Ravens

by Ed Stalker

Excerpt from the Paratemporal Traveler's Handbook:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One "squibbed" without detonating.

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

Strange things happen at the heart of a thermonuclear fireball.

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

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

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

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

***********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*/*

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

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

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

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

Mongo, Smiling, and crackin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*********

Episode under construction:

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

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

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

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

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

"Monk!" barked Mike.

"Yo!" replied Nathan.

"Take out the laser!"

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

*Smash-tinkle-crash*

"Good one, Poombah." commented Mongo.

The laser beam died.

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

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

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

*BOOM*

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

*BOOM*

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

"Can I use the special loads, Mongo?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Along roadway in countryside, a vehicle convoy in disarray.

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rick grinned and said "No problem."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few clangs, a strange Hissing, and then silence

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

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

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

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

"Mongo to Ranger, SITREP?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Affirmative!"

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, your Highness."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve repeated - "HMS Thunderchild?"

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

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

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

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

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

*********

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday, May 6 1899 1330 GMT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are those?" asked the doctor.

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

"They're Nurses?" sputtered McPhee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, but..."

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

"Yes, sir." said the doctor.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Running the tests, , then thinking of something .

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Chapter 3

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

The RSI conference room

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The silence in the room was palpable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The group was stunned as they considered the ideas.

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

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

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

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

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

"What you mean, Steve?" said Will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded her head to agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"THAT is our new reality."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve told them.

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

"Sweet" said Rick.

"Sneaky" said Tim, admiringly.

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

***

Black Smoke

*/*

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

When he got to the third chapter, he cursed.

Vilely.

Fluently.

At length.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Chemical warfare?" they both said.

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

"So what do we do?" said Mike.

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

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

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

/*/

General Alexander - Black Smoke

London, UK Saturday May 6 1899 2130 GMT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

said one of the British Officers.

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

*/*

London, UK Sunday May 7 1899 0430 GMT

*/*

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

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

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

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

Steve looked at Kevin. "Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

*/*

Ravens Compound, May 7, 1899, 0530

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what was he today?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, he merely was glad to be alive.

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

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

He opened the door and stepped out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good morning, Your Highness." said Steve.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's invisible?" said the Prince.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How did you survive?" continued Major Ferguson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

He looked up as Steve entered the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not France?" asked the Prince.

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

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

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

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

****

Grosvenor House (US Embassy)

London, UK May 8, 1899 0730 GMT

***

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

Kevin was on the roof gun, although he had spent the trip mostly