Subject: [Fic] Dark Dawns (working title)
Date: 7 Feb 2002 19:35:32 -0800
From: weemadando@start.com.au (WeeMadAndo)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.vs.starwars




Space

The dawning sun's rays creep across the pock-marked surface of the
lifeless rock.  Shadows stretch away into the distance as the craters
are filled with an almost liquid blackness.  After a time the shadows
begin to creep back, towards the lips of the craters that spawned
them.  As the shadows recede one craters base begins to fill with a
multitude of lights, creating a glow that barely lights the lip that
encircles the gigantic depression.  The lights grow stronger until the
entire crater is flooded with the harsh white light.  Instantly it
stretches out into the distance, the bright stream of light reaching
out at amazing speeds into the vast blackness of space.  Thousands of
kilometres away a lonely meandering asteroid is struck by the stream
of pure, blinding white light - melting, shattering and vapourising
all in a fraction of a second.  The light in the crater slowly
dissipates as the sun begins to set over the rapidly spinning rock.


Earth (Paris, EU)

  "And in breaking news this evening the Economic Free Market has
declared that it will be enforcing trade sanctions upon the Latin
Confederacy.  This latest downturn in the worsening economic spiral
for the Latin Confederacy was sparked by recently substantiated
rumours that they were negotiating a tariff-free trade agreement with
the African Independence League."
  
  "In related news the African Independence League announced that they
would be running in the upcoming continental elections.  Since the
wars of 2076 the African Council has been dominated by the Mbundu and
Matabele tribes of the south.  The AIL wishes to initiate a
reformation of Council policy to create a representative democracy. 
This has been met with harsh responses by the current leaders of the
Council.  We now cross to our correspondent in Harare"
  
  "We're standing outside the African council chambers in Harare and
as you can see behind me is a seething mass of AIL supporters who are
protesting the Councils current policies on representation.  We spoke
to the current chairman of the council Dr Alex Kpakelah."
  
  "The Council views the African Independence League as a threat to
the stability of the African continent and our role in world society. 
Though we will support any moves by the AIL to gain a position in the
council during the upcoming elections we wish to make totally clear;
that the Council has already decided that nothing less than a
two-thirds majority vote in favour of a change would prompt any such
undertaking."

  "It is evident that the Council intends to continue its policy of
tribal domination over the continent and we've spoken to people on the
street today to gauge their opinions."

         "I just don't believe that the council can be this damn 
ignorant of
what the
African people really want.  Go AIL!"

"The council has worked hard for so many years, I would hate to see
this bunch of young upstarts destroy all that we fought for in the
Wars."

"I don't think that the AIL have any case, the council has only done
good things for the person on the street."

"Go AIL!  F-*beep* the Council!"

  "Soon after that last comment was recorded that young man was
arrested by members of the police and taken away, we asked the
officers what he was being charged with but they offered no comment on
the situation.  Back to you in the studio."

  "Thanks Tom, here in Strausbourg today the European Union announced
its new mining bases on Tethys are due to become operational within
the next three months.  At home we can expect to see the benefits of
these new mining operations kick in when the first shipment of ice
arrives.  Tethys is believed to have one of the largest concentrations
of deuterium present of any of the bodies in the solar system.  This
and the massive amounts of fresh-water ice that will be able to be
harvested are expected to boost stocks in the Amsterdam based DMS by
more than fifty percent.  Also the naval station on Calypso today
launched the first in a new series of patrol craft.  Designated the
Artemis, these vessels are expected to bring the space lanes
surrounding Saturn back under total EU control following the recent
smuggling runs that several times breached the sovereign space
surrounding our claimed areas."

  "Now to an unbelievable human interest story.  Remember the
desperate pleas for help in establishing a clone following the death
of the last known wolf nearly five years ago?  Today in the Balkan
wasteland a Bundeswehr patrol captured the following footage . . .
biologists were amazed that the wolf was able to survive in the area
that was the subject of heavy fighting during the wars and remains on
the "no-go" list for civilians.  A team of researchers have been sent
to attempt to track the wolf and determine whether or not there are
any more or if this one, truly is the last of its great species."

  "That's all from the EU News team here at the studio tonight but
stay tuned for Eye on the Cosmos, your guide to the developing
political situations system-wide."

The screen flickers out of existence as the projector is powered down.
 "Yet another boring day in the system.  Phone," he pauses to allow
the system to activate, "Dial Pierre."  The screen slowly re-emerges
out of nothingness as the projector builds its images on the
microscopic particles floating in the rooms air.  A graphic appears as
the telecommunications network searches for the person within the
massive interconnected grid of users.  The screen changes to indicate
the person has been found and then changes to the image of young man
standing on a train, holding on for dear life.  "Marco!  Is that you? 
Damn subway train is having a malfunction again, the maglev impellers
are obviously on the blink."  He is catapulted forwards and backwards
as the train shudders briefly, in the background several people fall
as a domino effect begins.  "Tell you what.  I'll call you when I get
off, that way we might be able to have some form of conversation."
  "Sounds good.  Talk to you then.  Disconnect."  The screen
evaporates again as Marco rises from his chair.  "Got to do something
about dinner."  He stumbles away into the tiny kitchenette of his
apartment.  "Two day old pizza, unidentifiable takeaway . . . ah,
insta-roast."  He pulls the silver packet from the compact freezer and
places it in the multi-function cooker.  Quickly browsing the many
buttons along its front he selects one the machine lights up briefly. 
"Hmpf, I don't care what they say, I still don't believe that these
are a good thing to stand infront of while you're cooking."  The
machine stops seconds later, the silver foil stretched over its
contents.  Removing the packet, he carefully peels the foil back
revealing several thick slices of meat and assorted vegetables.  He
stares at the packet in frustration, "Dammit, I have to remember to
buy the ones with gravy included."  The foil is thrown towards the
small rectangular flap in the wall, "For the match!"  It strikes the
wall several centimetres to the left.  "Denied!"  He picks up the
plastic plate and walks back into his living room.  A beam of sunlight
shines in the window.

  Stretched out as far as the eye can see are buildings, none lower
than twenty stories, some stretching up so far that the limited view
from the window provides no hope of seeing their tops.  Maglev trains
flit past at supersonic speeds within their insulated perspex tubes. 
Swarms of vehicles clog the roads far below, massive highways, thirty
lanes across spread throughout the metropolis.  The tiny, beetle-like,
high performance fuel-cell vehicles darting from location to location
on their way home.  Far off in the distance lies the object that makes
this view worth so much.  A decaying and crumbling assemblage of iron
nearly three hundred years old.  Its top leans significantly to one
side while it seems that nearly every other day another corroded strut
collapses under the weight of this decomposing landmark.  Five more
years and it would be nothing but a gigantic pile of scrap metal the
experts said.  Yet two hundred years ago it had been one of the most
recognisable landmarks in the world.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
---------

The Kuiper Belt (Sector 132)

The belt is a very active place, any ships that wish to move from the
outer system to earth or any other inner planets must pass it.  For
this reason alone it is one of the most strategically important
features in the system.  Its economic importance cannot be understated
either, as its asteroids are rich in so many of the elements and their
isotopes that are worth so much to the factions on earth.  Due to the
varying orbits of the planets different sections of the belt are
constantly changing hands as their position on the space-lanes varies.
 However, some sections of the belt contain far too much mineral
wealth to be ceded because it is no longer on the interplanetary
freeway.

  "We've got a fire on level 3 spreading rapidly!"  The XO looks over
to the captains chair, "Sir, we have to seal off the area.  You know
that as well as anyone here!  Its only going to risk everyone else if
we don't act now."  The captain remains impassive, staring at the
monitor banks arranged around the bridge.  "Captain!"  Still no
response, the beads of sweat on his forehead begin to heat and rise
from his skin in the micro gravity.  The XO looks around the bridge at
the terrified young faces of the young crew who are experiencing
combat for the first time.  "Seal off the deck.  Initiate fire
systems.  Sir!  SIR!"  Still no response, "I am relieving the captain
of his command.  Move us back into the line, we can't allow a
breakthrough here!"
  "Yessir", the helmsman brings up a navigational chart on his monitor
and begins to plot a course.  There are no windows on the bridge, no
access to the vacuum of space, the bridge itself is buried deep within
the ship behind several feet of armour.  The engines are re-engaged
for a short burst as the manoeuvring thrusters spin the patrol ship
around onto a vector that will bring them back into the line.  Already
the monitors on the bridge are displaying the skirmish in progress. 
An EU convoy was attempting to run through the sector, and had been
detected by one of the Confederacy's many "listening posts" within the
belt.  The line at the moment consisted of several other patrol ships
whom had been within range.  The brief had been to hold the convoy up
for around eight or nine hours, theoretically more than enough time
for a taskforce to be scrambled from one of the major stations on the
belt.  Hell there was one only four sectors away, the task force
should have been here hours ago, but they were still receiving
"assurances" from base that it was only about an hour away.  Another
hour and the entire EU fleet from Io could be here.  "Give me another
acceleration burn!"  Another burst from the engines and the ships
velocity increases again.  "Comms, patch me through to the Evaki,"
  "Comms up sir."
  "Evaki, this is the Tupan, we are coming in fast and hot, where are
we needed?"
  "Tupan, move to flank the convoys escort, shift your vector 12
degrees left, 25 degrees vertical and you should be on course,
transmitting waypoint details to your navcomp anyway.  You're about
five minutes out from weapons range.  Be advised we have reports of an
Odin class cruiser inbound.  Standing orders are still to hold the
line, control advises that reinforcements are forty-five minutes out."
  "Copy all that.  We are moving in."  The XO swivels his seat round,
"Captain, I recommend that you retire to your quarters.  Combat
Officer, what's our weapons status?"  The captain pushes up from his
chair and floats towards the hatch.
  "Your career is over Hector!  When the admiral finds out that you
did this -"
  "You froze in combat captain!  You endangered the lives of everyone
on this ship by not sealing of the hit-zone immediately.  If I hadn't
taken command we'd all be floating right now!  Leave the bridge now or
I'll have you detained.  Combat Officer, what is our status?"
  "We have 13 plasma warheads remaining, 2 high yield nuclear -"
  "Don't tell me about nuclear."
  "Okay, 24 penetrators, 17 anti-fighter and 532 rounds for our main
guns.  I'm calling up details on the light turrets now."  The nav
officer looks up from his console,
  "Coming into weapons range sir."
  "Put up the overlay on the main screen, I'm going into VR."  VR was
a revolution in combat.  It allowed the user to view the surrounding
space from the multitude of multi-spectrum cameras mounted in tiny
ball turrets covering the surface of the vessels.  From this view the
user could designate targets analyse threats and coordinate massive
fleets all using the most basic of controls.  "I'm online, nav, bring
us to navpoint K4," Hector moved his hands imperceptibly on the
controls.  A bright marker springs to life on the tactical overlay on
the screens.  "Combat, load two penetrators and two anti-fighter,
ready main guns prepare to fire on my target designation."  On the
tiny VR monitors barely an inch from his eyes the weapons loadout was
quickly displayed.  Hector selected a penetrator and began the
targeting process, quickly selecting a ship from the convoy, then
rapidly selecting a desired point of impact.  Hector moves his finger
over the launch button.

The missile pushes away from its launch port with a quick burst of
compressed gasses then ignited its motor and rapidly accelerates into
the void, quickly becoming a pinprick of light.  Rapidly missile after
missile are launched from the ports as the ship draws closer and
closer to its station.  Designed as a "stealthy" patrol vessel the
Tupan is shaped like a flattened egg with many nodules covering its
otherwise smooth surface.  Its main guns just forward from their
mountings on both the dorsal and ventral spine of the vessel, their
barrels rest at the limits of their deceleration tracks, each has a
very limited fire arc because of this but the many smaller automated
turrets that cover the other arcs makeup for this shortcoming.  With a
puff of gasses they fire and fly back along their tracks pushing
against their maglev trolleys, as they reach the end of the track the
main engines fire briefly to counter the remaining inertia.  The
projectiles are effectively twenty inch long spikes of tungsten alloys
designed to punch through the hull of a vessel.  Some captains prefer
"shells" that contain tiny levels of plasma, but the instability of
the electro magnetic containment of plasma makes this a risky
undertaking when being fired from a cannon.  The firing process itself
is simply like that of an air-rifle, albeit one capable of throwing
out a 10 kilogram projectile at speeds well in excess of mach 4.  The
first projectile impacts the main engines of one of the freighters in
the convoy breaching fuel lines and oxygen tanks.  A monstrous red
flower blooms out into space before dissipating as its fuel is rapidly
exhausted.  Moments later the first of the penetrator missiles impacts
another freighter driving into its hold before igniting what remains
of its fuel filling the corridors of the vessel with a flash fire in
the pure oxygen environment.

The small escort force quickly responds to this new threat as a
converted freighter shifts its focus to the Tupan.  The escort begins
firing its cannon spitting out salvos of depleted uranium rounds, its
engines flaring to maximum power, barely shifting it forward against
the massive forces exerted.  The Tupans hull is raked with fire, but
its design holds, most of the rounds deflecting away due to oblique
angles of impact.  Many punch through however, cutting through the
armour and ripping through the innards of the ship.  Hector disables
his VR display in time to watch a shell tear through the bridge,
blowing out the monitor it entered through sending shards of glass
flying, ripping through the navigation suite exploding the navigators
body and punching out the other wall.  Rapidly everything is pulled
towards the holes by the sucking of the vacuum.  Crew scramble to fit
on masks and helmets to their survival suits.  A mangled torso flies
up towards the entry point trailing a cloud of red globules.  Briefly
it sticks in the hole before being sucked through to the sound of
cracking and compressing bones.  "Mayday mayday.  This is the LCS
Tupan we are badly hit and are unable to continue the battle.  Life
rafts launching.  All crew get to the life rafts."  Hector pulls
himself out of his seat, disconnecting his ship bound oxygen hose and
engaging his own survival pack.  His insulated survival suit rapidly
cools as the ships temperature approaches absolute zero.  He pulls his
way through the corridors crammed with other crew and distorted fleshy
objects that obviously were once human.  As he reaches one of the life
raft ports he sees several of the crew battling to seal up a breached
suit, he pulls himself towards them to try and help.  The man is
missing a leg, fleshy tendrils of ripped muscles hang down from where
his knee should be, several crew are desperately trying to stabilise
the wound and seal up the suit at the same time.  "Get him into a raft
where we can work on him without suits!  Move him now.  We can't
afford to waste time here."  He grabs a limb and pulls the screaming
man through the hatch and into the raft.  The last man through seals
the hatch and triggers the auto-launch mechanism.  The raft shoots
away from the stricken Tupan, its hull riddled with holes, each hole
trailing a stream of gas and blood.

As the tubular raft floats away from the ship Hector turns his
attention to the battle raging outside.

The reinforcements for both sides have arrived, the huge Odin class
cruiser sending massive salvos of electro-chemically propelled rounds
into the fleet of Pilan class frigates.  The massive shells from the
Odin rip through the frigates often penetrating the entire length of
the vessel.  Swarms of missiles jet back and forth, the occasional
plasma warhead blooming out into a white sphere of destruction. 
Quickly the Confederacy's forces are whittled down, by the brute force
of the Odin its huge guns proving more than a match for the
comparative peashooters of the frigates.  Suddenly a flash brighter
than the sun erupts in the midst of the battle as a massive nuclear
warhead is detonated, the convoy, its escorts, the frigates and even
the massive Odin are consumed by the flash and pummelled by the
shockwave.  Onboard the liferaft the moans of flash-blinded crew turn
to howls of terror as the shockwave sends the raft out of control.


Earth (Paris, EU)

The massive projection above the crowd silences them all, the tones of
the news music fill the streets of downtown Paris.  Marco looks up at
the screen on the building, the newsreader appears infront of an image
of a space debris field.  "Just moments ago we received news of this
strike by Latin Confederacy forces against a shipping convoy in the
Kuiper belt.  This unprovoked attack by these Confederacy pirates is
the third in just two months.  This particular attack ended in a
spectacular tragedy however when one of the Confederacy captains used
a massive nuclear weapon that destroyed not only the convoy and its
escort, but also the attacking fleet and one of our Odin class
cruisers that had been scrambled to respond.  Reported EU casualties
are as high as 5000, survivors are not expected.  We take you now to
the EU congress in Straussberg for an address to the parliament."  All
around him voices could be heard, crying and consolation.
  "Oh God"
  "This is war!"
  "Why did it happen?"
  "What was the name of the ship, my daughter's on the Ragnarok!  What
was the name of the ship!"  The image is replaced by that of a stern
faced old man standing, with some difficulty at a wooden lectern
before the European Congress.


  "When I was elected to this council, I swore that I would not live
to see another great war.  I am old enough to remember the battles
that raged throughout the middle east, the Balkans and even into
Greece during the African expansion.  I fought in the trenches of
Turkey during the stand at the Bosporus.  I fought on that great Isle
that was once Britain against the enemy across the Atlantic.  Now it
seems I am resigned to once again fight, though this time it will be
my grandchildren whom are on the frontlines.  This war won't be fought
on the beachheads and through shattered cities.  This is a war that
will be fought in the cold vacuum of space.  It is clear that the
Latin Confederacy have raised the stakes.  And I implore their leaders
to explain their actions before we are forced to a decisive
confrontation.  And now I would like to request a moments silence for
the victims of this cowardly raid.  The crews of the freighters
Horace, Olivia, Magdalene, Corwin, Yeltsin and Cromwell, the crews of
their valiant escorts the Chirac and the Dahl.  And to the 4253 men
and women aboard the cruiser Thor."  The man on screen bows his head
and throughout the street silence prevails.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
---------

Earth (Just south of Greensboro, USA)

The blasted landscape looked more like an asteroid than the farmland
it had once been, as far as the eye could see in every direction there
was only wreckage.  Wreckage of tanks, aircraft, houses, bunkers,
cars.  And the bodies, thousands of them in varying states of
decomposition some recognisable, others shattered, many reduced to
component molecules by the firepower deployed on the front.  Jake
leaned back against the wall of the bunker, it wouldn't be long now. 
Another push from the Confeds and it would be all over.  Barely a two
hundred men and women held the line now, stretched across nearly 12
kilometres of front.  He had requested reinforcements so many times
that he was sure that HQ would have just given him some to shut him
up.  But HQ believed holding the evac sites was far more important
than holding the line.  Hell, each ship that they got off to the
orbital stations was a victory, every hundred people evacuated was
another chance of their nation surviving.  "I only hope I get to see
Mars too", that planet where the government and nearly all of the
population carries on.  Forty years of primitive terraforming was
making it livable and the massive colony bases were continually
expanding.  The military were using Phobos and Deimos as orbiting
fortresses with which they could defend the planet indefinitely. 
"Carl?" Jake looked to the back of the bunker where his radioman sat
cross-legged on the floor the many LCD screens stretching out on
spindly mounts from his pack, "Any news from intel about enemy
movements in our area?"
  "HQ is saying nothing within an hour of here, but it looks like they
are forming up for a push to the west of our position.  HQ is also
saying they are retasking remaining elements of the Black Horse cav
down this way, they will be coming under your operational jurisdiction
when they arrive."
  "How many of them are left?"
  "We can expect maybe two-dozen Bison tanks and seven Bighorn
artillery pieces.  We also have a flight of F-33s on alert 15 that we
can call in."
  "Any updates on more infantry, that's what I need.  And more
ammunition - we nearly ran dry during that last push."
  "OK sir," more burst transmissions, "OK, a resupply column will be
arriving with the cav.  But no more troops.  Engineering corps is
setting up defensive positions on a hillside about five kilometres
back, if we feel we can no longer hold the line under assault then we
can pull back.  The line will be shortened about 5 kilometres in the
process and once we are in position there its going to be city
fighting all the way up to the launch site at Chesapeake Bay."
  "Why don't they let us shorten the line now.  We'll lose probably
half of what we've got pulling back under fire!"
  "I'll send a request sir."  Jake put his eye to the multi-spectrum
spotting scope again, sweeping his enhanced gaze over the terrain.
  

  "I've got movement!  Looks like a three man recon patrol," he keys
his microphone all positions, immediate sweep probes underway!"  Quick
replies from the other positions confirm his suspicions.  "All
positions, take em out, but conserve ammunition, we're going to need
it if they make a push before the resupply gets here."
  "Sir," the voice of one of the corporals in another bunker comes in
his ear, "Why don't we play possum, let their main column advance
right to us assuming that we've pulled back?"
  "Because soldier: though those foot soldiers scouting there won't
have any multi-spectrum imaging, the main force will, and they will be
able to see us sitting here in our bunkers under-manned and
under-armed and they'll take us out before we even raise our weapons
against them.  We take out these patrols and they'll at least be
hesitant to bring any major assets to the fore.  Thus we'll hopefully
just have another infantry push.  Or, if we get really lucky they'll
just send more scouts.  Now, kill those little rats on my signal."  He
shifts himself within the bunker, shuffling along below the vision
slits to where his sniper rifle lays.  A monstrous weapon well over 6
feet in length it utilises basic electro-chemical propulsion to launch
massive depleted uranium projectiles at nearly mach 7.  Jake pulls
himself upright, bracing the weapon carefully and the weapon whirrs as
its power comes online, its scope auto-adjusting itself according to
humidity, temperature, air pressure, wind and distance to the target,
both horizontal and vertical.  It made for an amazingly accurate and
amazingly tetchy weapon.  In reality it really was only suited for use
where it wouldn't get wet, jarred or exposed to anything other than
prime laboratory conditions.  Most users fixed the majority of these
problems through liberal use of plastic bags and gaffer tape.  Not
pretty, but it reduced the hassles associated with the weapon to a
tolerable level.  Through the sight the three men were clearly
visible, scuttling from crater to crater, always trying to keep a
piece of wreckage between themselves and the bunker.  They quickly
ducked behind a shattered tank, crouching low and obviously unaware of
the monstrosity with its crosshairs firmly centred upon them.  'Well
it must be fairly hard to see where we are now, mustn't it boys', Jake
sighed as he thought to himself, 'with the amount of dirt thrown up in
the shelling the bunkers must be pretty much covered.'  The conference
behind the tank appeared to have ended.  The composite image in the
scope gave him a clear sight through the metal wreckage.  He shifted
the rifle a fraction, bringing the CCIP crosshair onto the centre mans
chest, slowly he squeezes the trigger, there, breaking point.  A
terrible roar and a metre long blossom of gases from the barrel marks
the rounds exit.  The sight of the impact in the scope is sickening,
the reddish image of the centre man changes abruptly as the round
impacts, its massive impact vapourising many of the bodies fluids
causing clouds of red mist to propel offal in all directions.  The hot
red of steaming blood clouds the scope for a moment, then as it
dissipates what remains of the torso is quite clearly detached from
the legs and hips which lie a-kilter on the ground.  Rapidly the other
bunkers open fire on the patrol's location, more bloody blossoms and
terrified screams as the other patrols are eliminated.  "Poor bastards
never had a chance, but at least we do."
  "Sir," Jake turns to face his radioman, his face is a mask of
despair "Commonwealth forces just pushed across the river into New
Jersey and have collapsed the front outside Pittsburgh."
  

  "Then it's the end-game.  It'll only be another few days, a few
weeks if we get lucky before they reach the capital."  He smirks,
"They still keep calling it the capital despite the fact the
governments been operating off Mars for more than forty years.  It
must be some kind for propaganda stunt for them forty years on and all
it is - its just a goddamn ghost town now.  Once the government left
the entire fucking city left, then it kept spreading.  They knew. 
They knew it would come down to this.  A few men, holding the line
against the inevitable.   I can imagine the news that they're
broadcasting in the colonies now.  We're the heroes, but like all true
heroes we gotta die in the end.  Sacrificing our lives for the
government that hasn't give a shit about the citizens since the
seventies.  They want space, they want what's out there.  The entire
nations a fucking wasteland now.  Our scorched earth policy in effect.
 Just another Balkans, thousands of kilometres of deadzone where
nothing can fucking live anymore."
  "You know what's really ironic sir?  One hundred and sixty three
years ago today New York fell for the first time.  Remember that from
school, the axis of evil that perpetrated the wrongs upon our nation. 
The hunt for the evil muslims and communists in the middle east.  The
second Gulf War, then the second Korean War."
  "That was the beginning you know."
  "Of what?"
  "All this.  The collapse - the end of our days as a super power. 
'Course the Prez tells everyone that we still are a superpower, but
look at us here."
  "Here doesn't matter any more.  Just Mars, that's all they give a
shit about."
  "What is it?  Four hundred thousand Americans left on Earth.  Nearly
all of those waiting for the launch that will get them to where we
have some goddamn chance."
  "And the most minuscule number willing to pick up a gun and buy them
the fucking time they need."
  "Well, for me all that matters at the moment are my arcs of fire, we
aren't going to get to see Mars.  Some Confed bastard in a command
vehicle hundreds of kilometres away is going to steer a bloody missile
straight into here.  Then that'll be it.  We'll probably even see it
coming, watch it straight in.  No chance to run or hide.  Just fire
our guns to the last.  Now where the hell are the Black Horse, we need
reinforcements now.  I don't like this, get me those jets airborne at
least we can get air superiority."  Jake sits down on an old ammo can,
tearing into the last of his rations.  A crackling voice on the radio
breaks the morbid silence.  "Sir, we have incoming Confederate forces.
 At least division strength.  Looks like they're finally making the
big push."  Jake pushes himself up, looking out the slit a massive
cloud of dust rising to obscure the horizon, the rumbling of hundreds
of tanks and other vehicles begins to shake concrete dust from the
roof of the bunker.
  "Get on the horn to HQ!  Get us whatever the hell they can, we
aren't going to last two minutes once they get into range.  Where the
hell is the cav?"
  "Cavs fifteen minutes out and they are hauling arse to get here as
it is.  Looks like we are going to have a combat resupply situation."
  "I can't spare the men for that.  Patch me through to HQ."
  "Connecting you now."  The signal quickly traces its way from the
bunker to a satellite, back down to a ground-station then along the
landline to a massive triple-C bunker next to the launch sites.
  "Orange 6, this is HQ, what is the situation?"
  "HQ, this is Orange 6, we have no chance of holding the line, I am
initiating a fall back to the alternate defensive positions.  We will
RV with the Black Horse while pulling back.  All of the bunkers will
be wired with C9 as usual."
  "That is unacceptable Orange 6.  You will hold position there."
  "If we hold here you won't have a man between the Confeds and the
launch sites inside of half and hour!  We are pulling back.  Deal with
it!"  Jake smashes his finger down on the kill switch cutting of the
irate general's reply.  "All positions, pack up and pull back
immediately, set charges and anything else you've been cooking up.  I
will activate the minefields as soon as we are clear.  RV at the
alternate."  He turns and sprints for the door, snatching his file off
the ground and the only remaining can of ammunition as he runs past. 
Carl follows him moments later quickly activating the booby traps
within the bunker.  They charge back to where a small buggy is parked
under a ledge of concrete, safe from the continual pounding.  "Get in
the back!  I'm driving."  The fuel cell engine comes to life with a
dull hum, drowned out amongst the cacophony of the advancing armour. 
The buggy leaps away from it protected shelter the massive studded
rubber wheels digging in to the dirt and pulling it along at fantastic
speeds.  The massive shock absorbers take the strain of the wheels
bouncing like demented hares as they rip over craters and hummocks
alike.  Above them four jets quickly streak over head their triangular
bodies sharply defined against the blue sky, smoke trails erupt from
their wings as they fire missile after missile at the attacking force.
 They quickly pass out of sight, but the continuous racket of
exploding vehicles confirms that they are still up there.

A bridge comes into sight, crossing a smallish river, halfway across
are the cavalry units coming to reinforce them.  The line of buggies
come to a stop as Jake leaps out and runs to the leading tank, a
behemoth some twelve metres long with two massive dual gun turrets and
many smaller weapons adorning its surface.  A hatch pops open and the
commanders head comes out.  He stares at the line of buggies, Jake
looks up at him, "Turn the column around!  We are pulling back. 
Didn't anyone tell you?"
  "Sorry but HQ told us that you had been ordered to hold position."
  "HQ wasn't told to hold against several divisions with empty guns."
  "That isn't the point in issue officer."  Another man rounds the
corner of the tank, a pistol leveled at Jake.  "You violated a direct
order to hold the line.  We will be moving back into those defensive
positions once you and your men have been detained."
  "This is bullshit!  Even if you turned us around right now there
wouldn't be a chance of getting into those positions.  I've activated
the minefields, set the charges.  That position is officially
off-limits.  Even to you Internal Security Corps bastards."  He spits
at the ground, as if trying to remove a bad taste from his mouth.  The
pistol trembles slightly as the officer tightens his grip, his
knuckles whitening.   "I say we pull back across the bridge, blow it
and discuss this a the alternate defensive positions."  The pistol
remains pointed straight at Jake's head.  The tanker looks worried and
turns to the ISC officer, "We can't just sit here, we need to pull
back."
  "We have orders to hold the primary line.  That is what you and your
men will do.  I will place you under arrest too if I feel it necessary
to achieve my objectives."  The rumbling of the tanks vibrating
chassis' is replaced by a high pitched whining.
  "Cover!" Jake dives off the road just as the officer instinctively
fires his pistol at the movement.  A line of bullets shatter the
road's surface as a Confederacy fighter makes a strafing run. 
Slamming into the bottom the small culvert running alongside the road,
hundreds of tiny stings from flying asphalt peppers his body.  The
tanks are covered in small scratches from the strafing.  A bloodied
mess of unidentifiable matter lies where the ISC man was standing. 
"We need to move, within five minutes they'll have a squadron of
attack jets blowing the shit out of this area."
  "Couldn't agree more," the tanker clambers back into his massive
mobile fortress, "Get this column turned around!"

Earth (Dar Es Salaam, Africa)

The grubby buildings lining the street conflicted sharply with the
massive steel and glass pillars rising far into the sky in the
background.  Overhead a trio of wasp-like attack aircraft hover, their
ducted fans whipping up storms of litter and dust.  A slightly
distorted and amplified voice comes from the helicopters "Disband
immediately, this is an unauthorised gathering.  We will fire if you
do not immediately return to your dwellings and places of work."  The
crowd moving along the street disregards the message, continuing their
slow advance towards the towers on the horizon.  "Cease your forward
progress immediately or we will fire!" the protest continues down the
street.  The pilot begins to train his weapons.  He couldn't believe
it, here he was being ordered to fire upon this crowd of unarmed
pacifistic demonstrators.  He'd been covering them for more than an
hour now and the call to engage had only just been given.  He wouldn't
do it, not to them.  He had seen them turn around when faced by a line
of riot police with their tanks and guns at an intersection, they just
walked right away, went round a corner and continued the march along
the next street over.  No chanting or shouting, just disturbing
silence, but everyone knew what the march was about anyway.  "Dammit
Leopard flight!  Open fire immediately or you will be shot yourself." 
The voice ripping into his headphones shatters his concentration.  "I
will not engage sir, they are unarmed and not making any aggressive
actions!  I will not fire into a crowd of civilians."
  "They are not civilians, that is an AIL terrorist cell that will
kill you without hesitation."
  "Therm-optics are not showing any weapon signatures among the crowd.
 They are unarmed."
  "Leopard flight.  Your flight leader is being detained.  You will
stop this protest immediately, using any means at your disposal."
  "You bastards, why didn't you give us gas-warheads or sonic weapons?
 You want these people dead as an example!"  The entire crowds
attention is focused on the voices coming from the helicopters
attached speakers.  The shouting voices draw glances from person to
person on the street as they realise what is happening.
  "Leopard flight, you will open fire or we will have you all detained
for gross insubordination."  That was it.  The pilot smirks, his face
breaking into a smile
  "This is Leopard leader.  I am hereby ceasing affiliations with the
African Continental Defense Forces.  I will not wait for them to come
here and kill off this entire crowd.  Leopard flight, follow at your
discretion or shoot me down if you want.  See you on the other side." 
The chopper swivels sharply and drops down to barely above the heads
of the crowd, racing at street level down the narrow road.  A second
chopper follows.  The third raises its altitude ever so slightly,
twisting its axis to bring its weapons to bear.  "This is Leopard 2,
Leopard leader and Leopard 3 have defected, I am initiating engagement
of rogue aircraft."  A brief flash of light comes from one of the pods
hanging under the chopper's fuselage as a mini-missile begins seeking
its target through the streets.  The foot long projectiles skin
ripples as the micro-hydraulic systems alter the texture of the
surface.  They streak along the street following the chemical trails
left by their targets.  Super-heated steam from bearing grease, a
whiff of exhaust - more course changes - a metallic tang from worn
gears .  There - a firm IR image of the choppers fans.  Terminal
acquisition, no chance of missing now, the image jumps suddenly as the
chopper lurches upward in a maneuver that leaves the engines
screaming.  The missile whips underneath and rapidly begins to
correct; swinging itself around in the width of the street like a car
with its brakes locked up.  It speeds back towards the IR image of the
helicopter, just above the roof-tops.  Target focused.  No
distractions.  An explosion marks its impact with the wire fence of
the chicken coop sitting on the roof.  "Not today Bobby, you shouldn't
have shot at me."
  "Stand down Leopard leader.  Or I will shoot you down."  The two
defectors begin to move back towards the protest and the hovering
craft above the crowd
  "With a shot like that?  A chemical trailer?  You should have gone
for the optically guided kill.  A sure thing, or are you so focused on
that promotion you've been chasing that you just want me dead?  Target
focused.  It's a bad way to be."  The helicopters sit above the crowd,
a mexican stand-off.  "Layla, break off, this is between me and
Bobby."
  "Roger that Sam."  Her helicopter shifts away from the site, moving
into the concealment of the streets hidden by the rotting tenements. 
"Bobby you sick bastard, those are innocents down there."
  "Shut up you idealistic whore!"  The words echo through the street. 
The speakers still pounding out the chatter of the pilots.  Police in
their blue armour fill the surrounding streets now, tanks at every
intersection, slowly corralling the crowd into a single street.
  "Bobby are you going to sit up here and watch the police massacre
that entire goddamn crowd or are you going to sit up and do something
about it.  Are you willing to fire a rocket into some woman with a
baby in her arms?"  The sighting turret under the nose of Bobby's
aircraft swivels over the crowd, twin gun pods on its body following
its movements.  "Look at me you piece of shit!"  The guns quickly
focus on Sam's cockpit.  "That's better, target focused.  You always
were an arsehole Bobby."  He reefs on his cyclic while jamming his
collective to its limits, his gloved knuckles pressed against the
display panels.  The chopper stands on its nose and drops like a stone
towards the street whipping past two people sheltered on the roof-top,
covering the events with their cameras.

Earth (Strausbourg, EU)

Outside the huge glass dome of the EU Council building the field trip
was proving to be about the most boring thing he had ever experienced.
 Third year University at the Sorbonne and here they were going to the
Strausbourg, home of the EU council and some of the most boring facts
than he had ever imagined possible.  His lecturer seemed to be loving
every moment however, pointing out with delight every sculpture
landmark and plaque. On the nearby wall of the EU stock exchange, a
massive screen had been dominated by figures, scrolling across at such
a speed that he refused to believe that anyone could read them.  The
playing of that distinctly "newsie" music had swung the attention of
everyone on the street back to the screen covered with the logo of the
EU news service.  Marco stopped to look at the screen, at the front of
their group his lecturer whirled to face the massive TV, his cardigan
forming a sickening kaleidoscope of clashing colours with the
movement.  "Class, we'll stop here to see what the big news is."  The
image became a dusty street, filled with people, menacing helicopters
quickly come into view as the camera-person moves into a new location.
 The voices echoing over the speakers from somewhere in Africa were
being translated in near real-time by some expert somewhere or other. 
The crowd gasps as the events unfold, trying to understand just what
is happening.  "We here at the EU News office are translating what is
coming from the speakers on the helicopters as quickly as we can, we
appear to be seeing a defection and possibly the start of an armed
revolution in Africa."

The newscaster's voice comes over the images, now of the two craft,
dancing about, like two courting hummingbirds.  The surreal beauty of
the display shattered by the bursts of cannon fire that flit between
the two.  "Our people on location have informed us that these craft
were ordered to open fire on a peaceful march to commemorate the late
founder of the AIL, Morgan Chagretta who died two days ago when his
car was bombed.  AIL supporters blamed the dominant Council forces yet
the Council claims it was the work of an AIL splinter group.  The AIL
has co-existed with the Council of Tribes for the past twelve years,
operating mainly out of their strongholds in Sierra Leone and the
Ivory Coast."  A billboard is ripped apart by the crossfire, as one of
the choppers dives under a banner hanging across a street.  The camera
shakes madly as the crew sprint and leap across roof-tops in order to
find a better vantage point.  "We are now crossing to our reporter on
the seen Ingrid Metcalf.  Just what is happening there Ingrid?"
  "I'm, currently on a rooftop in one of the poverty stricken suburbs
of Dar Es Salaam.  The group on the street beneath me is one of
thousands across Africa marching in support of the AIL today, what you
are seeing now however is what appears to be a defection in progress. 
The leader of the flight group was ordered to stop the march by any
means possible, he appears to have disregarded those orders.  He and
one of his wingmen attempted to leave the area but were fired upon by
the remaining helicopter.  Now we know this because is an open showing
of defiance against his superiors and in a show of support for the AIL
he has been broadcasting via loudspeaker all of his conversations with
his base.  It appears that the military has been ordered to kill any
supporters of the AIL.  Now one of the helicopters is smoking . . .
Yes its been hit, its been hit again!  The fight appears to be
returning this way!"  The camera sways violently as one of the dark
shapes rips overhead, its rotors sending debris flying like shrapnel
from a bomb.  "Uh, they're broadcasting again, we'll return you to the
studio for an immediate translation."

A fluid and gutteral language comes from the speakers again, almost
immediately subtitles appear on the massive screen, at times, barely
letter by letter as the translators struggle to keep up.
  "Come on Bobby, I trained you better than this!"
  "You are a coward Sam.  You have turned your back on everything. 
These weaklings, these pathetic fools are marching for a lost cause. 
You think we are the only flights up?  Everywhere there are people
like us stopping these marches."
  "And I'm willing to bet everywhere there are people like me who are
willing to take a stand against the system.  You ate every little bit
of bullshit they fed you.  Never once did you question the system. 
You're just their bitch Bobby.  You always have been, always will be."
  "You bastard I'll -"
  "First in your class at the academy in ideology and political theory
weren't you?  But what does that mean here and now?  I was first in my
class in Air to Air combat, where did you come in that class?"
  "I came first in that one as well."  The helicopters start circling,
always facing one another, like boxers in a ring.  The smoke coming
from the body of one coils like a snake in the draft of the rotors.
  "You're the one that's been hit.  Don't seem to be going so well
today do you?"
  "We'll see.  Look at the street.  The police are doing what you
refused to - no, what you were to afraid to do!"  The camera quickly
switches to the road where the police are firing in to the crowd
without mercy.
  "You cowards down there, the crowd have no weapons.  Just let them
go!"  The firing continues, brutal volleys from all directions,
whittling the crowd down with each burst.  "Fuck this.  Bobby, don't
even try to stop me."  A ripple of fire from the choppers cannon tears
apart the line of police at the end of the street.  A rocket flies
into an armoured car.  What remains of the crowd surges towards the
gap created by the rebel chopper.  Suddenly the image cuts to the
studio; another catch-phrase title covers the banner.  'America
Falls!', the newsreader looks up to the teleprompter and shuffles the
traditional pile of paper.  "We have just begun receiving reports of a
massive coordinated assault by both Latin Confederacy and Pacific
Commonwealth Forces within the former United States of America. 
Commonwealth forces crossed the Hudson approximately two hours ago
while a joint force has pushed in from the west, with Confederacy
forces breaking through the American lines in the south.  It is
estimated that only two to three days remain before the American
spaceport at Chesapeake Bay is taken and the last Americans leave the
Earth.  This will end fifty-seven years of bloody fighting between the
both the Confederacy/Commonwealth and the United States.  The
Commonwealth is now likely to turn its attention to the rapidly
expanding Indo-Chinese Alliance.  The Confederacy however is facing
massive diplomatic problems over its use of nuclear weapons in a
pirate attack on EU shipping, that resulted in more than 5000 EU
casualties.  This is likely to blossom into military conflict if the
Confederacy's chiefs do not come to the table with EU leaders at the
proposed conference next week in Vienna."  The crowd on the street
looked shocked.  The lecturer turned to face the group, "Systems going
to hell in a handbasket and it would appear that you lucky people have
front row seats.  Now, you have -hopefully- your final exams next week
and in the meantime, I believe that many of you should be considering
your future careers, particularly at this, delicate, point in time."
  "Delicate," snorts Pierre, "This is downright fucked up."
  "Indeed it may be, but what we are seeing right now is quite
possibly the end of the wars that started more than eighty years ago. 
And most likely the start of many, many more.  I served more than
twenty years, that's four tours in the 'Foreign Legion', all made up
of Europeans nowadays, but it retains its status.  We fought in the
opening days of the war against the US.  Back when there was still a
Britain -"
  "That's just a big glass parking lot now."
  "It might well be, but nearly a billion died when it was hit. 
Anyone who has seen the formerly white cliffs of Dover that now
reflect the morning sun back to the shores of France will have some
idea of the amount of ordnance that was used in that grotesque
display."
  "So where did you fight?"
  "I started my fighting on Guam, then we island hopped until we
reached the Hawaiian islands.  That's when the EU Council decided the
end our involvement in the war.  Anyway by that time it was already
lost for the Americans, and we had finished our time of war.  Africa
had pulled back, China and India had ceased their advance and we had
more important things to chase after."  He stares wistfully at the
sky, "That's where its at now.  That's where its going to happen."
  "You think we should sign up for the service?"
  "It used to be compulsory and at the rate things are going it may
become so again."
  "So take a commission while we still can?"
  "I won't hide from you the fact that combat was the most hideous
thing I have ever seen or will see.  I have nightmares to this day
about going in on drop-ships from the old orbital forts to some
blasted atoll.  It was a massacre most times.  The first wave taking
nearly 95% casualties.  Most drop-ships didn't even make it to the
surface. I don't know how those Yanks survived the constant
bombardments from sea and air, when it got desperate even from space. 
That's something to see, the whole crews of ships would line the decks
to watch a orbital bombardments from the rail-guns on the stations. 
Streaks of blue-green coming down from the heavens and vapourising on
impact in the most spectacular . . . bursts of dust, smoke and light. 
God, it sends a chill down my spine to think what it would have looked
like when it was being targeted at you.  You must forgive me, I'm
rambling, but we did have a purpose here class, the Council will be
sitting in just under an hour and after the recent events it should
make for good viewing today.  Get some lunch.  We'll meet outside the
entrance to the gallery at 1500."  On the massive screen the smoking
remains of a helicopter jut from the side of a mud brick building, its
tail hanging by a few strands of cabling.  Above it two others hover,
pouring cannon and rocket fire into the advancing column of police
vehicles as crowds of people flee down the street from the pitched
battle.


Chapter 4


Space (Economic Free Market Trading Post 1, just inside the Kuiper belt)

The impossibly large station slowly comes into focus on the screens.  Its
size dwarfing even the massive gas and ice haulers docked alongside.  The
spiders-web of docking arms, umbilicals and containers stretch out for
kilometres in every direction from its massive oblong body.  The variety of
ships boggles the mind, here a Japanese ore carrier, there an EU gas-tanker,
just coming in through the belt a massive Chinese ice-hauler.  Each of them
bringing their cargoes to this gigantic exchange.  Their escorts lurking
nearby as well, all within sensor range, but none willing to test their
mettle against the massive mercenary fleet that stalks the area.  The recent
tensions have taken their toll, each ship is stopped and searched by one of
the many mercs controlled by the EFM.  The radio beeps to signal an incoming
message, "LCCV 983-2, this is control, you are cleared to move to quarantine
point 13, max velocity in this area is 20ms."  The nav screens highlight the
point, the computers rapidly calculating vector burns in order to get into
position.  "Copy that control, moving into position now."  The Confederacy
cargo ship begins its run into the quarantine zone, the hundreds of vector
nozzles spurting gasses to influence the huge vessel.  It slides past
several vessels navigating its lane perfectly, slipping into the gap create.
The computers aboard each vessel "talk" to every other vessel in the area,
and to the controllers aboard the station.  The maze of vector velocities
depicted on the screen is skillfully navigated by the advanced systems.  A
few tiny ships flit between the behemoths, fighters - not capable of housing
such massive computer systems rely on the pilots to navigate the three
dimensional log jam.  These advanced weapon systems were little more than a
pressurised capsule with enough atmosphere for four hours of combat, an
engine system with a ninety minute burn capacity and some hardpoints for
whatever weapons the ship could hold.

Another beep, "Welcome to quarantine LCCV 983-2, stand by to receive
boarders."  A breaching pod swings down from the frigate sitting on station,
rotating slowly until its docking collar is aligned with the entry hatch.  A
quick spurt of gases and the pod attaches itself like a mosquito or tick to
the skin of the cargo vessel.  The docking collar extends and seals around
the hatch, a burst of atmosphere stabilises the connection, then the hatches
open.  The captain floats just inside the hatch, "Welcome aboard the 983-2,
known among the crew as the Peruvian Beauty, what would you like to inspect
first?"  The inspection crew is conspicuously armed, wearing emergency
reservoirs and impact suits, clearly they were prepared for any
circumstances.  "Lets see the hold."  The entourage pushes off down the
corridor, following the captain.

  "What the hell is taking them so long?"  Hector was floating above the
life boat, the three other survivors from his pod similarly arranged in the
hold, "EFM quarantine has never taken this long before.  We must have been
here for five hours already.  Normally you are through in two."  The door to
the hold slides open and the inspection team glide in.  "Hi there!"  The
team quickly engage their reservoir packs and draw their weapons, "Whoa!
Whoa!  Friendly!  FRIENDLY!"  Hector throws his hands into the air.
  "Who are these people captain?"  The leader lowers his sights marginally.
  "You mean the controllers didn't relay the updated manifest to you?"
  "An updated manifest?  Goddamn those geeks up there in the tower."
  "Yeah, we picked up a distress beacon while on the run here, decellerated
enough to launch a recovery vehicle and picked up this pod.  Turns out they
were survivors of that battle that turned nuclear."
  "Lucky.  How come you didn't drop them off at a Confederacy outpost?"
  "We were pushing the limits of our burntime just picking them up and
getting back on schedule, besides we still had two more of them alive then
and this place has better med facilities than any of our outposts."
  "OK."  The officer spins off the wall to face Hector, "So how many of you
and what else is onboard that you brought with you?"
  "Well, we have the pod, three corpses, our survival packs and weapons."
  "Those weapons will need to be forfeited on docking.  You and the rest
will be transferred to medbay for tests.  The corpses will be brought
onboard until the Confeds decide what they want to do with them.  OK
captain, lets see the dorms."

Earth (10 kilometres south of Chesapeake Bay),

The steady drumming of the rain is drowned out by the relentless pounding of
artillery and small-arms fire.  The city's buildings are mostly rubble, a
few still stand tall but show the scars of combat.  Burnt out vehicles line
the streets, smoke billows into the sky illuminated occasionally by flashes
of lightning.  A massive Bison tank moves slowly down the street in reverse,
its twin turrets firing continuously as the smaller sponsons fire quick
bursts into the buildings as it pulls back.  Sheltered behind its huge bulk
are several infantry, they huddle behind its silhouette, safe from enemy
fire.
  "This is a fucking deathtrap!" shouts Jake above the racket of the battle,
"We need to move back faster, get a position established."
  "We can't pull back any faster or we risk throwing a track on all this
rubble and wreckage.  Then it would be a deathtrap."
  "OK, then give us a strong suppressive screen for a couple of seconds and
we'll move into the buildings and try and set up an ambush."
  "Sure thing, just tell me when Jake."
  "Give it to me when we get past the next intersection."  Jake begins
frantically signalling for his troops to get ready.

The Bison draws level with the intersection and suddenly unleashes all its
devastating force, the street ahead of it is lost in a cloud of muzzle
gasses, smoke and dust as the massive volleys hit home.  Jake sprints off
the road with his men, quickly getting them into position amidst the rubble.
"OK, on my signal, give me another big volley down the street, make sure you
aim to the right side of the street so you don't hit us though, OK?"
  "Sounds good.  Make sure you get the little ba-" a missile streaks down
the street, as it approaches the Bison it flips itself vertical and powers
towards the sky before looping over and diving down towards the top of the
tank.  Metres away from the tank it seems to explode in mid air, firing its
tungsten 'sabot' deep into the tank.  As it penetrates the armour it rips
into the magazine of the tank.  Amidst the rubble a muffled 'thud' is heard,
then suddenly the turrets blow off the tank atop blossoms of flame.
  "Shit!  There goes our armour support!  Carl, is there any chance of
getting air support?"
  "None whatsoever, enemy forces have total air superiority.  Hold on,
getting a transmission.  Oh shit, oh shit - Yes!  Sir!  If we can get to RV
Echelon within the next five minutes then an evac bird will move us to final
defensive positions at the launch site."
  "Sounds like a plan to me.  Prepare to move out!" Jake pulls the tiny,
transparent LCD screen down over his left eye, sweeping his gaze over the
area he spot the highlighted location of the rendevous point.  He stands and
pulls his assault rifle into his shoulder, it CCIP target marker swings into
view on the LCD screen.  Signalling to his men to follow he begins to run
through the rubble towards the RV.  Tracers flit past him from the pursuing
forces as the unit flees from the assault.

Running awkwardly through the uneven terrain he stumbles and falls, lying in
the rubble next is the decomposing body of a tiny girl, curled into the
foetal position, still gripping the stuffed toy.  He could imagine the last
moments before the shell hit and brought the building down, the child
sobbing desperately, huddled in a corner hoping against hope that its
parents would come and rescue her.  The stuffed toy absorbing the tears
streaming down her cheeks. *THWICK* A ricochet next to his ear tears him
away from the strangely serene dream and back to reality a hand grabs his
webbing and drags him to his feet.  He looks to see who it is just in time
to watch their upper body be decimated by a hail of fire.  Scrabbling at the
rubble to regain his balance Jake quickly reorients himself and begins
sprinting again, all around him his men sprint with him, forgetting about
the enemy and only focusing on the rapidly diminishing timers floating in
front of them.  They round a corner and are greeted with the sight of the
evac zone.  The massive vectored thrust transport hovers uneasily above the
ground, its many turrets scanning the possible approaches, above it several
helicopters move warily below the silhouette of the buildings surrounding
them.  The squad gains speed as they see the waiting transport, their legs
moving faster than their brains could tell them to.  As they near the
transport it slams heavily into the ground, its massive shock absorber
landing gear absorbing most of the impact, several ramps and hatches open
and soldiers jump out to aid the retreating group in.  The turrets begin
firing as a few enemy soldiers round the corner.
  "Grab on!"
  "Get your ass in!"
  "Hurry!"
  "Move it!"  Frantic shouts seem to come from everywhere as the engines
spool up, hot air blasting into the rubble, sending choking clouds of dust
spewing down the streets.  The last man is hauled into the transport as its
gear leaves the ground, its engines screaming as its pilots push the
operational envelope in an effort to escape.  The escorts quickly ripple
fire their rocket pods before they too turn and flee the area.

Space (Phobos)

It was common knowledge that anyone with an ounce of sense would avoid Mars
like the plague unless they had business there.  Even then, you tried to get
there while Phobos was on the other side of the planet.  For fifty years it
had been a restricted military station and just recently it had gone crazy.
Ships with a line of sight to the moon were being stop-searched whether or
not they wanted to be.  Ships passing too close to it were boarded and their
crews detained, or if you were to believe the rumours circulating at the
spaceports - destroyed.  Around it hundreds of 'killer' satellites lurk in
their orbits, like a carnivorous plant waiting for the fly to land.  On its
surface countless missile and rail-gun emplacements faced upwards, ever
vigilant.  Far above one of Phobos' many installations a shuttle begins its
descent towards the landing pad.  As it approaches the pad it engines flare
brightly and spindly legs deploy to cushion the impact.  It settles onto the
pad lightly, its distinctive blue and white colour pattern a hangover from
long ago.  The engines are shut down and the pad begins to descend beneath
the surface, a massive blast door sliding into place as the shuttle
disappears beneath the surface.

The elevator comes to halt in a massive hangar bay.  The shuttle is lifted
off the pad by a crane mounted on an overhead gantry and gently brought
round to a spare slot amongst the many fighters and supply craft that fill
the cavernous space.  As the airlock equalises a roll of red carpet is
quickly laid out by a pair of men wearing immaculate dress uniforms.  A
staircase descends from the shuttle and a small honour guard comes to
attention as a man dressed in a ruffled suit descends.  An officer steps out
to greet him, "Mr President, Sir, it is an honour to have you here.  I am
Admiral Bates, officer in charge of the project."
  "Indeed Admiral, I've had impressive things about your work."
  "Yes Sir," they begin walking down the red carpet towards a massive blast
door at the end of the hangar, "Just recently we have made astounding
advances.  I believe you will be impressed."
  "I hope so Admiral, we've expended a lot of time and resources on these
projects and we need them the most right now."  A member of the security
detail steps up to the President and whispers quickly in his ear.  A look of
concern crosses his face before he turns to the Admiral.  "The last line of
defense on Earth has been reached.  Our commanders believe that they will
only be able to hold for another day, if that."
  "That's sad news Sir, though I must admit, I am not surprised."
  "Nor am I, but it makes our situation even more urgent.  We need to move
to your control room immediately."
  "Certainly Sir, should we sound the base alert?"
  "I am afraid so Admiral, you will need every man you can get in the next
few hours."  The blast door slowly opens as they approach, "Now Admiral, I
need to know, what is the status of the Castigator project?"
  "Its near enough to 100% in the simulations -"
  "Near enough!" the President explodes, "Near enough ain't fucking good
enough!"
  "Sir, excuse me, but this isn't the kind of thing you can test without
drawing some pretty damn big attention to yourself.  And if I understood
your orders correctly secrecy is most vital to this project.  Hell, none of
my men have been off-base for several months, they are allowed one weekly
comm-link to their families and even that is a delayed transmission to allow
for censoring."
  "OK Admiral.  I'll rephrase, in your opinion is the Castigator ready for
operational deployment."
  "Yes Sir.  Its ready, but I would consult with the scientists on the
project before making the final decision."
  "That's fine Admiral, when dealing with something like this, it is better
to be cautious."

Space (EMF Trading Post 1)

The bar was packed, every table was full, every seat had an occupying arse.
And all the screens were showing the same thing, the live coverage of the
final stand.  Hector sits, slumped against the bar with a near empty bottle
of beer gripped in his hand.  A few of his fellow survivors surround him,
all eyes are fixed on the screen.  The high-res satellite coverage was
excellent, providing a clear birds-eye view of the action on the ground.
All around the bar various nationalities sat in their own self-segregated
areas.  It wouldn't take much to make this place go up in smoke, though
Hector, just one wrong word to the guy next to you and it'd be all over.  On
the screens gigantic blocks of troops are massing in preparation for a final
assault, visible in the top right corner of the picture is the spaceport.
Only a few berths remain filled by vessels and it is clear that these will
certainly not be sticking around for too much longer.  As everyone watches
one of the ships begins to move into position on the colossal 'catapult'
that flings the craft skywards utilising massive maglev impellers.  A flare
of light signals that its engines have been engaged, instantaneously the
ship rockets along the two kilometre long track before launching off the
'ski-jump' at the end and pulling into a vertical climb.  A trail of smoke
from the centre of the screen signals a missiles launch, the satellites
camera quickly zooms in to track the missile and the rapidly climbing ship.
The missile gains ground before merging with the vessel in a blinding flash
of light, when the light fades smoking wreckage is falling to earth from the
top of the column of smoke upon which it had been rising.  The bar erupts
into shouting each faction proclaiming its support for or decrying the
action.  Somewhere at the other end of the bar a punch is thrown, the
bartenders look at the situation and one quickly presses the panic button.

A siren sounds and Hector quickly pulls his arms off the bar.  A solid metal
shield drops down from the ceiling, isolating the bar area from the rest of
the establishment.  Hector grabs his crew and makes for the door as the
fight rapidly expands.  Much of the crowd seems to have a similar idea and
the rush for the door is on, bodies pile out into the massive 'waiting
lounge' of the Trading Post.  Heavily armed guards are rushing in from every
direction, all with weapons drawn and all shouting at the crowd to get on
the ground.  Hector flips his legs out and drops to floor, the low gravity
created from the rotation of the station allowing him to land easily.
Guards swarm into the bar, firing taser darts at anyone not complying with
their orders.  Hector looks up at the scenes of destruction visible on the
omnipresent screens.

Earth (Chesapeake Bay)

The defensive line was huge, a modern Maginot Line with all the trimmings.
Hundred of bunkers, artillery and missile emplacements ring the bay, the
seaward approaches are covered by what remains of the Atlantic Fleet and
massive minefields.  Jake stared out of the bunker at the massing army,
"Well, this is it.  The Alamo."
  "That's right man." Carl leans against the side wall of the bunker, his
face a covered in dust and dirt, eyes sunken and skin drawn.
  "How long has it been since we ate?  Two days?"
  "About that."
  "Here we are, about to die and we don't even get a goddamn last meal."
  "Just typical isn't it."  Carl's face brightens, "Our last day on Earth,
or anywhere for that matter and we die on an empty stomach."
  "Fuck this.  I'm going foraging.  Hold the fort for me."  Jake steps out
the door of the bunker and into the sprawling subterranean complex.
Following the signs through the concrete labyrinth he comes to the officers
mess.  Opening its door, he is presented with an empty room.  The rows of
steel tables and chairs all neatly arranged.  "Something ain't right here."
He moves through the room towards the kitchens, the stainless steel doors
swing open easily on oiled hinges.  The kitchen is similarly abandoned,
quickly he searches the cupboards and refrigeration spaces for food.
"Nothing, this ain't right.  What the fuck is going on?"  He turns and
sprints back to his bunker.

  "Carl!  Get on the radio and get a sitrep from command."
  "Why?  We just got one five minutes ago and you can see from here that
nothings changed."
  "Everythings changed.  Except for the defensive emplacements this place is
empty."
  "What do you expect?  Everyone's trying to hold the line."
  "No, I mean empty, there is nothing here and noone either.  No food
stocks, no support staff.  NOTHING.  Make the call and tell me where the
hell they are transmitting from."  Carl looks shocked, his eyes widening
incredulously.
  "You can't be serious.  This place is empty?"
  "Completely, no get on the horn."
  "OK," he toggles the transmit switch, "HQ this is position E4, requesting
sitrep."
  "Roger that E4, situation unchanged since last transmission."  Carl
examines his screens, seeking the information he needs.
  "Its coming from space, outside Earth orbit, but inside the moon.  That's
all I can tell you."  Jake looks up, recognition flaring bright in his eyes.
He keys his headseat and gives Carl the signal to transmit.
  "What the fuck is going down HQ?  You're abandoning us down here!  There's
no support, no nothing!  It's a fucking ghost-base you traitorous fuckers!"
  "Stand down E4."
  "Fuck you!  Running off to Mars are you, you little bastards!  Leaving
everyone down here to die like dogs.  You motherfuckers."  Carl looks up
from his screens and gives the cut-throat signal to Jake.  "What's going
on?"
  "They've blocked the transmission.  Jamming our frequencies."
  "Why?"
  "Obviously don't want anyone hearing what's really going on down here."
  "We need to get out of here, get on a ship and get out."
  "The evac ships are all gone.  Departed or destroyed, we are stuck here."
  "Fuck!" Jake hurls his pack against the wall, laying the boot in as it
falls to the ground, "Bastards!  Everyone here is being left for dead, what
the fuck are we going to do?"
  "Go down fighting," says Carl with steely determination, "I've fought for
too long and too hard, seen too many people die, just to give up now.
There's no fucking way that I am going to sit down and die quietly."  A bass
rumbling fills the bunker as concrete dust drifts down from the ceiling.

Earth (1km East of defensive line)

The unit advanced relentlessly across killing zone stretching out from the
defensive emplacements.  Small arms fire reached out towards Jones' and
ricocheted harmlessly off the armour of his suit.  The augmented armour
platoon moved quickly between cover.  Their four metre high suits of armour
protecting the pilots from most weaponry deployed.  The humanoid augmented
armour had only recently been developed, its basic premise was to allow a
soldier to pilot a vehicle with the power and armour of a tank, but the
mobility of an infantryman.  Though they lacked the raw agility of an
unencumbered man, they were deceptively nimble despite their bulky,
lumbering appearance.  Chris quickly selected his missile rack and loosed
two mini-missiles towards the bunker from which the majority of the fire was
originating.  A puff of smoke from a slit on the hillside signals a
successful hit.  Dropping into a crouch he raised the Augs massive assault
weapon.  A huge rifle-like object consisting of nine barrels firing twenty
millimetre explosive ammunition utilising the aging Metal Storm technology.
Sighting it carefully he looses a forty-five round burst in under a second,
churning up a section of hillside near a bunker.  Re-sighting he corrects
his aim and fires another burst, a brief flash of secondaries within the
bunker brings a smile to his face.  After fifteen goddamn years of crawling
his way across the Pacific and then this hell-hole of a country, they were
on the brink of victory, he'd finally get to go home.  Fifteen fucking
years.  In it he'd seen every kind of warfare, the landings to make the
beachhead at Sacramento [authors note: The "Big One" struck in 2067 and took
with it most of the real-estate west of the Sierra Nevada range].  The close
quarters battles while moving through the Rockies.  The sweeping tank
battles across the great plains.  And the horrors of the recent fighting in
the sprawling east-coast megalopolis.  The use of chemical weapons on a
battlefield, horrific enough, but even more horrible considering that the
bastards hadn't even given their men NBC gear.  Impervious to such attacks
behind his armour he was physically ill as he moved through the distorted
bodies of the dead.  A scorched earth policy that gave no quarter, friend or
foe.  It made you wonder what they had in store here at the last stand.  A
warning light flashes and highlights an incoming missile threat.  As it
comes within two hundred metres a thick box above the "head" of the Aug
blasts out a wall of lead from the hundred and fifty barrels on its face,
prematurely detonating the warhead.  Chris continues his assault, striding
forth, another two missiles streak out from his launchers towards the
defensive emplacements.  "Incoming!" comes a shout across the radio.  Chris
quickly scans the area.  Nothing, he hesitates for a moment then looks up.
A swarm of fighters and dropships fill his view of the sky, missiles lance
out towards the new threat but barely make a indentation on the ominously
descending cloud of vessels.  A responding swarm of missiles comes down from
the attacking fighters.  The defensive anti-missile system takes down
several before a red "out of ammo" light flashes on his HUD.  He looks down
to where a photo of his family rests on the interior of the cockpit as the
missile slams into the suit, piercing the armour and detonating.

Earth (Chesapeake Bay, defensive line)

  "What the hell is going on?"
  "Friendlies Jake!  Friendlies everywhere!  They are pulling us all out!"
Carl mouth cracks into a wide grin.  "We're going to the Big Red."
  "Shit yeah.  Now where the hell do we have to go to get out of this
shithole?"  Carl and Jake run out of their bunker, joining the masses in the
corridors whom are also running for the evac points.  The crowd surges up a
set of stairs to the surface where the dropships sit awaiting their
passengers.  Fighters dive down from space on high speed strafing runs,
unleashing their cargoes and sweeping back out to orbit and their waiting
carriers.  Jake and Carl pile into one of the dropships as its door slides
shut and seals with the distinctive hiss of pressurisation.  The dropships
engines flare as it powers away from the ground, looking out the porthole in
the hatch the battlefield is clear below.  Nearly all the dropships have
left the ground, the fighter cover thinning as they return to orbit.  The
shattered offensive formations are scattered, vehicles burning and smoking
and the landscape reduced to a scorched wasteland.  The vehicles slowly
become pinpricks as the ship continues its climb as the sky outside slowly
turns black.


Chapter 5

Earth (Harare, Africa)

The council chamber was in a state of near riot, every politician was
shouting at another, the chairman was standing and attempting to shout over
the top of the ruckus.
  "Order!  Order!"  People pay no attention as the shouting continues.  The
chairman takes his seat, sighing resignedly he lifts the slip of paper in
front of him.  He re-reads it in his mind as somewhere in the parliament a
chair is thrown.  "Effective as of 0800 this morning, African Eastern time,
the Council has voted to invoke martial law.  The reasoning for this
agreement is the increasingly violent actions of the African Independence
and their affiliates.  The invocation of martial law will require the
provisions laid out in section 92 b paragraph iii of the ..."  It was over.
The Council of Tribes had self-destructed.  Eighty years wasn't bad, far
longer than any other alliance between African nations.  A uniformed guard
leans over the chairman's shoulder, "Sir, I recommend that you leave the
chamber now, there is an increasing security risk."
  "Very well," he stands and begins to leave the hall, "It is sad that it
has come to this isn't Captain."
  "Very sad Sir.  Please, we must leave now."  The door behind the
Chairman's seat swings shut as they leave.  The chamber is in total anarchy,
fights have erupted and armed guards are now spilling into the room from all
entrances.

Earth (Western Zaire)

  "It would appear that the Council has been dissolved and that all of the
sitting AIL members have been executed."  The small crowd gathered around
the screen bursts into worried chatter.  "To recap, martial law has been
declared in Africa.  The AIL is now the focus of a full-scale military
attack by the armed forces of the former Council of Tribes."  Sam looks over
to where Layla is perched on a table, her knees pulled up to her chest.  A
tear rolls down her cheek.  He slowly walks round to her.
  "What's the problem Layla?"  He crouches infront of her.
  "Its over.  What the hell were we thinking?  Defecting like this.  We're
being hunted now."
  "Look around you Layla!  Everyone here is being hunted.  Everyone here is
also willing to give it a go.  To try and keep a hold on what we always
believed in."  Layla's head hangs down, little rivulets of salty water pour
down her face.  "Layla!  Look around, look at these people!"  She lifts her
head, the thin face is contorted , her brown eyes reddened by the crying,
"Cmon, look around."  She lifts her head further and begins to look at her
surroundings.  The clearing in the jungle is full of people, all of them
seem to be in a state of shock.  A short distance away their two helicopters
sit under dense camoflage netting, a mechanic working to patch up the damage
to Sam's.  Further away is a cluster of vehicles, mainly ancient surplus
from the Balkan campaigns that have been long forgotten by the army that
once used them.
  "Everyone is here for the same reason Layla."
  "I know Sam, I know.  I'm just so scared now.  I don't know what's going
to happen."
  "No one ever does.  You've got to come to grips with it."
  "I'll try."  She leans her head forward onto his shoulder as new tears
start flowing.

Earth (Barcelona, EU)

The city of Barcelona was amazingly modern, its buildings were nearly all
self-contained environments.  Utilising selectively transparent solar panels
as walls, and housing waste processing units in their sublevels, their
design ethic was to minimise the amount of goods that needed to be brought
into them from the outside.  It was claimed that these buildings could
operate autonomously for several months.  Completely leveled during an
African assault in 2089, during the opening stages of the attempted
expansion into Europe it had been a battleground that had exchanged hands
many times as the Iberian peninsula was the focus of attack and
counter-attack. The famous architect Blair Jones had laid out the new plan
for the city, its stunning ancient beauty had been resurrected, as massive
gardens and beautiful avenues complimented the neo-cubist architecture that
was popular at the time.  Behind all this however was a more sinister
agenda, for all of its beauty, the city had been redesigned as a near
impregnable fortress, able to resist siege and assault.  Its streets were
carefully laid out to give defenders ambush locations, its building designed
not only to be self-contained, but also highly resilient to attack.  Beneath
the surface a network of specifically designed tunnels ran from building to
building, again in order to give defenders the upper hand.  It had been
argued that it was the most secure city in the world, and it was for that
reason that reason that it was also the place chosen to host the important
summit.

 Deep under the city inside a military command bunker the diplomats sat at
the ancient hardwood table.  "The public isn't going to buy that fucking
story!"
  "That is what happened.  Everything we've recovered indicates that none of
our ships launched such a weapon."
  "Listen.  The public is out for blood.  What do you think will happen if
we just said 'Oh, we're sorry, it wasn't the Latin Confederation, we don't
know who it was that killed FIVE THOUSAND of our citizens, but, dang, we'll
keep looking'.  How do you think that would look?"
  "Well if your ships didn't fire a nuke and our ships didn't fire one, then
who the hell did?"
  "You tell me.  But if the Confederation can't come up with a good
explanation then we are going to be forced to take drastic measures."
  "I hope you don't mean war."
  "That's exactly what I mean.  First your ships attack a supply column
moving through the belt -"
  "Moving through a section of the belt designated and confirmed on the EFM
charts as Confederation territory."
  "Don't start this pissing match over turf again."
  "What match?  Its ours on the EFM charts, we have bases in that sector!"
  "You start a fight.  We both bring in reinforcements.  Then somehow it all
goes up in one big blinding ball of nuclear light."
  "We did not use nuclear weapons!"
  "Tell us who the hell did and we can stop this goddamn debate!"
  "We don't know.  Maybe you people do?"
  "What the hell are you insinuating?  Are you even trying to suggest that
we launched first?"  The EU diplomat begins stacking papers and putting them
into his briefcase.  "I can't believe this.  We won't stand for allegations
like this."
  "Then what are we going to do?  Go to war?"
  "If necessary to make you people admit what you've done, yes."
   "You don't want war.  We don't want war.  Who would benefit from seeing
us both at war?   That is the question that should be asked."  The EU
diplomat slowly sits back down, looking inquisitively at the Confederation
representative.
  "Who do you think would benefit?"
  "The Economic Free Market are angry at us for undercutting them and
trading directly with the AIL, but that is a very small scale matter.  The
Indo-Chinese and Japanese are too busy worrying about each other to disturb
us.  The Pacific Commonwealth are our allies.  The Americans are much too
busy protecting their remaining evacuees from earth and their precious
little Mars."
  "But they do have a reason to dislike us both."
  "But it makes no sense for them to want to start an all out war in space.
They have lost earth and all their assets other than Mars.  Why risk it when
they are already at such a low ebb?"
  "What you're saying makes sense, but no one else has the motivation to
bring us to war with each other."  A buzzing from one of the pockets of an
EU diplomat draws everyones attention.  He removes a small handheld computer
and quickly reads the message that has been sent.  He passes it to the
leader of the delegation.  His eyes burn brightly with recognition as he
reads the text.  "Perhaps I was wrong.  Put it on the main screen."  A
curtain of 'fog' descends from overhead as the projectors begin projecting
their images onto it.
  "To recap, martial law has been declared in Africa.  The AIL is now the
focus of a full-scale military attack by the armed forces of the former
Council of Tribes.  In other news -"
  "By getting us to fight each other, the Council can be assured that we
won't be able to continue our support of the AIL."
  "That makes sense, but will your EU Congress buy it?"
  "They better, otherwise this city could be disputed ground again in a very
short time."

Space (Low Earth Orbit)

The fleet was massing to make the break back to Mars.  Losses during the
evac had been minimal due to the massive fighter and orbital support.
Relieved to finally be safe, or at least, not having to worry about keeping
himself alive from minute to minute Jake lay back on his bunk on the troop
ship and reflected on the events of the past day.  He had caught up with one
of the sailors soon after coming onboard.  Apparently the retreat had been
carefully planned weeks ahead of schedule, the fleet 'sitting' just beyond
the moon for several days.  Naturally this had caused some panic amongst the
Pacific Commonwealth moon bases whom, quite rightfully, were worried about
invasion or attack.  When the final battle had begun they had moved rapidly
into orbit, breaking through a hastily assembled Commonwealth picket fleet.
As they moved into position they began deploying their massive fighter
complements.  As soon as the first wave of fighters were away the drop-ships
went in on a 'hard-drop'.  Diving straight down into the atmosphere at an
angle very close to the vertical, then engaging engines when only a several
thousand feet off the ground.  Quite often the landing gear of the
drop-ships was broken by the severe impacts of these landings, that were
often at a velocity of more than thirty metres per second.  Once the last of
the drop-ships was on its way back up an orbital barrage had begun.  And the
last of the territories had been ceded.  Scorched earth all that was left in
their wake.  Someone reaches down and taps him on the shoulder, "You need to
report to the Colonel." A man in an ISC uniform stares down at him.
  "Shit."  He pulls himself off the bunk, "Lead the way."  The ISC man
pushes away from the bunk an floats towards the door.

The colonel sits in his chair, behind a desk that is mounted on what should
be the ceiling considering the orientation of the corridor outside.  He
looks up and stares at Jake intently.  "Lieutenant Jake Brown?"
  "Yes Sir."
  "12/2 Infantry?"
  "Yes Sir."
  "Lieutenant I am hereby indicting you on three charges of gross
insubordination and one count of murder.  You will be given a trial before a
military tribunal and will face execution if found guilty.  Do you
understand the charges Lieutenant?"
  "No Sir.  Permission to speak Sir?"
  "Permission not granted.  Take him to the brig."  Jake's body sags as he
is fitted with restraining cuffs and shackles and shoved down the corridor
towards the ship's prison.

Earth (Paris, EU)

Marco steps towards the beige door, he pauses for a moment concerned about
his knowledge.  The exam was to be his last, and though it was his strongest
subject he still felt uneasy.  Several other students bustle past him into
the cavernous hall.  Pierre comes alongside him, "Lets go man.  Last exam.
Ever!  C'mon!"  He rushes in to find a lucky seat.  Marco walks through the
door and moves towards a spare seat.  The examiners stand at the front of
the hall, one speaks via a P.A., "All students be quiet.  The exam is
'Post-African Expansion' History.  The exam will last for two hours.  You
will receive a warning at fifteen minutes and another at five minutes.  You
will have ten minutes reading time, during this time . . ."  His thoughts
drift away from the exam hall.  What the hell was he going to do once this
was over?  A rustling of papers brings him back from his diversion.  "Your
ten minutes reading time begins now."  Two hours ten.  That's all that's
left.  Two hours ten.  He turns over the cover sheet and begins reading the
question sheet.  Two hours ten until this chapter of his life was over.  Two
hours ten until he had to make the choice.


Chapater 7

Earth (Central Kenya)

The two choppers swept low over the reddish soil, stirring up clouds of dust
in their wake, ahead of them the towering spire of space elevator 39.  The
"elevator belt" stretched across equatorial Africa, with nearly two hundred
space elevators moving massive amounts of materiel and people to and from
orbit each day.  It was the prime money maker for the African continent, as
it cost them exponentially less to mine on earth and elevator to orbit for
shipping to an EFM post than it did for other nations to ferry goods to
orbit by conventional means, let alone off-world mining costs.  "I've got
air search radar, they haven't acquired us yet."
  "How long to HARM range?"
  "45 seconds.  I'm reading several independent SAM search radars."
  "Keep its low.  Keep it steady."
  "Roger that."
  "Closing range to outer perimeter.  We will have been visually spotted,
prepare for visual tracking and IR engagment."
  "Roger."  The aircraft roar over a chain-link fence topped with razor
wire, soldiers walking the fence are flung from their feet by the down-draft
and blinded by the dust.
  "Spike!  Spike!  Spike!"
  "Hold it steady, 5 seconds to HARM launch."
  "SAM launch, R/IR composite profile, SA-42.  Second launch,
third -fourth!"
  "Launching HARM!  Break!  Break!"  The choppers nose up to the vertical
and spiral upwards before breaking their formation and diving seperately
towards the earth.
  "Not seeing any SAMs tracking us.  What the hell is going on?"  The
elevator complex erupts, hundreds of explosions blossom from the spire.
  "What the fuck is happening?"  A tight diamond formation of jets streaks
overhead, behind them many more wings of fighters follow.
  "Those are EU jets!  Return to base Layla."  Sam engages his long range
radio.  "This is Green flight we have EU jets currently engaging primary
target, we are RTB at this time."  A very confused voice comes back from the
AILs control centre.
  "Ah, Green flight.  Request you repeat your last."


Japan (Tokyo)

The ancient Diet building was under siege, hundreds of thousands of
protestors filled the streets, all around them Tokyo was burning.  Tens of
thousands of police and military personnel were waging open warfare with the
protestors.  The line of tanks and razor wire surrounding the Diet was in
danger of being breached, the tanks continuously fired "crowd clearers",
hardened foam shells that would fragment when they impacted the ground,
sending thousands of rubberised fragments into the crowds.  Due to the
ranges however the first thing these projectiles usually impacted was a
protestor, always with horrific consequences.  The men on the line fired
canisters of paralyzing agents into the crowd, though the surge of humanity
never seemed to end.
  "Hold the line!  Prepare for CQB."  The police and soldiers unslung riot
shields and drew their batons.  An amplified voice comes from within the
crowd.  A cheer erupts and drowns out the voice as the front line of the
mass begins to sprint towards the line.  The mob rapidly follows, the tanks
begin firing concussion grenades into the crowd in an effort to stall them
the seething mass surges forward, as unstoppable as the tide.  Fires erupt
as a wave of molotov cocktails impact the line, the crowd continues to close
the gap, the faces begin to come into focus, mostly hidden behind cloths or
masks of some sort.  All of them wear red, a bloody tide surging towards the
line like sprinters at an Olympics.  The lines come together like a battle
from ancient times, protesters leaping the razor wire in an effort to tackle
some of the men holding the line, some throw cloth over the wire in an
effort to create a path, the police swipe madly at the mob trying to stop
them.

Thousands lie bloodied along the streets, many hundreds are dead, their
faces mercifully covered by whatever was close at hand.  Those injured are
being tended to by anyone who can help.  Several blocks away gunfire erupts,
overwhelming the sounds of the chanting and the chaos of the riots.  A new
mob fresh from another prefecture moves past, each member carries a weapons
of some kind, most scrounged from the defeated police.  As they move past
the makeshift hospital several peel off to help those tending the wounded.
The rest of the mob surges on to join the rapidly escalating fight.  "Where
have you come from?"
  "We just came from the towers in Shinjuku.  There is a massive group in
Yoyogi park, that is getting ready too.  Have you heard any news from
elsewhere?"
  "Osaka and Kyoto have collapsed.  From what I've heard the government has
abandoned all of the smaller towns and cities to try and regain control
here."
  "Then it is all going well."  Shinji looked up from the young student with
shattered eye-socket, the face before him would have been beautiful had it
not been for the massive build-up of grit and ash, a puffy cheek and black
eye coincide with a massive purple line down the right side of the face.
  "Soldier with a baton at Shinjuku station."  Shinji nods, "I'm Yuko.  Is
there anywhere I can help?"
  "With all the gunfire down there now I think we are about to be seeing
some pretty damn bad injuries coming in.  Tell you what, grab a couple of
your people from your mob, go about three blocks east and there is a
chemists.  Clear it out, we need anything we can get."
  "OK - what is your name?"
  "Shinji."
  "OK Shinji.  I'll get some people and do that."  She chases after her mob.
Shinji looks towards the Diet building.  Massive pillars of smoke rise from
a hundred sources, a roaring distracts him, turning his head he sees a new
group of people approaching the area.  They fill the street and stretch back
as far as he can see.  The student he was working on begins to moan in pain.
"Don't worry friend.  It won't be long now."


Earth (Paris, EU)

Marco stands as the exam finishes and begins to file out of the hall.  From
the front of the hall comes surprised shouts, those who have just exited the
hall sprint away from the door, rapidly the pace of the line accelerates
until the hall of students is running, without any knowledge of their
purpose through the universities campus.  He spots Pierre, running a few
metres ahead of him, "Pierre!  Hey!  Pierre!"  Pierre looks over his
shoulder and slows until he comes into line with Marco, "What's going on?"
  "Not a clue - but look at that crowd over there!"  He gestures towards a
group that has gathered beneath a video-wall, he looks up at the image on
it.  "My God is that -"
  "Africa, one of the space elevators by the looks of it.  It looks like its
taken a pounding."  A few jets pass across the view.
  "Those look like ours, what the hell has happened in the past few hours?"
An excited shout comes from deep within the crowd, a ripple of similar
shouts spread outwards, followed quickly by a ripple of fingers pointed
upwards.  Far above a massive formation of fighters and bombers moves
northward towards their bases.  Many of the planes are trailing smoke,
leaving dark streaks across the sky.
  "What the fuck is going on?"


Mars (Monnigan's Ridge Military Prison)

  "This courtmartial hearing is now in session.  Lieutenant Jake Brown, 2/12
Infantary.  Three counts gross insubordination.  One count murder.
Presiding authority is Leftenant General Sellers."  The official takes their
seat in the polished steel courtroom.  It followed a similar layout to those
on earth, but was starkly different in the materials used in its
construction.  The "judges" chair sat behind a polished steel emblem of the
United States, the softer, wooden, look of the earthly courts lost in the
kafka-esque terror of this courtroom's imposing presence.
  "Lt. Brown, how do you plead to these charges?"  The judge was only about
forty, his clean shaven face showed no scars to conflict with his pallid
white skin.  The skin of someone born and raised in the colonies, limited
exposure to the sun, full-on by-the-book maniac.
  "Not guilty Sir."  Jake was in the standard prison fatigues, a blue, that
had it actually been denim, could have been described as such.  However
these fatigues were merely a rough, cheap, artificial cotton.
  "Plea noted.  First count of gross insubordination.  Defying a direct and
repeated order to hold your defensive positions at Greensboro.  Second
count, defying a direct order from an ISC officer in the field.  Third
count, defying a direct order to cease transmissions.  One count of murder.
The murder of an ISC officer in the field.  Which would you like to
prosecute first, Colonel Blake?"  The prosecution officer rises from his
seat in the abbatoir of a courtroom.  His skin was so pale as to be almost
translucent, his perfectly pressed uniform contrasted so starkly with his
skin that he seemed almost unreal in appearance.  Jesus, this wasn't a
courtroom, this WAS an abbatoir, he was getting hung out to dry here.
  "We will follow the order of charges that you have just outlined your
Honour."
  "Fine, proceed."
  "Your Honour, am I not entitled to counsel?"  Jake rises from his seat,
his knuckles going white as his hand grips the bar that seperates him from
the rest of the court.
  "Under section C paragraph 93-3 clause 2, of the Unified Justice act of
2101 you are denied counsel due to the charge of murder of an ISC officer."
  "Why was I not informed of this fact your Honour?"
  "Under the aforementioned act you are not required to be notified of your
legal status or rights."
  "I would like to request a recess in order for me to prepare my defense
then your Honour."
  "Request denied.  You will be seated lieutenant."  Jake flops back into
his seat.  I am so fucked.

  "You really think that this is our man?"  The man stares intently at the
monitor which displays the courtroom.
  "Doubtless, I followed his campaign on Earth, he is relentless."
  "Let us see how he handles himself here, then I may be convinced to take
it to the Chiefs."
  "Fine.  I believe you will be pleasantly surprised by his abilities."  The
men return to looking at the monitor.



Chapter 8

Earth (Orbit)

Just as had been predicted by physicists and astronomers nearly two hundred
years ago a cascade event was in progress.  The destruction of the tethering
cable of one of the space elevators had triggered the cataclysmic event.  In
the densely packed elevator belt, it had been catapulted into the path of
one of the other elevators by the release of tension.  As they impacted the
light structures crushed and compacted, but much of the stations exterior
fittings broke away, and the first ripple of a tidal wave of debris was
born.  Slowly the cloud of debris grew in size as satellites and stations
were torn apart by the shotgun-like blast of scrap.  Massive clouds of
debris now drifted in all orbits as nearly every man-made satellite was torn
apart by the speeding wave of tiny, jagged, metal debris.  The human cost
was massive.  The economic cost, disastrous.  Space was now further away
than ever.


Earth (Strasbourg, EU)

  "At the earliest it will be twenty years before the debris coalesces
enough to make orbital facilities safe again."
  "Which is why we must accelerate our polar launch base program now!"
  "Its not economically viable to establish a full base within the Arctic
circle, let alone the cost of launching to orbit from a polar position!"
  "We can launch from scramjet platforms into a polar position easily.  The
main question is how do we deal with the loss of ALL of our satellite
assets?"
  "We must consolidate our positions within the belt and increase mining in
the colonies.  They must now become self-sufficient!"
  "You know as well as I that the plans called for a further fifteen,
FIFTEEN, years before the colonies could be classed as independent.  Are you
saying that we just cut and run?"
  "No, but they must advance their own food production and mining programs
in order to maintain their own sphere of influence.  Until we can figure out
a way to make our equatorial launch sites viable again they must be prepared
for limited assistance from us."
  "Is it going to be possible to negotiate a deal with the Pacific
Commonwealth for the use of one of their moon-bases?"
  "It'll be expensive . . ."
  "It'll be cheaper than dealing with the EFM for the use of one of a
section of one of their stations.  And as far as I see it, until we can
re-establish orbital systems we will need a near-earth base."
  "How will our communications be effected?"
  "Well, our ability to contact off-world assets is diminished, but our
existing landline systems are all intact.  We may need to re-commission
several cable laying vessels in order to gain regular contact with the
Commonwealth and Confederation, but otherwise I believe we will be alright."
  "Now, members, we need to determine a course of action.  We will reconvene
in two days to make a decision on the future of off-world assets."  The
speaker retires to his chambers as the members begin to talk amongst
themselves.


Mars (The White House)

Moved stone by stone from Earth during the early years of the war the White
House was the most prominent feature of Dome1 on Mars.  Its white marbled
walls clashing with the steel and glass of the Mars-built structures.  It
still retained its historical function of the home of the President, and as
the centre of affairs during crisis.  The report had just "crossed" the
Presidents desk.  Not that paper was all that common anymore, but it was the
though that counted, the electronic message appearing on one of the many
displayed that flickered above the desks surface.  The president looked up
from the report, "Get me Admiral Bates."  A staffer quickly steps outside to
arrange the secure transmission.  An image of the admiral springs to life
above the desk, "Mr President.  How can I help you?"
  "I trust you have received reports of the cascade event?"
  "Yessir.  I assume that you are calling to check our readiness?"
  "Indeed Admiral.  With this event occuring before we had expected, we must
act now or lose the inherent advantage."
  "Am I to understand you wish me to prepare Castigator for use?"
  "Prep and prime Castigator and contact me when it is ready for
deployment."
  "Yessir."  The president ends the call.  He keys his intercom, "Get Voight
in here!"  Mary Voight had been the chief of the NID, or National
Intelligence Directorate for 13 years.  The NID was a conglomerate of all of
the external intelligence and security agencies that had been spawned over
the years.  A monster on the level of the once great KGB, it held no threat
to those within the borders of the US, that horror was afforded to the ISC.
Mary comes through the door briskly, her dark skin nearly matching the
colour of her outfit.
  "Yes David?  You called?"
  "Mary.  Sit the hell down."  Her face blanches.  He pulls up the report on
the cascade.  "This wasn't meant to happen for another fortnight!  What the
hell happened?  Did your people on the inside get jumpy and go ahead of
schedule?  Do you realise its ruined nearly a quarter of a century of
planning!"
  "I realise that!  I know how much we had riding on it!  But I can assure
you, it wasn't any of our people who did this.  From what I've seen so far
it would appear that an EU strike did more damage than had been anticipated
and a cable lost integrity.  I assure you, this is a greater blow for the
Earth-bound powers than it is for us."
  "I know that much.  I just hope that we haven't lost our element of
surprise."

Earth (Paris, EU)

Marco and Pierre seemed to have made the same decision as most of the
population.  Sign on.  The queue into the recruiting offices stretched for
several blocks.  Sights like this were unseen since the African invasion.
They had been waiting for nearly six hours when they finally got in the
door.  The pandemonium within was unbelievable, it seemed that anyone with a
commission who was still on Earth had been dragged into the recruitment
centres in order to handle the massive crowds.  Finally Marco was called
over to one of the many trestle tables that had been set up.  The officer
behind the desk was missing both legs.  An artificial arm gripped a pen,
"Name?"
  "Marco Reuther."
  "Date of birth?"
  "19th June, 2140."
  "Comm number?"
  "484610313177."
  "OK.  Take this card.  You will be contacted within the week for an
induction session.  Bring that card to the session.  Keep your comm
available at all times.  Next!"


Space (EFM Trading Post 1)

  "That's it, no going home now."  Hector and his crew were still stuck at
the station.  It was costing him a fortune to live onboard and he just
wished that the navy would get round to picking him and his boys up some
time soon.  For the tenth day straight they were sitting at the bar,
watching everything they knew fall apart on the many screens around the
place.  The cascade had really topped off a great fortnight for him.  Losing
a ship and most of his crew, getting caught out in a nuke war, dragged to
this station and now marooned on this floating capitalist utopia.  "Get me
another one barkeep."  The barman reaches under the bar and brings up
another container of beer.  What a shit fortnight.  And now with this
goddamn cascade the belt was going to be hotter property than ever before.
The Confederation needed all the ships they could muster out there.  Hell,
they needed him and his crew.  They didn't need to leave them wasting away
here.  Fuck it, I'm going to go and call command, and get myself a fucking
ride out of here.


Space (Phobos)

Deep beneath the surface the ten fusion reactors were pushed to their
limits, some of their energy being shifted into the massive capacitors, the
rest moving directly into the underground facility.  Slowly, but steadily
charged matter was being filtered into the mammoth accelerator.  As more and
more power is applied to the accelerator and more matter is leaked in the
huge ball of ionised particles rips around the four hundred kilometre ring.
It moves faster and faster, rapidly approaching half the speed of light.
  "Sir, this is Admiral Bates.  Castigator is ready to fire.  We are
awaiting launch authority."
  "I am initiating firing procedures.  Prepare for authentication Admiral."
  "Awaiting authentication."  The screen infront of the Admiral begins
scrolling line after line of numbers and letters.  Slowly the computer
compiles the code into a single string of digits.  "Authentication received.
Verify 8A8NM3Y8AL6NZ."
  "8A8NM3Y8AL6NZ, checked and verified."
  "Castigator is free to fire.  Primary target is within the window.  Fire
control slaved to you Mr. President."  A long pause, the Admiral could
almost see the President relishing the unbelievable power he had at his
finger tips, finally the computer began flashing the word: "LAUNCH"

Far beneath the Admirals feet, the ball of matter was now nearly as wide as
the accelerator tunnel, an impressive 200m.  It took barely a microsecond
for it complete a lap of its 400km track now.  It had no clue that it was
going to be its last lap.  On the surface of Phobos a massive set of blast
doors have ground open, a deep, slanted tunnel stretches down from the
surface, along its length magnetic fields make minute corrections to the
velocity of the matter.  The massive sphere bursts forth from the tunnel and
streaks away from the surface, the glow from the ionised matter is nearly
instantly lost amongst the stars.  The matter speeds forward, its velocity
unmatched by all but light itself.

  "It will take barely six minutes for it to reach the Earth, Mr President."
  "Good.  And there is no damage at your facility?"
  "None, everything has gone exactly as planned."


Chapter 9

Space (nearing Earth orbit)

The ball of matter streaks across space, reaching towards the blue-green
globe of Earth.  Without the satellites in place, there would be no warning
of its approach.  No chance to prepare.  Closing the gap rapidly it speeds
past the moon, straight through the layers of debris in orbit and impacts
the atmosphere.  Slamming into the centre of what was once the state of
Wyoming in the former United States of America; the huge ball of matter
instantly buries itself into the ground in a flash of light.  The massive
impact shaking the tectonic plates and sending thousands of tons of soil and
dust into the sky.


Earth (Tokyo, Japan)

It was the third day of the siege of the Diet.  With no end in sight.  The
troops and police had stopped firing on the protestors to conserve
ammunition and now only shot when a group made a concerted assault.  Shinji
and Yuko sit beneath a tree in one of the small parks nearby, eating
riceballs from a street-vendor who had set up nearby.  "Its hard to believe
that its is so close to being over."
  "Yes, it is."
  "The military has deserted, the police have given up.  Its only those left
in the Diet compound that still want to fight."
  "Because they have the most to lose.  This revolution is about getting
some balance back to society.  We've been at 25% unemployment for ten years.
The government never did a thing.  And not once did they hold elections.
They are corrupt as they come and unwilling to surrender their grip on our
nation."
  "Which is why all this had to happen.  It was inevitable."
  "Do you have any plans for after this all finishes?"  Yuko looks over at
Shinji to gauge his response.
  "I want to go back to med school.  Finish my studies."  He hangs his head
slightly, weariness and some other, hidden emotion evident in his eyes, "I-
I- I just don't know what else to do after this.  We have to get back on
track.  We have to -"  A bass rumbling fills the air as the ground begins
shuddering beneath them.  Far away they hear the shout of "Earthquake!"


Earth (Dakar, Africa)

It was unlike anything they'd ever seen before, a massive ground battle
through the streets of Dakar, the Council controlled forces trying to hold
the city against the tide of AIL rebels.  Swarming above the city attack
helicopters and fighters from both sides were engaged in an elaborate dance.
A dance where a single missed step could prove fatal.  "Layla, keep on me.
I see a concentration of Council troops below.  Lets go for it."
  "Roger that Sam.  I'm right behind you."  The two helicopters abruptly
angle their ducted fans and plummet towards the streets below.  They drop
between the buildings and streak forward along the streets, rapidly closing
with the troop formation.  "Arm rockets and cannons, go for a strafing
pass."  From the stubby wings of the helicopters rockets and cannon shells
spit out towards the massed infantry.  The cannon shells hit first, tearing
apart those who they hit, they massive force of the impact blasting apart
bodies and showering those around them with blood and gore.  The rockets
reach their targets soon afterwards, detonating on impact, sending a blast
wave filled with shrapnel through what remains of the crowd of men.  "I
should feel bad about this."
  "Layla, you're doing what you have to do.  Those men were armed and would
have killed you given half a chance."  The helicopters begin to rise above
the skyline of the city, back into the madness of the air combat above it,
when the blast wave arrives.

Wiping the sky clean in an instant the wave smashes through the buildings,
shattering glass and gutting interiors.  Shattered planes and helicopters
are flung about like leaves in a tornado.  Tumbling out of control Sam
watches as Layla's helicopter spins out of view.  Before he has a chance to
do try and regain control, his own helicopter slams into the side of a
building.  Passing through the outer layers and coming to rest in the middle
of what used to be an office on the 70th floor.


Earth (Paris, EU)

Sitting in the recruitment centre's induction hall Marco felt uneasy.  Was
it a rash decision to join up so soon out of university?  Why had he decided
to join?  Was it a spur of the moment decision?
  "OK people.  I am Lieutenant Erwin Lostrich, in charge of this induction
group.  I'm going to ask you all to fill out the first part of your
induction 'booklet' now."  Marco looked over to Pierre, who was sitting next
to him.  Pierre was focussing on transcribing strings of numbers from
various identification cards to the small computer tablet infront of him.
'Name, Marco Reuther, Date of birth, 19th June, 2140.  Comm number,
484610313177.'  The hall was filled with people.  About a hundred and fifty
or so he guessed.  And they went through about seven sessions a day, just at
this location.  God, recruitment was through the roof at the moment.  "I see
you've all finished that very simple task.  Now, I'm going to give you
twenty minutes to work through the first real section of the induction
paper.  Activating it and the timer - now.  Go to work people."  A new page
was up on the tablets.  Multiple choice questions.  Some history, some maths
even some strange morality ones.  Marco set to work on them.  After several
pages of questions he looked up to the front of the hall and the giant clock
projected on screen.  Three minutes left in this section.  Then he noticed
it, a slight rumbling.  Several others appeared to have noticed it as well.
What was it?  An earthquake?  Possibly, not much else it could be.  All of
the EU buildings were designed to resist earthquakes and other, more
dangerous disasters.  At most this felt like just a minor tremor through the
many layers of insulating foundations.  Marco forgot however that this was a
military building.  An order of magnitude more sturdy than the others.  And
with far greater protection from such catastrophic events.


Space (Phobos)

  "We have a confirmed impact.  100km off target, but with a weapon like
this accuracy really isn't that much of an issue.  In another minute or so
we should be getting the live pictures from our spy ships."  The controller
looks up at the Admiral, "Admiral Bates.  We have a successful shot."
  "Excellent."  Bates picks up the phone, "Mr President, we have a confirmed
impact.  We will be streaming the feed to you as soon as we get it here."
  "Brilliant.  Its good to know that despite the failings of others that at
least some branches of our wonderful State are not entirely incompetent.
Keep me up to date with events.  And good work Admiral.  Pass my
congratulations onto your men."
  "Will do Sir."  Bates replaces the receiver, "Men, we have just
successfully completed our first operation shot.  The President sends his
congratulations."

The first feeds were coming through.  Showing the beautiful visage of earth
marred by a massive black cloud, one rapidly expanding and spreading to hide
the surface from prying eyes.  And from the nurturing light of the sun.  A
dull light is visible from the epicentre of the cloud, no doubt massive
fires burning from the heat of the impact.  Castigator had worked perfectly,
just as it had been predicted to work.  As Admiral Bates looked down upon
the image of the ravaged earth he was reminded of a quote used by a
predecessor, chuckling to himself he mutters "I am become Shiva, destroyer
of worlds."  The cloud was nearly enveloping the entire globe now.  Only a
few areas at the poles seemed to remain uncovered.  It was predicted that it
would only take a few days of darkness to completely destroy the worlds
ecosystem.  He predicted it would take far less to completely destroy the
minds of men.


Mars (Monnigan's Ridge Military Prison)

The door to the tiny cell opened slightly.  "Lieutenant Jake Brown?"
  "I'm not a Lieutenant anymore."
  "OK then.  Jake Brown?"
  "Yes?"  Jake sits up on the metal slab that passes as a bed.
  "Come with me please."  The voice was still coming from behind the door.
  "Who are you?  I can't go anywhere.  I'm a murderer and a traitor after
all."
  "That is only what many have been led to believe."  The door swings open
completely, a single man in a Generals uniform stands outside.
  "What are you talking about?"
  "A small group of us have been following several promising officers for
quite some time.  You have proven yourself in many theaters of battle, both
physical and intellectual."
  "What?  Why am I being prosecuted then?"
  "Our overzealous friends at the ISC decided that you were a threat to the
stability and safety of the military.  Which is precisely what we were
looking for."  The General steps into the cell.  His salt-and-pepper hair
cropped close to his head, scars adorn his 'windswept' face.
  "Why me?  Why are you looking for that kind of person?"
  "I can't tell you know.  But I can tell you that if you choose to you can
walk out of this cell right now with me."
  "Or I can stay behind and face certain execution.  How the hell do I know
I can trust you!  How do I know this isn't some integrity or loyalty test
cooked up by the ISC to further implicate me!"
  "You don't."
  "Sounds like a shitty deal."
  "Its the only one on the table."  Jake leans down next to his bed and
picks up the single pad and pencil he was allowed while in detention.  He
steps towards the door.  "Once you step through this door, there is no going
back."
  "Yeah yeah yeah.  You haven't just spent the past week in military
detention.  Nothing to read but a copy of the Constitution and the Bill of
Rights.  And a single goddamn pad and pencil on which to plan my defense.
All this in a goddamn 7 foot cube with a single solid metal slab that serves
as a bed and table.  The moment I step out this door I'm walking away from
certain death to uncertainty.  And to be quite honest I have few illusions
that what awaits me on the outside is anything but another type of death.
But I'm willing to take that chance just to spite those ISC fuckers."
  "Brave words.  We'll see how they hold up."  The two men walk out the door
of the cell, as Jake steps out he slams the door behind him, the General
looks back at him, a curious look on his face.  Jake just smiles back, "I
always wanted to know what that looked like from the outside."


Earth (Paris, EU)

Marco stepped out of the military induction session and back out into the
corridors.  Walking back towards the front of the building with Pierre the
people seem to be frantic and busy, scurrying back and forth.  They step out
into the brilliant midday - darkness.  The sky is black, with only the
slightest hint of a glow where the sun would be in the sky.  Fine dust is
slowly settling, falling from the sky like a black snow.
  "Pierre."
  "Mmm-hmph."
  "Why is it that whenever we spend an hour or so inside doing a test
something remarkably weird happens?"
  "Not a goddamn clue."


Earth

The black cloud had settled into place now.  A shroud covering the globe,
nearly from pole to pole.  Only the slightest white tips of the globe
showed, the rest of the earth hidden by the swirling blacks and browns of
the deadly shadow.  The sun could not penetrate the think particulate that
moved about the atmosphere.  The era of Dark Dawns had begun.