.

Taking the opportunity to maximize on the distraction; Rickhart sped from cover to cover, trying to get around the left of the Armageddon. As Rickhart ran, the secondary turret, and the left side Gatling cannon spun to his former location, and let loose with a massive barrage of .50 cal and cannon fire.

“Quick,” thought Rickhart, wondering if he had been hit, but kept up the pace moving from cover to cover.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking incredibly silly running around the training room.

Finally Rickhart got to the back left of the tank (right by Rickhart’s position). Looking out from his cover briefly; he was just out of range of the side cannon and also the front turret; that just left the more substantial right turret. Carefully he set his aim on the rocket launcher on his side; hoping that a direct hit or two on that would be enough to disable or destroy the main turret.

Once his aim was level, he set off the rocket; the quickly prepared a second round.

When the rocket hits the cruise missile launchers, a massive explosion ensues, blasting the left side of the tank’s main turret into itty bitty pieces, and knocking the tank sideways.

Rickhart hadn’t expected that much damage, but quickly released the second rocket at the side turret before scrambling to new cover.

As the second launcher was launched, the side and rear Gatling guns started firing a hailstorm of bullets in Rickhart’s direction, the rocket flies towards the Gatling gun, but then explodes as the stream of bullets blows it up in mid flight.

Rickhart fell to the floor twisting around; releasing a second rocket at the same Gatling gun; quickly followed by a third, before ducking behind his new found cover.

Both rockets hit, blasting the Gatling cannon into pieces.

Rickhart wondered when the game deprived him of rockets; and considered whether to take out the tracks. In the end he decided against it. Instead he run at the tank; again trying to climb up it at he slung the rocket launcher over his shoulder; watching the front turret carefully.

The front turret slowly spun backwards, as the badly mangled back turret aimed a co-axle machine gun at Rickhart.

“Infernal game,” said Rickhart, climbing up the final distance; before readying his rocket launcher and running to the front turret at the same time.

Rickhart turned around and began running backwards as he fired awkwardly at the back rocket launcher trying to disable the turret completely. Just after he set off the rocket; he turned around to see himself tripping onto the front turret, landing with out a thud.

Not wasting time to correct that he was now lying down, Rickhart began to reload the rocket.

When the first rocket hit the second rocket launcher, it exploded, but not in the same way it did before. At the same time, the front turret rotated and aimed virtually directly at him.

“Must get up,” thought Rickhart realizing the situation was suddenly very bad, “Its only a game. These things glitch.”

Suddenly, the turret behind him completely exploded, leaving a badly damaged rear section. The turret in front kept aiming, but didn’t move.

Rickhart sprang in between the guns of the front turret, before jumping up on the turret; swinging the launcher over his shoulder as he went; before sliding down the opposite side.

The turret stood still, as did everything else.

“It has glitched,” mused Rickhart, wondering if the delayed explosion had overloaded the program, then wonder, “Or is it a trick?”

Rickhart knelt down, watching the turret as well as for another tank.

Suddenly, the world blacked out, and reality returned.

“Congratulations,” Foster said, “You’ve done what only one other person has done before.”

“Who?” asked Rickhart politely, hoping it wasn’t Dasch, “Ackvick, I presume.”

“Dasch,” Foster replied.

Rickhart suddenly looked annoyed, but then asked, “And the next test?”

“Multiple target shooting,” Foster said. He grabbed the red-colored Falcon Magnum, and gave it to Rickhart, “It’s another simulation. You have to shoot and kill as many intelligent targets as possible before being incapacitated.”

“Don’t shoot stupid people,” affirmed Rickhart; purposely misinterpreting what Foster said.

“Let’s begin,” said Foster, pressing a button.

The simulation activated, again showing an urban battlefield with much more detail then before, but filled with almost realistic humans with green uniforms of no specific nationality.

Rickhart wasted no time checking his weapon and entered the first door he could find; scanning the room quickly as he entered. Inside were two AI soldiers. They quickly aimed weapons at Rickhart.

Rickhart fired at one as he discreetly stepped back around the corner, “Apologies, wrong house.”

Rickhart paused for a moment wondering if he had accidentally shot friendly soldiers; then again they were just as ready to shoot as he was. Walking over to the window, he ducked down, scanning the street for other soldiers, before kneeling up to release bullets at the soldier’s inside. Rickhart then ducked down quickly, waiting for the sound of returning enemy fire.

After the silence he knelt up again scanning but seeing no sign of life. Quickly he hurried inside and searched the bodies; not wanting to be on the street when more enemies troops arrived.

Suddenly, Rickhart heard a klaxon, and then everything blacked out then returned to normal.

“That was quick,” said Rickhart, “Did I do something wrong?”

The klaxon continued, “Or have I really upset the program this time?”

Foster shook his head, “General quarters! We’re under attack!”

Over the intercom, he could hear an intercom voice break, “All hands, we are being boarded, I repeat, we are being boarded.”

Rickhart wrestled with his head gear; for the first time realising that he was drenched in sweat trying to play the game. He paused; what if they were still playing the game. Snyder hadn’t warned him of this and Grey wouldn't be so callous; although the Colonials could possibly be that stupid.

Foster motioned over to a wall panel. Foster banged a blended in button, opening a weapons locker, “Grab a weapon!”

Inside were MR-20’s, and plenty of clips of ammunition.

Rickhart suspected he had to use the MR-20’s; using his own gun he might actually hurt someone and the game pistol wouldn’t hurt anyone in this game. Dropping the primary game pistol; he grabbed a rifle and several belts of ammo, “To the bridge.”

Foster then threw over the Falcon Magnum he used earlier, with a new clip. “We gotta go!”

Rickhart launched at a full run, realizing that if his office existed; it couldn't possibly be a simulation.

As they exited the room, he could see Snyder Guard men exchanging fire between grey-sleeved Messians. Foster came out, and took aim and fired a burst at a few of them.

Rickhart followed Foster and also opened fire; moving in and out of corridors for cover. The existence of Snyder guard was beginning to make Rickhart think this wasn’t a test.

A moment later, a bullet whizzed past Rickhart’s arm, taking a small chunk of flesh off. He saw blood coming out. Rickhart clasped his arm, then took another burst at the Snyder Guard, before returning to cover, hoping that Snyder hadn't double crossed him, “Foster; I need help.”

Foster went into cover with him, “Help with what?”

“My arm,” said Rickhart, trying to ignore the pain, “I need bandaging. I’ll get blood all over my suit.”

Foster ducked as more bullets flew past, “Then we better get the automated defenses online! It’s our only hope!”

“Everything is linked to my office,” said Rickhart, “We need to try and get there.”

“Alright, cover me!” Foster said, rushing past and firing as he ran towards the next alcove.

Rickhart stepped out and sprayed more bullets as he moved hastily to new cover. Again he stepped out and took several move shots; before turning around bolting with all haste round the next bend down towards his office.

Foster fipped the switch on his rifle, and fired a few grenades into the mob, neutralizing them in a big gory fashion.

“Which way,” said Rickhart, catching up, still finding it incredibly easy to get lost on the ship.

Foster pointed at the rail-car that they've been using for the past while, “That car would be the fastest way, but it will be a shooting gallery, for sure.”

“Out of all honesty,” Foster continued, “We’d probably end up facing even more the long, long way.”

“We’ll take it,” said Rickhart, moving with all haste, “Quickly now.”

Rickhart jumped in the rail car, trying to make his large form as small a target as possible.

Foster got on board faster than Rickhart, and as soon as he climbed aboard and shut the gate, he slammed the forward throttle, bringing the cart to an adrenaline-rushing speed.

“How long?” asked Rickhart, trying to keep his head down in fear of losing it.

“Forty-five seconds,” Foster said. Suddenly, a bunch of Snyder's men started to open fire on them, filling the cart full of holes.

Rickhart took a quick shot but didn’t expect to hit anything.

“Any idea how they managed to do this?” asked Rickhart.

Foster shook his head, “No fucking id...”

Suddenly, Foster took multiple bullets to the chest, and fell backwards. Rickhart returned fire; but again intended more to intimidate than kill anyone; before checking Foster for a pulse.

Foster muttered. “...Get....the defense....grid...on...line!”

Foster then slumped, dead. Just then, the cart slowed down rather abruptly at the bridge.

“So melodramatic,” commented Rickhart; trying to prevent any more blood getting on his suit.

Rickhart exited the cart quickly; ever watching for Snyder guard.

Sending the cart back in the opposite direction to annoy the Snyder guard; Rickhart moved cautiously toward his office; just down the hall. Spotting a Snyder guard, he released a quick accurate burst and kept moving. That his office seemed to exist worried him more than a little; but he tried to re-convince himself that it was just a simulation.

Footsteps behind him caused Rickhart to spin around and nearly spread out Ms Turner’s brains on the nearest; the old housekeeper was handing out lemonade to cool off the Messians in the hot Farminan weather.

Rickhart shook his head; continuing to slip toward the office watching everywhere for Snyder guard; or even a greensleaved Messian; but there was relative calm. Swinging to the left; Rickhart saw one Snyder guard and scattered his skull. This wasn't the ambush Rickhart had been expecting. Finally he arrived at his office door and opened it.

Rickhart stepped into his office two people were waiting, two Snyder guard. Rickhart promptly stepped out again; switching his gun to grenade function. After a single careful grenade, Rickhart stepped back in blasting in all directions. Looking at the corpses; Rickhart dismissed them before running over to his computer and activating the auto-guns.

As he activated them, he heard a voice.

“Don't hurt me...I’m not...armed!” a very scared voice said.

Rickhart kept his gun ready and ordered, moving backwards to close his office door, “Come out slowly and with your hands up.”

His body was shaking. "R...Rickhart?" Palmer stammered.

“Palmer,” snarled Rickhart.

“What the hell are you doing here?” said Rickhart, “And keep them up.”

Palmer calmed down, and gave a small sadistic grin, “I’m here to burn the rest of your face, and soul!”

“Unfortunately its your turn,” said Rickhart, “You can enjoy the rest of your life in a nice dark dungeon. I think that’s fair.”

Rickhart wasn’t exactly sure how he could even carry out that threat; with the ship seeming abandoned.

Palmer frowned, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“All alone,” said Rickhart, “No gentlemen friends. No fine foods. No fine clothes. Just your own dark little empire of four square metres.”

Suddenly, everything went dark again, and then came back to the testing room. No wound on his sleeve. No gun in his hand. And Foster standing in front of him.

“Congratulations,” Foster said, “Not only do you pass the live-gunnery segment, you also passed one of the major ethics tests.”

Foster paced a bit, “For a moment there, I thought you were going to cap him. Especially for what he did to you. That’s why on the test, we had him in there. You want revenge.”

“If anything threatened to come through that door,” said Rickhart, “I wouldn’t have hesitated in reducing the number of problems I had to deal with.”

“Very true,” Foster replied, “I would have done the same thing.”

Rickhart was beginning to feel the tests get to him, “What next?”

“Alright, next is the intelligence exam. Back to the desk, and have a drink,” said Foster.

A glass of water sat on the table, where a decent stack of papers were.

Rickhart drank the entire glass immediately, “What does this test cover?”

Foster pressed a button on a console that also came up earlier. The glass sank down from a micro-elevator, filled up with water, and came back up.

“This covers mathematics, angles, navigation, spelling, computer usage, and how much you know about other nations.”

“You people must find better things to do with your time,” said Rickhart watching his glass re-emerge, dismissing the content of the test, “Elementary. What about philosophy, politics and strategy?”

“That too,” Foster said, “Strategy is not a part of this test, as that's completely separate.”

“When do I start?” asked Rickhart.

Foster pushed forward a pencil, “Now.”

Rickhart worked through the test furiously; mathematics was fastest; closely followed by angles then computer usage and navigation. He seemed a little baffled about the spelling; unsure how Farminan spelling and grammar varied from its Messian counterpart. The rest he found relatively easy; though not as easy the mathematical content. If there had been a section on chemistry and medicine he would have been on easy street. He finished ahead of time anyway; and so started playing with the drink refiller.

Foster looked at it in amazement, “We will have to review that later. Now here’s part two. Did you think it was that easy?”

This part included medicine, chemicals, human relations, psychology, technology, religion, and other things.

“Relatively," said Rickhart, “Though looking at this test it may be getting easier from here.”

“When do we start the second part,” said Rickhart.

“Whenever you feel like it,” Foster replied.

Rickhart raced through the paper again. This time however he did spend some effort making more detailed answers than necessary. His knowledge on the content on the subject matter was thorough; possibly excluding human relations. In both human relations and psychology he offered unconventional, disputable, sometimes verging on offensive theories; though always bared at least an element of truth; and some might consider revolutionary. However, as expected it was chemistry where he shone.

In the section on religion he kept misspelling Mormons as “morons” and “Wakkers” as “wankers”; although his spelling hadn’t proved brilliant in the previous test. His comments on several religions; mainly Islam could also be seen as offensive though a plausible response and the one Rickhart provided was that the “truth is offensive.” He also managed to incorporate modern Christianity into a wider understanding of science. On completing the test he returned to amusing himself with the drink filler, “And yet MES is such a poor country.”

Foster sighed as he grabbed the finished papers, and stored them.

“When do I get my marks?” asked Rickhart confidently.

He grabbed a smaller pile of fresh paper from the bottom cabinet. He put them on the table, “Not until it’s reviewed. Now, the written ethics test.”

“Written,” said Rickhart, “Not verbal?”

“There are other components for it,” Foster said, “But these written scenarios are just some of the possible situations you'll run into.”

“Lets get this over with,” said Rickhart; suspecting that if he was going to be cheated. He reminded himself not to answer every question with “Kill them; just in case.”

Rickhart read the first question:

“1. You are in command of an MES dreadnought, and you recieve three distress calls. Three ships are caught in a massive hurricane, which is putting their ships in grave risk. Your ship is the only one large enough to safely navigate the storm.

The first ship is a luxury liner with 1000 tourists and crew on board. It is taking on water, and is soon to sink.
The second ship is a refuge ship, with tens of thousands of tightly crammed people on board an already overloaded empty cargo hauler. The ship will break anytime now.
The third ship is the pleasure ship Hypnos, which is known to be currently having a scientific get together on the ocean. The ship, loaded with some of the brightest minds in the world, is also taking on water and is on the verge of sinking.
The fourth is a medium-sized cargo hauler. It says it has a prince on board. He says that if the prince drowns in the storm, the prince's nation, a home of five billion people, will fall into complete anarchy, costing the lives of millions.

Your ship only has time to save the people on one of the ships before the ships goes down. What ship would you choose?”

Rickhart scratched his head for a minute; then acted decisively changing the word “dreadnought” to “flagship.”

Rickhart then answered, “It depends. The answer depends on the number and field of people on the Hypno and the feasibility of the Prince’s claim. If the prince’s death is unlikely to cause disruption then he should be left to die. The most reasonable method is to the save the most lives; which will be to save the prince or the refugee boat; unless Hypnos has a large number of people or is carrying medical experts. If the Hypno is full of medical experts who will in turn save a larger amount than sparing the other boats; then it is the Hypno that should be saved.”

Foster watched the answer get written down. “The ships are going down. You don't have much time to contemplate,” Foster suggested.

“But if I have the facts I could make a quick decision,” said Rickhart.

Foster looked at Rickhart in the eye, “What if the facts were unavailable at the time? What if what you find out is what you see in those questions?”

“Then I don’t know a great deal,” said Rickhart, “Surely I must know of this prince at least by reputation.”

“Exactly,” said Foster, “It’s the reputation that tells you whether or not you should rescue him or not.”

Foster then looked down again, not saying anything more.

“Well that’s what I wrote; whether the Prince’s story seemed reasonable and one avenue is reputation,” said Rickhart, “I’ve essentially narrowed it down to the Prince or the refugee ship; depending on what we know about the Prince. We save the Hypno only under special circumstances.”

Rickhart rewrote his answer to clarify it.

He then added, “If we save the refugee ship; I prepare a force of peacekeepers to crush the Prince’s homeland in case of civil unrest.”

Foster looked at him again, “Maybe I should clarify the Hypnos. As it was written, it said 'loaded with the brighter minds in the world'. Keep that in mind.”

“Bright minds made nuclear weapons,” said Rickhart.

Foster chuckled, and gave him the second question.

“2. You have one bullet. There are two people getting away from you. One of them is a Messian traitor of the worst kind. The other is a your personal greatest foe, who has caused great harm to you. Considering that you would not be able to catch up in time, when you shoot, if you shoot, of the two people, who would you shoot? The traitor, or the foe?”

Rickhart again gave an evasive answer, “It depends on who I believe will be the greatest threat to Messian and global prosperity in the future; the greater threat getting the bullet. If one is too difficult a target; I will also shoot the other (ethical behavior must be practical).”

Foster nodded, and gave him the next question.

“3. Scientists have learned the secrets of cloning humans. The religious and the people on the right say that this is unethical and would cause massive harm. The left believes that it could heal billions of diseases, and give new life to people that have lost much. Would you go for the morally wrong but better for humanity, or believe in morality, and let crippling diseases and injuries continue?”

Rickhart began to write a response; not sure what the Messians would accept, “Clones are soulless meat popsicles; with no rights, as morally valuable as bricks. All experimentation; especially for the greater good is legitimate.”

Foster nodded, and gave another question.

“4. You are all that stands between a nuclear explosion, and a bunch of people rushing into the blast shelter. The inside mechanism is jammed, and thus it has to be closed from the outside. People are still trying to get inside before the blast hits. The door would shut quickly when pulled, only giving you seconds to enter after operating the lever. Would you do one of the following:
A) Try to get every single person inside, even at a risk of everyone inside, and perhaps the entire tunnel network?
B) Shut it with plenty of time, leaving many outside to die?
C) Give as much time as possible, to the point of sacrifising yourself to pull the lever to shut it?”

Rickhart responded, “Although it depends on the circumstances; self sacrifice for the greater good is the most ethical option.”

Foster handed out another question. It read “Private Duck has bumbled into your brilliant scheme. He threatens to ruin everything; possibly costing hundreds of lives and horrid deaths. You can kill Private Duck and widow his wife; leaving his children parentless. Alternatively you could allow Duck to bumble into your plans and ruin everything. Do you kill Duck?”

Rickhart responded furiously and rather angrily, “The life of the private cannot be put above the greater good. He must die; and know his death is not in vain. One family widowed is nothing compared to it across tens or hundreds of families.”

Foster looked at him with a glare, then gave him the next question.

“It read: Which of these statements is most relevant in ethical behaviour?
a) The ends is the basis of all ethics
b) Intent is the basis of all ethics
c) Gambling is the highest form of ethical behaviour
d) Ethics is a load of nonsense anyway
e) Ethical behaviour is determined by action; not result or intended result.”

Rickhart wrote down “e”; suspecting it was either that or “b”.

Foster nodded, and gave him the last question.

“You are at a junction on railroad track. The train is heading straight for a group of ten. You could divert the train; but it would the train will kill five other people, as a direct result of your action. Do you divert the train?”

Rickhart decided that he should continue to hedge his bets by switching between action ethics and result ethic. “I switch the tracks; knowing the five people I'll kill won't die in vain.”

“Not bad,” Foster replied, “You might need to go through additional ethics tests if you marginally pass.”

Foster then proceeded to get up, “Next, is probably something you should do okay with.”

“Practical chemistry?” asked Rickhart.

“No. Flight test.”

“Flight,” said Rickhart, “I don't fly.”

“Well,” Foster said, “Then we'll have to train you, as aptitude with all available modes of transportation is a major prerequisite. To the flight simulator, I guess.”

“I can drive a tank,” said Rickhart, “Is that close enough?”

Foster shook his head, “Afraid not.” Foster sat down on a chair in front of a panoramic TV monitor. Foster motioned to Rickhart to sit down beside him in front of a fully-functional flight simulator cockpit, but no screen.

Rickhart sat down, “I don't see anything.”

Foster hit a button on the console. Suddenly, Rickhart could see the world around him, in similar graphics as he did during the combat situation. He was sitting in a cockpit of an XG-32 Swarmer fighter.

“What do I do?” asked Rickhart.

Foster sighed, “Turn on the engines to start. Ask for clearance to launch, and when allowed, taxi to the runway, and take off.”

Rickhart hit a button he assumed turned the engines on, “I am clear for launch?”

A radio voice message came through, “Red three, you are cleared for takeoff.”

Rickhart then used the stick-thing like he’d seen in movies; carefully going to the runway then applying the throttle before pulling up.

The plane (and the simulation) shuttered as the plane took off. Rickhart pulled a little too hard, causing the right wing to dip, starting to stall. Rickhart tried tilting to the left, not completely sure what he was doing.

“Cut the throttle back a bit, and bring the nose down somewhat,” Foster suggested.

Rickhart pushed the stick forward and reduced the throttle.

The plane started aiming downwards, and stabilised, but then shook from the reduction in speed, “Increase the throttle now.”

Rickhart increased throttle again; about to get very frustrated. The plane accelerated, and completely stabilised. His plane was flying straight and level.

“Are we done yet?” asked Rickhart; with the suspicion he’d have to kill something.

Foster shook his head, although Rickhart wouldn’t see this, “Nope, circle around, and land.”

Rickhart pulled hard left trying to turn around.

In doing so, the plane rolled a deep left, and started to spin, on the verge of losing control, “Easier on the controls, Rickhart. It's not a racecar!”

Rickhart pulled a little to the right, “Are racecars going to be tested?”

Foster chuckled, “No. But you might be doing some tank driving. And maybe some Flash UBT driving too.”

Rickhart wasn't entirely sure why he needed to have such wide military competence; but began to gradually descend as the plane stabilised. Foster looked on as he approached, “Call the tower.”

“Air control, am I clear to land?” asked Rickhart, not sure the exact protocol.

There was a pause, “Standby Red three. There is traffic on the runway. Go around and re-enter the traffic pattern.”

Rickhart pulled up and to the left slightly. As Rickhart circled around, he noticed an aircraft moving to land. He recognised the markings; Reaction Corporation.

“Do I kill it?” asked Rickhart, unsure if this was a combat test.

Foster said nothing. Rickhart decided that it was best to leave the aircraft alone; knowing his ethics score was lower than his combat scores. As the Reaction corps plane landed while Rickhart lined up again, the tower announced landing clearance. Rickhart began a gradual decent; sure that his predicted flight path would see him land practically parallel to the runway. The plane hit the runway skidded and then stopped.

Rickhart could hear Foster chuckling, “There’s these things called Landing gear...”

“I knew I forgot something,” said Rickhart, “Just a few scratches I’m sure.”

The view faded out, and reality returned again, “The plane’s underside would be badly damaged. You're lucky if this was real, because the plane didn't roll and flip.”

Foster then chuckled again, “Yeah, your good landing was only flawed by that minor problem.”

“Do I pass?” asked Rickhart.

Foster shook his head, “Sadly, no. But fortunately, you can still pass pending a heavy training regime.”

“Would I have passed if someone pointed out where the landing gears were?” asked Rickhart.

Foster smiled, “Yeah, you would have. As well, I doubt you'd pass the more extreme tests.”

“I’m not applying for pilot of the year,” commented Rickhart.

Foster motioned Rickhart to a door in the wall. Rickhart walked over and opened the door.

Inside was a hallway to a blast door on the other end. The side walls were completely bare.

“Rather bland,” said Rickhart, walking through, “What are we testing now?”

Foster pressed a few buttons on the side panel, and the blast door opened, with a loud klaxon buzz. “See for yourself,” Foster said, gesturing in.

Rickhart wandered in; wondering if a failure on one test prevented him from becoming a Force Commander; after all he had blown up an Armageddon.

Inside was an expansive room with explosion marks and burns on the wall. Large targets and barriers filled the room. In the centre, was a Destructor II heavy tank.

Rickhart walked over and jumped into the tank, “What role do I play?”

“Target practice,” Foster said as he climbed in with Rickhart.

“Gunner,” said Rickhart slipping into the tank and taking his seat.

Rickhart briefly viewed the firing mechanisms and said, “Ready to commence.”

“Alright,” Foster replied, “Commencing target practice...now.” A moment later, targets came up, and some false tank images came up. Foster started to move the tank in an evasive pattern.

Rickhart swung the turret toward the first target and released a shell; before quickly swinging to another target with exposed side armour and hitting that.

Rickhart used the systematic pattern moving from target to target; prioritising anything with side armour. At the first sight of flesh; he switched to the machinegun; chaining down the infantry and escaping crews.

“Good shooting!” Foster said over the gunfire.

Rickhart continually tried to know what was around him in all directions; knowledge was vital to systematic process, “How long do we keep going?”

“For another 28 seconds!” Foster said.

Rickhart continued the process of swinging, shooting and chaining down the enemy; maintaining his systematic list of priority targets and trying to keep a track of what surrounded him. A loud klaxon buzzer rang, and the targets stopped.

“Time to switch,” Foster said.

Rickhart could only assume that meant he was driving and quickly slipped into the driver’s seat.

Once firmly in his seat, he yelled, “Ready!”

Foster hit the command, and a loud klaxon buzz again filled the room as targets started moving.

Foster took aim at the different targets, with similar precision, “Keep moving!”

“Where am I supposed to be going?” asked Rickhart, trying to dodge the tanks in front of him, “Tanks 9 o’clock; 12 and 2. Scrap 12.”

“Nowhere specific. Just evasion,” Foster replied.

Rickhart moved backwards; then tried to swing wide to the left to give Foster a clear shot at the side plating.

Foster swing the barrel around, and didn’t even bother to stop spinning the turret when he fired a shot, blasting the target apart.

Another buzzer sounded, and Foster homed the turret back.

“What does that mean?” asked Rickhart.

“That’s the test!” Foster replied, “Specialised training will either have to be simulated, or done back in the MES.”

“So we're completely finished?” asked Rickhart.

“That is correct, for now,” Foster said, as he opened the roof hatch, and helped Rickhart out.

Rickhart pulled himself out the turret, surprised that there wasn't a physical component, or a strategy component, “Does failing flying; mean I fail overall?”

“No,” Foster replied, “If you get a high enough score to pass the tests I’m giving you, then you will become an interim Force Commander for one year, with full powers. But you will need to finish it with the utmost finesse for the final examination.”

“Very well,” said Rickhart, a little more confident, “When do I get my results?”

“Longer than normal,” Foster replied, “I need to locate people that we can trust. Right now, our government is very untrustworthy, and would give a biased review.”

Foster opened the blast door, which had a fresh blast mark from (with a barely noticeable damage mark on it), and walked through.

“Surely you three Force Commanders can mark it,” suggested Rickhart, knowing he had some sway over both Dasch and Ackvick.

“It’s not protocol,” Foster replied as they walked back into the main room, “Although we do the final flip through, we have subordinates that do that.”

“I don't believe its protocol for a Force Commander to seize absolute power,” observed Rickhart.

Foster sighed, “I know. As I said, Snyder is a man of many talents, manipulation being his strongest suit.”

“Then can I see my results, by lets say tomorrow morning,” said Rickhart.

Foster shook his head, “You heard me. I have to get a panel to judge your work. You will find out before the end of the week, however.”

“Very well,” said Rickhart, “Now we have to decide with the other Force Commanders what course to take.”

Foster chucked, “Who said we were done yet?”

“What do I have to do now?” asked Rickhart.

“Let’s see...” Foster said, sitting down at the desk again. He grabbed another file, and put it on the desk. He flipped through it, and found a list, “The Political Compass, to see where your beliefs fall.”

“And lastly is knowing laws, how they work, and when certain laws should be bent, broken, or created.”

“Where on the compass do you need to be to pass,” questioned Rickhart.

Foster showed him a political compass. On it were all of the Force Commanders on it before both the massacre, and Donald's death. All of them were near dead centre. “At most, two in either direction,” Foster replied.

Rickhart did the test quickly and thoughtfully producing a score of (0.1,0.1). “I think that should be sufficient,” commented Rickhart.

Foster looked at Rickhart, “I don’t think any person on the planet would be that close. Do it again.”

Foster than gave a second sheet, with other answers that he hasn't answered yet.

Rickhart again picked carefully centralist answers but allowed a little more variation. The economic score moved drastically to the right at 1.5; but he was still purposefully manipulating his own score.
His social score drifted slightly to the right; but put more effort into moderating that. “Next test Foster,” said Rickhart.

Foster took the test, “Better, but I still have a feeling that you are manipulating the score.”

“You said it was a test on politics,” commented Rickhart.

“That may be true,” Foster said, "But a part of it is to NOT manipulate the truth. We are as honest as we can about things; that's how come the people trust us so much.”

“And then seize absolute power for yourself,” said Rickhart, “I answered your silly questions; now next test.”

Foster shook his head, “With your attitude and rushing, I’m worried about having you as a Force Commander. Keep in mind that character is also a part.”

“Am I rushing or are you wasting time?” said Rickhart.

“You are rushing,” Foster said, “But everything you do in this entire testing, even breathing, is considered.”

“I’m an old man,” said Rickhart, “I really don't want to die waiting. Now we are wasting time just talking about this.”

“Alright, next step is religion.”

“I thought we already tested that,” said Rickhart.

Foster smiled. “No. We covered politics. This is a specific section on religion. We have some very specific laws and rules regarding religion. Now,” Foster said, pushing over another test paper, “Take the test.”

Rickhart filled out the test, identifying his religion, his conservatism, noting his principles applied only to him and observed that people from other religions were “clearly mistaken” in need of logical conversation to bring them to the path of righteousness.

He then passed the test back to Commander Foster. Foster looked at it, and had a look of nervousness.

“That is ‘conversation’ not ‘conversion’,” said Rickhart, “Its not my bad spelling.”

“Not the point,” Foster replied, “Our rules is that there has to be a completely unbiased decision making process, neither right or left. And non-affiliated to a religion.”

“That discriminates against religious people,” exclaimed Rickhart.

“No,” Foster replied, “We take all religious people’s rights seriously. But we are affiliated to no one. In a sense, we are technically atheist in our decision making, to keep ourselves from discriminating other religious factions. It was you, after all, who said 'they're wrong', and ‘you’re right’. We cannot have that sort of bias.”

“I’d be pretty silly if I called myself anything but right,” observed Rickhart, “And therefore I must assume everyone else is wrong. Aren’t all the atheist Commanders assuming that all the religious people are wrong? I'm just bold enough to state the truth...albeit on a confidential document.”

Foster chuckled again, “Alright, it's hard to explain. We treat all religion as if they all have equal rights, and that also includes those who have no beliefs, or those that have unusual beliefs, such as Scientology. We only discriminate against cults, because, well....they’re cults.”

Foster paused, “I sure hope you're not a Jehovas Witness.”

“I didn’t write anything about gassing people, just arguing the truth to them,” said Rickhart, “And I'm a Catholic; not a Jdub. I thought that was rather obvious.”

Foster laughed, “I know you’re not a Jehovas Witness. I just said it because it's considered a cult in our country.”

“Your laughing,” said Rickhart, “Which I think means ‘passed’. Next test?”

“Alright,” Foster said calmly, turning the page, “The next part is operating surface vessels.”

“Of vital importance,” said Rickhart, sarcastically.

“Well,” Foster said with an equally sarcastic tone, “You never know when you're going to be stranded inside enemy territory, and the only way off shore is a boat.”

“Get on with it,” sighed Rickhart, making a note to himself.

“Follow me,” Foster replied firmly, taking him down various hallways, elevators, and doors, eventually ending up by a large door, with a window next to it. The room was completely black.

Foster swiped his card, revealing more of the black room. Foster reached beside him, and flipped a couple of switches, making a loud electrical bang as each row of lights were flipped on.

Inside the room, was various military boats, ranging from 20 foot patrol boats and a few pleasure boats of the same length, all the way, to a one-hundred foot patrol boat.

“We will be taking one of the PT boats down there,” Foster announced.

Rickhart climbed aboard the designated ship, “Now what?”

“Well,” Foster said, crossing his arms, “I want you to move around out in the ocean, and work through operating procedures, namely steering, throttle, engine management, emergency maneuvers, and docking and undocking from a port.”

“Right away,” said Rickhart.

As Rickhart steered the boat towards the outside wall, Foster hit a button inside the boat. As Rickhart moved towards it, a large section of the side hull slid out and downwards. By the time the boat reached the wall, the hull section had bee retracted. “You may begin,” Foster said.

Rickhart proceeded to run the ship with reasonable efficiency; as though he'd done it before. More peculiar was the fact that he kept asking Foster if the guests had enough champagne and finger food.

Foster looked at him funny, shook his head, and looked on.

After a brief cruise, Rickhart asked, “Time to dock?”

Foster nodded. “Yep,” Foster said, writing a few things into his notepad.
‘
Rickhart proceeded to dock the ship and put out the boarding plank; then stood up next to it on the ship; erect and formal.

As the doors slid shut, Foster got out and looked at Rickhart. “Alright, that’s all of the vehicular training. I think we've covered everything,” Foster said. “Let’s head back up to the testing room.”

Rickhart took off an imaginary hat and followed Foster off the ship.

As they arrived, Foster immediately headed over to his desk, and looked at it. “Alright, that is everything. I will be sending this to my loyal officers for review and approval. For now, you will recieve the rank of Major for all intensive purposes until your application is approved, or disapproved.”

Rickhart nodded, removing his training helmet, “I suppose you want to see Ackvick and Dasch.”

Foster shook his head, “For this report, no. Their approval comes later. But from now on, you are a part of the Messian military. You hold your rank, and your job is to serve our country for the betterment of our nation, and the world. We do not tolerate insubordination or betrayal. From this point you, you will treat your subordinates with dignity, and your superiors with respect.”

Foster looked at him closely, “Breaking the military rules of conduct towards betrayal is death by firing squad, so no more tricks. Do you understand clearly, Major?”

“I meant as a social call,” said Rickhart, skimming over the other matter.

“I don’t think you understood me when I said treating your superiors with proper respect,” Foster replied, “Unless we say at ease, respect is required.”

“I am not JUST a Major,” Rickhart reminded Foster, “If you think you can use this opportunity to have me licking your boots; you’re bound for trouble. There a whole lot of Farminans on this ship and they follow me; if they think I'm licking your boots, their bound to start causing us both a lot of trouble Lord Commander.”

Foster glared at him. “Remember, to be able to be a good leader, you must also be able to work under somebody as well,” Foster said as he closed the file. “I’m not asking you to lick my boots. I’m telling you to fall under the chain of command. I went through it too. Everyone does. Until the review process is completed, you are a Major. If you have any more complaints, I will bump you own to private. Are we clear?!”

“Clear,” sighed Rickhart, thinking quietly to himself, “I'll clear you.”

“You are dismissed,” Foster said firmly, deeply.

Rickhart walked off to see Ms Turner, before heading off for a brief nap.

Foster looked back at Rickhart and thought to himself, Thank the higher power for protocols...the founders knew what they were talking about when they made them.

He got up while carrying the beefy folder, then shut down the lights and closing everything down, all the components closing into the walls and floor. “I don’t trust him,” he thought.

As Snyder finally reached his peak; Timothy gracefully lifted himself off the dictator, then snuggled up into the crevice under Snyder’s shoulder. The MES wasn’t all as bad as Timothy imagined, “To your pleasing, I hope Jason?”

“It was perfect,” Snyder replied, smiling.

“You mentioned a vital meeting we had to attend after the alarm,” said Timothy, “Unfortunately I unplugged the alarm clock. I thought you needed the...relaxation. However when being relaxed you have a great deal of endurance, and can take some time to relax.”

He moved his hand, massaging Snyder’s chest.

“What?!” Snyder exclaimed, shooting upwards into a sitting-up position. He quickly looked towards a clock on the wall, “Damnit! I’m late!”

He quickly got up and got dressed, without bothering to clean up properly.

“You are also the boss,” said Timothy, “I wound back everyone’s clocks fifteen minutes. You might be able to blast them all for being late.”

Timothy spent a little more effort cleaning himself before quickly dressing in his new sub-director uniform.

Snyder paused, decided to undress again, and jumped into the shower, “I’m counting on you. If not, I won’t have you in my room again at night.”

“Would you like some company in there?” asked Timothy, looking at his new uniform in the mirror, “Hmm...could afford to be a little tighter. Leaves too much to the imagine.”

“I can see what I can do, but no Star Trek,” Snyder’s voice echoed from the shower.

“How are the others reacting to my rapid promotion?" said Timothy, applying to himself an aerosol spray.

“With the rapid reassignments with my regime,” Snyder replied, still showering, “No one really cares much in the loyalist scheme.”

Timothy walked into the bathroom and washed his face in the basis, “Sure you don't want any company?”

“No time,” Snyder replied, “This is a very important meeting. If we don’t go to it, we will be set back.”

Timothy quickly spiked his hair and checked his face for blemishes, “Well I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”

The shower shut off a moment later. “I’ll be ready shortly,” Snyder replied.

"Okay," said Timothy, wandering back into the bedroom.
He then continued down the hall, into the conference room, expecting Snyder not to be far behind.

As Timothy entered the conference room, he could see the eight directors sitting at the conference table. They looked at Timothy with a look of curiosity and frustration.

“And who would you be?” a man announced.

“Don’t the markings give it away,” said Timothy, pointing to his new uniform, “I’m one of you.”

“Then you must be the advisor Snyder mentioned,” a very attractive female officer responded.

A moment later, Snyder walked in, and moved to take his seat, “My apologies.”

“It is appropriate that we wait for you my lord,” said Timothy, “We sub-directors were created by you. We exist in your name. We are the created against the creator. And you apologise?”

“Suck up,” another man replied, “Don’t worry about it, mi’lord, but what were you doing for the past forty minutes?”

“He personally oversaw the hunt for those behind the attack on our great space ship,” interceded Timothy, “Then he spent ages in the shower.”

“I...” Snyder started to speak, “Thank you, Advisor. Directors, this is Timothy...Brown.”

The group nodded. “Advisor, these are my directors, from in front of you, counter clockwise. Director Nicolas Austin, Director Jaymie Ardelle, Director Tia Norris, Director Dylan Aguilar, Director Harvey Gunn, Director Wallace Sterling, and here is my right hand man, Second Director Reagan Hamilton.”

“Greetings,” said Timothy, taking a seat, “Perhaps I should explain myself. I am the Militia Enforced State's leading expert on Farminans and their current president James Palmer. In fact I understand Mister Palmer in a way few others do.”

“Excellent,” Reagan replied. “Now, shall we proceed?”

“Yes,” Snyder replied. “Have you received the intel on the Farminan movements?”

“Yes,” the very attractive Jaymie replied, “From the intel that I’ve collected, it appears that the Farminan war industry has geared up, but apparently, they seem to be developing copies of our own fighter designs.”

“WHAT?!” Snyder exclaimed. “Never trust a Farminan, learned that from history,” he muttered.

“If we think they are simply copying, we’re deluding themselves," said Timothy, “History shows if we think the Farminans are planning to outdo us one fold; it probably means they are planning to outdo us twofold. Look at the their offensive against Alice. It was massive; larger than what we considered logistically possible.”

“Yes, and that’s not all,” Jaymie continued, noticing Timothy’s statement, “It appears that their buildup is larger than what is necessary against the Northern Colonies; In other words, I think we’re next.”

“That’s not good,” Snyder replied. “Then in that case, we should start preparing the homeland for a possible invasion.”

“I doubt Jamie...I mean President Palmer intends to attack us,” said Timothy, putting on a pair of glasses, pretending to read a report in front of him, “I believe that Palmer has made, or will make, a ‘flexible’ deal with Lord Snyder.”

Removing the glasses (since he didn’t actually need them), “However not all Farminans think that President Palmer will have his way. The military would especially want another fight; ensures it maintains its importance.”

“So, do you or don’t you think that a war will happen soon between our two nations?” Snyder interjected.

“It depends entirely on the political situation in Farmina,” said Timothy, “But another factor you all seem to be forgetting. Civil war in our nation. Ackvick threatened it. So far it hasn’t erupted. Could it?”

Snyder looked at Timothy. “I’m not sure. I admit, unrest is increasing, but if they invaded here, chances are they would join us in defending the homeland.”

“Our citizens are incredibly stubborn towards resisting invasion,” said Snyder

“We should be careful not to delude ourselves,” said Timothy, “If Ackvick is in the Farminan pocket; surely he would have the sway to divide the nation so Farmina can conquer.”

“Speaking of which,” Snyder said, “How is our progress on tracking down the fugitives Ackvick, Dasch, Makion and Rickhart?”

"Rickhart!" exclaimed Timothy, in fake shock.

“Yes, I’m aware he’s alive, as you all should already know,” Snyder continued. “Rickhart is the most dangerous man alive, and the other fugitives will undermine our intelligent rule.”

“At last report,” Tia said, “They were all on the Final Victory. Assuming things haven’t changed, they should still be on board.”

“What in blazes is Rickhart doing with a bunch of Messians?” said Timothy, “My understanding suggests is he hates Messians nearly as much as most Messians hate him.”

In the Second Arandior War; Dan Rickhart had proved a massive humiliation to the Messians; and a great piece of propoganda to the Farminans. Legend of the man who single handedly destroyed a tank column hadn’t died.

“Alright,” Snyder said. “Any luck on our operatives on locating Rickhart’s former residence?”

“Yes, mi’lord,” Dylan responded. “Our men located an older building which is registered to the old lady found to be escorting Rickhart. We have operatives standing by to enter the building to investigate.”
The Legacy says:

“What lady?” enquired Timothy, “I was understanding he vowed to live a life alone after his lady friend died; Gina something I think it was. I’ll have to check the history books.”

“His landlady,” Snyder said with a smirk.

“Traveling the world with your land lady,” smiled Timothy, “That must be first. Only thing stranger would be doing it with your house keeper.”

The room filled with loud chuckles, “Whatever the case, start searching. I want to find what I’m looking for. It will be the prime way to get Rickhart’s attention.”

“Considering he’s both a chemist, and very sentimental over very important things, I’m sure that I can get him to come to us,” said Snyder.

“And then eliminate that old thorn,” presumed Timothy, but then expanded his hypothesis, “No, eliminate the entire damn rosebush. Ackvick and Dasch with him.”

“Well, there’s always the quicker way, but it will be very wasteful if it fails,” Snyder said.

The rest of the room, looked towards Snyder. “You don’t mean...” Wallace started, stunned.

“Yes,” Snyder replied.

“Explanation for the new boy please,” said Timothy.

“The Final Victory has a self-destruct feature on board. It will ignite its entire weapons stores to blow the ship sky high. Although the alternative is to sink it in shallow water and refloat it later,” Snyder explained.

“Don’t you think the rebels would have thought of this?” suggested Timothy.

“They didn’t know about our commandeering of the Final Victory,” Nicolas replied. “Besides, they think of it as a weapon too powerful to ignore,”

Timothy twisted a little in his seat, “If the Farminans attack us their full weight; can we hold them off?”

Snyder sighed. “It highly depends on two factors,” Snyder replied, “Air superiority, and sufficient logistics to break their morale.”

“One thing that we’ve been working on is building additional defenses. I’ve also been overseeing the development of two new superheavy class tanks. That, combined with our slower, more powerful, tanks, and it will be a repeat of World War II Germany, except that our industries aren’t bombed, we’re fully fueled and rationed, and we have the numbers.”

“One Allied General once said that it took four Shermans to kill a Tiger,” Reagan added in, “Well, against the lighter-armored, faster tanks, they would need up to six to one in order to win; our tanks are better defending than attacking, and they also have twice as fast reloading due to the two barrels.”

“Retreat would not be a possibility however,” Tia added.

“Farminans think their tanks are better at attacking than defending,” observed Timothy bluntly, “They’ll be able to redeploy between fronts quickly. And once they have broken through; it'll be able. Their exploitation will be unlike anything we can dream of matching.”

“Not true,” Snyder replied. “We may have a lot of heavier tanks, we still do have the Shatterer MBT’s, and they can match speed with the Farminan tanks; as well, if they break through, we can cut them off, and encircle them.”

“We also have a few C-10 ICBM’s that have been newly developed,” Harvey piped in. “We can literally nuke them.”

“Fool,” yelled Timothy, “You’ll visit a nuclear holocaust on our people.”

“Order,” Snyder said firmly. “I will not take yelling in this room. However, the Advisor may have a point. We need a contingency plan.”

“Have we ever considered diplomacy?” said Timothy, “Farminans like talking nearly as much as they like blowing things up.”

“Sir, if I can suggest,” Tia chimed in, “We can bring the new Hellfire mobile artillery cannons into position, and shell them from afar.”

“Advisor,” Snyder replied, “Only one problem. We’ve been branded as tyrants. We could barely hold the peace treaty as it is. Once Tobias is back in power, things will start rolling against us.”

“Perhaps making concessions will be better than revisiting the stone age,” suggested Timothy, “I’m aware Farmina is stockpiling far more missiles and bombs than they need against the Colonies. Do we really want to test their resolve?”

“If we have to,” Reagan replied, “We will. We also have a pseudo Shadow organization set up inside Farmina; they will be set up to terrorist the Farminan homeland; blow up monuments, factories, and government structures. If we make them think the Shadow still exists, their attention will be divided, again.”

“And they can do the same to us,” said Timothy, “No doubt they already have such plans. We would be fools if we didn’t think they were stockpiling nerve gas to use against us in case we use nerve gas against them. Every blow they can match. Worse they can match blow with two.”

“Could they counter IFF proximity mines?” Jaymie suggested.

“Do I look like a technician?” said Timothy, “Speak English.”

“Land mines,” Reagan clarified bluntly.

“Yes,” responded Timothy equally bluntly, “Start using them on Farminan troops and I’d expect them to start appearing in your supply lines. Start dressing your men in Farminan uniforms and Farminans will start dressing in Messian uniforms. If you want a clean fight, I’m afraid you will have to stay out of the mud. Farmina is old school, I'm afraid.”

“So if we shoot them with lasertag guns, they’ll shoot us back with lasertag guns?” Harvey replied jokingly to the Advisor.

“No,” said Timothy harshly, “They’ll put a bullet between your eyes; take your lasertags, copy them, then shoot some other poor damn fool.”

Harvey sighed. “Damn.”

Snyder slammed his fist onto the table, “I guess I’ll have to do some more string pulling. I need to figure out a way on how to do this...wait a second.”

He looked at Timothy, “Naval mines?”

“That should slow them down,” said Timothy; but he avoided the word ‘stop’.

“I would assume it’s something they couldn’t counter as fer se,” Tia replied.

“Once they realise we are using mine,” said Timothy, “They’ll use their ships more cautionary. That’s all I can promise. Unfortunately there is no weapon that can't be countered or matched. There is no perfect strategy. If there was, the world empire would have been formed long ago.”

“What do you recommend to counter their strategy, Advisor? If you really know that much about that country that is,” Jaymie inquired.

“It depends what their strategy is,” said Timothy, “Unfortunately Tobias Grey is a risky man. He doesn’t like being predictable. Dan Rickhart would in some ways be an easier opponent. At least you know he is going to be brilliant. I don’t suppose you have a map we can look at.”

Snyder pressed a couple of button on the desk, which darkened the lights in the room, in which a digital map filled the table surface.

“Supreme Commander Aricar isn’t a bold man; unlike his brutally aggressive predecessor Bashar,” said Timothy, “Aricar is as much a politician as a soldier. He will open with a small strike; test the waters. Beginning a campaign with the potential for massive casualties would be a disaster for the career. He wants a victory.”

Timothy ran his finger around the map, “He’ll target Trinity. Try and prevent any of our troops escaping to the mainland and deprive us of the facilities of the island. It also gives him a nice safe spot.”

“Thank you Advisor,” Snyder said smiling. “That is actually quite convenient.”

“How are we going to respond?” asked Timothy.

“Well, if that’s how he plays,” Snyder said, “Then we’ll take it like this; we’ll keep our tank turrets retracted to give the false impression that we are not well defended. Give them Trinity, and even a city on the mainland. Then, once he grabs a foothold inside a city on the main continent, we activate our automated defenses inside of Trinity and wherever we attack, and surround them. They won’t see what hit they.”

“This plan seems to require some degree of stupidity on the part of Aricar,” said Timothy, “He may not be bold; but he certainly isn't stupid.”

“Still,” Reagan replied, “The element of surprise could make any smart person stupid. They may know that hidden defenses exist, but only a few people know the extensiveness of it. The funny thing is that it was Ackvick Sr.’s brainchild.”

“So lets say we managed to stop them noticing a couple of cannons,” said Timothy, “This is like a scratch compared to what they’ll be doing to us.”

“1,000, 15,000,” Tina chimed in.

“Do you really think that many would go unnoticed?” said Timothy, “Aricar’s going to be tearing up the roads looking for nukes hidden under Trinity for goodness sake. Its this sort of optimism that that cost us in Arandior. Things don't go to plan. Both sides have great plans; put them together and end up with a heap of mush and dead people.”

“True,” Reagan replied, “But as Tina was trying to imply, there are 15,000 tank turrets on the continent, and 1,000 tank rounds per turret. The tank rounds are compatable with most of our tanks, so they also act as ammo dumps.”

“We should listen to him though,” Wallace said, speaking up after a long silence. “We cannot be optimistic. However, I believe we can bring up some extreme casualties.”

“Thank you Director Sterling,” said Timothy, still sure that no one felt the situation as grave for the MES as he did, “Any of you answer me this. What can we do to beat the sheer numbers the Farminans can throw at us? Any technology we use they will steal. Any thing we build; they shall build another ten. Any tactic we use; they will mimic. Any strategy they shall counter. Does anyone have a real solution to this problem; other than a temporary Band-Aid?”

There were murmurs around the table. “Just one,” Reagan admitted.

“Just one,” said Timothy, “Beats none I guess. Lets hear it.”

“The final solution,” Snyder answered for him. “Correct?”

“Yes, milord,” Reagan responded.

“Am I allowed on this little secret?” asked Timothy, “Or do I really not want to know?”

“You’re entitled, but it may be too sick to gut,” Snyder replied.

The words “Final Solution” gave Timothy a very good idea what Snyder meant. “I suggest,” said Timothy, “That we find the phone numbers of every political powerbroker in Farmina; even Tobias Grey and President Palmer. I think I’d rather see us make concessions; than this other option.”

“Good idea,” Snyder replied. “And if they do move against us, I’ll threaten that to them.”

“Threatening Farminans has always worked so well in the past,” said Timothy sarcastically.

“Well, if all else fails threatening is a good manipulation tool. But yes, negotiation will come first,” responded Snyder

Timothy felt his message had got through, for now. At the next meeting he suspected he would have to remind them of the threat Farmina posed and the one after that. The Messians were afraid of Ackvick and Rickhart; but three billion were so much more dangerous than one or two.

“In the meantime, we need to prepare both Final Solutions in case we fail here. Ensure that the Hurricane is brought back into full functionality after that unfortunate sabotage,” said Snyder.

“I’ll take personal responsibility sir,” said Timothy, not adding, “And do what I can to save an earth full of perfectly good lovers while I’m at it.”

“I’m sorry,” Snyder replied, “I’ve directed that only Messian-born commanders can direct the repairs. Harvey, you can work on the Hurricane. Reagan, prepare the system. Tim, you will work on preparing our forces for an inevitable invasion.”

“Nothing like the hardest job there is,” said Timothy, ignoring the fact he was one of the best qualified, “Does this include dealing with the enemy within?”

“Do anything necessary to defend the homeland,” Snyder said firmly. “Reagon will assist you.”

“Director Hamilton I hope you don’t mind working under me?” said Timothy.

“Sorry, I’m ranked higher than you,” Reagan said.

Snyder looked at him, “No, Reagan. I’m giving him temporary Director powers for this assignment.”

“My apologies,” Reagan replied. “Alright, although I still outrank you, I will work WITH you.”

“We’re all equals here,” Snyder replied, taking a page out of the old Force Commander book.

“Well we’d better get to work immediately,” said Timothy, “Since I’ve only got to prevent an unstoppable Farminan invasion, crush the well connected Force Commander loyalists and deal with the pro-democracy fanatics; it shouldn’t be too hard.”

“You make it sound easy,” Tia remarked.

“Oh I know,” said Timothy, “Dealing with the democrats alone I suspect will be a challenge. Reagan we are going for the capital immediately; get packed. Director Snyder, I bid leave.”

“Hold on,” Snyder replied, “You will need this.”

He typed into a small console, and a printout came out from the surface of the table, printing out troop deployments, available reserves, and other important information, as well as spy reports, “About 500 pages in length, though this is a shortened version, but it should be easy to skim through.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to be sending a lot of memos,” said Timothy, “I think a very large change in thinking is going to be needed if we want to hold the Farminans.”

He grabbed the reports, “Nothing like a little light bedtime reading.”

“I give you free reign,” Snyder replied, “But don’t abuse it.”

“You are all dismissed.”

All of the directors saluted, then stood up, all in uniform motions.

Timothy joined the salute and then proceeded to attend to his new business.

Snyder stayed at the table when Tia walked up to him. “He’s a damn attractive guy. Is he taken?”

Snyder chuckled. “To be honest, I don’t think he’ll be interested.”

The girl looked at him, then slowly shook his head. “I understand,” she said then deliberately walked out of the room. Snyder smirked.

OOC:...wow, this is a bit long. Is it safe to say you have waaaayyyyy to much time on your hands?

OOC: This thread has taken 4 months for MES and me (and to a lesser extent NC) to write so far. Thats not so much time per week when you work it out.

With his new rank Rickhart also made a clear show of loyalty, to both sides. His obedience was beyond question; and he made sure Snyder knew absolutely everything that was happening aboard the massive vessel. “Question my ability to serve,” Rickhart thought bitterly, “I’ve served others my entire life, before these brats were even born.”

“Commander Foster,” called Rickhart stepping out into the corridor, “Have you seen the paper?”

“No, Dan,” Foster said, stepping into the corridor, looking towards the older man, “Anything interesting?”

“We, I mean the Farminans, and the Macisikanis,” said Rickhart, “Hell, even the Rotovians are looking damn busy in Rotovia. Invasion of the Colonies is immenent it seems. Some idiot has leaked satellite photos of the Farminan positions in the paper, just in case of the Colonies missed them.”

The way he said ‘idiot’ seemed out of place; as though not talking about an idiot.

“Hmm...if that’s the case,” Foster replied, “Then we should see where Snyder is going with this.”

“No mention in the paper of the Messians,” said Rickhart, flipping through, “Oh wait, here we are; you lost the soccer to Tarlag, 4-0.”

Rickhart then corrected himself, “I mean we lost the soccer 4-0.”

Foster smiled, “Not quite used to switching nationalities, are we?”

“Fifty years as a Farminan is hard to forget,” said Rickhart, purposely understating his age.

“Don’t you miss it? At all?” Foster asked.

“I miss a lot of things, its hard to tell which parts of that absence are Farmina,
said Rickhart, “Farmina also has a lot of bad memories attached to it. I’ve lived hard life there.”

“You look it,” Foster said, part joking, part serious as the overhead lights caught Rickhart’s plate.

Rickhart promptly changed the subject, “Have you nearly finished assessing my performance?”

“Rickhart...” Foster said, putting his hand on Rickhart’s shoulder, “It’s a long process. You’re in for the long haul.”

“I feel like I’m in a head long dash towards the grave,” said Rickhart, “The years are adding up as are the scars.”
“Yeah, that must suck,” Foster replied, “Now onto more pressing matters...this invasion that I have a feeling we’re being ordered to.”

Rickhart could tell when he was getting nowhere, “What do you plan on doing?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I thought I would ask you,” Foster said in response.

“Has Snyder been in contact?” asked Rickhart.

“I wouldn’t know,” Foster replied, scratching his chin, “But I’m sure that he knows of me now, and is probably biding his time before dropping his iron fist on us.”

“I suspect we are still useful,” said Rickhart, “And so is this ship. Perhaps we could use that to foster a temporary deal.”

“And what sort of deal were you thinking?” Foster asked.

“Perhaps we should talk in my office,” said Rickhart, “Colonel, put on the kettle.”

“Sounds good, just don’t poison me,” Foster said jokingly.

Rickhart was about step into his office when Ms Turner raced into his office, attracted by the noise of a boiling kettle. “She might,” Rickhart said quietly, before stepping in.

“I heard that,” said Ms Turner, thumping him with a damp mop.

Foster jumped back instinctively, then chuckled, holding his hand out to Rickhart. “Ms. Turner...I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” Foster commented.

“What you wish for is none of my concern,” said Ms Turner going over to the kettle, “Coffee or tea, Mr Foster. And if so, how so?”

“I’d like some tea, please,” Foster said, smiling, standing up the weakened Rickhart, “Stirred, no tricks.”

Ms Turner then proceeded to make two coffees and two teas, passing one tea to Foster, and coffee to each of the Farminan men. Next she started unpacking an assortment of cakes and biscuits, as Rickhart sat down checking his monitors. Despite officially only being a major, he ruled the Final Victory with an iron fist and was continually on the watch for Messian resistance to his total rule.

The slightest rebellion would be smashed with the brutality that had made Rickhart feared across the world. “Thank you Ms Turner, you may go,” said Rickhart, still mildly damp, “This is a sensitive discussion.”

“I won’t tell,” insisted Ms Turner, while trying to tempt Foster to some slightly stale carrot cake.

“No, thank you,” Foster replied.

“Ms Turner please leave us,” said Rickhart, “Don’t you have a floor to mop?”

Ms Turner turned red and stormed off, taking her cakes with her, as well as Rickhart’s kettle and one of his cups.

“Colonel close the door please,” said Rickhart, “Lord Commander, it occurs to me that if it is rebels against Snyder, the rebels are doomed to lose. We shall need Farminan help to bring down the tyrant and Farmina is currently in bed with Snyder. Snyder however is busy going after the Colonies. He doesn’t want two juggle to problems at once. He’d much rather smash one problem and then deal with the next. Thus both sides have an incentive to stop this little feud until after the crushing of the Colonies.”

Foster looked at Rickhart suspiciously, “Take a sip of my tea please.”

Rickhart sipped Foster’s tea and said, “Do you really think that batty old lady would poison your tea?”

Ms Turner stormed back in, hit Rickhart with her dripping mop. She then hit Foster for doubting her, before storming out again.

“Ms Turner,” called out Rickhart, “Please stop listening at my door.”

“I’m not,” responded Ms Turner, sounding as though she was just outside the door.

Foster rubbed his head, wincing. His head was all wet and filthy, “That woman should be used as a terrorism weapon.”

“Perhaps you should just drink your tea,” suggested the Colonel.

Foster took his tea, and took a small sip, “I was trying to make a joke. Anyways, how would you know this much about him?”

“Interpolation,” said Rickhart, “Learn the chess player by watching his game. Snyder might be crazy; but he isn’t stupid. He dealt with the Force Commanders one by one. That’s the clever way. I doubt he’s suddenly going to get stupid when dealing with whole groups.”

Foster nodded. “Are you working with him?” He said, calmly, almost casually.

Ms Turner stormed back in, hit Foster with the mop and said, “That’s for impugning Mister Rickhart’s honour,” before storming out again.

“That’s a little left field,” said Rickhart, “Where did that question come from?”

“Just a moment,” Foster said. He got up, opened the door and quickly grabbed Ms. Turner’s mop. He then smacked her with it, said something along similar lines but Rickhart couldn't tell, then walked in, locked the door, and sat down, mop in hand, “Much better...I was just curious.”

“He offered me a job,” said Rickhart, “I’ll be needing work if this rebellion fails.”

Foster listened carefully from his seat for Ms. Turner, “I see. Did you take it?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” said Rickhart, “Of course I did. Its insurance. Whichever side wins this spat; I’ll have a job to go to. Beats begging for a living.”

“I can see why you would,” Foster replied, notably not angry, but almost casual, “Does that mean you could help us restore what’s broken?”

“I’ve spent a lifetime trying to make of eggs out of shattered eggshells," said Rickhart, who was better known for making shattered eggshells out of eggs, “I don’t see why I would stop now.”

“Alright, well, I’ve heard rumors that Ackvick was knocked unconscious at some point. How did this happen?” Foster replied, taking another sip.

“Sleeping gas,” explained Rickhart, “He took off his mask while we were pumping the ship with sleeping gas.”

Foster chuckled, while he took another sip, “I can almost not believe that statement...however, with the new upgrades, I can see how.”

“Shall I proceed with my plan?” asked Rickhart, taking a large mouthful of coffee.

“Alright, what’s the plan?” Foster asked.

“I ring him up and ask him what he is prepared to offer,” said Rickhart, “Well perhaps not ring, but contact. Then I make a deal and get the force commanders to confirm it.”

He didn’t mention the part about hoping this would earn him final confirmation as a force commander.

“Hmm...” Foster replied, “Well, do what you can, and get back to us. Anyways, what else did you wish to speak about?”

“Nothing else,” said Rickhart, “Colonel, get me past Snyder’s congo line of secretaries.”

“Immediately sir,” said the Colonel, patching into the comms system and then repeating the words ‘Dan Rickhart’ as though it was a password.

“How do you know that he’s ‘sleeping’ with Farmina?” Foster asked.

“He bombed the Colonial fleet the other day,” said Rickhart, “He’s building up forces for something and I doubt its to invade Farmina. He has made his hostilities to the Colonies clear and has a ceasefire with Farmina. That seems to me like he has switched beds.”

“Woah,” Foster said, “That man is completely unpredictable.”

“Perhaps,” said Rickhart, “But perhaps he just realised he made a mistake and decided to choose an easier target.”

“Or he’s trying to destabilize both nations,” Foster replied, “I found a file at one point, and secured it onto the ship's computer that explains more of Snyder’s motives.”

“Evil villain. Trying to conquer the world,” said Rickhart, “Evil laugh and so on?”

“No, no,” Foster laughed, “More complex. More like world domination via puppet governments, assassinations, hostile takeovers, and economic starvation.”

“Then fear.”

“Well then he has bit off more than he can chew,” said Rickhart, “He won’t be the first person to choke from doing that.”

“I think so too,” Foster replied, “But I think he has another plan as well. He’s built a ship called the Hurricane, and it’s apparently designed to house the best humans on Earth, and destroy Earth. Almost like an Arc, but it's both God and savior.”

The Colonel passed Rickhart the phone, “They are getting Snyder for you now.”

Rickhart brought the phone to his ear and locked eyes with Foster opposite him.

“Working with the devil, are we?” Snyder remarked.

“Good evening Lord Director,” said Rickhart, “To cut to the chase; you don’t want to be bothered by rebels while trying to smash the Colonies. Equally the remaining Force Commanders don't really feel like being smashed right now. Perhaps you would be willing to offer some form of ceasefire.”

There was a long pause, “I’m listening.”

“Safe passage for all those loyal to the rebel force commanders to the Militia Enforced State must be ensured,” said Rickhart, “In exchange that all hostile operations against your regime cease until a treaty between the Militia Enforced State exists. Furthermore, you shall end all efforts to hunt down Force Commander loyalists in the MES.”

There was another long pause.

“And,” sighed Rickhart, suspecting he needed something else to appease his secret master, “The remaining Force Commanders will serve you against the Northern Colonies. It is upon the completion of operations you shall ensure their safe return to the MES. Once the treaty is signed; any dispute remains a private matter within Messian borders.”

There was more pause. Unknown to Rickhart, he was turning up the dosage to the X-V-2 contraption attached to his arm.

“Is the phone working Colonel?” asked Rickhart.

“Yes,” said the Colonel, “The system is picking up faint breathing.”

“The terms are unacceptable in their current form,” Snyder replied, “It leaves too large of a force to stand out against the regime.”

“That force will stand against the regime both ways,” argued Rickhart, “This way prevents you facing two enemies at once.”

There was a sigh, “Okay, but I do not want them in command of any force.”

“I will relay your offer to the Force Commanders,” said Rickhart, “It will be up to them to accept exact terms with you.”

“I want to hear it now. You can’t hide that Foster’s in the room with you,” Snyder commented.

“Ackvick and Dasch are not,” said Rickhart, “However I think you are being unwise not to exploit perfectly good commanders, even if it is only a divisional command.”

Snyder lamented, “Alright, but I want them in charge of my own divisions, not loyalists. That’s my final offer.”

Rickhart gave a small nod; then the Colonel let his comms set and explained the deal to Foster.

“Well...if it means not being prosecuted, it will buy us some time to save our nation,” Foster mused, “Alright, I’ll play devil’s advocate.”

“It appears we have a deal Lord Director,” said Rickhart, “The Colonel will inform you when Dasch and Ackvick confirm this; and I see no other possibility.”

Rickhart also couldn’t see how the Force Commanders could prevent Rickhart joining their number now; not after this.

“...And Rickhart, I need to speak to you privately,” Snyder commented.

“That can be arranged,” said Rickhart, “Good evening Lord Director.”

“Good evening,” Snyder replied, cutting the communication.

Rickhart handed the phone back to the Colonel. “It is a good deal,” he said reassuringly, “I’m sure Ackvick and Dasch will agree.”

“Skeptical, I am,” Foster replied, “I have the feeling that he could crush me at any moment without consequence.”

“I think there is incentive for him to oblige,” said Rickhart, “We should make this agreement known to Farmina. If he breaks it; then they will have an excuse to reek revenge in our name.”

“Very well,” Foster said, shaking Rickhart’s hand, “Thank you. But don’t think for one moment that I trust you. You still need to work on it.”

Rickhart wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he simply shook Foster’s hand and said, “Excuse me but I am going to have a swift nap,” before heading to his room.

Once there, he sealed the door and quietly whispered, “I’m alone Lord Director.”

“What do you know of a Timothy Kael?” Snyder asked.

“The name sounds familiar,” said Rickhart, “But I cannot recall from where.”

“Well...” Snyder replied, “He has an uncanny look-alike to Palmer.”

“The actor,” exclaimed Rickhart, “He was an actor that went missing. It was presumed Palmer killed him, but the theory was later dismissed.”

“Well,” Snyder said, “He came up, and I need some information on him.”

“He was an actor,” said Rickhart, “And he suddenly vanished after visiting dear Mister Palmer. Palmer was accused of killing him. The accusation was dropped; but some said Palmer just paid off the cops. That’s all I know.”

“What if I told you,” Snyder continued, “That he’s working for Palmer?”

“That would surprise me actually,” said Rickhart, “Are you sure you've found the real Timothy Kael?”

“I met him personally,” Snyder replied, in a matter of fact, “Uncanny looks to Palmer, very similar build. Works as his right hand man.”

Rickhart suddenly felt he knew where this was leading, but wanted to avoid that matter, “Since you are giving out commands to the rebels; what about me?”

“Alright,” Snyder replied, “Your orders, is to reunite with the fleet, and prepare for day and night operations. I’m going to send back the Final Victory’s crew to the ship. Then, once you’re in position, I want you to do anything you think is necessary to crush the Northern Colonies’ government.”

“What commands are we being given? Division? Corps? Army? Army Group?” asked Rickhart, whose own military experience had seen him lead nothing much bigger than a platoon.

Snyder went quiet for a moment, “Alright. Major, shortly, you will be in command of the entire 666th Devil Hunters Division.”

“Shortly,” said Rickhart, “I shouldn't be a Major. If the Force Commanders don't promote me, you can.”

Rickhart did however find it humorous that he might be the first major ever to be given command of an entire division.

“Well, the truth comes out,” Snyder replied, “You’re in it for the power, aren’t you?”

“Actually,” said Rickhart, “I want to own my own home.”

“Well, I could always give you a plot of land and cash to build your own....” Snyder suggested.

“A rather large house,” expanded Rickhart, “And you ain’t going to indulge my tastes that easily; I’d have to earn it and we both know it.”

“Well, once this is all over, I will do so,” Snyder replied, “You’ve suffered enough for the cause.”

After a lull in the conversation, Snyder spoke up again, “The 666th is our most elite division we have. It is completely filled with highly trained soldiers, and are armed with excellent equipment. I think they will satisfy your needs.”

“Combined arms?” presumed Rickhart, since Snyder hadn't said it was an armoured division; nor implied an infantry one.

“Yes,” Snyder replied, “Well trained troops, medium and heavy tanks, a few superheavies, and a partridge in a pear tree.”

“I’ll crush them,” promised Rickhart, “You just watch. I’ll throw them all into the Straight of Rotovia under the weight of my advance. What of the other Force Commanders?”

“The other Force Commanders,” Snyder replied, “Will be commanding much smaller groups than your own.”

That caused Rickhart to blink; but not too heavily. Of course all the plum jobs would be given to Snyder’s new rising stars and from what Rickhart had heard, they were a match for the Force Commanders in talent.

“Very well,” said Rickhart, “Is there anything else?”

“There is,” Snyder replied, “What do you know of Palmer?”

“What do you need to know?” asked Rickhart.

“You know him better than I do,” Snyder admitted, “Tell me everything you know.”

“Rich queer,” said Rickhart, “Brutal bastard; who gets what, and who, he wants. His wealth earned him a lordship.”

“Nothing else?" Snyder replied.

“Nope,” said Rickhart, “Now, I better be getting back to work.”

“One more question,” Snyder said, “What about trust? What is your trust level of him, if you never met him before?”

“Wouldn't trust him one inch,” said Rickhart, “But he is a capitalist at heart. If you have his collateral; he'll keep paying the mortgage.”

“Hmm...interesting,” Snyder replied, “Would you think that allying with Palmer would be a good idea?”

That was when Rickhart’s personal hatred of Palmer took over, “I wouldn't talk to him, but for the fact he is President of Farmina.”

“Alright,” Snyder replied, “Then you might be interested in the fact that I have a large chunk of Palmer’s collateral, that we can use to our advantage.”

“Then I suggest you use it wisely,” said Rickhart.

“Would you want to work with Palmer?” Snyder asked inauspiciously.

“No,” said Rickhart firmly, “Now how much longer do you possibly want to go on about the man? Damn it Lord Snyder, you’re sounding obsessed.”

Snyder sighed, “Definitely not. It’s just usually better to ally an enemy, than to fight it.”

Snyder then heard a knock on the door behind him, “I have to go. You have your orders.”

“Yes milord,” confirmed Rickhart, then he fell silent.

Snyder turned off his transmission, and turned around, “Door unlock. Enter.”

The door make an audible clunk, as it unlocked, then opened. Timothy stood in the doorway, “Come in Advisor.”

“You summoned me,” said Timothy, recalled from his reviewing of Messian military deployments in the north.

“Yes,” Snyder replied, “I wanted you to update our Directorate on preparations as of far. But before this, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Actually I had a question,” said Timothy, “Your thinning our forces in the north; subtly I admit, but I know those forces must be going somewhere. I suspect forces in the south are thinning out too.”

Realising he hadn’t actually asked a question, Timothy added, “Where are our forces going?”

“Some of our forces,” Snyder replied, “At the request of our allies, I've ordered three divisions to the area, to deal with the Northern Colonies threat.”

Three divisions didn’t strike Timothy as an awful lot, “Very well Jason; and what was your question?”

“My question is, is what do you know of Rickhart?” Snyder inquired.

“Nothing you don’t,” said Timothy, “Trouble.”

“Explain everything you know,” Snyder asked.

“You've talked to him,” said Timothy, “You know far more than me.”

“Well,” Snyder replied, “Anything? He’s very infamously known.”

“He tends to flatten stuff,” added Timothy unhelpfully.

Snyder sighed and shook his head, “I will see you in the ready room in one hour, dismissed.”

Dan Rickhart stepped onto the walkway off the Final Victory; the first of the ragtag fleet belonging to the Messian rebels to dock.

“Tarlag gentlemen,” said Rickhart, “And if you look west I believe you will find the Colonies.”

Foster stepped off of the walkway and onto solid concrete. He look a deep breath, “Finally...land. For a while there I was wondering if I was ever going to leave it.”

Rickhart followed Foster off the boat; his pistol sitting firmly on his belt, “I must ask if you have had my case considered? It has been sometime since the testing now.”

Foster shook his head, “Rickhart, it’s only been a week since we did the tests. The board takes normally a few months to review all the data and such...and with the nation in turmoil, it may take longer, I don’t know.”

“When things go wrong,” said Rickhart in mockery, “Act indecisively.”

“True,” Foster replied. Behind them followed the other two Force Commanders.

“I hope you gentlemen are armed,” said Rickhart, “I doubt Snyder will be betray our alliance so publicly. Not a mistake I wish to die for but.”

Foster unholstered his Falcon Magnum, and flashed it at Rickhart, “Nor do I.”

Rickhart made a polite cough, “We're in a foreign country. Behave!”

As they looked ahead, the four men could see a high-ranking Snyder Guard soldier speaking to a Tarlag officer.

“Gentlemen,” said Rickhart advancing quickly; the sun glinting off the plate that hid half his face, “Commander Daniel Rickhart. I believe your expecting us.”

Rickhart didn’t bother to name his comrades; or mention how he mysteriously got promoted to commander, not that Snyder loyalists would care for the rankings given out by the Force Commanders.

“So I finally get to have the pleasure,” the Messian officer said, holding out his hand, “Director Nicolas Austin.”

Rickhart shook Nicolas’ hand, grinning politely before adding, “Never heard of you.”

“Probably not,” Nicolas replied, “I’m a part of the new guard...wait a moment.” He looked towards Foster, then the other two Force Commanders. “What’s this?”

“Didn’t Director Snyder mention them?” asked Rickhart, concerned enough to feel for his pistol beneath his long black coat.

“He did, but at first I didn’t believe him. Why would he be working with...” Nicolas paused to glare at the three former Force Commanders, “...them?”

The return look on the other Force Commanders matched the glare.

“He doesn’t want to have to worry about certain persons causing sabotage while he is trying to fight the Colonials,” explained Rickhart, certain persons being the Force Commanders.

“Understood,” Nicolas responded, “Follow me, we have assignments to discuss.”

“Indeed,” said Rickhart, following in lock step, “What has Snyder in store for us?”

“Well, first of all, the Force Commanders are being given command of the 163rd and the 129th Mechanized Infantry Divisions, split between the three of them.”

“Does that include me?” asked Rickhart.

“No,” Nicolas replied, “You, and you alone will gain full control of the 666th Devil Hunters, if you remember.”

“That would make you our corps commander?” asked Rickhart.

“Exactly,” Nicolas replied, “All of you answer to me. If you don’t listen to me, you’ll be considered a traitor and shot.”

“Do I get some sort of rank?” asked Rickhart; knowing that Snyder’s men would give a damn what rank the Force Commanders gave him.

“For this war,” Nicolas replied, “You are all ranked General, one star.”

Rickhart nodded, “I guess we could also use a map and transport to our divisional headquarters.”

“Right this way,” Nicolas replied.

“As you will,” said Rickhart, keeping lock step behind Nicolas.

A moment later, Nicolas turned around the corner where a building stood. Down the row, Rickhart could see literally hundreds of Messian tanks parked in line. Nearby, a vehicle was waiting for them.

Rickhart noticed that the tanks lined up were a lot smaller than the tanks that he’s been used to using; they were single-barreled, and seemed to look a lot more maneuverable.

Rickhart’s mind whirled, “Is this about the Colonials? Or is this a weapons tests, to see if you can beat Farminans at their own game?”

Nicolas looked at Rickhart with disbelief, “You seriously haven’t heard of the Shatterer MBT before?” he said as they arrived at the transport vehicle, which was an APC.

“Its more the numbers,” said Rickhart, “I’d have thought you would have had more of an assortment.”

“Oh, that's down the other rows,” Nicolas said as he got in, and got himself buckled in.

Rickhart sat down and buckled up, “So you aren’t planning to play the Farminans game?”

“I guess you don’t know true Messian tactics then,” Nicolas replied as the vehicle went underway with the other Force Commanders buckled in near them. They were speaking amongst themselves, too quiet to detect but Rickhart did notice.

Rickhart tried not to be suspicious of the other Force Commanders; then turned to wondering whether he should have brought Ms Turner with him. On second thoughts; letting her have the Final Victory probably wasn’t a great idea.

“Rickhart?” Nicolas said.

“Just pondering,” said Rickhart, “And I am familiar with Messian tactics. You aim to misplace your tanks.”

That was a poke at the Messian humiliation (a better description than a defeat) in the Arandior war.

Nicolas glared at Rickhart, “I’m aware of the history of MES/Farminan relations during the past fifty years.”

Rickhart wasn’t sure if Nicolas knew exactly who stole the tanks and threw them back at the Messians; or if he even knew it was all down to one person. “Well I’m sure security is improved,” said Rickhart.

“Yes, IFF embitters installed into soldier’s uniforms,” Nicolas replied, “If an enemy is detected, the cabin is flooded with nerve gas. Wash-safe too.”

Rickhart could imagine nerve gas going badly wrong, but decided it best not to say anything.

“What’s the main news network in the MES?” asked Rickhart

“The MESNSB,” Nicolas replied.

“That should prove useful,” said Rickhart, “Mighty useful.”

“How so?” Nicolas replied.

“Division commands make for mighty fine propaganda footage,” said Rickhart.

Nicolas chuckled as a buzzer emitted from the communication console on the other side of the APC.

Nicolas turned and pressed a button to see who was trying to send a message. It listed, Advisor Brown..

“Just a message,” Nicolas said.
“Hmm...I wonder what he wants,” Nicolas said, as he hit the button on the console.

“Director here, what do you need?” Nicolas inquired.

“I am checking whether you are prepared for Operation Pollo,” said Timothy.

“Yes, everything is going to plan. All of our divisions are on Tarlag soil, and are prepared for the full invasion.”

“Good,” said Timothy, “I won't have to go over there and spank you at the orders of Director Snyder. I will be contacting you again soon.”

“Roger,” Nicolas replied, shutting off the comlink, “What a pansy...”

A stout figure sat down at the table, a person with no manners (or sense) would call him fat. An accurate person would call him obese. Several guards clad in black protected the once President. Tobias Grey pulled out a cigarette and light the end. “Show in our guest,” said Tobias.

Beside him sat someone who wasn’t a blackshirt, but a representative from the military; a Colonel who had an undistinguished career.

The Messian, a man in his late forties, wearing the standard gray military fatigues, and a gray arm patch signifying the old order, walked over to take a seat in front of the famous Farminan.

“Sit down,” said Tobias Grey, temporarily removing his cigarette, "You know who I am. The man on my right we shall refer to as Fred. His presence here is highly unofficial."

The military was under Palmer's control; but their agenda was more aligned with Grey. They would help the Moralist where they could; declaring ignorance of everything.

“Charmed,” the Messian replied, holding out his hand for a handshake. “My name is Bill Gleeson.”

Tobias Grey put his cigarette back in his mouth, before extending his hand to shake Gleeson’s. Then ‘Fred’ shook Gleeson’s hand. Tobias Grey took turn to speak, “It is my intention to see Director Snyder kick. It is my intention to see your country have a Parliament and a President. I believe we share a vision.”

“I believe we do,” Bill responded, grabbing his own cigarette. He takes a lighter, and lights the end of it. He looks back up, “What can you do to help?”

“It is my intention to ensure Snyder kicks,” said Tobias Grey, “Try him for tyranny and then stick him in a noose. We will however need you to make significant trouble for the regime...”

Tobias Grey lent over to Bill, passing a scrap of paper, “We need Snyder committed to a rebellion on this date. I also want the rebels committed against Snyder on that date.”

The man took another puff of his own cigarette, as he looked at the paper. “Only one problem,” he said, “We have a huge number of idiots who haven't seen freedom of politics in nearly a century. I don’t have a lot of followers.”

“I don’t expect you to overthrow Snyder by yourself,” said Tobias, “We will however need him kept busy. We will also need disruption of supplies and reinforcements from behind the lines. We need you to be thorn in the side; not a knife in the heart.”

'Fred' spoke for the first time, “The Farminan army will be the knife.”

The man looked at the Colonel, then at Tobias with a look of distrust. “I may not like the system, and I certainly do not like Snyder. But to let another nation invade would...be worse,” Bill said, with mistrust, puffing his cigarette more.

“Is it?” said Tobias, “An invasion is for the now. How many generations will tyranny last if no one tries to stop it?”

“Well...” the man said, “That’s what Geordy Vash said over eighty years ago when he started invading nearby nations because they were tyranized by their leaders, which ended up sparking the continental civil war, and honestly, I don't want to see that, or the forty year martial law again.”

“You’re nation is already a police state,” observed Tobias, “This is about ending tyranny, not starting it.”

“I see your point,” Bill mused, “But all things considered, I think our nation isn’t all that bad compared to some others, though honestly it is time for change, which is why I decided to come here.”

The Colonel, or “Fred” as he was going by placed a large box on the table, “People in Farmina will see your resistance supplied. Weapons, money, food, the lot.”

He made the point of not mentioning which people, “But you can’t do this alone. You yourself testified to being under strength.”

“I was going to say though about that,” Bill replied, “The numbers against Snyder’s rule are a lot larger than my pro-democracy group, so perhaps if we teamed up, we could do something.”

“I would not see power placed in the hands of a hundred local warchiefs,” said Tobias Grey, “I do not intend to turn the MES into a band of roaming, warring packs. Those left standing will be those that I decided to leave standing. Power to the just.”

Tobias reached down for a scotch bottle, “That sounds like something to drink too; power to the just.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bill replied with a smile, taking another puff.

Tobias Grey picked up three glasses and gave each a sip of the scotch; before pouring some water into each to dilute the drinks, “I’m glad we see eye to eye.”

“Yes. Cut the tail off the snake, rather than going for the head, which is well defended,” Bill said metaphorically, while taking a sip of the drink.

“We shall deal with the head,” said Tobias, “However you may be swallowed whole if you try such a thing. Farmina on the other hand is more than this snake can chew.”
That snakes didn’t chew their prey was a fact that Tobias skipped over.

“They don’t chew,” Bill replied sarcastically with a smile, taking another gulp of the drink.

Tobias sipped his drink, “We shall see that you have everything you need to keep up this rebellion. I believe you will have easy access to weapons, correct?”

Bill shook his head, “If you trigger them to believe that there is an invasion going on, the civilian weapons lockers will come up. At this point, anyone and anybody will gain a decent weapon.”

“Is there anything we can do to stop that?” asked ‘Fred’, “We don't want weapons floating around if we can avoid it.”

“No,” Bill replied, who then gulped down the entire rest of the mostly full glass of scotch, “Standard Messian protocol. They may be messed up, but they're not stupid. The continental civil war taught them that, and thus, every single person over the age of 18 has at least basic military experience, and are expected to go to arms. The only way to circumvent that problem, is...stealth. Or civil war."

“The Messians cannot maintain a fully mobile population for long,” said Tobias, “Only a blind jackass can’t see that. Pulling people out of factories is one of the stupidest things they can do. Wars are won by workers.”

When it can to stupid things; Tobias knew people under threat were perfectly capable of them.

“True enough, but that will still make taking cities a real pain...” Bill said, then going distant, “...I’m betraying my own country for even thinking of trying this.”

“Nationalism is a foolish notion,” said Tobias, happy to use nationalism when it was to his benefit, “Even Snyder isn’t a nationalist; and he has some respect from me for that. He is a man who doesn't see countries; he sees a world. Thinking about yourself as a nationality is constraining; but we are talking about liberation.”

“But you are correct about taking cities,” said Fred, “Hopefully Messians prefer being alive to dead.”

Bill pondered, “What can you promise that will ensure me that my nation won't be destroyed?”

“How would you define destroyed?” asked Tobias.

Bill chuckled, “I mean, stable government, again a first rate nation, and no corruption and shit that I’ve seen in some so-called democracies of the current and past.”

“It will be a term of the treaty that a Parliament and a President must be elected,” said Tobias, “I can’t promise no corruption; I’d be a liar. All I can promise is things will be better; the Messian people will be truly free. Stable, I'll do what I can to see that no one plots an overthrow; but I can't run your nation's business for you.”

Bill then touched his glass, inviting for more scotch, “But what are your motives? I mean, you were just now idolizing Snyder's vision. Sounds contradictory to me.”

“Respecting his vision,” said Tobias, pouring more scotch and water into Bill’s glass, “You can respect a man and think he is completely crackers. My motive is one I have often expressed; the freedom to vote. Since declaring war on my nation; the Messian dictatorship has climbed up my ‘regimes to destroy’ list. There is also an issue of security posed by a strong military dictatorship.”

“Very good,” Bill replied, “Alright, I do know something though about the defensive capabilities on a section of coastline in the MES. Out of the way though, but.”

“Well, as you’ve probably guessed by now, I’m an officer,” Bill stated, pointing at his rank, “I’m the commander of defensive thirty-five, west of Sciren. Since that area is quite desolate compared to some places on the coastline, it's mainly computer controlled. Only a few staff man the station there, and I hold the command codes to that defense grid.”

“That shall be noted,” said ‘Fred’, “We shall incorporate that into our plans. However, it is not our current intention to launch major operations that far out west.”

Tobias Grey asked the Messian a very simple question, “So will you do as we ask and cause Snyder a headache so he won't be able to throw his full strength against Farmina?”

“Is a refill possible?” asked Bill, as he finished off his drink.

Tobias Grey topped up the Messian’s drink, beginning to wonder if the fellow was planning to leave sober, “We have given you a date. I assume you can buy most of what you need within the MES. Shall we see the Snyder regime put on the pyre on that day?”

"Alright, you've convinced me," the Messian said. "However, I only ask that you spare as many Messians as you possibly can, and not some sort of personal vendetta."

“I will not be too excessive,” said Tobias, putting a briefcase on the desk, opening it and turning it towards the Messian, “Messian currency. Enough to keep your resistance well supplied.”

“Very well,” the Messian replied with a smile, taking the suitcase, “Then in that case, I should hand you this.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, feeling for something inserted there. The man revealed a form of USB flash drive, putting it on table in front of the two men.

“Got it in USB, since I’m sure that Messian storage mediums wouldn't be compatible.”

“What does it contain?” asked Tobias.

“The current, and the last ten software IFF codes for the Messian military system,” the Messian replied, “It wouldn't be useful as fer se, but install it into a Messian IFF, after figuring out the software format, this should break the codes, or make them.”

“Very useful,” said Tobias, “You better be going. We know where to contact you when we need you.”

The Messian nodded, “Please, please be gentle with us; most of us aren't even a part of his order. We all have families, and I personally don't want a bloody fight. We’ve seen enough wars on our continent.”

The Messian nodded, standing up.

“Good bye Bill,” said Tobias, “We may still request your aid disabling the western naval guns.”

The Messian nodded, gave a wave, and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“The wheels begin to turn,” said Tobias, “Slowly, but they do turn.”

A pistol sat firmly in Foster’s back, “Tobias Grey wants a little chat.”

Foster’s hands went slowly up into the air. “You...you could have asked politely,” Foster said, shaken up from being ambushed.

“Tobias Grey wanted to be assured that a representative of the Force Commanders would chat,” said the black-shirt, “This assures it.”

He then slipped away his pistol as discreetly as he approached, “Follow me."

Foster shook his head violently from getting shivers, then turned to follow the black-shirt, “Do you wish to speak to the others?”

“Do you speak for all Force Commanders?” asked the black-shirt.

Foster slowed down. “Yes I do,” Foster replied, “Well...of the old order anyways.”

The blackshirt lead Foster on to a van marked, “Large goods.”

“In the back,” said the blackshirt, after quickly removing any weapons from the Force Commander.

“So unfriendly,” Foster remarked as he stepped in, and took a seat.

Tobias Grey was already sitting in the back of the van, “Commander Foster; I believe you will be returning to the MES soon?”

“No,” Foster mused. Looking on, then looking towards Tobias. “I’m considered a Federal felon. In Messian terms, it means that if you come back, you won't be in one piece.”

“I was of the understanding that the truce between the Commanders and Snyder included a term promising safe passage,” said Tobias.

“Well,” Foster replied, “Snyder may be a man of his word, but if he considers someone to be too big of a threat, or they snoop too close, his personal security takes precedence.”

“How would you like a submarine trip?” asked Tobias, “I’ll honour Snyder’s agreement for him, save him the effort.”

“Submarine trip?” Foster replied, “Mind if you bring the others along?”

“I’ll send you all there," said Tobias, passing Foster a note, “As long as you meet up with the pro-Commander resistance and cause trouble. On this date you break into open rebellion, that'll signal the Farminan invasion.”

Foster look down at the note, and took a close look at it. It showed the date of when the rebellion should start; the same date as given to the democratic resistance.

Foster pocketed the note, “How do you plan on starting this rebellion? Pitchforks and torches?”

“The rebellion is your concern,” said Tobias, “I assume your resistance actually has weapons or could easily obtain them.”

“Definitely,” Foster replied, “I think there’s something I should tell you though, before we get too involved in this, and one thing you have to promise me.” Foster looked forward again.

“Spit it out,” said Tobias.

“First off,” Foster replied, “What are your motives for this war?”

“Finishing off what Snyder started,” said Tobias, “I’ll be the one in at the kill.”

“And after?” Foster pressed.

“Ensuring the MES is a role model nation,” said Tobias, “A role model nation with less claws.”

“A democratic nation?” Foster replied with a slight frown.

“Exactly,” said Tobias.

Foster looked away, “Democracy fails without safeguards. You out of all people should know this.”

“That we have survived so much,” said Tobias, “Proves exactly how versatile democracy is.”

“...And how easily corruptible it is,” Foster replied, “Palmer, Rickhart, Anderson.”

“Palmer hasn’t been a bad president,” said Tobias, “Other than the Reaction Corp incident. Rickhart always meant well when he was breaking things. Anderson, well I doubt intelligence is something that will ever shine on the Colonies.”

“Still,” Foster said, pressing the issue, “You yourself were taken out of power without an election before.”

“The system is flawed, hence why we were about to implement a joint democratic/dictatorship system before we were wrongly ousted.”

“A divided system is a recipe for chaos,” said Tobias, “One part of the government will gobble up the other. Haven’t you ever read ‘Leviathan’?”

“Hey, now,” Foster replied, “We’re spitting out a democratic system, not eating one up.”

“It looks to me that Snyder gobbled it up,” said the fat man, “Although I suspect that it won’t be the democratic element that gets gobbled up next time.”

Foster looked on, “Whatever the case, from our core group, our intentions are honest and pure. Our system works, but I really think that a democracy to keep ourselves in check, and us to keep them in check is the best way. We’'ve seen the best and worst from both forms of government.”

“That not what is on the table,” said Tobias, “The MES will have a Parliament to legislate, a President to enact the decrees of the Parliament and the Force Commanders will maintain a purely military role.”

Foster shook his head, “Technically speaking, you aren’t in a position to give us an ultimatum. After all, instead of sacrifising millions of both of our nations lives, we could do the dirty work for you. You have to have some faith in the old system before Snyder; it never gave any trouble until now.”

“It is you who are in no position,” said Grey, the indominable fat man, “If Snyder decides not to return you to the resistance; that makes you persona non gratia here. Criminals to be confined. Surely a nice military career is better or perhaps a cushy retirement?”

“I never wanted to be a true military man,” Foster replied, shaking his head, “I just wanted to do what was best for our nation. A purely military job would depress me.”

“Then run for Parliament,” said Tobias, “Don’t rule because some test chose you, written by men like yourself who also gave themselves the right to rule.”

“It wasn’t written by men like us,” Foster replied, “It was also ratified by over one-thousand people.”

Foster looked down, then up, “But that’s for another day. Now, the thing I should tell you about. We’ve been playing devil’s advocate, and it might cause problems down the road,” Foster replied.

“Explain,” ordered Tobias in a non-ordering way.

Foster looked at Tobias, “We found your Chancellor of Foreign Affairs.”

“I don’t suppose he plans to quietly retire in a country we’ve never heard of?” said Tobias cynically.

“No, no,” Foster said, chuckling, “Quite the opposite actually. Heas applying for Force Commander.”

“I thought disappearing would be asking too much,” said Tobias Grey, “So I suppose he’ll be joining you in the submarines then? If you expect me to take him; you are badly mistaken. Will becoming a Force Commander?”

“At this rate, no,” Foster replied, “He’s done mostly exempliary so far in the testing. However, he has failed on a major points.”

“Being?” asked Tobias.

“One of the most important parts, being able to take orders from someone above.”

Tobias was a little surprised that Rickhart had failed such a simple thing, “So do we have a deal?

Foster shook his head, “I don’t like it. I will only accept with this one compromise that should be reasonable.”

“I give you a trip; you give Snyder trouble,” said Tobias, “What’s not to like?”

Foster ignored Tobias’ shot at a bit of humour, “All I ask, is that before you start tearing down our government structure, that you take, or at least deeply inspect our testing methods. I just want to make sure that you know what system you're going to destroy before you do it.”

“As you wish,” said Tobias, “Brief cases full of money on your way out, Commander Foster. Help yourself.”

“As tempting it may be,” Foster replied, as the van pulled up to the naval yard, “I’ve vowed myself to be against temptation.”

“To fund the resistance,” said Tobias, resigned to the fact that dealing with Messians could be like dealing with childern, “And I nearly forgot; I’ll keep TaskForce 4 and the Final Victory as well.”

Foster shrugged, “Good point. But why the ships?”

“You can’t take the ships with you on the submarine,” said Tobias, “And you can't leave them here or give them to Snyder; so they are mine.”

“Can we have them back after the war?” Foster asked, “After all, we’ll be a booming economy and a democracy by then.” Foster then rolled his eyes.

“We’ll see,” said Tobias, “I doubt it. The Farminan navy has been criticised for being too small for far too long. Unfortunately, navies are so expensive to build up; so this will save us some costs. You’ll just have to be a booming economy and a pacifist democracy.”

Foster shook his head as the van came to a stop, “You just have a century-old grudge against us, ever since the Second Arandior War.”

“Its nothing personal,” said Tobias, “Its business. When I have the cards, I play them.”

Foster sighed, unbuckled, and stepped out of the van.

“Help yourself to the briefcases,” said Tobias, hoping Foster wouldn’t forget the need for supplies a large resistance would have.

“I’ll take them all,” Foster replied, “And the van. I’ll pay you back for the van.”

“You can’t take a van on a submarine,” noted Tobias, “What do you plan on doing with it?”

“Nevermind, just help me with the suitcases then,” Foster quipped, grabbing two of them.

Tobias Grey looked over to his guards, who went and helped Foster remove the money. Tobias spoke again, “Now if you excuse me, I have to be labelled as furniture and shipped secretly back to Farmina.”

Foster in response, stopped, turned around, then laughed, “You’re not going on the sub then?”

“I’ll actually be taking a plane as soon as I get into international waters,” said Tobias, “Planes can't land on submarines. Well they can, but consquences aren't pretty.”

Foster smiled, “I thought you were just going to come with us, period. Like...where are we going anyways?”

“You’ll be landed where you can best make contact with the resistance,” said Tobias, “These good gentlemen will help arrange everything.”

With that the back of the van closed up and drove off.

Foster did a wave, then turned around to see a few Blackshirts waiting for him to follow them, “We better get going then.”

“You gave away MY ship!” exclaimed Daniel Rickhart, the high pitcher shrill way he said ‘MY’ suggested he knew full well the Final Victory didn't belong to him and was merely joking.

That it was the twentieth time he had said it since Foster decided to hand over the ship in Tarlag only made it clearer he was joking. “Oh, grow up. It wasn’t yours to begin with,” Foster said in response, laughing. Ackvick chuckled, while Dasch and Alana were quiet, Dasch glaring at Rickhart.

Dan Rickhart and Jane Turner were both dressed in black wet suits, the submarine captain having informed the Force Commander’s pageant of unique individuals that they would be thrown out of the submarine in about an hour. “I didn’t get to drive the little boat,” moaned Ms Turner, before suddenly cheering up, and asking, “Anyone want carrotcake? How about some lemonade?”

“I'll pass,” Ackvick replied. “It's probably axle grease,” he thought.

Ms Turner picked up a broom and belted Ackvick with it, “I’ll ask again, anyone want carrot cake or lemonade?”

“I’ll have a drink,” said Rickhart, “But we shouldn’t eat anything heavy before we go out.”

Ms Turner poured a glass of lemonade, which Rickhart drank half of. Foster turned towards the captain, and asked where their current co-ordinates were, ignoring the little quarrel. “Fifteen minutes until all the submarines are in position,” said the Captain, as the crew of all the Messian ships docked in Tarlag had to be returned to the MES.

“Co-ordinates?” Foster asked, firmly.

The Captain pointed to a screen right in front of Foster’s head, “I presume you can read Commander.”

The title Lord Commander seemed to be slowly disappearing, as though Farminans no longer held the rank with reverence; especially since the Messians didn't either.

Foster looked at the screen. He studied the other ships position, then yelped. “Stop the engines!”

Foster quickly turned to the captain, “Don't move. At all. Don't raise, don't lower."

“Let me guess,” said the Captain, “You are intimate with the security and you forgot to mention something earlier that was vital to the planning of this operation?”

Foster shook his head, “Sorry. I was going to bring it up, but then Ms. Turner got me distracted.”

He then snapped back into focus, “Alright, configure your sonar systems to launch a super-high frequency sonar wing.”

The Captain nodded to his first mate who began barking orders. The Captain then looked at Foster and said, “I’m still going to make you row the rest of the distance.”

“Hey, saved us from being blown to hell,” Foster quipped.

A moment later, a very high pitched sonar ping emitted from the submarine, nearly deafening the people on board. On the sonar screen, a green grid appeared, with small circler spheres joining the lines at their intersections, which seemed to go into eternity.

“We got very lucky,” Foster said, “I said high pitched, because a lower setting would disrupt the sensor net. They are wires which when pulled, set off an alarm. It looks like only we got entangled, and we somehow barely missed the wires.”

The submarine withdrew and the Captain gave Foster a sour look for failing to mention this in any of the three days he had been aboard, “Once we are back a bit; we’ll surface and you can get into your little inflatable boats.”

“Will do. My apologies,” Foster said, turning back to the rest of the group.

Rickhart made sure his weapon and equipment was secured as Ms Turner gathered up her stuff. Rickhart turned to her and said, “Don’t bother with the mop. Or the broom. And I think they have their own cleaning products in the MES.”

“I wouldn’t trust a Messian cleaning agent,” said Ms Turner.

“You can bring the lemonade,” said Rickhart, “We’ll need a refreshing drink on the boat.”

With that the lights on the submarine flashed blue and the Captain yelled, “Go go go.”

Rickhart was no spring chicken but flew up the chute first and began inflating his raft in the dark.

On either side of him; Messians from other submarines were also moving out.

The rest of the group made it up, and within about ten minutes, all of the men and women were in their boats, rowing towards the Messian coastline. Ackvick took his binoculars, and looked down the endless ocean, lit only by the stars, the moon, and from what Ackvick could see, a very dim light emanating from the edge of the horizon. “Dylaria City,” Ackvick commented, “And so it begins.”

“Stop gawking and row,” said Rickhart, the effort of rowing wearying the old man. Ms Turner was already taking a rest and helping her self to the lemonade and offering it to those who needed refreshment.

Ackvick put down his binoculars, and started rowing. It would take hours to get there, and the hundreds of rafts filled the ocean.

Rickhart glanced over to his housekeeper, “Ms Turner get back to rowing, you've had enough of a break.”

The old lady grizzled and groaned but went back to work temporarily. Soon enough (though as far as those doing most of the rowing were concerned not nearly soon enough) the boats began hitting the shore. The Commander’s boat was one of the later boats carrying the heaviest equipment, three civilians, two of whom were entitled to the old age pension.

Rickhart staggered off the boat falling into the water with his heavy pack and two briefcases full of plastic covered money, before scrambling ashore, “I think my heart ’ll give way if I try that again.”

“Didn’t seem that bad,” said Ms Turner who spent more time moaning than rowing.

Ackvick pulled the boat onto shore to allow more boats on shore. As the last of the boats came on shore in the dark shoreline, suddenly, the entire beachhead lit up with headlights.

“My hearts failed!” exclaimed Rickhart, “I see the light.”

“Relax, relax,” a deep voice boomed. A dark figure walked in front of a set of headlights, carrying what appeared to be the Messian standard rifle, and walked up close to Ackvick.

Rickhart opened his pack to get a towel so he could dry himself off; but only managed to get sand everywhere, “Bah!”

Ms Turner found her torch and flashed it at the unexpected guest.

The face revealed a familiar face, one Ackvick hadn’t seen in a long time, “General Davies, I’ll be damned!”

Davies gave a hearty laugh, and held out his hand to meet Ackvick’s. “It’s been too long, my friend.”

“Less talk,” said Rickhart, “Lets get moving before someone wonders why all these boats just turned up.”

Ms Turner walked up to General Davies and offered him a glass of lemonade.

General Davlies smiled, “Of course, my lady. Now, quick, get everyone in our transports. Snyder’s forces are already aware of your presence, and it's only a matter of time before they arrive!”

Ms Turner ran towards the transports whistling loudly to signal to the Messians. Rickhart was already on his way; but was making hard work of it, stumbling in exhaustion.

Ackvick moved quickly to Rickhart, taking one of his arms, “Let’s go!” Ackvick yelled as the sound of helicopters could be heard in the distance.

Rickhart and Ms Turner both were ahead of most of the Messians; (Rickhart vehemently denied he needed assistance) and secured seats quickly; allowing Rickhart to put down his heavy pack and two briefcases. Ms Turner also put down her smaller load.

Soon, everyone was loaded into the APC's encircling the landing point, and the Commanders hopped into a humvee with the General, which Ackvick couldn’t figure out what that old piece of technology was being used for, or in the MES for that matter.

Rickhart collapsed in exhaustion and started softly snoring, while the pudgy Ms Turner started eating the chocolates she had packed.

“Well, glad that’s over with,” Ackvick said to the General, as the vehicles sped off.

In the second row of seats, Dasch and Alana snuggled together, completely silent, and perhaps for the first time in months, content with being at home for once. Next to Ackvick was Foster, leaning back and regaining his composure. Rickhart’s snoring continued to fill the back seats, while the front was manned by General Davies and what appeared to be a bodyguard.

After some traveling the General looked in his rearview mirror, then physically looked back. “I think we have company,” Davies said cautiously.

“Does company like nougat?” asked Ms Turner, finding a chocolate in her box she didn’t like.

Suddenly, streaks of light zoom past the Humvee, impacting the ground around them, making loud whizzing and thumping sounds.

“Hang on!” Davies yelled, quickly turning down a side road.

Rickhart bolted awake, then dozed off again.

“Should I do something?” asked Ms Turner, “Maybe we could settle this over some lemonade?”

Some more shots whizzed bye as two black helicopters with flashing red and green lights shot by them. “Somebody, just extend that gun housing, and shoot those gremlins!” Davies yelled.

Ms Turner unbuckled her seatbelt and did as she was told, while Ackvick moved to do the same, but decided, seeing Ms. Turner taking it, he decided to lay low, thanking the bright light who told her to leave her broom behind.

Ms Turner opened fire on the helicopters, which again bolted Rickhart out of his sleep, just in time to catch her shooting down a helicopter; convincing him that he was delirious.

The helicopter’s blades started to stop spinning as one of its engines caught fire, and violently crash-landed on the ground.

The other helicopter fired another blast, and then maneuvered away. Ms Turner swung the weapon around, firing aggressively if nothing else. The other helicopter sparked from the bullets, returned fire from its nose turret, and kept flying away.

Ms Turner eventually gave up and sat down, returning to her chocolate box.

“Damn good shooting, Comrade!” Davies replied cheerfully. He took another left to head back on his original heading, “We better head towards our little headquarters down west.”

Rickhart had fallen back to sleep but inamongst Rickhart’s assorted junk was the communications device that allowed Snyder to here his world. Ackvick turned behind him to see Dasch and Alana sleeping soundly. He smiled, then shed a tear. It reminded him of him and Amy so many months ago. He had almost forgotten about her from the stresses that he’s had to of endured during his exile; no time to recollect, no time to mourn. They fought a lot as Force Commanders, but he felt he really missed her.

“You okay there James?”

Ackvick turned to see Foster looking at him. “You look a little shaken up,” Foster said quietly.

“Yeah...just...old times, that’s all,” Ackvick replied quietly, looking away, “How long until we get there?”

“We’re about ten minutes out, give or take,” Davies replied.

Ackvick sighed, and leaned back, “Just to think...this beautiful country, about to get bombed and ruined.”

“And we’re going to be the ones fighting against our very own,” Foster finished.

Ackvick looked back at Foster, “I think this will be Judgement Day. The end of an era. The beginning of the cataclysm.”

Foster smiled, “A little apocalyptic, are we?”

Ackvick sighed as the stars disappeared. They were in a tunnel. “We’re here,” Davies said.

Timothy brought up the another slide in his presentation to the directors, “As I have previously stated; Supreme Commander Aricar’s first move would be to bite off Trinity. The only response I can see is let him have it. From there the Farminan military could easily springboard onto the northern coast. Thus I suggest we concentrate on the northern coast; but we leave enough forces on the other coasts to discourage the Farminans going the long way.”

Timothy hadn't used military strategy; he didn’t know anything about that. He used street smarts and common sense of which he had plenty.

“Trinity is our second largest port!” Harvey Gunn exclaimed, “At the hands of our enemy, the fuel depots and other systems would be dangerous!”

“How would you propose to defend it?” said Timothy, before adding a proviso to make his thinking completely clear, “Without getting a major force isolated from the mainland?”

“We can’t,” Dylan commented, “Perhaps we should destroy or remove all of our equipment, and relocate our personnel. We shouldn't give them any advantages.”

“We would look rather silly if they don’t actually attack,” said Timothy, “However I think there is wisdom in this course of action. As long as we don't destroy anything that is too hard to put back together or that we might need later on.”

“Let me remind you, Advisor, that we barely have a navy anymore,” Tia replied for Dylan.

“Destroying all naval equipment makes sense milady,” said Timothy, “But will we still want what ever you use to move non-military stuff in and out of Trinity?”

Timothy wished had chosen better words.

“We can use aircraft for that,” Snyder replied, “You keep forgetting that we have one of the world’s largest aerial transport wings in the world.”

“So we only need to keep the airstrips operational,” said Timothy, nodding in agreement, “Do you also accept my analysis that we should use to the bulk of our forces to resist a springboard from Trinity?”

Timothy avoided the word ‘stop’; when things went wrong and the blame game began, he didn't want to have made promises that never happened.

Timothy brought up a map, “What if they come through this place; Norrah? They could pass between these mountain ranges using them to keep our armour off their flanks. It would cause them trouble as well since we can launch skirmishes from there; but no full scale counter assault.”

“From Norrah they can easily strike these new bases: the Arctic, the Snyder Training Academy and the Launch Base,” said Timothy.

“That would be Transitroute 29,” Reagan commented, “It’s our only super-highway servicing that side of the country. It winds in between those two mountain ranges, with little separation. The sides are covered in plains, foilage, and forests.”

“Perfect for an ambush...” Tia added.

“It’ll have to be a big ambush,” said Timothy as he gave Tia a little wink, just working on the reasoning in that the Farminan's would be launching a big attack.

Tia winked back, as Reagan looked directly at Timothy, “We can lay down mines, as well as some defensive guns.”

“And bomb the living shit out of them,” Wallace added.

“Lets not overlook the fact that they’ll be bombing us right back,” said Timothy, “And they have far more bombs pouring out their factories.”

Timothy knew that just because you though you were all clever having a knife on the street, didn’t mean that other people’s knives couldn't hurt them.

“True enough,” replied Snyder, “But keep in mind that numerically speaking, on the initial attack, we'll have a same-number advantage. They'll have to fight hard to gain air-superiority of that magnitude.”

“I suspect they’ll concentrate their initial attack or attacks,” said Timothy, “So although we might have a general numbers advantage; they’ll have it in the exact place the battle is happening.”

“We still have our ace in the hole though,” Snyder replied, “The weapons sats.”

“I found in your archives a record on the Farminan space weapons program,” said Timothy, “Last time you used a weapons satellite the launched missiles at it. Every time before that; they used something that boils water. And every time they’ve increased boiling range.”

“Nuh uh,” Snyder said mischievously, “Who said that it had to hit the Farminans?”

That response interested Timothy, “What are you going to hit?”

“The road,” Snyder replied, “We can cut a very deep trench across the highway, up a part way onto the mountain. It would force them up the mountain. A perfect cut-off to a deadly chokepoint.”

“I doubt a hole in the ground will upset them,” said Timothy, “Slow them down yes; but I’m sure the Farminans will get over it; literally.”

“One that's fifteen meters deep, and thirty meters wide?” Snyder touted.

“They’d prefer that to the mountains,” said Timothy, “Slow them down definitely. Include in the plan, possibly. Use up a heap of energy; definitely. Stop the Farminans, definitely not.”

“Remember that we have two,” Reagan added.

“So we are going to dig two holes?” said Timothy, “Perhaps we should consider abandoning this whole military dictatorship, resisting Farmina thing and become miners!”

Some chuckling and laughter filled the room. “No no no,” Snyder replied, smiling, “Now what about the rest of the country?”

“We need enough forces to discourage the Farminans; but not enough to significantly reduce our defences in the north and north east,” said Timothy, “The Farminans will be naturally discouraged from attacking any significant distance from Trinity; but they won't turn down a free lunch.”

Timothy never suggested how big a discouragement force was. Nor did he consider anything but fighting his own people.

“Should we entrench some of our super-heavy tanks as mobile pillboxes?” Jaymie said, the first comment since she joined the meeting.

“That seems reasonable,” said Timothy, giving Jaymie Ardelle a little wave, “If they are entrenched in the right places that is.”

He then zoomed in the map on the area near Norrah, “This isn’t the only potential landing ground in the north; they could land further west. But I suggest it is the most likely. Once the Farminans get past Norrah they’ll have captured a major supply centre and be on open ground where they’ll blitz us. I suggest we try to bog them down on every inch of ground and fight street to street. Force them to fight in confined spaces; in the towns and cities in that small stretch of land.”

Snyder looked at the map, “They may be more open and blitzing in with their tanks,” Snyder replied, “But all we need to do is to cut off their supplies; without natural gas, they won’t go anywhere. In addition, we don’t make a whole lot. We use hydrogen, and I doubt they could figure out that technology in time for their land forces.”

“I don’t think cutting them off will be easy,” said Timothy, “If they didn’t have a navy and we did; things would be different. But its them with the navy.”

Snyder shook his head, “Silly Advisor. You think that materials shuffle from the beaches to the fuel tanks and soldier’s tummies by osmosis?”

“Do you think our forces get between the beaches and the frontline by osmosis?” said Timothy, “You might be able to get a few partisans and special forces behind them; but you'll be a thorn not a blade.”

“Air superiority...” reminded Tia.

“For how long?” asked Timothy.

“Depends,” replied Nicolas, also speaking for the first time, “If we can disable their carriers in an audacious first-strike, their air-power will be solely based on land, and if we enable the landing walls on the strip, and locking them out, then they'll be forced to take off from Farmina, at which point they'd be using up an absurd amount of fuel.”

Timothy paused, “And you think they won't use an absurd amount of fuel to see us dead? Would we dare a first strike? It would be signing our death warrants.”

“Then what do you recommend?” Snyder asked.

“I already expressed my view that we should try and sedate Tobias Grey’s bloodlust,” said Timothy, “Make love; not war and all that. Otherwise we should turn the north east of the MES into a bloody quagmire. Bog the Farminans down and force them to fight in the cities. If nothing else; a fight like that will hurt politically.”

“I think we already know his intentions,” Snyder replied, “I’ve tried diplomacy, and failed.”

“And I have one last suggestion before I end my presentation,” said Timothy, “This place is going to be high on the ‘to bomb’ list. I suggest we take over the hotels and use them as new administrative centers. I suspect the tourism trade will soon be down the drain as it is.”

“Would they even know where this underground facility is?” Snyder inquired.

“It won’t remain secret forever,” said Timothy, “We have an airstrip hidden in the middle of nowhere. If the Farminans spot it, they’ll start wondering; why?”

“You’re probably right. I suppose we could move all administrative functions to underground base B, about a hundred clicks from here. No airbase there,” Snyder commented.

“I feel a city would be wiser,” said Timothy, “But I shall confer to your wisdom Lord Director. And that concludes what I have to say. I hope you adopt my proposals.”

“We will put it under our advisement. Thank you,” Snyder said, “You are dismissed. We shall discuss what you have to say.”

Timothy left walking past Tia on the way out, whispering to her, “Can I see you later?”

She nodded, smiling, as the handsome man left.

Timothy went off to the temporary office he had set up to look over a few documents to see if he could find anything. He was sure Tia would be able to find him.

A little while later, there was a knock on the door. When Timothy answered, he saw Tia waiting for him.

“You wanted to see me, Advisor?” Tia said charmingly.

“I was wondering if you’d like a more personal briefing?” smiled Timothy, pushing aside the documents and putting his powerful arms on the desk, “I’m always happy to repeat myself for a beautiful woman. I have a great capacity for repeat performance.”

She smiled. “Oh really?” she said, walking in and shutting the door behind her.

Timothy apart from being a skilled lover was also a considerate one, “Perhaps I should be brief you in your quarters. I think you will be more comfortable there.”

“Oh, in my quarters? Must not be business related,” she walked up to him, and took his arm, “Shall we?”

“We shall,” said Timothy, linking arms, “Lead on.”

As Tia opened the door and went through, Timothy shut it behind them and then scooped her up in his arms, “Lets do this properly.”


Timothy carried her over to the bed and lay her down before kneeling over; gently kissing her on the lips as he removed his shoes and socks using only his feet.

Timothy carried her over to the bed and lay her down before kneeling over; gently kissing her on the lips as he removed his shoes and socks using only his feet. Tia looked briefly at his feet; surprised he could remove his socks while putting all his attention to her, but was quickly distracted as he began undressing her. Logically, she decided she better get his shirt off, so she could see the male model body underneath.

As Timothy carefully removed her clothing, with the capability of an expert, and never breaking eye contact, he asked, “How did you think my presentation went? The other directors seemed hostile to my suggestions.”

“Well...” she said, quite a bit distracted, “...I thought it was good. Let’s see if you measure up.”

Timothy set about his expertise using his hands and his mouth all over her body; not only on the private areas, but also massaging behind the earlobes and the sensitive skin on the underside of the arms and her palms. Finally, he used one hand to apply the rubber (the other hand and his tongue were still busy); before entering.

“I was once told a good military campaign should be aggressive and use all resources available,” said Timothy, before kissing her. He continued to use all his resources and strength, while supporting his weight on his elbows and not placing it on Tia.

After he finished, he exited neatly, still using his other resources to commit a fighting withdrawal, before lying down next to Tia panting and sweaty with a big smile.

“Did I measure up?” asked Timothy; not having had a bad review yet.

“No,” she commented, smiling, giving him a kiss, “You blew through the measuring tape.”

He cuddled up to her, kissing her on the neck, “Its so warm next to you; yet I feel a dark storm approaching and I don’t think the directors are ready for it. They seem confident; I’ll give them that.”

“That’s because we are very stubborn,” she replied, smiling

“So did you accept my recommendations?” asked Timothy, trying to put the situation in a more positive light.

“Yes, with modifications,” she replied, “But can’t we talk about business later?”

“What would you like to talk about?” asked Timothy, “Business is the only thing we ever meet over.”

“Well...” she replied, smiling, “Let me show you a thing or two about the power of the tongue.” She slid down, and moved to work on his package.

Timothy noted, “Great orators rule nations.”

She mumbled as she did her work, giving him a ‘thumbs up’.

Timothy sighed and gasped and made all the right noises, then suddenly, “Stop.”

Leaning up to her; placing his bulging arms around her, “Lets make the most of the soldier at attention. You’ll enjoy it far more.”

She smiled, “Okay.”

With that another invasion was launched. It didn’t last as long as the previous one; but it still lasted a reasonable amount of time before Timothy’s strength finally failed.

At the climax, she gave him a hearty kiss, “Sorry, are you already tired?”

“The vital organ has been spent quite some time working,” said Timothy looking over to the clock, before adding, “Unlike us. I better have a shower and get back.”

She smiled, sitting up, “I’ll be waiting.”

Timothy went over into Tia’s shower removing the rubber and beginning to wash off, “I hear Snyder has an exodus plan.”

“That is correct,” she replied, sitting on the edge of her bed, not bothering to cover herself.

As Timothy began soaping himself, he asked, “I’m also aware of the superweapon. He wouldn't use it surely; would he?”

“Depends,” she replied, “Depends if the world tries to crush his rule. Back him into a corner.”

“He can’t be allowed to do that,” said Timothy, “Its a cure worse than the disease. Drinking poison so you don't have to worry about the flu.”

“He thinks of humanity as a threat to the galaxy,” Tia continued, “He thinks that if the world was controlled by someone as straight thinking as he is, that life would be better; no war, no starvation, no racism, no crusades.”

“I’ll have to try and convince him,” said Timothy, wiping himself dry as he walked towards Tia, “I don’t want to see all this blown off the face of the earth.”

When he said ‘this’; he briefly kissed Tia on the cheek.

“You, I and some others won’t be,” Tia replied.

“That big ship in orbit is a colony ship. He plans on creating a new order on Mars. He’s got everything there that he needs to set up a new self-sustaining colony,” she continued, “He may decide to go to another system in its entirety though.”

Timothy didn’t respond; dropping his towel and kissing her on the lips; the beginning of a road of kiss the worked down her neck onto the top of left breast. Then he suddenly stopped and dressed, “I’d better get back to work. Snyder didn't bring me here to keep you satisfied.”

He blew her a kiss as he walked into the door. He did it on purpose; to put on a show about his distracting she was. After being laughed at; he opened the door and left. Once in the corridor, he took a blue pill to ensure there would be more good performances in him if someone required them soon. With that he walked back to his office; hoping no one had been looking for him.

Just as he walked in, he could hear Snyder calling for him, “A little busy I see?”

“Making friends,” said Timothy sitting down to the documents he had been attending before.

Snyder walked in, “I’d hate to cut you short, but we need to go to Francisco-Angelas immediately. Headquarters has some critical details that they need to cover in person, and are asking our presence immediately. Take what you need to work on.”

Timothy grabbed his documents and shoved them all into an empty briefcase as well as grabbing a couple more rubbers from his secret stash. Tia wasn’t the first or the last (though someone that powerful would certainly be a repeat).

“Ready,” said Timothy leaving his office.

---

The Hummer arrived at the underground hangout, just behind the APC’s from the rest of the group. It pulled to a stop right next to a fairly rusty steel door. Ackvick recognised it as being one of the antique missile silos from the great war. “Right this way,” Davies said.


As they walked in, Ackvick looked around the hallway, quite interested in the old ways of building military structures. They walked down the hallway, and arrived at another door at the end of it. Davies knocked on it.

A circular hatch in the upper-left corner of the ceiling that the others didn't notice before opened up, revealing a camera.

There was also a circular hatch on the right side.

Ackvick had an idea what the other hatch was for. The camera pointed at the men, then a loudspeaker embedded in the wall made a scratchy voice, “Davies? Are these the survivors?”

“Yes, it is. And I also seem to have dug up some wayward Force Commanders in my travels!” Davies said cheerfully.

“Ah, excellent,” the voice replied. A buzzer sounded, as a lock ka-chunked, and the door opened slowly, “Bring them in.”

Rickhart and Ms Turner followed cautiously behind the other Force Commanders, the survivors in tow shortly behind them. As they entered the old structure, they could see a quite large room, which seemed to of been an old barracks. Inside, was waiting a few men in Loyalist Messian fatigues with MR-20 assault rifles, and what appeared to be an officer. “Welcome to Resistance Base Freedom,” the man said, smiling.

“We have money,” said Rickhart, dropping his two briefcases on the floor, his tone sounding slightly delirious.

“Thank you gentlemen,” the man said, surprised, “But you all look quite tired. I suppose we can brief you for tomorrow morning.”

He then saw the Force Commanders. He then saluted in a snap, “Force Commander Ackvick! Dasch! Foster! What an honour to meet you!”

“At ease,” Ackvick replied, smiling, “We’re just weary, and need some rest. Have any place quiet for us?”

“Definitely, sir,” the man replied, “We have two private quarters available. I guess you’ll have to divide it between you four.”

Ackvick nodded, “Thanks. I think we already know how to arrange this.”

Ackvick then motioned everyone to come in.

“There is six of us,” said Ms Turner, “Not to be rude. And there were all the others who came ashore with us.”

Rickhart however did not need a bed and had fallen asleep where he was standing.

“Pop your head in,” the man said, “Beds for everyone in the main barracks.”

Ms Turner shook Rickhart to wake him up, before saying, “Commander Foster. You have a note with a date on it. Perhaps you should give it to the person in charge here so planning can commence.”

“Oh, right,” Foster replied, digging for, then handing over the note, “This is the date that apparently all hell is going to break loose, by Tobias Grey’s instructions. I’m not thrilled to be working for him, but to free this nation, you sometimes have to work with the devil.”

“Oh, right,” Foster replied, digging for, then handing over the note, “This is the date that apparently all hell is going to break loose, by Tobias Grey’s instructions. I’m not thrilled to be working for him, but to free this nation, you sometimes have to work with the devil.”

Ms Turner spotted a broom and began sweeping as though it was a natural reaction.

“Finally, home at last,” Dasch said in relief, towing Alana down willingly to their room.

“Go to bed, commander, we’ll see you in the morning. I encourage you to sleep in, as the date won’t be for a few days,” Ackvick ordered.

Rickhart stumbled away to the main barracks; while Ms Turner tried cleaning up the base. Her higher energy levels reflected her low propensity to row.

---

Timothy liked flying. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the service. Maybe it was the office on the plane was slightly larger.

Pushing several documents aside, he found the one he had been looking at before Tia interrupted him. Moving his finger down the columns he tried adding the numbers up in his head. After getting the wrong number; he pulled out a calculator. He still got a wrong number but it was also different from the one in his head. He tried again. This time he worked out the same number again. Still wrong.

Picking up his line to Snyder, “Jason, I think we have a problem.”

Snyder got up from his seat, just as the intercom was announcing their arrival, and to buckle in, “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” said Timothy, “There is something wrong with the economic data. Wrong as in very wrong.” He moved to look at other documents. Now he knew what he was looking for. He skimmed the latest communiqués from Palmer; he’d wished he’d read them earlier. They weren’t just love letters. Bundling the relevant documents together, Timothy didn’t like it, not one bit.

“What is it?" Snyder repeated, entering Timothy’s office as the plane started to rock as the flaps and landing gear deployed. He braced himself.

“I made a mistake,” said Timothy, “Tobias Grey isn’t planning an invasion. He’s planning a revolution.”

“Excuse me?” Snyder exclaimed, “You’re kidding...damn.”

“I wish I was,” said Timothy, “But these communiqués from Farmina and this data; its undeniable.”

Suddenly, the plane jolted as its wheels touched the ground. Snyder could see the structures of MESB Angelas-Francisco, where the plane landed for military missions. Snyder was almost thrown off balance, “We’re here. Maybe that’s what our people in the headquarters found out.”

Timothy grabbed his documents, stood up and left his office; then the plane.

Timothy dropped the documents on the floor and lay down over them, “If the Directors survive the initial revolt; my estimates are they'll lose control of two-thirds of the country. Someone is buying huge amounts of goods, especially munitions. Reports from Farmina suggest black-shirts and soldiers are slipping into the Messian resistance and Palmer can't stop them.”

“Well, umm,” the officer replied, a little befuddled, “How big is this resistance?”

“Tens of millions,” said Timothy, “Possibly hundreds of millions. And once they get their heels in, more are likely to join them. Look, even purchases of paper have spiked; they are going to be making propaganda posters. And this date keeps coming up in intercepted communications. There is talk about feasts and birthdays and funerals on that day; among other things. I think its code. There cannot be that many events all on the one day. But I have a plan.”

“What’s the plan?” Snyder asked.

“If the Farminans are the cause of the problem,” said Timothy, “Use them as the solution. I have reports from Farmina suggest Palmer is irremovable as president without something going seriously wrong. Ask Palmer to help bring hellfire down on the rebels. The quicker we crush them; the less chance they have of doing permanent damage.”

“And how should we keep Tobias out of play?” Snyder quipped.

“He hasn't moved to seize power yet," said Timothy, “He had his chance and its gone. Now he is more interested in ensuring his puppets sit on a Messian throne. The argument for this course of action is in these documents. This revolt will make the Russian revolution look like a walk in the park. James Palmer is securely in power. Use the secure power to crush the revolt.”

“Alright, I’l get on the line with him as soon as we meet with our officers,[i]” Snyder replied, “[I]Now lets go.”

As the two men left the plane, there was a number of staff, though few soldiers there, which for a meeting was highly unusual. The head of operations from the headquarters, stepped forward, “Milord, welcome. What brings you here?”

“We were informed the urgent attention of the Lord Director was required,” said Timothy with a stiff upper lip.

“Excuse me?!” the man asked, surprised, “We were told that you two had an urgent meeting to meet with us!”

---

A person, blended into the dark grass and greenery, about twelve-hundred meters away from the airstrip, steadied an experimental Messian sniper rifle. An eye peered through its scope, the person completely relaxed.

I’ve waited long for this day, the person thought. You bastard Snyder! What you’ve done to me! You’ve killed me once. I won't let you do it again. You’ve ruined our country, and now you and all of your minions will die. This is for James, but more so, this is for me.

The figure then pulled the trigger.

Rickhart wore a long black coat; warm against the cold howling Messian wind. Angelas-Fransico; being the largest city it would also see the largest revolt. He pulled the collar over his neck; Farmina would still be warm this time of year, but cooling. The MES was cold but warming. He knew time was running out; no it was too late, but he still tried, “Lord Snyder. Revolt is about to break out. Angelas-Fransico, Amelia, Varsity, Falcon City, Norrah, Yeti. Those are all the names I can recall. They won’t be concentrating. They’ll try and grab as much as they can quickly.”

He put the device away before he would get caught and returned to the inn where he was staying.

As Rickhart walked in, Ackvick was waiting for him. “Ready for the great battle of our lifetimes?” Ackvick inquired.

“I was in Arandior if you recall,” said Rickhart, as though he said, “This will be a piece of cake.”

Ackvick nodded, “We’re fifteen minutes, 14...13 seconds away from Rebellion hour. Are you ready?

Rickhart picked up his assault rifle and clipped his grenades to his belt. Ms Turner had been assigned to a bazooka squad over his protests; he'd insisted she should be placed in charge of a field canteen or something harmless.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Rickhart, “We’ll have to move fast; push out quickly. Securing the entire city before Snyder can move against us. He’ll pay for looking too much at the coasts; he'll pay bad.”

Ackvick pulled back the bolt on his own rifle after inserting the ammunition clip. He then started loading the grenade clip, “We have to be extremely careful though. The autodefenses installed in most of the urban areas in this country will put an end to our insurgency before it even started if we're not careful. We have to hope that our field IFF’s are still legitimate in the system.”

Rickhart put on his backpack, which contained supplies and a few nasty surprises for Snyder’s men, “We’ll have to rely heavily on the mortar crews if the IFF’s don’t work. I’d pay to see the look on Snyder’s face when he is told that he’s losing control of all the major centres in the country.”

Rickhart would also pay to know if the Force Commander revolt was the only one Tobias Grey had arranged.

“Well,” Ackvick replied, “I hope that we can pull off the initial revolt; if we can spark the Messian fighting spirit, they may join the fight.”

Dan Rickhart didn’t see it. The rebellion was sure to fail from his view. Snyder had planes and tanks and heavy artillery. Snyder possibly had numbers too. This revolt would deeply destabilise the regime; but destroy it? “The entire Farminan navy is sitting off the coast,” said Rickhart, “Sometimes I wonder if Tobias Grey has set us up for a disaster.”

“Well, whatever the case,” Ackvick replied, strapping some of his own grenades, surprises, and his favorite sidearm, “Would you be ready to fight the Farminans if it came down to it?”

Rickhart started to say ‘no’ then stopped himself, “Maybe. Lets live through this first.”

He looked at his watch, “Its time.”

“Yes, it’s time!” Ackvick said.

With that they left the building and charged forward; guns ready for the street to street fighting that was to follow.

---

The helicopter flew above Angelas-Fransico. “I tried to warn them,” said Timothy, looking down as hundreds of machine guns chattered all at once.

The rebels were going to take the city; there was no question of that. Timothy had tried to arrange the evacuation of as many people loyal to the government as possible; he wished he could have moved faster. The question was whether the Snyder regime could retake the cities.

“Mister Timothy sir,” said one of the intel officers on the plane, “We’ve now also lost control of Varsity, New Darius and Norrah. Fighting is heavy in Dylaria City; but the local commanders believe they shall soon gain the upper hand.”

“Hooray,” said Timothy sarcastically, “The Directorate will have a grand domain from the west of Dylaria city to the east of it. Tell the Farminan military to give us the help it offered.”

“They’re refusing,” said the intel officer, “The Farminans won’t do anything without the explicit approval of President Palmer, who is currently in bed sleeping like a baby.”

“We’d better find how many Directors escaped the carnage,” said Timothy, “We need to regroup and take every city one by one. The Directorate will prevail.”

He added to himself, “I hope we will.”

***