 
# 2012 © V. A. Pesce

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form.

If you enjoyed this book, please return to Smashwords.com to discover other works by V.A. Pesce. Thank you for your support.

For information address:

V. A. Pesce

Lake In The Hills, IL 60156

Twitter @VAPesce

Facebook VA Pesce

Edited by Laura L.

Cover Art by V.A.P.

www.revelationprophecyfulfilled.com

Published by V.A. Pesce at Smashwords

# Table of Contents

FOR RACHEL

Acknowledgment

V.A. Pesce Quote

The Rise of Man

Prophecy Fulfilled

Avera's Map

The Mother's Advance

Presidential Log Entry

Matthew 14:16

Chapter 1 D'Manna

Chapter 2 Nick & Brad

Chapter 3 Ash

Chapter 4 D'Manna

Chapter 5 Gordon

Chapter 6 D'Manna

Chapter 7 Ash

Chapter 8 Alaska

Chapter 9 The Pulse

Chapter 10 D'Manna

Chapter 11 Iraq

Chapter 12 The Pulse

Chapter 13 Iraq

Chapter 14 D'Manna

Chapter 15 Alaska

Chapter 16 The Pulse

Chapter 17 Alaska

Chapter 18 They're Back

Chapter 19 D'Manna

Chapter 20 Iraq

Chapter 21 Legends

Chapter 22 Alaska

Chapter 23 McJeeves

Chapter 24 The Neclas

Chapter 25 D'Manna

Chapter 26 Nick & Brad

Chapter 27 LinaLias

Chapter 28 Ash

Chapter 29 The Neclas

Chapter 30 McJeeves

Chapter 31 Ayatollah

Chapter 32 D'Manna

Chapter 33 The Pulse

Chapter 34 Nick & Brad

Chapter 35 The Neclas

Chapter 36 Nick & Brad

Chapter 37 LinaLias

Chapter 38 McJeeves

Chapter 39 Avera

Chapter 40 D'Manna

Chapter 41 Nick & Brad

Chapter 42 LinaLias

Chapter 43 McJeeves

Chapter 44 Avera

Chapter 45 The King

Cast

About the Author

Characters and Terms

E-Book 2 Excerpt The King

# For Rachel

### Stay strong and never lose faith.

READ FOR RACHEL

Is a program I established for this lovely 13-year-old young lady, who, due to devastating side effects from the HPV vaccine, is wheelchair bound and in dire need of our help. A portion of proceeds from every purchase will be made to the Rachel Fund.

(Also available in  Hardcover (complete story), and  Paperback Book 1 - Revelation Prophecy Fulfilled, and  Book 2 – The King)

# Acknowledgment:

I wish to give an enormous thank you, to you, my readers. I hope you enjoy the story.

In addition, thank you to my family and to a dear friend who passed while this story was still in the publishing works. His influence inspired many verbal interactions of the President's leadership team and these memories still bring a smile to my face. Rest in peace my friend.

This is E-Book 1 of the Duelology. E-Book 2, The King, is now available.

# V.A. Pesce

"If all rumors are based upon some fraction of truth, then one could reason that all fairy tales derive from the same. Modern man is a creative beast, yet the fantastic stories that abound today could not be imagined if not for a sliver of reality."

# The Rise of Man

Discovered Ancient Battle Text "Book of the Wars of the Lord"

"Onward men! Onward to Victory!" Morcollias of Agylla bellowed as he led his brave human warriors into a full charge towards the waiting lines of the Western Tribe. Their steps surged in unison as their hide boots clapped against the trampled snow covered earth.

"Warriors of men, strike fear into their hearts!"

Just as the King's last words permeated throughout the horrific battlefield, his sword smashed into the first enemy warrior that blocked his passage, knocking the creature onto the trampled earth. Morcollias lifted his blade high above his forehead and with muscles bulging, swung it into the ground. The Westling managed to roll his body out of harm's path, just missing the blade's blow. With this, Morcollias raised his bronze sword once more, but instead, kicked the prone warrior square in his chain mailed chest producing a groan from the desperate beast. Sensing opportunity, he spun his sword and sliced the warrior's skull in two. The beast fell into silence as its struggling and flailing ceased.

Wasting no time, Morcollias followed his fellow men onward through the Mother's line; cutting and hacking a direct path in which they could get close enough for AlgierNeclas to ensnare the Mother. Morcollias' found another assailant and swung his metal at the foe, knocking its weapon out wide to the side. This left the enemy's leg exposed and ripe to strike at, and Morcollias took the opening, severing the limb and sending the attacker to his knees. He then lifted his sword to eye level and sliced through the creatures' neck. The spray of thick blood flew out from the gruesome wound, staining Morcollias's sword red and coloring the ground scarlet.

"Men of Agylla, hurry! Her lines are broken, strike now and make haste, for we haven't much time!"

Sharp pain erupted in Morcollias's side as a golden pommel smashed into his gut. He staggered to the side and turned to face his opponent, who towered much larger than its kinsman. This creature stood nearly seven feet in height and its shadow alone struck fear into the King of men. Swallowing his anger in an attempt to keep a calm head, Morcollias positioned his left leg to achieve balance and flung himself towards the monstrous Westling. The oversized beast swung first, and his sword collided with the ground sending chunks of snow and dirt spraying into the air. Morcollias sidestepped the blow and managed to whip his sword at the beast's chest, but the enemy deflected his meager swing.

The Westling charged again, this time blindly slashing the air with a flurry of attacks. Morcollias backed up, avoiding each strike, and with a swift motion, he spun and knocked the enemy's sword out of its hands. Morcollias leapt in for the final blow. As his sword pierced through an opening in the beasts' chain armor, Morcollias shoved his sword deeper then slammed his elbow into the stunned face, and felt the Westling's breath slow as life drained from its body. He placed his right foot on the creatures' chest and yanked his sword free, spewing more blood across the battlefield.

He strode forward ten paces when he instinctively dodged a stray arrow that traced through the frigid air. The Mother had obviously begun to take notice of his little barrage into her lines, and her full focus turned towards eliminating Morcollias of Agylla.

"There she is men. Hurry, attack the Mother!"

Morcollias continued to cut his way toward the sorceress.

AlgierNeclas maneuvered not far from the King, blasting and slashing through the Westling's in a hellish fashion. Morcollias was glad that Algier fought on his side, for he would hate to find out what would result if he were not. Morcollias swung his sword at another wretched enemy, casting the creature into a trio of men, which ripped the beast into shreds. It was not long before his men created a staggering weakness in the Mother's ranks, and their advance quickened as the men and Morcollias intensified their efforts to trap the Mother into the Wormwood Abyss.

Snow began to fall in an aroused motion accumulating on the soldiers' armor and blanketing the battlefield in a wreath of fresh ice. The frost gnawed at Morcollias' heart and his faith in hope wavered ever slightly. What if we cannot trap the Mother, he thought, what then? Doubt flowed into the mind of Morcollias, and shrouded his thoughts with a small craven desire to retreat, even though he knew there would be none. We must fight on, I must fight on, there is no going back, and we fight not only for freedom, but also for our very souls. This I cannot let slip into darkness.

"Onward warriors of men, onward!" he shouted as he finished off another assailant, scattering its entrails and painting the atmosphere in yet more crimson.

He caught a glimpse of the Mother out of the corner of his eye, and focused his attention on her visage. Her lips danced and moved in a foreign manner, and it seemed as though she whispered. Before Morcollias could complete his assumptions, a streak of energy burst from her slender fingers and smashed into a glacial overhang, showering his lines with sharpened ice and debris. Many of his men perished from the lethal blast of power.

"LinaLias stand forth and behold the King of men!" he shouted across the battlefield.

"Morcollias!" the Mother replied in disbelief, "How did a human swine manage to reach me? How did you... how could you have...!"

The Mother leapt off her majestic white mare in fury and drew her diamond-laced sword that seemed to slice the frigid air.

"You shall fall King of men!"

"Only by the decay of time shall I fall, Lina," Morcollias said in a tone directed to taunt the Mother into heated battle.

The beauty of the Mother stung Morcollias' eyes, and her figure shone more brightly than the purest celestial star. She raised one jeweled arm towards the sky and cast a bubble of air around them that prevented everything, even the snow, from entering. It was just her and him, trapped together to the end.

"Enough of words and tricks, Lina, come fight me!" he said. Hoping to keep her attention focused on him.

Where in Hurons' hell is Algier. He needs to be here. Morcollias then noticed Algier and his sorcerers moving up directly behind the Mother. Morcollias, knowing his stone encrypted destiny, leapt blindly into battle with the Mother of the west to buy the old sorcerer precious time to set his snare.

Lina, in her anger, sliced her blade through the air, and Morcollias dodged and parried until he created a fatal opening within the Mother's stance. He then harvested the full advantage of this opening and swung his sword with godly might, aiming at her jugular, but in a counter, she smashed her weapon into Morcollias's, shattering both his blade and bone.

Morcollias screeched as every nerve in his body twitched and squirmed, rendering him as helpless as an infant.

"You should not have tried to attack me foolish man king! You shall pay dearly for your interruption!" Lina said before kicking Morcollias in his face.

Blood poured from his shattered nostrils and Morcollias could taste the metal in his own blood as it collected within his mouth. The Mother spun her sword around and placed its razor sharp edge above Morcollias' sweat glazed forehead. Morcollias glared into the Mother's brilliant eyes. He then shifted his stare towards the blade poised to strike him dead, and he prayed for the souls of humanity.

"Your attack proved futile, Morcollias!" the Mother said as she quickly moved to deal the fatal blow.

As she began to thrust her weapon towards him, a noise beyond comprehension exploded from thin air. The crack of unfathomable power barreled into the Mother, hurling her off Morcollias and sending her sprawling face down and bouncing off the snow littered dirt. Her spell-derived bubble of air faded to dust, and the King once again felt the sting of frost against his mangled face.

"WHAT IS THIS?" the Mother boomed in a voice so deep in anger that it stained the air around her and tainted the battlefield.

She leapt to her feet and nervously twirled herself as grayish smoke emanated from her body. She swatted, and cursed, and fruitlessly attempted to stop the smoke's release. The flow of thick gray smoke then began to pulsate out from every Westling that engaged within mortal combat, and Algier smiled at his success. Thousands of wisps of smoke joined to form a mist that shrouded the battlefield in heavy fog, and cloaked Morcollias' sight.

"You think you can simply trap someone of my power away for good, Algier?" the Mother's shout emanated through the thick fog. "Alvar avgalar maveit mavintavngar!" she managed to shout before the gray smoke that fumed from her body, consumed her existence.

The fog upon the battlefield began to swirl and rise, forming a funnel above the heads of the men and their Eastern Tribe allies. They could clearly see thousands of translucent bodies twirling amongst the edges of the gaping hole. The brightly glowing visage of the Mother was unmistakable, and just before she vanished within the gray abyss, another blast of unimaginable energy erupted across the battlefield, smashing into Algier and his band of sorcerers, sending them crashing to the surface of the earth. Their skin began to burn and peel off their bodies and their screams pierced through the crisp winter air.

Every eastern warrior then started to fade in the same manner as their western cousins, and in mere moments all that stood upon the frozen tundra began to rise, twirl, and vanish within the spinning vortex of energy. Only AlgierNeclas, the Father of the Eastern Tribes, who at the last moment countered the Mother's spell with one of his own, remained alive upon the Earths crust with the humans.

"Mor... Morcollias please, come - come close," Algier said while gasping for enough life to say his peace.

Morcollias, whose body and face still vibrated in pain, felt helping hands guide him as he slowly crawled over to the prone body of AlgierNeclas, and he knelt beside the regal Father of the Eastern Tribes.

Algier placed both of his hands onto the King of men, and Morcollias gave a sudden jolt as energy and life filled every hole, every crevice of his halfhearted soul. He felt the shattered bones in his right arm and face piece themselves back together as if in a solved puzzle, and the blood that poured from his nostrils ceased its flow.

"Algier..." Morcollias started to utter, but Algier stopped him.

Morcollias knew the gruesome wounds his friend sustained would never heal. He leaned in closer to hear the weak and quivering voice.

"The - the lands of the west are for...forbidden to you and your people, Morcollias. Never com...come here again for only death shall await you. This is my warning King of men. Hee...heed it well..."

Algier then closed his tired old eyes, drifting off into white mist and eternal bliss.

# Avera's Map

# The Mother's Advance

11They had as [Queen] over them an angel, whose name is [LinaLinas], and in the [old tongue], The [Mother].20They trampled humans in the winepress outside the cities, and blood flowed out of the press, rising as high as the horses' bridles. Revelation 14:17

#  Presidential Log Entry

"I often wonder how I ended-up in this position. I thought one man could change a nation. I thought I was that man. I knew the people of this great country were ready. They proved that by their overwhelming support of my initial candidacy in 2008, and with my landslide victory for re-election.

They do not know the level of treachery within our government ranks. It's mind boggling to say the least. Every good I try to implement is beat-down, stalled, twisted, and defeated. Before my time is done, I just hope to make a small difference in this prestigious office."

~ Brock D'Manna - 44h President of the United States of America. ~

# Matthew 24:36

"But of that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but the Father alone"

# Chapter 1 D'Manna

He busily worked behind the ancient desk shuffling through some notes when a knock sounded upon the door. Mary, his secretary, did not wait for him to answer, popping her head through the opening, "Sir, Senator Ash would like to speak with you."

"Send him in, Mary."

Sitting at his desk in the massive Oval Office afforded him an unobstructed view of the door and the beautiful panoramic grounds behind. The office was richly decorated and extravagant, truly an office that projected power, but how much power does a non-party independent President carry, he wondered. The ever bickering Republicans and Democrats killed most of his promises to the people in the House and Congress. Each trying to fulfill their own party agenda and none caring about the people they are supposed to represent. It sickened him to see such highly intelligent human beings acting like complete imbeciles.

Excluding the healthcare bill that he had no power to stop, he had three goals he wanted to accomplish in his first term as President: serious taxation reform, education reform, and ending the war in Iraq. However, the financial crisis that crippled the nation took center stage and consumed his administration. Even though his first two goals would never see the light of day under the nation's corrupt political system, being the Commander in Chief of the Military afforded him the ability to force his third goal; and force it he would.

The war escalated out of control towards the middle of 2011 with the entire Middle East flaring-up in revolt and government overthrows. It seemed the insurgence played a cat and mouse game. When Iraq stabilized, D'Manna and his military advisors moved troops to fend off the flare-ups in Afghanistan. When Afghanistan stabilized, Iraq would act-up. Back and forth, and Iran sitting right in the middle, allowing un-impeded insurgent passage to both embattled nations.

This continued until the insurgence felt they were ready for an all out war with America and her allies. The stage was set and the battlefield prepared. They had years to plan how they would defeat the U.S. Military, and years to collect the weapons and store them for the final Jihad.

As planned, insurgent fighters started pouring into Iraq from all the surrounding countries. U.S. allies started getting very nervous, including the British who have stood by our side throughout. Attacks increased and America started to lose hundreds of fine young soldiers every day.

D'Manna had no choice but to send more, which resulted in even more dead American men and women. The calamity eventually forced him to negotiate a cease-fire agreement, and the process has moved like cold molasses ever since.

Unfortunately, due to the antics of the U.S. political parties, the negotiations dragged on. Keeping the peace became tragically more difficult. U.S. troops were continuously on edge living within the central portion of Baghdad. The cities boarders imposed by the cease-fire agreement surrounded their position with inescapable boundaries. Their lives were completely within the hands of the Senate appointed negotiators, and D'Manna distrusted the motives of these supposed experts.

Three hundred and thirty three thousand U.S. troops stood within the Iraqi border. D'Manna had no choice but to re-deploy troops from other U.S. bases, which reduced our nation's global and home country force to a mere token status.

New recruits were minimal as many Americans refused to send their young children into a political war quagmire, and D'Manna could not blame them. He tried to bring sensibility to an ill-conceived war started by his predecessor, but every tactic he tried, every maneuver, ever word he uttered, became twisted, misinterpreted, blown out of proportion, and ridiculed. It seemed as if some powerful force kept the war in play and he was powerless to stop it.

At least the cease-fire agreement held, and the loss of life on both sides stopped. Apparently, even the insurgent resistance had endured enough bloodshed. Tensions remained high, but all sides were content to let the negotiation process run its course.

With his re-election campaign finally over, he could focus more on the mission at hand. He began jotting a note when his thoughts vanished as the door swung open. Ash, the pompous ass of a Senator from California, came striding into the office with his lackey, General Gordon, close on his heals, "Mr. President, you've tried ending this war your way and it's getting us nowhere. I think you owe it to the people to eliminate this stalemate and ensure our victory in that god-awful country."

"Senator, we've been over this a thousand times," D'Manna said in a tired voice, "our negotiations in Iraq are progressing, and we haven't lost another American life during this cease-fire. It's time to end the bloodshed and bring our troops home."

Ash, with a slight sneer responded, "With all due respect, Mr. President, you cannot end this war without major concessions to the United States. This war has taken too long and we've shed a lot of blood. You owe it to the people to get everything you can out of the negotiation process. America must come out ahead on this deal."

Slamming his fist on the ancient desk, D'Manna, in a calm growl, responded, "I owe it to the people to bring their son's and daughter's home alive from this ill-conceived political monstrosity you and your counterparts have created! Furthermore," he emphasized, "I don't believe you, your family, or any of your compatriots have lost any blood within this conflict! This war is over Senator! Good day."

"I know you have sons in Iraq," Ash said, "and I know you worry for them. Ending the war to bring them back in one piece is admirable. But you can't forsake all that's been accomplished just to do it."

"Senator, I don't seek to end this war for my son's," D'Manna responded, "but for all our children, including Iraqi children. I'm ending this for the people of Iraq and America. They want it and so does our citizenship. This war is over, sir," D'Manna waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. He was finished listening to this viper.

"We have the weapon that can end this tomorrow," Ash interjected quickly.

"The Pulse!" D'Manna exclaimed. "You're out of your mind, Senator. I'll not condone the annihilation of a race to win this battle. You're talking about millions of lives. You're crazy to mention it, and how many of our troops will be sacrificed once we drop this weapon? I won't have that blood on my hands."

"The Pulse can wipe out all flesh within Baghdad," Ash responded. "We can pull our troops away and let them move in once the dust settles. It's the perfect solution and one that complements your view to end this thing."

"Don't patronize me, Senator. You're speaking of genocide. Every study I've read has shown that this weapon is unstable. I'll not condone its use."

"Mr. President, if I may interject?" asked General Gordon.

"Go ahead, General," D'Manna indicated.

"Allow us to test a scaled down version of it in the Alaskan waste. We can keep it isolated within a few hundred yards, and ensure only minimal life force is used within those boundaries."

"No," D'Manna said flatly. "I don't want this weapon to see the light-of-day. It's evil in its conception. I believe that's all I'm going to say on this subject. If you two have no further business to discuss, then I bid you a good day."

Sensing he would not make any more progress with the upstart President, Senator Ash motioned for General Gordon to follow him, and together they both left the oval office.

D'Manna contemplated watching them leave was like watching two vipers slithering through uncut grass. This is not the end of this matter, he thought.

Once out of hearing distance, Senator Ash and General Gordon slid into an adjoining alcove, "General," Ash whispered, "we continue with plan 'B'. Congress wants this weapon tested. We want an alternative if these negotiations fail."

"I was given a direct order not to have this weapon tested, Senator. I could be tried for treason."

Patting the air as if to say non-sense, Ash remarked, "Gordon, you know we'll back you all the way, and besides, he won't be your commander after this last term. You have the full approval and support of Congress. Let me know when plans are in order and I'll accompany you to Alaska." As he finished his sentence, Rich, Bob, and Karl, D'Manna's three henchmen, came striding past. All three glanced at him and the General huddled within the alcove.

Nodding his head in understanding, the General marched off. Many plans had to be completed and many 'fall-guys' had to be in place. He did not become the highest-ranking General in the U.S. armed forces by being naive. He knew if the proverbial cow chip hit the fan, Congress would lay him out like a sacrificial lamb. Gordon became determined to pave many escape avenues before he would consent to the testing of The Pulse.

The door crashed open. They always wanted to make a grand entrance, and Mary never warned him when they came, "Hey Brock, were heading out for some chow before the negotiation meeting. You coming?"

"Sure, I'll go," the President responded. Grabbing his jacket from behind the door, and following his friends, the current leaders of the free world marched out of the oval office and through the White House.

It kept occurring to D'Manna, that it really is a black house on the inside, dark and foreboding, full of intrigue and conspiracy. Every politician tries to convey their lack of insider connections during campaigning, and most of the people fall for it every time. D'Manna began to wonder if a true outsider could change things for the better. If anybody could, it would be him, he thought.

The country's citizenship is suffocating itself in debt, and the government kept squeezing more blood from them. There would be pain within all government ranks if his tax plan became law, but the citizenship would thrive. That, he thought, is the key to keeping America strong. It is never about the government or the top tier. Keep the working class strong and happy, and the country will follow.

At Sally's Diner, a favorite of the White House staff, the leaders sat separated from the public. It is good practice not to be overheard discussing state policy, and Sally always reserved a private table for D'Manna and his guests. Once his Secret Service agents ensured it was bug-free, they all sat down to consume their fair share of greasy burgers and fries.

"What did the vipers want?" Rich inquired.

"They want an explosive solution to the negotiations."

"They wanna drop The Pulse?" Bob asked.

"Yup," the President answered while chewing on a fry.

"Can we send them to Iraq before we drop it?" asked Karl.

Looking at his friend out of the corner of his eye, D'Manna answered with an evil grin.

"So, what's our negotiation stance to date?" Bob asked.

"Well, we're kind-of hunched over right now. The Iraqi's want us to rebuild their country and pay restitution to their people, and they want us out immediately. The only point I agree with is 'the out-immediately part'", replied D'Manna.

"Yeah, me too. Why don't we just pull out and say - asta-la-bye-bye-baby!" replied Karl.

"I wish it were that easy. In all seriousness," D'Manna continued, "Congress wants seventy percent of their oil sales in return for rebuilding their country and pulling out. Obviously, the Iraqi's are balking. They countered with ten percent plus restitution to their people, and rebuilding their country."

"Like that'll ever happen," replied Bob.

"Exactly," D'Manna agreed. "I'd like to settle for twenty five percent of their oil sales, use another twenty five percent to help rebuild their infrastructure and pay restitution, and their new government can pocket the fifty percent remaining."

"Congress is stopping this?" asked Rich.

"I don't think Congress wants this thing to end, guys. They're fighting our efforts every step of the way," D'Manna replied. "If we could pocket twenty five percent of their oil sales, the revenue would triple what we get today from taxes. We could eliminate taxation in America, and still make a profit."

"But Congress wants to keep it all," snipped Bob. "How much more money could a person want?"

"It's not about money, Bob, It's about power, and our politicians are power hungry."

"Hey," Karl chimed in. "Aren't we politicians now?"

Three fries smacked him in the face in unison, and they all laughed at his shocked look. When they noticed Sally giving them the evil eye for throwing food in her establishment, they all laughed even harder.

It felt good to laugh, thought D'Manna. Years of non-stop action trying to bring the troops home was wearing on him. His shoulders were strong, but the weight kept a constant pressure.

"Hey guys," D'Manna said.

"Yes your highness," replied the other three in unison.

Slightly grinning, "After this afternoon's negotiation, I'm going to take Laura and fly back to Chicago to see family and take a break. Do you-guys think you can hold things together until I return?"

"Absolutely," replied Rich. "You haven't taken a break in two years, Brock. Go home and take a load off. We'll stoke the fires of White House hell while you're gone."

"Just don't provoke them too much," replied D'Manna. "I'd hate to receive news of unexplained deaths occurring on the White House lawn. I'll be back in two weeks."

"As you wish, your majesty," Bob said while bowing.

"Funny. Now let's get to work," D'Manna finished.

# Chapter 2 Nick & Brad

It was another sweltering hot day in the fortified city of Baghdad, and numerous dust storms swirled throughout the afternoon haze. The D'Manna brothers, after completing their scheduled work events, took the long way back to the Special Forces barracks in hopes of catching a glimpse of the nurses as the ladies switched shifts for the evening. As they rounded a corner near the Tigris River, the brothers saw two Marines on the shore, lazily skipping rocks off the waves.

Apparently, the bored Marines tired of the game, and once the D'Manna's passed, decided to liven up their world of existence. Nick and Brad both tried to ignore them as the two hecklers started to follow.

Nick is the older by two years. He stood nearly six feet tall with a wiry body as tough as nails. Brad, although shorter by a few inches, is much thicker in muscle mass. Their fellow soldiers say if Brad gets a hold of you, you're as good as beaten, and to date, nobody in the Special Forces have been able to beat either of the siblings in hand to hand combat.

"Y'all are Special Forces pussies," said one of their pursuers. "Didn't your Officers warn you to stay out of the men's section of the base? This is Marine territory, girls."

"Yeah, does your mommy know you're playing dress-up, little boys?" his sidekick crony crooned.

"They're getting closer," Brad said under his breath.

"Just ignore 'em, Brad."

"Look at 'em, Hank, they walk like little girls. Shake those booties, girls, and maybe we'll let ya stay."

"Just keep walking, Bro."

"Damn!" Brad exclaimed, grabbing the back of his head.

"Did that hurt, little girl? Want us to kiss the boo-boo?" an annoying laugh followed.

Ignoring the idiots', Brad placed a hand on Nick's shoulder, "Cover me."

Nick casually looked around while Brad, red faced and angry, turned on the two ignorant Marines. They were in a secluded area of the American camp. Knowing few observers will be walking by; Nick sat down on a boulder and decided to watch the show.

"All right, I'll make this very fair," said Brad while dropping to his knees in the dirt. "Come and take your medicine."

"Okay mammas boy," replied the larger of the two Marines.

The Marine is big, and Nick noticed his many badges and medals, including three Purple Hearts. Nick knew immediately that this soldier is a well-schooled veteran, and not easily fooled. The other appeared to be relatively new, and Nick surmised the burly Marine was showing off for the new recruit.

The large man charged at Brad, with the new recruit trailing not far behind. From his knees, Brad swung himself into a handstand, pushed up with his massive arms, and with perfect timing, flung himself into the air somersaulting and scissoring his legs while snapping a kick right between the large Marine's shoulder and neck. The big man fell down with a groan. Utilizing the Momentum of the falling Marine, Brad launched himself into an immediate roundhouse kick right into the new recruit's jugular. He landed with a flourish behind the two men and watched as they both lay in the dirt moaning. Just then, their Special Forces commander came around the turn and realized the situation. Brad snapped a look of pure evil at his brother who was supposed to be on the lookout. Nick merely flung his arms out as if to say, sorry. Both snapped to attention and saluted their superior officer.

"What's going on here?" asked the Commander.

Nick responded, "These two gentlemen were racing, sir. They both tripped over each other's feet and crashed hard. We came to give them a hand and that's when you arrived, SIR."

The commander looked at Brad, and asked, "Is this true, soldier?"

"Yes sir!" Brad snapped.

"Help them up," the commander said to both, and waited until the damaged Marines were back on their feet. Brad helped the large Marine while Nick attended to the other. Both Marines straightened as much as they could and saluted the officer.

"I won't ask you gentlemen to confirm the story because if you're smart, which so far you've not proven, you'll agree with it." Looking at Nick, "Get them to the Med, then get your asses back to base."

"Yes sir!" both brothers responded simultaneously.

As they helped the Marines along, the big fellow seemed to be recovering, rubbing, and moving his shoulder to loosen it up. However, the new recruit continued to wheeze and suck air through his bruised Adams apple.

"Breathe through your nose," Nick said. "It'll help."

"What's your name?" Brad asked the big Marine.

"Henry," he responded.

"I'm Brad, and that's my brother Nick," he extended his hand in friendship.

Henry took the offering, "I'm sorry we bothered you, Brad. We're just bored. Ever since this cease-fire, things have been very tense. I feel like any day now these Iraqi's are gonna come charging at us and it's starting to get on my nerves."

"If they come charging, they'll be in a world of hurt," Nick responded. "The only way they can break through is if our guns stopped working."

"Or they get better guns," said Brad. "Word has it someone is backing them with better weapons."

"It's not just word, Brad," said Henry. "I've been fighting these mongrels from the beginning and it seems everyday before the cease fire, they received better equipment, bigger bombs, better information, and deadlier results. I wonder what kind of shit they have hidden behind their lines now."

"I don't know and I don't want to find out," said Brad. "I hope the negotiations get us out of here before it comes down to fighting."

"All I've known for the past few years is war and killing," replied Henry. "I don't know if I could ever be just a normal civilian again."

The brothers glanced at each other and Brad patted the big man on the back. Once they arrived at the medic, Brad apologized to the Marines, shook their hands once again, and headed back to his camp with Nick following suit. The big Marine grabbed a hold of Nick's arm before he could walk away, "Where did he learn that stuff? I've never seen that move before, and I've seen a lot of fighting," Henry asked.

"I've never seen that move either," Nick responded, "but I'm going to remember it," he said with a smile. "Take care, Marine. Hopefully, we'll get home soon." He started trotting after Brad and catching up, said, "That was an incredible move, Bro."

"I was saving it for you, but I guess you've made a mental note now," Brad smiled.

"You know I have," Nick laughed, "Let's race back to camp. Loser buys beer."

"You're on," said Brad. "On the count of three."

At the count of two, Nick started running. He always started before Brad ever got to three. Brad, knowing this, also started running on two, and it was a dead even start. Both brothers could fly and they made a beeline to their camp boundary, jumping tent lines, barrels, equipment, and anything else that got in their way. Seeing the brothers round the final turn to base, their Special Forces comrades, who have seen these two race many times, quickly erected a rope as a finish line. The rest of the soldiers got out of the way and watched. Men started yelling out bets and the money evenly split. Nobody bet on a tie, and the race ended in a photo finish.

"I beat you," Nick said, huffing to catch his breath.

"Not this time, but I'll buy you the drink anyway," Brad replied, draping his arm over Nick's shoulder, "You kept my ass out of the sling with the commander. That was a good lie by the way."

"I thought so too, but I don't think he bought it."

"You're right about that," said a familiar voice from behind.

Turning to look, both knew what they would see, and both snapped to attention immediately.

"At ease, gentlemen," said the Commander. "You two will be leading the training sessions for the next three months, or until further notice. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," they said in unison.

"Carry on. You start tomorrow at O Five Hundred," the commander said, then walked away.

"Well, this sucks!" said Nick once he was sure the Commander moved out of hearing distance.

"You guys got busted," some heckling comrades said.

Ignoring their jibes, "Nah," Brad replied, "What else is there to do in this forsaken land? At least we'll get to practice and exercise, and it'll keep you out of trouble."

"Trouble? Keep me out of trouble! You're the one that smoked the two Marines," Nick replied.

Brad just laughed and started to stroll toward their sleeping quarters. It was getting late in the day, and if they had to start training at O Five Hundred, they would need get some sleep.

Training assignment is a grueling affair as squads of men continuously rotate throughout the day. For the troops, it is a hard one-hour workout, then they would rotate to guard duty for a couple of hours, then the rest of the day was theirs. For the trainers, it was an all day affair with minimal breaks.

Brad loved to work, and found free time vexing. Nick on the other hand loved his free time, as he would play cards, drink, and converse until late hours of the night. Brad is more of a loner and although he did not mind sitting in on conversations, he listened more than talked, content to just sit back and follow the flow.

Nick had a knack for leading, and their fellow comrades seemed to oblige his skill. Although being Special Forces meant most had egos the size of the Earth itself, they respected Nick's skill and naturally followed his outgoing charm. Brad did also.

Growing up, Brad always wanted to be just like his brother, and often did things to get Nick's attention and approval. Nick was a jerk back then, but as Brad started to develop and grow, Nick accepted him into his group of friends. Brad did not have many childhood friends and unless Nick let him hang around, Brad stayed indoors and played with his numerous PC and video systems. He became fascinated with war as a child, and excelled at all the strategy games. Their dad was the only one who could consistently beat him, and it was entertaining to watch Nick's frustration when they played games that involved thinking rather than action. These were the times as a child where Brad felt superior to his older brother. Even with martial arts, Nick was always quicker, faster, and more agile. Brad definitely grew much stronger than his big brother did, but it did not help much when you could not catch him. The few intervals Brad did, he enjoyed knocking his brother on his ass. However, Nick would always bounce right back up and counter with some unique move that evened the score.

Overall, Brad was content with his life and family. His mother and father always encouraged him to persevere and never give-in, to take on tasks that were ultimately more challenging than the last, and to take care of himself and his brother. Of course, they did the same with Nick, and both brothers have grown up better for it.

Brad missed his family tremendously. Iraq is no picnic. It is immeasurably hot, sweaty, and most of all, dusty. The cease-fire agreement confined all American troops to the central section of Baghdad. Surrounding them were militant groups, who although respected the current cease-fire, would love nothing better than to kill every American on their holy soil. If the negotiations somehow fell through, Brad knew many lives would be lost, including his and Nick's. Although the U.S. had the superior firepower, the Iraqis had more men at their disposal. The Americans would be outnumbered at least five to one. It would be a deadly blood bath, and thousands of America's finest would never live to see the faint light of tomorrow.

"Hey Bro, it's time to go."

Snapping out of his thoughts, Brad nodded his head and followed his brother to their barracks. The next three months would be long and hard, but it would allow him to forget about all his worries, and take out his frustrations on his friends and comrades. He was going to enjoy this.

Nick was not pleased with the training assignment. He enjoyed his free time, and although it never hurt to keep his skills sharp, he has been training since he was six years old and did not enjoy the lack of competition from his fellow servicemen. Besides Brad, only his Master gave him any kind of real test, but as he grew into his body, even his Master became hard-pressed to keep up. Nick enjoyed finally beating his lifelong teacher, but it was still a struggle. It helped being thirty years younger, but he still enjoyed it nonetheless.

Now, only Brad gave him any sort of competition. As Brad grew stronger, Nick learned to stay out of his reach and beat him with his quickness. If he had to go toe-to-toe with his younger brother, Brad would squash him with his tremendous strength. However, in hand-to-hand combat, the strongest do not always win, but the quickest; hit 'em where it hurts, and get out of their way fast.

Nick is no weakling by any means. At six feet and one hundred and ninety pounds, he had some pop behind his attacks. However, many in the Special Forces are taller, heavier, and stronger.

The Forces only accepted the best, and this made them superior to the common soldier. None could take Nick in hand-to-hand competition as he would kick and punch all comers around like rag dolls. It was fun in the beginning, but now it is more of an annoyance. Brad put-up a good fight, but since Nick had a superior reach advantage, he could generally keep his brother at bay.

Glancing at his brother strolling along next to him, Nick felt blessed to have him by his side. He could not have asked for a better friend to go through the hell of Iraq with. He would have to be dead before he would let anyone hurt Brad, and he knew Brad would do the same for him. It gave him a good feeling.

"See you in the morning, Nick," Brad said as he lay down for the night.

"Make sure you wake me up, Bro. If I'm late again, the commander will have my ass cleaning the latrines for the rest of my tour."

Brad just grunted, but Nick knew he would do it. The last thing Nick remembered before he slipped into sleep was the comfortable night, cool, and fresh. A stark contrast to the insane heat and dust that always came with the crisp daylight. Training is going to be hard, hot, and sweaty, but Brad had a point, it would keep them busy and sharp while they waited for their father to bring them home.

# Chapter 3 Ash

Senator Jefferson Ash sized-up his comrade in deception as they discussed plans for the testing of the Pulse. The private room in the rear of his favorite bistro is well secure, and Ash had no worries of unwanted eavesdropping, "What do you mean by, 'they're all coming', General Gordon?" queried Ash.

"I told them we'd be poised to test The Pulse the week before Christmas, and our supporters said they'd make arrangements to attend," Gordon responded. "I have to hand it to you, Senator, you said I'd have full support of Congress, and it appears that I do. Thank you, sir."

Senator Ash became shocked. Not about the support, but that they would risk going to Alaska and the President finding out about it. The plan progressed perfectly, and this unwanted exposure could jeopardize the entire mission, "Please define 'all' for me, General. We don't have unanimous support. There are some who actually back D'Manna."

General Gordon smiled, "All that support us are going. I'm amazed they could pull off the secrecy. They're going to use the holiday break as an opportunity to sneak separate flights to Alaska. With everyone dispersing across the nation, D'Manna won't suspect anything until it's too late. I've made all the arrangements with General Slovich who commands our Alaskan operations. We've been friends since the academy and he's arranged to house everyone in the base. Nobody will suspect a thing."

"Don't be fooled by D'Manna's lack of intelligence support. The man has been all too clever in soliciting people to help keep an eye on things. He's no dummy, and we have to be very careful."

Gordon enjoyed the shocked look on Ash's face. He knew he had to cover his tracks on this mission, and by having all their supporters on hand to witness the testing, he pulled off a major coup. It appears he will not sink alone if things should go sour, "I believe everything is covered, Senator," Gordon responded, (even his ass), he thought. "With the support of Congress, if the test is successful, the President won't be able to stop its deployment in Iraq. We'll have a final victory in that hell-hole."

"And all the spoils that go with it, my friend," Ash said smiling. "We'll have total control of one of the Earth's largest oil reservoirs. It'll keep us on top forever."

"And our country," General Gordon said.

"Of course, of course," Ash responded.

Switching the conversation, the General asked, "How did the negotiation session go?"

"It's delayed for the time being. The Iraqi's are leaning toward D'Manna's proposal, but they want to take some time to consider and talk things over with their spiritual leaders. Overall, the President gave a persuading speech on the merits and benefits to both nations. Heck, even I thought it was a good plan, until I realized how much more we could get by just wiping them out and taking everything. My constituencies and I have influence with some Iraqi Clerics, and with some of the promises we made, they should be able to prolong a final decision until it's too late. Everyone agreed to reconvene after the New Year. This will give us time to diligently test The Pulse and make final plans."

"We're playing a dangerous game," said Gordon. "If things go south, I'll be facing a court marshal and charges of treason."

"Aren't we all?" Ash responded.

Gordon frowned, "You and the other politicians aren't military and subject to its laws. I, on the other hand, am plotting against my commander and chief. This could ruin not only me, but also every person in my family. I won't fall alone, Ash."

"If this fails, General, we'll all be ruined. I assure you, we're all in this together. From my understanding, the President is arranging to spend Thanksgiving with the troops in Iraq, then he'll travel to Chicago to spend the rest of the holiday season. With the negotiations stalled until after the New Year, he's taking the opportunity for some rest and relaxation. Most of his eyes and ears will be scattered for the season, and he should not suspect anything. We have a golden opportunity my friend. Make sure everything is in order. We shouldn't speak again until we're all assembled in Alaska."

"I understand," said Gordon. "I'm making arrangements for the test to begin on the twenty first of December. I thought it fitting with everyone talking about the Mayan predictions. Make sure you're there or you'll miss all the excitement."

Ash smiled, "I'll make my arrangements. Have a good Thanksgiving, General."

Shaking hands, the conspirators departed. Thanksgiving is a week away, and everything is falling into place. It will truly be a thankful season and one that will go down as a turning point in America's future.

General Gordon became convinced their only option is the one he set into motion. He could wind up an American hero if everything kept progressing according to plan. He could all but taste the accolades of this major accomplishment.

Ash on the other hand, started to feel a little bit nervous. Having two thirds of the nation's political leaders arriving in a remote Alaskan village prior to the holidays could cause some unwanted exposure. He jotted a note to contact some of his news colleagues. He would have to promise future information in exchange for a leak-less interchange. Gordon somehow managed to invite all the right people, but failed to realize the political fallout if the news media somehow found out, and they always seemed to find things out.

Ash's political influence within the media is renowned, and he was confident he could solicit secrecy until everything is completed.

# Chapter 4 D'Manna

"So, what do we do now?" Karl asked as D'Manna's inner group ate take-out Chinese within the famous Oval Office.

"We enjoy the holidays and wait until the New Year," D'Manna said. "Go spend some time with your families, guys. Meet me back at the White House on January fifth. I'm going to spend Thanksgiving week in Iraq, then fly back home for the Christmas break. Gosh, I haven't seen the boys in almost two years."

"Are you taking Laura with, Brock?" asked Bob.

"She won't let me leave without her."

Rich felt uneasy about this entire situation. Iraq, although holding under the cease-fire agreement, is still a hostile land. Spending an entire week there could make D'Manna quite the enticing target. If anything should happen, it could turn Iraq into a field of death, and many American soldiers would not live to see old age. Rich knew some very powerful factions do not want to see an end to the conflict, and some others are such religious fanatics; their only goal is to kill any Christian even at the expense of their own life. Rich asked, "What about security? Do you really think this is a wise decision?"

"I have assurances from three of the most powerful clerics in that country. Although anything could happen, I'm pretty sure it'll be okay," answered D'Manna. "They want us out as much as we want to get out. I think they'll accept the proposal I offered because it's a win-win for both of our countries. Rest assured, I'm not going to lose any sleep worrying about my life."

"That's because if you're dead, you won't give a rat's ass," Karl said. "We'll have to pick-up the pieces, literally."

"You're such an optimist, Karl. Just do me a favor, if anything should happen to me, make sure you get the boys out, and see to it Laura's taken care of."

"Oh, now you just made me feel bundles better," said Rich. "If they're not in pieces with you, you have our word."

"Good. I'll see you all next year."

Rich, Bob, and Karl, agreed to stay in D.C. with their families for the Christmas break. It will be an opportunity to treat their loved ones to a state dinner, and allow them to monitor the rest of their objectives.

The campaign re-election and Iraq consumed a large fraction of their time, and now that it appeared the conflict would soon be over, the logistics of rerouting three hundred and thirty thousand troops would be a major undertaking. Not to mention all the endless speeches and media coverage they would have to manage. They knew even before the ink of the agreement dried, the President would push them onto his next objective, a new taxation system for the nation.

The leaders realized that compared to Iraq, the battle for a new tax system would be virtually impossible. The greed, money hoarding, and power of America's politicians are beyond mortal battle. This will be a war with no front, and with little to no political allies. They will have to energize the nation's citizenship if they had any hope of success, and even that may not be enough. Meanwhile, they would take this opportunity to get a jump on the New Year. All indications are pointing toward a very busy and successful 2013.

"Mmm, how long have I been asleep?"

"Almost the entire flight, my dear."

"Hmmm," rolling into his arms, she never felt so contented, "Wanna join the mile high club?" smiling at him with a wicked glint in her eye.

"Um, we're not alone, sweetie."

Following his gaze, she noticed all the agents filling Air Force One, "Must they always follow you like a pack of wolves?" Laura asked.

He laughed, "I think their job is to keep the other wolves away. Besides, we'll be starting our descent soon and I don't believe the bathroom stall is the best place to be when that happens."

"Chicken," she said as she kissed his cheek.

Squeezing her hand, D'Manna felt content. They have been married for twenty-one years. Both the same age at forty-five, and yet she still looked not a day older than she did in her mid twenties.

Laura is gorgeous, stunning, vibrant, and caring. A definite looker and he enjoyed looking at her every day. Her long golden-brown hair and brown eyes melted his heart at every glance. She is his life, his soul mate. A perfect companion to share every facet of his life, and when they made love, the Earth moved with her passion.

He knew when he married her she would always be a stunning woman, and this forced him to keep in shape and take care of his appearance. Although his hair is mostly gone, and turning a little gray, his body is somewhat lean and nearly as agile as when he was young.

He enjoyed spending time with his boys and even at his age, he could still give them a run when they played pick-up basketball or football. He loved to watch his boys run. Their speed reminded him of his youthful days when he could run forever.

Just before they left for military training, his boys challenged him to a sprint. They always tried to out-do him, and as they grew older he was beaten more times than not. This last sprint was no exception. Laura held the stopwatch and gave the signal. Nick started at the count of two, as usual, and knowing it, he and Brad did likewise. They dashed across the backyard, which easily measured forty yards. Nick and Brad finished neck-and-neck, and their old man finished just a step behind, breathing billows.

"Time?" he sputtered.

"Four point three two seconds."

"Whew!" the boys shouted and high five'd each other in triumphant jubilation.

"You okay?" asked Laura with concern in her eyes.

Holding up his index finger and sucking air, "Fine, just give me a sec.," D'Manna responded.

"You're getting too old, Dad, you oughta give it up," Nick said laughing.

"Yeah, look at you old man. Face it, we're better than you," Brad chimed in.

"Leave your father alone, guys. He's old and needs his walker," they all started laughing louder.

When they had their fill, and he finally caught his breath, D'Manna remarked, "You know, I'm twice your age and you still only beat me by a foot. When you're forty four and you race your kids, I'll be there to laugh my ass off as my grand kids spank their fathers."

"Ha! You'll be too old and senile to know any better."

"Yeah," said Brad, "we'll have to push you around in your wheelchair."

Putting his arm around his wife for support, they walked back toward the patio where soft chairs waited for his old, tired body. "I'll go get you something to drink, old man," Laura said as she giggled her way into the house.

"We're going to go find the guys and shoot some hoops," Nick said. "We'll be back for dinner."

"Hey!" D'Manna said, still sucking some wind. "You better buy me one of those motorized wheelchairs."

Laughing, the boys ran off to find their friends.

Laura returned with the drinks, "You impressed me, old man. I thought they would for sure beat you by half the backyard."

He grinned, "Not bad for an out of shape, middle aged man, eh?"

"You're hardly out of shape, Brock, but you may be getting a little too old to push the envelope. You had me a little worried."

"Ah, my heart is as strong as a teenager. It's the lungs that are giving me a hard time," he said smiling.

"Just take it easy, I have other plans for you once you retire."

D'Manna suddenly woke up in surprise. He must have dosed off during the descent and as he peered out the window, the plane neared the runway.

The American base is located mainly in the center of Baghdad. In total, Baghdad encompasses eighty-one square miles. The US base is bound on the east and south by the Tigris River, it runs west just past the Presidential Palace, and straight north to where it once again ends at the Tigris. The Airport is within US control and no Iraqis lived within the American boundary. The base occupies approximately twenty square miles, and the Iraqi insurgence controlled the entire perimeter around it.

It was a very hot day and as they flew over the city, D'Manna witnessed the destruction caused by years of constant urban warfare. The Iraqi controlled parts of the city were nothing more than rubble and poverty. Viewing the American section, he marveled at how well this part of the city was preserved. The troops have been doing an amazing job keeping the inner city organized and functional. He felt wholesome about returning this area back over to the Iraqi people. It showed that although this war was politically misguided, the American soldier performed their task with professionalism. They definitely deserved praise and recognition for their dedication, and D'Manna would make sure these fine soldiers received hero welcomes in all the cities and communities within the nation.

They do not deserve disrespect as many of our nations Vietnam veterans received, and he feared too many Americans might take out their frustrations on the soldiers as they returned to civilian life.

A soldier's job is to follow orders unerringly. Their leader's responsibility is to use them effectively, give them total freedom and resources to win decisively, and place their lives at risk only as a last resort. Unfortunately, politics cares not for the soldier, and when politics rule the war, many young men and women, and innocent bystanders, lose their lives.

The American controlled section housed all three hundred and thirty thousand troops and from his birds-eye view in the plane, he could clearly make out the boundaries that defined their border. The command posts were located toward the middle. Guard stations controlled movement at every entrance point. Barbed wire, a river, and fallen debris, which were clearly abundant, formed a barrier around the base. There were training grounds and practice ranges set-up, and the barracks were located toward the outer rim, but far enough away from the boundaries to ensure sniper and suicide squads could not reach them easily.

D'Manna also noted the mass of Iraqi insurgence that surrounded the base. If negotiations fell through, that mass would rain hell upon the American base, and only an act of GOD would save his soldiers lives.

When he initiated the cease-fire and subsequent withdrawal negotiations, the Iraqis insisted on this troop arrangement, as a sign of good faith, they said. After months of talks and thousands of additional lives lost, he agreed. He was thankful the Iraqi's have lived up to their end of the bargain.

On implementation of the cease-fire agreement, all fighting abated and the Iraqis seemed just as eager as he to end the conflict. Unfortunately, the political system has dragged negotiations on far too long. If they fell through totally, it would be a very sad experience for Americans. The last negotiation talks finally made a breakthrough. This agreement would be very good for both countries, and the sons and daughters of America would finally come home.

The activity surrounding him once the plane landed was comical in his eyes. All the silly precautions and effort just to ensure the safety of one man's life seemed absurd to him. He remembered the first time he walked down a street after the elections and seeing all the street signs gone. When he asked about it, they told him it was standard procedure to ensure no hidden explosives, and to limit others from pinpointing his exact location via the television.

All this activity dumbfounded him and although he felt it was unnecessary, he followed their instructions without issue. He made no secret of this Thanksgiving trip, and he knew if the Iraqis' wanted him dead, his plane would not have made it in one piece. The Iraqis' wanted this conflict to end just as much as the American people did. With the goal in sight, they would not risk jeopardizing the negotiations.

He was ushered into one of the heavier fortified centers, and greeted with many salutes. General Patrick, head of Iraq operations, came forward and led them to their quarters. D'Manna was amazed at the size of his room, and could clearly make out the haste used in adding the luxurious furnishings, "What did you use this room for, General?"

A look of surprise came across the General's face, but he recovered quickly. "These are my quarters, sir, and our command post."

"A cot in the corner, tables, maps, and chairs everywhere else?" D'Manna asked.

"No chairs, sir. I didn't want anyone getting too comfortable."

D'Manna chuckled, and this drew a smile from the General. "Well, General, for my wife's sake, I appreciate you giving up your command post. When next I visit alone, a small room or tent will be sufficient."

"Yes sir," he replied. "I'll take my leave so you can rest a bit before dinner."

"Thank you."

As the General was just about to exit the room, D'Manna asked, "Where'd you get all this nice stuff?"

"They were from General Gordon's old quarters, sir."

"Ah, that figures. Thank you, General."

When alone, Laura wrapped him in a hug and kissed his cheek, "Why don't you take a nap, babe? I'm going to unpack and freshen-up."

"Sounds good to me, thanks Lor," he squeezed her in a hug, "I love you."

"You should," she replied, and it brought a smile to his face.

Lying down, D'Manna contemplated his Iraqi General. General Patrick was hand picked by D'Manna for this command. General Gordon was the previous steward, and frankly, he was getting soldiers massacred with poor planning and tactical maneuvers. One of his initial moves when he first won the Presidency was to remove Gordon from Iraq command. This decision caused a monumental political stir. Apparently, General Gordon was very well connected, or he had pictures of people in compromising positions. After many animated discussions with some members of Congress, D'Manna agreed to let Gordon assume some desk assignment in Washington as long as they allowed him to pick Patrick.

The New Iraqi commander was not on any member of congress' name submissions, and D'Manna's decision sent shock waves through the ranks. However, General Patrick has proven to be a positive decision. All the soldiers respected him and followed his direction with sheer confidence. Even parents sent the General thank you notes for keeping their children safe and making intelligent decisions.

Patrick's concern for the troops was exactly what D'Manna looked for. How could you lead if you did not care about the people you were leading? Yet, D'Manna witnessed that same leadership dilemma everywhere he went. Leaders of corporations did not care about their employees, department managers only kissed their superiors asses, and politicians only cared about corporations and greedy special interest. This severe lack of leadership astounded D'Manna to no end.

On his first discussion with Patrick, D'Manna was thrilled to hear his concern for the front ranks. Patrick was a breath of fresh air.

D'Manna remembered one organization he took over earlier in his non-public career. One of his first actions was to perform one-on-one interviews with his front line staff, and he was appalled at the low morale and abuse they suffered from their management team. When he called his first staff meeting with his leadership team, he asked them two questions. If all the front line staff walked out, would the company still meet delivery objectives? The obvious answer was, no. Then he asked; if he terminated management would the work still get done? Yes, they answered in unison.

He remembered the look on the manager's faces when he told them they had only two months to improve the organizations working conditions, or they would all be looking for new career opportunities. He made it clear the front line was his only concern, and his leaders were going to learn how to treat employees with the respect they deserved, or he would find others that would.

Some responded and some did not, and some looked for new jobs shortly thereafter. General Gordon reminded him of these old style managers. They thought they were the reason for success, and others were their stepping stools to higher life achievement.

General Patrick knew without the front line soldiers doing the dirty work, the officers could not win the war alone. He went about ensuring the soldiers had the equipment and supplies they needed, nutritional food and drink, proper medical attention, and adequate living conditions. He also brought entertainment and good cheer, because a 'happy soldier is a motivated soldier', he said, and D'Manna could not agree more.

"Can I wake him up?"

"No, spend more time with me you ingrate."

"We've been here over an hour, Mom, let me pin him down and give him the armpit torture."

"No, leave him alone."

Their talking woke him up, but D'Manna decided to lay there and listen to the quiet conversation. He nearly laughed when Brad mentioned the armpit torture. I guess he really scarred him with that maneuver when Brad was young.

"Yeah, I'll hold his legs," Nick piped in.

Damn, it is outright mutiny by his children, he thought. He'll have to remember not to armpit torture his grand kids. Well, maybe just a little.

"So, what have you two been up-to? Are you eating well?" the typical Mom questions came pouring at them.

"Nick got us stuck on training duty by lying to the commander."

"You're the one who kicked that dude's ass. I just tried to save you from the Brig."

"What dude?" Laura asked. "Did he hurt you?"

Looking at his mother as if to say, yeah, right, "Some Marine, and no, I didn't get hurt."

"Brad, your father and I have lectured you numerous times; your training is only for self defense. If you seriously..."

"I know, I know," Brad interrupted. "I'm registered lethal - blah-blah-blah. I know what I'm doing, Mom. I'm not a baby you know."

Nick, jumping in to save his brother from further Mom drilling, "Hey Bro, we have to get back to camp. Sorry Mom, but we gotta-go," he said.

"Your father will be sharing Thanksgiving dinner with everyone, when're you boys scheduled to eat?"

"We're both scheduled for the six pm mess."

"I'll let him know."

They both gave her a huge hug and kiss.

"I love you, Mom."

"Me too," said Brad.

"I love you both also. I miss you-guys every single day. Make sure you stay safe."

"We'll try."

Nick headed toward the door, but Brad strolled close to his father. "Don't wake him, Brad. He's not young anymore," Laura replied.

When Brad turned her way, D'Manna grabbed him by the belt and flung him backwards onto the bed. Nick, seeing the ambush, rushed across the room and sprung on top of his father. All three boys wrestled for position. D'Manna remembered this being much easier when they were smaller. He was soon out positioned and pinned by his ungrateful children, Nick had his feet and Brad his shoulders.

"Leave him alone!" Laura screamed, and she launched herself onto Brad's back.

"Ow! She's biting me!" Brad shouted.

Just then, the door opened and one of his Secret Service agents stuck his head in to have a look. "Help me!" D'Manna yelled.

Seeing the President pinned by his children, and the first lady biting one of them on the back apparently in an attempt to rescue her husband, the agent shut the door and went back to his post.

"You're fired!" he heard D'Manna yell from inside the room.

Brad let go of his father and turned his attention on his biting mother. Nick let go of his father's feet and sprinted toward the door before retribution followed.

"You're on your own, Brad."

"Nick! Help me."

"I'm not going down in history as the child that gave the President a heart attack," he replied.

As he opened the door, he saw Brad cradling his mother like a baby, and his father sitting up.

"You better run little boy," his father said. "You know when you're outmatched."

"No, I know you'll have the entire secret service pay me back when I least expect it," Nick responded.

"Smart boy," his father said smiling. "Put your mother down, Brad, and come give me a hand," he said this while waving Nick back into the room.

Brad did as told and D'Manna pulled his son into a hug. Nick joined them and they all embraced.

D'Manna felt a little small next to his grown children. Brad stood a little taller than he now did, and much more muscular. Nick on the other hand, grew much taller and although not as bulky as Brad, still very well put together. They have sprouted into fine young men and he was extremely proud of what they accomplished in life.

It was an emotional moment and one that solidified his thoughts regarding the direction he was taking this fools war. He knew his boy's life was in his hands, as well as all the other young soldiers who counted on him to lead them out of this quagmire. He thought of all the parents who lost children in this conflict, and all the children who lost mothers and fathers. Within both countries, families were torn and hurting. The wounds would take years, if ever, to heal.

Nations should never enter warfare unless there were no other alternatives, and even then, only as a last resort, D'Manna thought. This war started with lies and then entered political limbo with no exit plan and little thought for the soldier. If it were a 'just' war, D'Manna would lose little sleep ensuring its completion, but it was not 'just', and it needed to end.

"We have to get back to training, Pop. We'll see you Thursday for dinner."

"I'll be serving most of the day," D'Manna said. "When you guy's come, I'll eat with you."

They hugged once again, then the boys gave their mother crushing embraces. D'Manna noticed the tears welling in her eyes. She walked them to the door, and when they left, the floodgates opened.

He spent the next hour listening to her, assuring her everything would be fine.

D'Manna spent the next few days before Thanksgiving going over reports with his leadership team, and receiving briefs. They shared laughs, played some cards, and generally talked of Iraq strategies and life. He shared his thoughts on the negotiation process, and listened to alternative planning discussions. He wanted a plan 'B' should talks fail and pandemonium hit the area. He was satisfied his leaders had a good grasp of the situation, and had numerous tactical scenarios if things got ugly. These sessions once again confirmed his confidence in General Patrick.

A tour of the base proved quite interesting for the President. He enjoyed interacting with the troops, and stopped often to talk, listen, and share jokes and jibes.

While he viewed target practice, a soldier invited him to take some rounds. After firing off a few, it became plainly evident he could not hit the side of a barn. D'Manna was glad he could be a source of amusement for the troops. He should have brought Laura with, she is an excellent shot, but then he thought about how much more embarrassment he would have to endure, especially from her.

Overall, the tour turned out to be a great experience and he hoped it assured the troops he is just a regular person trying to make a difference. After all, we all pull down our pants and take care of natures business the same way. No person is better than anyone else. Someday soon, politicians will learn this lesson.

On the eve of Thanksgiving, D'Manna shared some time with Laura when a knock interrupted them, "Come in," he said.

General Patrick entered. "Sir, I apologize for the interruption, but an Iraqi emissary wishes to speak with you."

"And who may that be, General?"

"It's the Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed, sir."

Laura, understanding the importance of this visit, grabbed a light jacket, "General, would you be so kind as to escort me to see my boys?" she asked.

"It would be my pleasure, ma'am."

"Show the Ayatollah in as you leave, General."

General Patrick nodded his understanding. Laura gave her husband a kiss, and followed the General out of the room. Shortly after, Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed entered.

This man is arguably the most powerful cleric leading the resistance, and D'Manna contemplated the significance of this social call. He advanced toward the Ayatollah, and displayed the proper respects. In a shocking display, the Ayatollah grabbed him in a bear hug, patted his back, and kissed him on both cheeks. D'Manna, although used to this type of greeting from his Italian relatives, was nonetheless surprised. Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed is well versed in English.

"I am glad you came to Iraq, Mr. President. It brightens the heart of my Iraqi people you trusted them with not only your life, but with your lovely wife's as well."

"I think we all want the same thing, Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed. I trusted you to be a man of your word, and I never had any doubts."

"Good. I'm glad. The reason I visit is, to wish you and your family a very thankful holiday, and to express the gratitude of the Iraqi people to you. Your efforts have spared many Iraqi lives. It took great courage to compromise an end to this misunderstanding."

"It is an easy decision, Ayatollah. If the folks before me would have used good judgment instead of greed to drive their decisions, many lives would have been spared."

"Agreed, but that is water over the bridge."

D'Manna did not correct him.

"Walk with me, Mr. President, so that we may enjoy the fresh air."

D'Manna knew that he really meant, 'walk with him so devices could not record their conversation'. Nevertheless, he honored the request.

The Ayatollah dressed in full cleric clothing, and he had an air of charisma that is undeniable. He is a very likable man, but also very dangerous. D'Manna trusted him to a certain extent and understood he needed Mushamadeed to resolve this conflict. Their friendship became one of mutual respect and caution.

The Ayatollah knew D'Manna struck a fair deal for both countries. However, he also knew D'Manna would not hesitate to resume the conflict if the Iraqi's did not live-up to their end of the bargain. He has dealt with men of D'Manna's disposition in the past. Play fair, and he would have a friend for life. Cross-him just once, and he would have a very deadly enemy who would not give a second chance.

He had a feeling if Iraq forced D'Manna into continuing armed conflict, politics would not play into his decisions, and the Americans would fight to win at all costs. Most of the costs, he is sure, would be Iraqi lives. The Ayatollah was smart enough to know the only reason the Iraqi's were able to take so many American lives, was because the previous American political regime was too concerned with offending other Arabs. He knew if forced back into the fight, D'Manna would think of his soldiers first, and offending others last. The President proved that fact decisively within the first month after his inauguration. He ordered an all out offensive that nearly broke the back of the resistance, and this action forced the Ayatollahs to the negotiation table.

Mushamadeed had no doubt if they did not take this path, the war would be over quickly and decisively, and he and his Iraqi counterparts would be out of a position of authority, and probably dead. If that scenario played out, he is confident D'Manna would not give him or his life a second thought. His compatriots felt the same, and that is why the cease-fire has held for so long.

They exited the living quarters and started strolling down the road toward the main entrance of the U.S. base, which measured nearly three miles in distance. D'Manna's Secret Service and a small contingent of Emir Security flanked them as they walked. Many soldiers stopped what they were doing and watched the two men strolling down the main road. D'Manna wondered of the thoughts that would be swirling in each soldier's head and the rumors that would fly afterward.

It remained a warm night, very clear, and many soldiers were active, taking care of numerous chores or just hanging with friends. Although he could see tension in the faces of the men, he was glad to see many laughing and joking.

"We have completed our vote, if you will, and have decided to agree to the final terms. However, we would like to make one little change."

D'Manna's eyebrow rose in a questioning look.

"My compatriots feel uncomfortable letting all the American soldiers leave."

"I thought that's what you wanted, Ayatollah?" D'Manna responded.

Stopping D'Manna's further response by raising his index finger, "Yes, that is what we wanted, but there are troubling rumors coming from some reliable sources. Apparently a weapon is close to being completed that could severely harm my country," he finished his statement with a questioning look.

D'Manna did not confirm his suspicion, "With all due respect, I have not had that information cross my path, and I don't see where this would cause concern with you and your compatriots," D'Manna responded.

"Ah, but it does, Mr. President. You see, they think if we agree to let all the Americans leave, your military will drop that weapon and when the air clears, you'll stroll back in and take everything without any further resistance."

"That's a horrific thought, Al-Mushamadeed. Now I'll have to consider it in more depth."

For some reason the Ayatollah thought his statement was hilarious, and D'Manna knew he caught the man totally off guard with his reply. They had to stop for a minute in order for the Holy man to compose himself. "You now have me worried," Mushamadeed said, wiping tears from the corner of his eye.

"You should be," D'Manna replied, and another round of laughter followed.

"Stop it!" the Ayatollah gasped, as more laugh tears entered his eyes.

They walked some more and D'Manna gave the man time to recompose himself. He enjoyed himself at the Ayatollah's expense.

"What if we agreed to let you Americans stay and help us resurrect our country?" he said, finally regaining control of his laughing.

D'Manna remained quiet for many minutes, "We may be able to work something out, but to tell the truth; I'd be worried for my soldier's safety. I promised America I'd bring their children home."

The Ayatollah nodded his head in understanding. "We have discussed this, and I can guarantee none who stay will be in any danger. Although we have negotiated a grand compromise, we think we need America's expertise to help us rebuild, and I speak for all Iraq in saying, we would welcome America as a friend as we move toward a new future."

"You may be able to guarantee no Iraqi will harm an American, but there are still militants who may not wish to follow your guarantees."

"Oil," the Ayatollah responded. "Oil is gold and Iraq has much. We will control them with the promise of shared wealth. You Americans should understand it is not just you who seek wealth at all costs. Rest assured my friend, they will fall in line, or they will be outcast from the future Arab path. You also have people who do not wish for this conflict to end. How do you propose to ensure our agreement?"

"I agree, Al-Mushamadeed, except wealth isn't the only driving factor in America. The overriding factor to wealth is power. There are those in my country, who I question their patriotism. When power is your allegiance, it corrupts minds to do things rational people wouldn't," he could see the Ayatollah nodding his head in agreement. "I believe at least for the near term, the power hungry will accept our agreement."

"I see great conviction and honesty in you, Mr. President. I look forward to a long and fruitful relationship for the betterment of both our countries."

"Thank you, Al-Mushamadeed," D'Manna replied, giving him a respectful bow. "As far as leaving Americans behind to help Iraq, I'd be willing to keep ten thousand for this task. I'm thinking mostly engineers and skilled technicians. Does this sound reasonable?"

"It does indeed, and Iraq will welcome them as family," the Ayatollah responded.

"Ayatollah," D'Manna continued in seriousness, "I'll hold you to your word, and if anything should happen to my people, I'd take it as a grave insult to my trust and friendship. I want these folks to come home to their families."

"Those are words that need not be spoken, my friend. We have discussed this possibility. My compatriots and I agree it would be very bad for Iraq if anything unfortunate should happen. Rest assured, Mr. President, they will all see their families again."

As they neared the main entrance, activity within the base intensified and the troops were diligent on their posts. It would be good to see them coming back home, D'Manna thought.

"I will take my leave, Mr. President. Thank you for your hospitality."

"I thank you also, Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed. I have a great respect for what you've accomplished. Once all the tensions settle, it would honor me to have you and your family visit America, as friends."

"I would like that very much," the Ayatollah said, bowing.

They departed company, and when he was positive the Ayatollah moved out of eyesight, D'Manna motioned for a vehicle. He was not going to walk all the way back to his room.

When D'Manna arrived back at his quarters, Laura was in the room tidying-up, "How was your visit with the boy's?" he asked.

"Fine," she said.

When she did not elaborate further, he knew something bothered her. He crossed the room and hugged her from behind, "What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing," Laura replied.

Understanding to walk away at this point, would cause untold amounts of cold and chilly nights in his life, he persisted, "Talk to me. We've been together way to long for me not to know when you're bothered by something."

"Then you should know what's bothering me," she responded, and he felt the trap slam down on his fingers.

"I'm not a mind reader, Lor," he started to disengage his arms from around her waist, but she turned and embraced him in a head lightening neck hug.

"I want them home, I want them to get married, I want them to have my grandchildren, I want them to be there whenever I wish to see them," she said into his neck.

"I know, babe. I want the same thing," he said, squeezing his arms around her waist. "It shouldn't be much longer."

"You said that two years ago when they joined this stupid army."

"That was their choice. I'm doing the best I can, and I think it's almost done," feeling even more lightheaded, he tried to disengage himself from her embrace. She would have none of it.

"What did the Ayatollah want?"

"That's confidential information, my dear; I'll have to kill you if I tell."

She squeezed harder.

"You're killing me," he managed to whimper.

She released his neck and if felt good to get the blood flowing back through his noggin. "You won't kill me," she grinned evilly, "but I'll make your life miserable."

"Worse than the last twenty years?" he asked, and immediately regretted his jibe as her fist struck him squarely in the chest. He fell and started convulsing on the floor. Laura bent over and asked if he is okay. She looked very concerned. When he did not respond, she started for the door, but D'Manna grabbed her ankle and pulled her back down.

"Oh! Now you're really going to get it," she said as she attacked him with pokes and bites.

He laughed so hard he had tears rolling down his face. When he finally got himself under control, she seemed to be in a less depressed mood. "They've agreed to our terms. The troops are coming home."

Laura launched herself at him, and again trapped his head within her mind-numbing embrace, "I love you! I love you! I love you!" she exclaimed into his neck.

"I know," he said, slowly pulling her arms off his head.

"When?" Laura asked.

"We haven't finalized the details. I want to stop in D.C. on the way back and give the guy's instructions to complete the paperwork. I'll set-up a meeting the first week after the New Year, and I hope we can start sending troops back by the end of January. I want them home for the summer."

"Nick and Brad?" she said questioningly.

"Special Forces will have to stay until the end, dear. However, tonight I agreed to leave ten thousand troops behind to help Iraq re-build."

"You didn't," she stammered.

"Yes I did, but it won't be the boy's. They'll be home for the summer."

"They better, Mr. D'Manna, or else you're going to be a very miserable man until they are, and don't even give me another asinine remark."

"Yes dear," he said, giving her a sweet kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to sleep," he said, moving toward the bed. "Tomorrow will be a very long day."

She followed him and sat on the edge, "Who'll be the ten thousand?"

"Mostly engineers, technicians, mechanics, maybe some medical," he responded. "We'll see. I haven't made up a final list. There's time. Good night my dear, wake me in the morning."

Thanksgiving Day. The day was long and the smell of food made him ravenous. All the officers spent the day dolling out grub to the thousands of troops as they shared a traditional Thanksgiving meal. Laura came with him, and she received a fair share of respectful attention from many of the young men in attendance. They hardly gave D'Manna a second glance as Laura stole the show.

She looked fantastic and he wondered how she kept up her stunning appearance through the hours of passing hot food to the thousands of hungry mouths. D'Manna felt his age, especially in his back from standing behind the food lines and filling plate after plate. When six p.m. came around, he was more than ready to take a load off his aching body. Nick and Brad strolled in with their band of friends, and D'Manna and his wife joined them for their turn to eat.

"Having fun?" Nick asked.

"Yes I am," Laura replied.

"Mr. D'Manna, um, I mean, Mr. President, I hear we may be going home soon. Is this true?" asked a handsome young man with sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a very young face.

D'Manna guessed him to be barely over eighteen, "That's the rumor, young man."

"Okay, thank you sir," the soldier said awkwardly.

Laura kicked him under the table. He looked at her as if to say, 'What did I do'? "What's your name, soldier?" D'Manna asked in an attempt to make him feel more comfortable.

"Timmy Johnson, sir."

"Where're you from, Timmy?"

"Arkansas, sir."

"That's a good place. Do you live near Toad Suck?"

"Yes sir, just outside town."

"Yeah, he sucks toads," piped in another soldier.

Ignoring the comment, D'Manna said, "Well, Timmy, you'll be home by summertime. How's that for an answer."

Timmy smiled and nodded his head in understanding.

The rest of the meal passed with much conversation, good cheer, and uneventful questions. It was fun to sit with the troops and just talk about normal everyday stuff. Nick and Brad stayed close to their mother, like protective hounds. She was getting much attention from the young men, and her boy's were making sure the guys kept it clean.

D'Manna asked as many as he could where they were from, what their parents did for a living, did they have brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, kids, and generally tried to be as personable as he could, not as a politician, but just as a normal human being trying to get to know another.

Laura watched as the troops naturally migrated toward her husband, interacting with him as a friend. He had that affect on people, and she loved him for it. He never considered himself above anyone else, and he was actually more at ease talking with what he called, real people, than the phonies he met in other walks of life. She watched the officers her husband trusted, and noticed they carried themselves in pretty much the same manner as him. Her sons were of that same ilk, and she truly agreed the apple did not fall far from the tree.

Laura is very proud of her family, and loved her life tremendously. Not because she is the First Lady, heck, she remembered when Brock told her he was running for the Presidency. She thought he was out of his mind, and she told him she would not be like those other First Ladies who pretended to dole over their husband, and being phony in front of people. She spoke her mind truthfully and if people did not like it, too bad, and she is definitely not politically motivated. She told him straight out that, she only wanted to be his wife, and not get involved in all the other stuff. She did not want to travel all over the world, get involved in his campaigns, or do all the other girly stuff other First Ladies drooled over.

She had no other ambitions but to be a homemaker, a loving companion to a wonderful man, a mother, and hopefully someday, a grandmother. Ever since the boys were born, she stayed home and raised them. She felt there was no more important job for a parent than to raise their children to be productive members of society. She wanted to be there when they needed their mommy. She never frowned on other women who wanted careers, but that is not the life she craved. She did the corporate routine when she was young, and knew that was not her cup of tea.

She could not imagine being any happier than she is today. Therefore, she mainly stayed out of the public eye and out of her husbands business. He knows what he is doing and does not need her meddling. She stayed at the White House but did not like it. It is too big, cold, and not very homey. Her dream home would be a small comfortable ranch house, with enough land to have some horses and pigs. She only attended functions when there was no way out, and she attended only because her husband made her laugh, especially when he made fun of the phony politicians and their power hungry wives.

These people were appalled that a commoner won the Presidency. It was hilarious how they kissed her husbands ass one minute, and maneuvered behind his back when they thought he was not looking. They thought they had a pushover in the White House, but they soon found out the opposite. It was amusing to watch their haughty attitudes twisted around by her witty husband. Although not educated at Harvard or Princeton, she rarely met a person who could out think him, and that made her very proud to be his wife.

"When are you leaving, Mom?" Brad's question interrupted her contemplation.

"Saturday morning. Your father wants to go back to D.C. and get the final agreement rolling. Then we're going home to Chicago for the Christmas break. Your father hasn't taken a vacation since the election. It's time for him to relax and recuperate."

"I miss you-guys, Mom."

"I know, Brad," his comment reminded her of what he always said when he was very young. He would say he never wanted to live anywhere else, and if he did get his own house, he would buy one next door to her. She gave him a hug, "I miss you too," tears started welling up in her eyes.

"Not here, Mom," he said, looking around to make sure she wasn't noticed.

"I know. I'm okay," she smiled at him and touched the side of his face. She marveled at his stunning good looks. Brad stood maybe five foot and nine inches, and layered with massive muscles. His wavy dark brown hair and eyes have melted many hearts. He always had girls crawling for his attention back home and she continued to receive calls from schoolmates asking when he would be home.

Nick on the other hand is handsome in a rugged way. Where Brad is just gorgeous, Nick is commandeering with piercing brown eyes that seemed to look right through you, a square jaw that always seemed to have a five o'clock shadow, and fine brown hair. He is tall and when she hugged him, his body is rock hard. Though not as bulky as Brad, his muscles were like granite.

Nick always had gorgeous blond girls hanging on his arm growing up, and always a different one from week to week. She stopped trying to remember their names. Where Brad was more content to be unattached, Nick reveled in female attention, which he never lacked.

They crushed her heart when they told her they were entering the military instead of college. She wanted them to experience college living and enjoy themselves before the reality of real life took hold. They were both straight 'A' students but she had to admit they had a firm grasp of the situation. They told her they did not want the financial burden college imposed on every young person's life. Although Brock made enough now to send them to college, he was not yet elected when the boys completed high school, and their finances were tight. In today's world, a bachelor degree is no better than a high school diploma. If you did not have a Masters, corporations would not give you a second look, especially with the job market still in shambles. The financial burden to obtain a masters degree was huge. Society in America is boiling down to the haves and have-nots, and there were definitely more, have-nots.

She remembered when Nick and Brad explained their career aspirations, minus college. They said they wanted to join the military together so they could couple the experience with their martial arts training. Their father went nuts when they told him. He did not want them entering a political war, but after he calmed down, he agreed they at least had a good vision of where they wanted to take their life. He thought they were foolish, but he let them set their own direction in the world.

They wanted to open a new concept fitness facility incorporating martial arts with Special Forces military training. They had very big dreams, and the way they had it all planned out with charts, diagrams, drawings, and financial aspects, their father at least agreed it was more than a pipe dream.

Laura is confident they have their feet firmly on the ground. They planned to parley their 'Tae Kwon Do' and 'Hapkido' mastery, along with their Special Forces experience, into a high-tech training gym founded on the ancient Korean fighting methods. Nick already achieved a fourth degree black belt in 'Tae Kwon Do,' and had a second degree in 'Hapkido.' Brad on the other hand, is a second-degree black belt, and just reached the black belt milestone in 'Hapkido.' They have both been training for many years; Nick since the age of six and Brad started at age nine.

Both of her children were very deadly with their hands and feet. She was excited for them, and she vowed to help them as much as she could. It was right after they started boot camp her husband launched his candidacy, and as they say, the rest is history.

Laura kept staring at her children as they conversed with others. She missed them tremendously and wanted to burn their images in her mind. Nick kept glancing at her as she did, and she could tell he was getting uncomfortable, but she did not care. Overall, she was very glad for this opportunity to visit.

Brad started to meander off and she followed his path with her eyes. He headed toward his father, who was in process of greeting a very imposing officer. Brad joined them and soon after so did Nick. She watched the three men in her life and smiled in satisfaction. She felt truly blessed.

"Mr. President, I'm James McKartel, Commander of the Special Forces."

"Commander," D'Manna replied as they grabbed hands in greeting after saluting. "I've heard much about you."

"Brad, Nick," the Commander acknowledged them as the brothers joined the group.

"Sir!" each said in greeting.

"Mr. President, I must say your boys are truly the best I've ever had the pleasure to lead. I'd say train, but their skills are far superior to anything I could offer."

"I appreciate the compliment, Commander, but from what I hear, there're quite a few things they're learning under your tutelage."

The Commander smiled. "I appreciate the compliment, gentlemen," he directed his appreciation to the young men standing at the Presidents side.

"Sir," they replied.

"You boys are talkative, today," D'Manna commented to his sons.

"If we say anything else, the commander makes us do laps."

They all shared a laugh at Nick's jibe.

"Well, sir, I did not wish to consume much of your time. I just wanted to pay my respects to you, and compliment you on these fine young men."

"Thank you, Commander; it's a pleasure meeting you. Don't be afraid to keep them in line."

"I'll do that," the Commander said, smiling at Nick.

Saluting and shaking hands once again, he headed off in the direction of the First Lady.

"Thanks for encouraging him, Dad," Brad commented.

Nick, looking flabbergasted, said, "Why does he always look at me when he says stuff like that?"

"Gee, why is that, Nick?" Brad responded.

The officer that spoke to her men shook their hands and started coming in her direction. He is tall, taller than Nick by an inch or two, and about as wide as Brad. She guessed his age between thirty-five and forty, and he had an air of authority surrounding him. He is not terribly attractive, but she guessed he did not lack much attention. Charisma takes many forms, and this man definitely had charisma.

Extending his hand and taking hers, she felt the hard calluses on his palm. "It's my honor to meet you, ma'am," he said. "A woman of your stunning beauty makes me understand how such gifted children could grace this Earth."

Blushing at the unexpected compliment, all she could say was, "Thank you."

"I must retire for the evening, but first I wanted to meet the woman who would call those young men, her children. It's a pleasure having them on my team," he gave a slight bow and turned to leave.

"Commander!" she called. "I realize many mothers are depending on you to keep their children safe, but I must still ask you to look out for my boys. I'd die without them."

"Ma'am, if things get out of hand, it's I who'll probably depend on them to keep me safe," he smiled, "I'll do what I can for all my troops. As for your boys, they are two of the most deadly men I've ever seen in hand-to-hand combat. In war, many things can go haywire, but Nick and Brad look out for each other. My biggest hope is your husband brings us all home before things have a chance to spiral out of control. He's probably the only man that can save thousands of young American lives."

She smiled as he finished, and nodded her understanding. "Thank you for the kind words, Commander."

"Thank you, ma'am," he shook her hand one last time, and strolled out of the room.

Laura noticed her boys hugging their father, then come in her direction. Nick led the way, and he wrapped her in a tight hug.

"Good night, Mom," he said in her ear. "We have training first thing in the morning and we need to get some rest."

"Good night, Nick. I love you and miss you very much."

"I love you too, Mom. Thanks for coming with Dad."

He kissed her cheek and backed away for Brad. Brad's hug was more of a mauling. He is so wide with muscle she primarily had to hug just the front of his stomach.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Brad," tears started running down her cheek. "I love you very much."

"Dad said we might be home for summer."

"I hope so," she said into his chest. "I miss you-guys very much."

"I miss you too," he kissed her cheek and put his arm across her shoulders.

Her husband joined them, and they all said their good byes. The boys left together with their arms draped across each other's shoulder. Her husband went and thanked all the volunteers who helped with the long day of meal serving, and all the officers that helped throughout the event. It was an exhausting day and she was ready for bed. General Patrick joined them once her husband had finished his rounds.

"Your plane will be ready at nine a.m., Mr. President. Is there anything else you need of me prior?"

"No, General, thank you. Your hospitality is more than expected. You run an exceptional operation, good job."

"Thank you, Mr. President. I have an exceptional team of leaders here. They're the ones that deserve all the credit."

Management 101, D'Manna thought. A leader never takes credit for the success of their organization. However, he does take all the blame, "Very good," D'Manna replied, "I'd like to address the troops over the PA system before I board the plane. Can you please ensure everything is set-up?"

"I'll do that, sir."

"Good night, General, and thank you again."

"Good night, Mr. President. Good night ma'am," he said to Laura

"Good night, General Patrick," Laura responded.

The First Lady and the President left the party without any more fanfare, and arrived back in their room, exhausted, "I'm gonna pass out," he said, plopping down on the bed without even bothering to get undressed.

"Me too," Laura replied, and she kissed him on the cheek.

The next morning, General Patrick had all the details taken care of. The plane sat on the runway; officers lined-up along the path to the plane, and at the end stood a podium and microphone.

D'Manna did not know it at the time, but reporters lined up all along the perimeter of the airport zooming in on the figure of the distant President. His goal was to keep the media away during his entire visit. He did not consider this a photo Op, and did not want it portrayed as such. Every soldier on the base stopped what they were doing and gathered near speakers to listen to the President speak, and every Iraqi who encircled the perimeter of the American base, also stopped to listen to the American President who offers peace and friendship.

As he walked down the path with Laura on his arm, D'Manna shook hands with every officer along the way. As he passed, each soldier marked his passage by following his progress. Either they were honoring him, or they were checking out his wife, he was not sure. As he neared the end of the line, he noticed Nick and Brad on either side of the pathway. Their presence surprised him because they were not officers and not scheduled to see their parents off.

To the chagrin of his wife, D'Manna wanted no special accommodations made for his children. They were soldiers in the U.S. Special Forces, and remained the property of the country until the end of their enlistment. Apparently, General Patrick is to blame, and when he glanced in Patrick's direction, the General had a smile of self-satisfaction about him.

D'Manna saw his sons decked-out in their ceremonial Special Forces uniforms, and it made them look very imposing. He shook their hands as he did with all the other officers, and gave each a wink. Laura on the other hand, let proper protocol go. She gave each of her boys a huge hug and kiss, and she made them stand with her, holding their hands as they watched the President step-up to the microphone to address the American base.

The President began:

"Today marks the end of a holiday and the beginning of a new era. Although this conflict is nearing an end, and a new friendship will rise from the dust, others continue to threaten our nation, our people, our beliefs, and wish harm upon America. To those who wish to forge a better world for our children and better conditions for all people, America extends its hand in friendship. To those who continue along destructive paths, who do not respect the common person, who repress others around them for their own gain, and who abuse their nation's children, know this; America will oppose you with every ounce of our energy, and will triumph at your expense," the cheer that arose from the base was deafening. Once it died down, he continued.

"The world is too small for all nations not to work for the common good of all the people. The world is too small to allow those who mistreat others to remain as neighbors. Our world is shrinking everyday, and everyday we all become a little closer, a little more neighborly, and although we may not always see eye to eye, we must all learn to treat one another with respect, and collaborate toward a common goal: prosperity for all and freedom for each person to reach individual dreams.

We must never forget we are all one. We are the human race. We are all brothers and sisters. We are one family," more cheers, and this time the Iraqis joined. It gave him time to take a drink and reflect on his words. He was thankful for the water General Patrick left on the podium. He could not stand letting others write his words like so many other politicians did. If he could not say it in his own words, he felt very uncomfortable. He continued,

"I want to take this opportunity to thank you all for your hospitality and kind words during this visit, and thank you for keeping your conversations somewhat clean for my wife's ears," slight laughing from the crowd, "And to those that heard my colorful metaphors during my attempt at target practice, I deny it," more laughter. "It was a sincere pleasure to serve you your holiday meal, and it is an even greater honor to serve you as your Commander in Chief, and President." cheers started to rise, "And thank you Iraqi friends for not taking pot-shots at my plane as I arrived, and also now that I depart. Believe you-me, I sincerely appreciate it.

We will forge a better future together," the cheers crescendo' and the Iraqi's joined-in, "Thank you all, for everything. Happy Holidays!"

Waving to all in attendance, D'Manna joined his wife and children. They shared final good byes, then he and Laura boarded the plane. She started to tear as he ushered her to a window. "Ready for a long flight?" he asked.

"Hell no, it's gonna be brutal."

"How'd I do?"

"You should have left the pot-shot remark out, but other than that, you did good," she patted his hand.

"I kinda liked that little bit of humor," he said with hurt in his voice.

"We'll see what the media say about it, dear. They were drooling all along the perimeter of the airport."

D'Manna looked shocked, "There was media there?"

Laura nodded her head.

"Damn! I told Patrick to keep them away."

"He did a pretty good job of it, Brock, but did you really think it would last? The General's phone has been ringing off the hook since you arrived. He had to close the base to some powerful people until you were gone. You're a hot topic these days."

"I guess," D'Manna replied. "You know I didn't do any of this for the media opportunity. I wanted them kept away so my opponents couldn't twist my intentions for their own political gain. It's nothing but a big game to them."

She nodded her agreement.

"Oh well, I'll deal with the ramifications when we land."

D'Manna did not find out until he reached D.C. the impact his brief speech had on the nations of the Earth. Many were calling it inspirational to the human race; his words of unity inspired countries, and still more were actually commenting that they truly believed him. Imagine that, he thought.

As he entered the Oval Office, his friends were already seated and waiting for him.

"Excellent speech, Chief," said Rich.

"You made me tear-up," Karl replied.

D'Manna, ignoring their jibes, continued, "All right here's the scoop. The Ayatollah's agreed with the terms. We start pulling troops out by the end of January, and I want them all home by mid-summer."

"What about Congress?" Rich asked.

D'Manna shook his head, "They're all gone for the holiday break. I want you-guys to finalize the paperwork and set-up a meeting beginning the eighth of January. Tell everyone to expect working through the weekend. I want this thing completed with congressional blessing by the fifteenth."

"Will-do," said Rich.

"There's just one twist that we'll have to include."

Bob's eyebrows rose to this statement.

"We're to leave ten thousand behind to help Iraq rebuild its infrastructure."

"Canon fodder?" Karl asked.

"More like an assurance, Karl," D'Manna replied. "I don't know how he found out, but Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed knows about The Pulse."

His leadership team all had surprised expressions on their faces. "Well, now we know why they want us to leave troops behind," Bob commented.

"Exactly, Bob, and I don't blame them. I want you-guys to document a list of personnel we can send. Keep the list mostly to engineers, technicians, mechanics, and some medical. All-told, we need to come-up with ten thousand names."

"Are you offering to give these folks a choice?"

"I always give people the choice, Rich, the issue comes if we don't get ten thousand volunteers, then we'll have to start volunteering some folks."

"I understand," Rich replied.

"Us too," Bob and Karl were being obnoxious again.

"By the way," Rich continued, "Your plane leaves on the tenth. It should give you enough time to get some shopping in before Christmas. Check with Mary for your accommodations. She took care of everything."

"Are you-guys staying here?" D'Manna asked.

"Yeah, while you're off relaxing, we're going to stay and do some work," said Karl.

"I knew there was a reason why I liked you. I keep forgetting," D'Manna replied sarcastically.

Karl's hurt expression was priceless.

"We're flying out together tomorrow to pick up our families. We'll be back on the ninth."

The President smiled, "Good, it'll give me time to get some stuff organized without you-guys hounding me everyday."

"Does this mean you'll have more work for us by time we get back?" Bob asked.

"Of course it does," Karl replied for him.

"You-guys really are obnoxious," Rich chirped. "Let's go get our stuff together."

D'Manna watched his friends head toward the door thinking these are the leaders of the free world, and he would not have it any other way. They are right for the job.

Just before he exited, Rich turned back toward him. "I almost forgot. That reporter Jason something-or-other has been asking for you. He seemed almost fanatical. I wasn't going to bother you with it, but his face keeps sticking in my head. I'm sure he's looking for an exclusive."

"Thanks Rich. I'll see you in a few days."

"See-ya!" was his reply.

What only D'Manna knew, is Jason McJeeves is his eyes and ears within the CIA. If the agent was looking for him, then McJeeves had some important information to share. He pressed his intercom to Mary.

"Yes sir?" Mary replied.

"Hi, Mary, how are you today?" D'Manna said in a mischievous tone.

"Fine?" she responded cautiously.

"Can you do me a huge favor?"

"Maybe, but I like your wife too much."

He barked a short laugh, "Mary, you know better than that," he could feel his face flushing. Mary is a very pretty woman, and she liked to yank his chain whenever the opportunity presented itself. "Could you get a hold of Jason McJeeves for me? Tell him to come by the office tomorrow morning."

"Is that all you want me to get a hold of, Mr. President?"

He slammed his head on the desk in utter humiliation. She got him on that one. "Yes," he mumbled.

After a few moments passed, he pressed the open intercom connection, "You're bad!" he said.

"Mary just told me how bad you are," he heard his wife's voice answering him.

He slammed his head on the desk again, and hung-up. They played him on this one. Shortly after, Laura and Mary entered the Oval Office. Laura had a very amused look on her face, "We're going to lunch. Do you want us to bring you anything back?"

"No dear," he said defeated.

"It's okay, baby," Laura said as if talking to one of her kitties, "I still wuv you," and she kissed him on the cheek. She dropped his travel itinerary on his desk.

Mary had tears rolling down her cheeks, and she shook as she tried to control a burst of laughter. Laura headed back toward the door with Mary following quickly in tow. Just as they were about to leave, he said, "Mary, when you get back please have this intercom system removed." Mary could not control herself any longer and burst out laughing. Laura followed suit and they both left, laughing all the way. The funny thing was, he didn't do anything wrong, and yet he still felt guilty.

# Chapter 5 Gordon

It is cold, dreary, windy, and intuitively depressing in the northern parts of Alaska this time of year. It is also the night season, which meant nearly unending darkness twenty-four hours a day.

As he drove to the base just outside Barrow, General Gordon wondered how a person could hold their sanity in such a place. He understood now why the constant rotation of troops stationed at this northern base occurred. They would probably become crazed and start shooting one another. It would be the Shining all over again, he thought.

He arrived early to organize the testing of The Pulse. Since D'Manna acquired the Presidency, Gordon's station within the military diminished to a mere clerk status. Although he retained his stars, he felt others looked at him more as a failure than the former General leading the free worlds finest military. A successful test of this weapon could catapult him back into the top post of military command. D'Manna would not be able to hold him down if he could single handily end the war with one deadly strike.

He had an early morning meeting with the chief scientist working on The Pulse. Dr. Frankel flew in last night with the weapon and two hundred of Gordon's loyal soldiers as bodyguards; today they were going to plan and stage the test site.

Most of the leaders of the country would start arriving near the twentieth of December, and he wanted to make sure everything was in order before then. There were benefits to being a military clerk with stars, and working with General Slovich, Gordon ordered the base emptied of most of the troops, keeping only a handful of those he knew were loyal to him. The vacated bunks would easily house the nearly sixty Senators, and near three hundred Representatives. It was going to get very cozy for these folks, but even the rich and powerful had to sacrifice for the betterment of the nation occasionally.

The base just outside Barrow, Alaska is one of the smallest in the nation. On average three thousand troops are stationed here mainly to monitor Russian and Canadian activity, and keep their winter war training sharp. He and General Slovich gave out fifteen-day passes to most of the stationed guard, so they would not be back until the thirtieth. This would give the conspirators plenty of time to complete the test, and clean up the mess.

With the five hundred troops Slovich kept behind, plus Gordon's two hundred that escorted the bomb and scientists, and finally the three hundred and fifty Senators and Representatives, the Alaska base would have roughly one thousand people living in space reserved for three thousand. This would be plenty of room, Gordon thought, and with most of the troops loyal to Slovich and him, there is little chance a leak would occur. General Gordon went to great lengths to ensure an airtight operation.

Once Gordon arrived at the base, a military detachment immediately escorted him to Dr. Frankel. General Slovich joined him as he progressed through the base.

"I hope this works."

"It'll work, General. This is our chance at redemption," Gordon replied.

"Or the firing squad," Slovich commented.

"Do you want to be stationed in this God awful waste for the rest of your military career?"

"Hell no!" Slovich replied. "My fate is tied with yours, Gordon. Once D'Manna removed you, his lackey Patrick shipped me here. I have no remorse for what we are about to do."

"Good. The decisive people blaze great paths for their nation. We'll go down in history as heroes."

General Slovich just nodded his understanding. Personally, he thought General Gordon seemed a little off his rocker. Nevertheless, his career plummeted in a steep downward spiral, and he knew his and Gordon's fate currently intermingled.

They came upon the office of Dr. Frankel, and watched the strange tiny scientist furiously work behind his desk. Slovich pondered why scientists always looked so pathetic. From all accounts, this is perhaps the most intelligent man ever to grace scientific circles, yet he wondered at the great personal sacrifices made to achieve that label. The man probably never had any type of personal life what so ever, and when he spoke, it almost seemed like madness lurked in his skull. Many believe this weapon is madness incarnate, and Slovich would not be able to say differently. However, he traveled too far along this path to pull out now.

"Dr. Frankel, I assume you had an uneventful flight," Gordon asked.

Responding in a nerve tingling nasally voice, "Fine, General. However, the chicken was too cold. I like my chicken just right, not too hot, and not too cold. I'll have to invent something for that I suppose. Make a fortune, I think," Dr. Frankel responded.

General Slovich took a step back. At that exact moment in time, the reality of what they were doing struck him square in the face. He is risking his life accomplishments on this nut case.

General Gordon noticed Slovich shifting his feet, and quickly surmised a mutiny may be forthcoming. He never met this scientist before, but all reports were positive. A thought to join Slovich entered his mind, but he knew it was too late. "Do you have everything you need, Doctor? I mean for the test, um, not chicken."

"No, No, I can't say that I do."

After a few moments of watching the Doctor shift though some papers, it dawned on Gordon that the scientist was not going to say anything more. "What is it that we can get for you, Doctor?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh, yes. I need dogs, General."

"Dogs?" Slovich asked surprised.

"Well, good General, unless you want to be the flesh guinea pig, I'll need living creatures to show what The Pulse can do."

Jeez, Slovich thought, this guy would love nothing more than to test this thing on a person. He could sense it in him. "I'll inquire in Barrow. I'm sure there're natives who wouldn't mind parting with some of their older sled dogs," Slovich responded.

"For money, of course," replied Gordon.

"Of course, nothing is free anymore," Slovich smiled. "You'll have the dogs by tomorrow, Doctor."

"Get me big dogs, General. Don't find me any of those little barking rats."

This guy's voice was like listening to nails scratching a chalkboard. It gave Slovich shivers, "Yes, Doctor. I'll find you the biggest dogs I can," he glanced at General Gordon and he could see the uncertainty hidden behind his partner's visage.

"Is there anything else?" Gordon barely held back the disgust in his voice.

"No. Just mark off a spot about one hundred yards in diameter. We'll place The Pulse in the middle and the dogs around the edge. Then we'll watch the show," the scientist smiled, and it was worse than hearing his voice.

"Very well," Gordon curtly replied, and he left quickly with Slovich in tow.

"I'm creeped-out, sir."

"So am I, General. Go find the freak some dogs. The sooner we finish this, the better," Gordon responded.

"Will do. In addition, I've arranged to use Area Three as the test site. The walls are the thickest and the observation glass is heavily tinted. It's large enough to easily accommodate all our guests."

"Very good, my friend, we shall give them a show for the ages."

General Slovich just smiled. This is a make-or-break project, and he hoped it proved to be the latter.

As it turned out, finding dogs was easy. They were probably not as big as the crazy scientist would like, but Slovich really did not give a damn. They bought fifteen dogs, and most were on their last leg. He and his men herded them into the back of a transport, and Slovich tried not to look at their faces. He did not need to go soft now.

As they were traveling back to the base, the Captain could not get the mangy dogs out of his head. He turned toward General Slovich, "We should stop and get them some food, sir."

Slovich gave his Captain a look that could wither stone.

"We can't let them starve for these next five days," his Captain persisted.

General Slovich just waved his agreement.

They found a general supply store that sold everything. He let the Captain take care of the purchases as he waited in the truck. He was having a hard time with this decision. How could he look the other way and let this weapon wipe out millions of people, including children, when he could barely stomach the dogs that were unwittingly going to the slaughterhouse. He closed his eyes and tried to forget. He wondered how the leaders who ordered the bombs dropped on Japan felt at the time of their decision. Did they feel remorse? Did they have the splitting headaches and the turning stomach like him? Or, were they steadfast in their determination to win at all costs. He was startled out of his thoughts by the door opening. The Captain was done with his little shopping spree.

Slovich asked for the receipt. "Two hundred dollars!" he said in shock. "Chew toys, doggie treats, blankets!" he continued in exasperation. "Captain, are you nuts?"

"Even murderers get a last supper, sir. I just thought it'd be humane to let them have a little extra before, well, you know," the Captain replied.

"Whatever, Captain. Just get us back to the base," damn he felt like crud.

They housed the dogs in the yards at Area Three. For what it was worth, the dogs were having a blast and they actually did not look as worn down as when he first purchased them. His one solace was to make the scientist that Dr. Frankel brought along, help with cleaning up the dog crap. Leaving behind dog droppings would raise some eyebrows when the rest of the troops arrived back from their leave, and Slovich did not intend to stick his men on this task after everyone had their little show.

The creepy scientist unnerved him even more when he clapped on viewing the dogs for the first time. Slovich almost pulled his pistol on the freak, and had to leave before the urge totally overtook his senses. He decided not to venture back to the test area until it was time. He did not want to risk a court Marshall by setting the dogs free. He would follow through on this deal only because he is too deep to get out now, but he did not have to like it.

General Gordon also had doubts about their plans. He knew Slovich avoided him, but he did not mind. He wanted time to reflect and compose himself for what needed doing. The sacrifice is minor compared to the end goal. Maybe it was a mistake coming here so early. It gave him too much time to think and he knew it was too late to pull out now. In some ways, he admired D'Manna. The man was an unknown commodity that became President of the most powerful nation on the Earth. From a military point of view, the guy cared and truly believed the soldier is the most important component, and he seemed to have a good grasp of strategies even though he never served.

Gordon agreed with the assessment, and felt that maybe he lost sight of it when he had command of Iraq. What the President missed however, was the tremendous amount of political pressure imposed on Gordon's command. It came to the point where he did not know which way to turn without offending someone's political ambition. Maybe he let himself get too caught-up in trying to please everyone that he forgot about the young men who were dying all around him. He thought he did the best that circumstances allowed, and at some point, his concern turned more towards self-preservation than any concern for others.

He remembered when D'Manna called to inform him he was being relieved of his duties. During their brief discussion, he became flabbergasted that D'Manna did not care about whom he upset. The new President came into the White House stepping on toes without any concern for his political position. The thing was, Gordon remembered, the man had no political ambition. D'Manna confided during their discussion, he did not even want to be the 'damn President', as he put it. He was just a pissed off citizen that had enough, and he decided to do something about it.

Gordon had to admit the guy is doing a good job, and he actually won some converts in the House. These converts saw the results D'Manna was getting with the citizens, and they figured it was good for their careers. Still, the guy took politics by surprise and stormed his way into the highest seat with one of the most lopsided election and re-election wins in the history of the nation.

Most of the Washington top dogs were considering it a joke and a fluke, but Gordon surmised they just totally lost touch with the citizenship of the country. If he were more astute, he would have noticed it sooner before D'Manna chopped him down, but he initially thought the guy had no chance to assert any authority. He definitely made a mistake in judgment on D'Manna, and it cost him.

He is convinced this project, however horrible it turned out to be, was his only shot at regaining what he lost, and although he had grown to respect D'Manna, he was not going to let the man take away everything he worked so hard to obtain. In four more years, D'Manna would be out of office and rumors were spreading that, political twists would ensure the Electoral College leaned toward Senator Ash.

D'Manna took the voting process by surprise in the 2008 elections and again in 2012, but he can't go beyond that. D'Manna would be gone and Gordon felt his life would get back to normal.

Gordon planned to be a military man for the rest of his life. Once a new President assumed office, and right now Senator Ash looked to be the favorite, Gordon planned to be the best choice to lead the military once again. This little project, if successful, would ensure many political favors, and he would cash-in.

He vowed his next round of leadership would be more in line with what Patrick and D'Manna had built. Gordon craved the same respect and admiration as these leaders.

A knock on the door interrupted his thought, "Sir, Senator Ash is on the line for you."

Nodding his understanding, he waited for the soldier to leave before answering, "Senator?"

"General," Ash responded, "I have some news to share."

"I thought we were supposed to stay away from each other. Are you sure it's safe to talk."

"General, I own the intelligence operations in this country. It's safe; believe me. Now, word is spreading the Ayatollah's are agreeing with D'Manna's terms. D'Manna already has his lackey's finishing the final documents. This has made many of our supporters nervous about continuing forward with this test. Regardless of what you hear, or what some of my colleagues may say to you, this test is a go. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Senator."

"Good! I'll be there in a few days. We'll talk more then."

He hung up without another word, and Gordon placed his face in his hands. D'Manna again kept one-step ahead of them. He knew the full compliment of Senators and Representatives that initially agreed to witness the test would probably not show. If they decide their political ambitions are more important, they would not hesitate to hang him out to dry. Gordon realized he did not have a choice and the test must go forward. He decided not to relay this message to General Slovich. The man was edgy, and this could push him over the edge. He reinforced his final decision, and decided to let the chips fall as they may.

# Chapter 6 D'Manna

"Mr. President, thank you for agreeing to see me, and for the lunch," he smiled from across the table.

McJeeves is a very unassuming man, the type that could walk down the road unnoticed by the other pedestrians. D'Manna assumed this is why everyone regarded Jason as one of the nation's most prolific Special Agents. The guy could get into places and nobody would spare him a second look.

The unassuming person McJeeves portrayed, did not fool D'Manna. He could tell the man is extremely dangerous if he had to be, but he still wondered if Jason's explanation for gaining his trust, is all there was to McJeeves' story.

When D'Manna first questioned him regarding motives, McJeeves gave a convincing patriotic dissertation of his reasoning. Apparently, he knew much more than D'Manna could fathom about the mass intrigue that plagued the nations political ranks, and he explained he did not like where other motives were taking the country. He told him he believed D'Manna to be an honest man, and he relayed his thought that by D'Manna becoming a President without any internal friends, it could be very damaging to the Presidents health.

On their first meeting, he told D'Manna he wanted to help 'right-the-ship' as he put it, and he thought it was his patriotic duty to make sure D'Manna had valuable knowledge to ensure success. D'Manna believed him, and McJeeves actions have solidified his trust.

D'Manna always thought words were just that, and the truly gifted could use them to move nations, and unfortunately, America has many people who are very talented wordsmiths. Listening to words people spewed from their lips never moved him; instead, he focused in on their actions. D'Manna knew if you really stopped and looked for what people did instead of what they said, you would get a truer understanding of their character, and frankly, many politicians were lacking any form of honorable character what so ever.

"You're welcome, Mr. McJeeves," he answered. "So tell me, what's on your mind? The Vice President thinks you want an exclusive interview."

"Well sir, to keep my disguise in tack I could use a little insider information, but that's not what I wanted to discuss."

D'Manna did not answer and let him think through his next comments.

McJeeves just blurted it out, "They're testing the bomb." D'Manna's response spoke volumes for his character. The poker face was unreadable, and McJeeves admired his calm intake of this news.

"Tell me what you know, Mr. McJeeves."

"The twenty first of December is the target test date. Apparently, General Gordon has secured our Barrow base and has flown in Dr. Frankel with a small version of the weapon. That's not the worst of it," McJeeves continued. "Over half of the nation's representatives have made arrangements to witness the results. They'll be arriving within the next few days. If the test is successful, word is Senator Ash has garnered enough votes to override your edict. They're readying a full scale version and will vote for immediate implementation in Iraq." If the man lost it, McJeeves thought it would be now. There was no doubt the Senators were not going to wait for a troop pull out before they gave the order to drop the bomb.

"The Ayatollahs have accepted our terms. We're completing the final documents, and troop pull out will start by the end of January. The plan is to have all our soldiers' home by mid-summer," D'Manna said.

McJeeves smiled, he just got his scoop, and he would make sure it appeared on the front page of tomorrow's paper. His admiration grew tenfold for this President. He knew what D'Manna attempted to accomplish, and the political ploy may save numerous lives.

D'Manna seethed, taking great effort to control himself. Gordon and Ash have gone too far, but without support from the political majority, he would not be able to stop their plans. Congress could override him and he is powerless without their backing. He knew feeding McJeeves the information would ensure that it hit the press. His only hope at this point was to scare enough of Ash's supporters before they made a catastrophic mistake. By getting the agreement in the press, he hoped to force Congress to choose between votes, or world domination,

"Have you ever had the pleasure of visiting Alaska, Jason?"

Again, McJeeves had to smile. He already packed his bags hoping D'Manna would make the decision to send him. He would have gone regardless, but it is comforting to know they were both on the same page.

"No, Mr. President, but I hear it's lovely this time of year. Would you like me to ensure a malfunction?"

"Only if your life is not at risk, or the soldiers; if there's no clear means to do so, then just witness the results and report to me as soon as possible. We'll just have to clean up the mess later. I'll be in Chicago through the thirtieth. You can reach me at the Carlton, downtown."

Once again, McJeeves was surprised. He has been an agent for twenty years placing his life on the line countless of times for Presidents and Politicians. None has ever expressed concern for his safety. To them, he is just a tool to use for their own gain. This is the first time in his career he felt motivated and engaged in the nation. For twenty years, he has been just going through the motions and doing the best he could. Fortunately, he is the best, but he did not get there for the people he served, he became the best for his own survival. He felt re-energized for the first time since his acceptance within the C.I.A. This President inspired him, and he would do whatever it took to ensure this man succeeded.

"Then I'll meet you in Chicago, Mr. President," he said.

They shook hands and the look D'Manna gave him was one of thanks. McJeeves would not let this man down.

# Chapter 7 Ash

They started arriving early on the nineteenth and the trickle grew as the day progressed. By dinner, forty Senators were on the base, but only one hundred Representatives. Apparently, many were getting cold feet. Senator Ash had still not arrived, and Gordon wondered if Ash was also scared off. Everyone knew of his ambition to run for the Presidency in the two thousand sixteen elections. If this test leaked out to the public, if could be very damaging to the powerful Senator.

Gordon took extra precautions with the security at the base. Although they sanctioned leave to nearly three thousand stationed soldiers, the base is relatively small, and the men he and Slovich kept were very good at their jobs. They were Hardened professionals with unyielding loyalty. He remembered the words of the first General he ever served. The General told him, "treat the soldier right, and they will never abandon you, but treat a select few even better, and they will die for you." He and Slovich were of the same ilk, and their select few he knew would die for them.

"Where's General Gordon, soldier?" Slovich asked one of his men patrolling the corridors.

"In his quarters, sir," the soldier answered.

Slovich found Gordon at his desk rifling through some paperwork, "Senator Ash just arrived."

Gordon sighed in relief, "Make sure he's quartered and comfortable, we need this man to come through for us. Without the Senator, all our dreams die."

"It's already taken care of, sir. Senator Ash has requested all parties to be available for dinner. I've already made the arrangements and we'll begin in the main mess hall at nineteen hundred hours."

"Thank you. I'll be there. Do we have any alcohol on this base, General?"

Slovich nodded in the affirmative.

"Then make sure we have plenty available. I've got a feeling this may be a long night and drink will bolster the nerves of any who're still wavering."

"Understood sir. I'll see you at nineteen hundred," he saluted, and when Gordon acknowledged, he exited the room.

This is what their hopes were dangling on, Slovich contemplated. A drunken binge and probably a lot of peer pressure. As he maneuvered through the base to take care of all the final details, Slovich wondered what the penalty would be for this involvement. Possibly treason, he thought, and if D'Manna acquired the right lawyers, Slovich was certain they would be able to build a convincing argument. However, Senator Ash has many connections, and the Supreme Court is probably not above his sphere of influence. He doubted it would make it to court proceedings; Politicians had a way of sweeping things of this nature under the carpet. He just hoped their names would not go down in history as traitors to the nation. He loved his country, but things just seem to be steamrolling out of control, and he felt powerless to get out of the way.

Slovich spotted his captain strolling down a side hallway, "Captain!" he shouted.

"Sir!" the man saluted.

Slovich enjoyed the extra attention all his soldiers were displaying since the arrival of Congressional administrators. Usually he let things get a little informal due to their remote location within the big military picture, but they knew when to act accordingly, "Please make sure the celebration supplies are readily available for supper."

Captain Johnson smiled, "Will do, sir!"

"Only the best, Captain."

"Yes sir, only the best," the Captain repeated.

"I'll be in my quarters until dinner, please make sure everything is in order."

"Yes sir!"

Slovich always hated yes men, but his Captain is one of the best, and hearing him say 'Yes', was a blessing. He usually let his Captain get away with speaking his mind, and Johnson is very good at ensuring people heard his views. He knew his Captain would more than make-up for it once all the unfamiliar faces were gone from the base.

Once he made it to his room, he decided to lie down and get some sleep before suppertime. It is going to be a long night and he needed his wits about him.

That evening, they all gathered in the Mess Hall for what seemed like a last supper, Gordon thought. Although almost half of the nations Senators showed, only a fraction of Representatives made it.

They had a good meal of roasted turkey with all the sides, and plenty of spirits. General Slovich did a good job of decorating the Hall in Christmas colors, and once the drink settled nerves, all in attendance seemed to enjoy themselves.

Senator Ash was the focal point and relished in the attention. Ash is an extremely charismatic man, and others seemed to flock to him wherever he traveled. Gordon pictured him in the 2016 Presidential race, and thought nobody would have a chance against this energetic, educated, and athletic looking gentleman.

Ash had it all; good looks, brains, speaking prowess, and money, lots of money. As they always said, people elect money. The more you have, the more people will give you their support. Many politicians call it sheep herding. Gordon always silently added the words 'to slaughter', whenever he heard it.

Although D'Manna won a landslide victory in the last election, he really did not have favorable competition. Ash received respect from all across the country; a true politician, and these well connected, very rich, super powerful people, were not going to let a commoner take the prize again, whatever the cost.

Senator Ash held center court, so to speak, and fielded questions from the congregation. He decided to keep the scientist away so that the freaky madman would not shatter their nerves. D'Manna, either unknowingly or otherwise, threw a wrench into his plans by having the Iraqi agreement published. Ash figured the publication was more of an unwanted leak than a shrewd attempt by D'Manna to break-up their little Alaskan dissension. After all, Ash owned the secret service and his tight-lipped proceedings regarding this affair would not have made it possible for any information to reach D'Manna until it became too late. Therefore, he surmised, the wrench was more of an accident than any political ploy D'Manna could have conceived.

D'Manna did not have a shred of political shrewdness as far as Ash was concerned, and he is confident this mistake of a President is clueless to the intrigues surrounding him. He could not wait to see the look on D'Manna's face when Congress orders the dropping of The Pulse.

Ash was sensitive to the matter of the Presidents children being in the so-called danger zone, and he knew D'Manna would go ballistic on hearing the news. Ash already had agents in place to whisk the Presidents children to safety before the bomb dropped, but he planned to keep this little bit of knowledge in his pocket until the right time. He wanted D'Manna to be extremely thankful for the rescue of his children, that he would concede the lives of all the other troops.

Ash was not heartless to the plight of the American sacrifice once The Pulse hit, and he already made plans to alter D'Manna's pullout strategy. Instead of the troops flying directly home, Ash planned to re-route them to Saudi bases so they could march right back into Iraq once The Pulse took care of the dirty work. Unfortunately, Ash would only be able to save roughly two-thirds of the troops from the bombs nasty business. This meant that thousands of American soldiers would lose their lives in the destruction. Ash considered it a small price to pay in the effort to gain untold amounts of oil wealth.

This move would place America on top of all nations for the remainder of the Earth's existence. American lives were a small sacrifice for the overall betterment of the country. He would honor them as heroes and so would the nation. In exchange for saving D'Manna's children, he will work out a deal for D'Manna to accept the blame, and the consequences. The President would not have any other choice; after all, what would he be able to say to all the parents who lost their children? Ash could hear it now - "Uh, sorry about your kids, but my kids are safe and isn't life great?"

After this power play, this President would be done, and Ash would have an unobstructed path to the highest seat in the world. He will force D'Manna to accept responsibility in exchange for the lives of his children, and he is confident the President would accept greedily. In Ash's opinion, it is time for this make-believe President to get out of the real power player's way. He had his moment in the sun, and Ash was ready to turn it into a storm.

Ash fielded many questions regarding the after-affect results and without tipping his hand, he answered each masterfully. By the end of the evening, he had everyone solidly locked into his overall scheme, and they all knew what their role would be.

Of the folks that backed-out on this endeavor, their political end is at hand. Once Ash ascended to the presidency, he and his cohorts would ensure their defeat during their next election run. What Ash is most proud of is the total bipartisan effort he received. This endeavor achieved a total political team effort, and the outcome would be unprecedented. He considered it ironic that D'Manna helped himself win the presidency by playing upon citizen disgust of the partisan split in government, and this total group effort would be his undoing. D'Manna should have learned long ago to be careful of your wishes.

At last, the evening ended and everyone staggered to bed. Tomorrow would change lives forever.

Ash caught up to General Gordon, "General, you did a masterful job on tonight's affair," he patted the Generals shoulder. "The drink arrangements were a nice touch."

Gordon nodded his head in thanks.

"What time have you scheduled the test for?"

"O Nine Thirty, Senator, in Area Three's yard. I had base directions delivered to all the representatives."

"Very good, Gordon, I'll see you in the morning."

Again, Gordon nodded. He just wanted this business over as quickly as possible before he cracked from the pressure. He went straight to his room for sleep.

Slovich stopped by Area Three before he went to bed, and he noticed Captain Johnson in the yard playing with the dogs, "What in heavens name are you doing, Captain?"

Captain Johnson looked around to make sure nobody of importance lingered within hearing distance, then responded, "Just giving the mutts some fun before tomorrow, sir. May I ask what you're doing here?"

Slovich stumbled for words and realized he really did not know why he came. He just had an urge to check the dogs and maybe try to make sense of what they were doing in this hellhole. He dismissed the Captain's question with a wave, and staggered his way back to his room. He felt sick to his stomach and wanted to lie down before he fell.

Captain Johnson went back to playing with the dogs. They were having a blast and he enjoyed himself just the same. He stayed with them most of the night and when they finally decided they wanted to sleep, he laid down with them in the yard. As he dosed off, he felt the animals lying all around him. It would not be until he sobered that he realized how cold it became, and the dog's body heat was the only thing that saved him from the frigid Alaskan air.

# Chapter 8 Alaska

McJeeves arrived in the remote Alaskan village of Barrow, very early in the morning. He had to endure numerous flight delays, cancellations, and just trying to find a plane to take him to Anchorage was a mission all in its self. By the time he managed to charter a twin engine to take him to Barrow, it neared sunrise; or what he surmised sunrise would look like in the night season. He realized there is a reason why he never ventured to Alaska, and after this, he may never do it again.

He did not have time to get a room; instead, he acquired a snowmobile to take him out to the base. This was after he purchased the warmest gear he could find. D'Manna is going to flip once he sees his expense report.

It neared seven a.m. when he reached the outskirts of the base. After careful review, he realized there is no way he is going to be able to get inside the building. Who ever coordinated security did a masterful job. Usually he could break into any secure zone, and he was confident he would be able to do so here, but it would take days to infiltrate the defense and he just did not have anymore time. He knew the test is going to take place today, he just did not know when.

While scouting the base outskirts, he noticed one area where security is more prevalent. Scanning his base schematics he obtained from the White House archives, he noted the location. Area 3 is what is marked on the map, and from the looks of it, it resembled many similar test sites at other bases.

He found a location that offered him an aerial view roughly eight hundred yards away, and could make out most of the grounds from this vantage point. He noticed the dogs huddled in the southwest corner and this brought some comfort to his senses. At least they were using animals instead of soldiers this time, he thought.

Scanning the yards defenses, McJeeves knew he could not penetrate this area in the short amount of time he had left. From his vantage point, he could see activity beginning to take place, and he was confident the test would begin early so the congressional entourage could get back home at a decent time. He hunkered down, and with his high-powered binoculars, he kept a diligent watch.

"What do we have here?" whined a screechy voice. "Hey soldier, get up out of here before I decide to use you in the test."

Captain Johnson jumped, and the dogs scattered around him, "Doctor?"

"Did you have a rough night there, young man?" Dr. Frankel asked.

"Uh," Johnson straightened himself up, brushing off the debris, "I guess so, sir."

"Help us tie the dogs up, soldier. The Senators want to see a show and it's about time I gave 'em one," Frankel cackled.

The Captain figured the weird sound the scientist made was a laugh, and it sent tingles up his spine. The man wanted five dogs tied at fifty yards around a green looking sphere that encompassed maybe six inches in diameter. He then wanted five dogs tied at one hundred yards and the last five at one hundred fifty. He heard the weird little guy mumbling about a two hundred yard radius, and it tempted Johnson to tie the remaining five outside that boundary marker, but he didn't.

After the dogs were in place, Captain Johnson walked to each, and patted them with a final goodbye. When he approached the one he named Sprinkles, he noticed the dog pawing, trying to reach a rawhide bone that was just out of its reach. The Captain gave him the bone and some extra attention.

The first thing he noticed when he jumped from his slumber was Sprinkles body surrounding his head. It was very cold this morning, and he knew these dogs somehow kept him warm throughout his sleep. He thanked Sprinkles as he patted him, and the dog licked his face as if to say, you're welcome.

"Let's go, soldier, I've got work to do, and you need to be gone."

The Captain did not hesitate. He was on the verge of breaking, and he wanted to get to his quarters to clean up. He decided not to come back to witness the test. As he passed a soldier on duty, he asked him why they did not wake him. The soldier just shrugged and said they tried, but whenever they got too close, the dogs started to growl. The Captain just shook his head and walked off. Why couldn't this be easy? He thought.

McJeeves watched the proceedings within the yard from his distant perch. His binoculars were very powerful and could make out the smallest facial features with ease. He watched the soldier getting his face licked by the dog, and the infamous Dr. Frankel going about his work as only a lunatic could appreciate.

They placed The Pulse in the center of the yard, approximately five hundred yards away from the observation deck, with the dogs surrounding it at spaced intervals. McJeeves had seen the larger version of The Pulse when he visited the military base at White Sands, and this mini replica would equal a sliver of the main unit. The doctor then had his underlings place replica miniature houses within the same circles the dogs occupied. McJeeves snapped many pictures of the area, and tried to get close-ups of the faces. He wanted damning evidence the President could use to his advantage.

He scanned the observation deck, but the heavily tinted glass did not allow him to see who may have been watching. He knew Senator Ash was there, but many of the others were very slick in hiding their tracks. McJeeves would eventually be able to trace all who participated in this treasonous act, but that would take time, and it could leave holes for the politicians to work an escape. He wanted to get picture footage that would leave no wiggle room for the slimy politicians.

He knew Ash was setting the President up, and he wanted to reverse the scenario as much as possible. McJeeves was sure D'Manna knew the game of politics, and so far, the President faired pretty darn well. It was a chess match between a wily veteran in Ash, and a relatively unknown in D'Manna. Business politics could be just as cutthroat as the government game, and D'Manna did very well in that arena. However, playing in the public domain took money, power, and connections. Ash had all the latter. D'Manna only had the support of the population, but these people did not have the power or the connections to save their beloved President. The political demons were poised to strike and all that stood in their way was McJeeves.

Politicians always took Secret Service agents for granted. What they keep failing to realize is; agents have thoughts and dreams, they have opinions and their own personal views of people and events. Many agents did not always respect the people they protected, but they did their job for the country. When D'Manna won the Presidency, McJeeves recruited numerous disenchanted agents who were fed-up with the nation's political mess. In fact, McJeeves positioned two hundred of his cohorts as the Presidents personal entourage. These agents were prepared to die for D'Manna, not out of duty, but out of respect for what this man stood for. Although they would perform the same for any politician they protected, the difference with D'Manna is; money would not sway them from their course. This President was not their job to protect; they made it their life's mission.

Eventually, Senator Ash will come to realize this mistake and find it very difficult to arrange an unfortunate accident.

At O Nine Twenty Five, activity started to pick-up in the yard.

General Gordon watched all the faces that gathered within the observation deck. Some were nervous, some confident, some lacking any emotion what so ever. Senator Ash sat in the front row dead center. They were watching Doctor Frankel instruct his team of scientists through the final fazes of preparation. Most of the dogs were lying quietly, unknowing of the fate that was about to befall them. Frankel gave the all-clear signal that prompted General Slovich to call in all the soldiers. Only the dogs would remain exposed to the weapon.

The scientists all gathered in the control booth off to the side of the main observation seating area. Gordon watched their last frantic adjustments to whatever control mechanism they had, then the mad scientist started the countdown. They all peered intently through the glass.

Five, Four, Three, Two, One! He screeched at last. A blinding light lit up the yard, and although the observation glass was tinted, all the watchers still blinked in surprise.

The observer's saw The Pulse radiate from the weapon, hearing a faint sound much like a freight train passing in the distance. When the sound stopped, the delegation noticed all the dogs sitting on their haunches with their heads tilted up to the dark sky, and although the sound did not penetrate to their ears, it appeared that all the dogs were howling. They all sat dumbfounded for the next few moments watching the animals.

Gordon glanced at the scientist through the control room glass, and noticed Frankel staring with a gaping mouth into the yard. All Gordon's hopes and dreams started crashing in his head.

McJeeves squinted and pulled the binoculars away from his eyes when the flash went off. He did not need them to see what came next. A wave, much like you would see from throwing a rock into water, emitted from the flash area traveling in all directions at blinding speed. He did not have time to do anything but stand there and let it hit him.

He heard a low rumbling sound and felt the wave pass through his body. The unnatural feeling sent shivers through his entire being. He waited for death, but it never came. He placed the binoculars back up to his eyes, but they were flashing in and out. Either the batteries were dying or that wave caused interference. He smacked it a few times and was once again able to see. What he witnessed was disturbing.

All the dogs howled at the night sky, and when the haunting sound reached his ears, the hair on the back of his neck stiffened. Soon after, McJeeves heard other animal noises rising from the wilderness. He scanned the area but did not see any sign of the beasts. Looking back into the yard, he saw a soldier running toward the dogs. All the canines stopped howling and turned their attention toward this man.

McJeeves surmised the weapon obviously failed. This lifted his spirit but the corresponding wave and animal howls had him a little unnerved. He decided to move in closer to the base and try to get some pictures of political embarrassment once they exited the facility. This would play perfectly within the world of politics.

Captain Johnson rushed to the yard once he heard the faint howling of the dogs. When he burst through the doorway, all the dogs stopped and turned in his direction; all shook noticeably. He ran to each and untied them, and they all gathered around him leaning their bodies against his legs. It seemed like they were trying to get his reassurance that everything was okay. He hugged each dog, and patted them, talking soothingly in an effort to calm them down. Sprinkles kept licking his face, and he smiled.

"What the hell happened, Doctor?" Ash bellowed.

Everyone snapped out of their dumbfounded state once Captain Johnson burst into the yard. Gordon noticed how badly the dogs were shaking. It was fear, and these animals were terrified. The Captain appeared to help them relax and this settled Gordon's nerve to a certain degree.

The scientist walked out of the control room shaking his head, "I don't know, Senator. We'll have to look at the film and study it. It should have worked. We used a miniature version right before we came here, and it worked perfectly on the mice."

"We don't have time you little rodent!" Ash screamed. "None, nada, zilch - do you hear me!"

The doctor just shrugged.

Ash threw his IPad at the observatory window and the hand-held computer shattered to pieces. The other Representatives started exiting the room. Ash looked in Gordon's direction, who in turn looked to General Slovich. They anticipated for this potential outcome and it was time to put plan 'B', into action.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Slovich stated, "If you'll follow me, I'll make arrangements for your departure."

They all followed the General, and as the last person exited the room, Ash turned to Gordon, "You know what to do. Give each our planned debriefing and ensure they understand our non-disclosure agreement."

"Will do, Senator," Gordon replied.

Ash and Gordon agreed earlier to a non-disclosure agreement, and it was very simple. If any of the people involved ratted out any of the others, it would be political death not only for them, but also for their entire family line. Treason is serious business, and no one who participated wanted that tag applied to their names.

Ash glanced out the window as he exited the room, and saw one dog nearly take Doctor Frankel's head off when the scientist got too close. Too bad, Ash thought, the dog could have taken care of his dirty work for him. He will give Doctor Frankel time to study what went wrong, but that must wait until after they dropped the large version of The Pulse in Iraq. If it worked, great, if not, it would be no harm done and swept under the carpet. In either case, Doctor Frankel's time on this planet was limited.

# Chapter 9 The Pulse

Unbeknownst to the people in the Alaskan waste, the wave did not stop, but circled the entire globe, then reversed itself back again. In relative terms, it all happened in a blink of an eye.

People all across the globe who were outdoors at the time, seen a weird shimmer in the air and heard the faint sound of a train rumbling in the distance as the shimmer passed through their bodies.

Creatures on the planet felt a little unsettled by the feeling that emanated through their bodies. Neighbors, pedestrians, and strangers alike, shared stunned glances and nervous chatter. Something bizarre just happened and nobody knew what.

People rushed to TV sets and radios hoping to hear if anybody knew anything. It was the last Friday before Christmas, and with everyone in holiday mode, news would arrive slowly, but something big just happened, and it was extremely unnerving not knowing.

# Chapter 10 D'Manna

D'Manna started his Friday morning with a quick stroll to the corner Starbucks for coffee and a bagel. In his mind, there was no better way to start the day. He was returning to his hotel room when while crossing the street, he saw, heard, and felt the wave that many before and many after would feel. He nearly dropped his coffee when the sensation passed through his body. He knew this was the day of the test, but there was no way it could have caused this.

He turned to one of his Secret Service agents, "Get McJeeves on the line," turning to another, "Get me our FAA contact immediately." As the agents frantically worked their phones, they rushed back into the hotel and back to his room. Laura was still in the shower, so they set-up shop in the front entrance.

"Sir, I can't reach McJeeves."

"Try contacting the base." The agent started dialing and D'Manna realized he did not mention which base. The agent's action struck him as odd.

"Sir, I have the FAA on the line," said the other agent.

D'Manna grabbed the phone, but before answering, he spit out, "Our Barrow, Alaska base. Find out who's in charge and get them on the line." The agent just nodded his head, but D'Manna noticed he already completed dialing. He wondered how deep this deception ran.

"Hello?" D'Manna stated into the phone.

"Mr. President, this is Ted Hammerstock with the Federal Aviation Administration. How may I help you, sir?"

"Ted, I want you to ground all flights in the country."

"Um! Mr. President, may I ask why?"

"Ted, I'm playing a hunch here. Get the planes on the ground as quickly as you can. Something unnatural just happened and I don't want people exposed while they're in the air."

"I'll pass the message, Mr. President."

"Thank you, Ted. I'll let you know when I think everything is safe."

"I'll wait for your call, Mr. President."

D'Manna hung-up and was immediately handed the phone with the Alaskan base on the line, "Hello," D'Manna stated.

"Mr. President, how may I be of service?" the voice asked.

"Please get Senator Ash on the line."

"Senator Ash is not here, Mr. President."

"Soldier, I know Senator Ash is on the base, please put him on the line immediately."

"Hold on, sir."

An agent held out another phone. D'Manna passed him the Alaska phone telling him to keep the Senator on the line. He then took the offered phone, "Hello?"

"Brock, it's Rich. What the hell is going on?"

"You felt it too?" D'Manna's shocked voice asked.

"Whatever it was, yes we felt it."

"I'm trying to figure that out. What's going on in Washington?"

"Near panic, what was that...that thing that happened?" Rich asked.

"I think it's a test that just went haywire."

"A test you knew about?" Rich asked again.

"A test I knew about that I wasn't supposed to know about. Hang-on a sec."

He and the agent switched phones again, "Senator?" D'Manna asked.

"Mr. President," Senator Ash replied.

"Tell me what went wrong, Ash?"

"Obviously everything, Mr. President; since you know I'm here, you obviously know why."

"That's an understatement, Senator."

"The test failed, Mr. President. I guess we'll do it your way."

"Whatever you did, Ash, just sent a shock wave through the nation. I don't think you'll be able to sweep this one under the carpet."

There was a long pause and a sigh, then Ash finally responded, his voice shaken, "You'd be surprised what I can sweep away, Mr. President."

"Watch yourself, Senator. I want a full report of the entire operation on my desk by Wednesday."

"I don't think I'll put anything in writing, sir, but I'll be more than happy to discuss this in person with you."

"I'm going to play dumb with the media, Ash, but I want you in Chicago by Wednesday. It's time we settled our little differences and get on the same page."

"I'll be there."

"Bring General Gordon with. We need mutual understanding."

"As you wish, Mr. President," Ash stated and hung-up.

His agent then passed the phone with the Vice President waiting on hold, "Rich?" D'Manna asked.

"I heard you with your favorite Senator."

"You heard me?" he asked as he gave the agent a look to kill.

"Listen, I'll let you clean things up. If you need anything, let us know. We'll do whatever you need."

"Thanks Rich, all I want you to do is go relax and enjoy the holidays. I'll fill you in once all the dust settles."

"I know," he replied, and they both hung-up.

"Sir, the media are congregating in the lobby."

"Brock, what's going on?" asked Laura.

"I'll fill you in later, baby. I have to go."

"Let's go meet the media, gentleman," he stated to his agents and started walking toward the door.

"Are we still going to your mothers today?" Laura shouted across the room.

"No, Hun. Can you give her a call and tell her?"

"I figured," she answered.

As they headed toward the elevator, D'Manna had another hunch. "Get me the Director of Energy on the line." Halfway down to the lobby, the agent handed D'Manna the phone. "Director?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

"I want all nuclear power plants shutdown immediately, do you understand?"

"May I ask why, Mr. President?"

"You may, but I'm not in position to explain. Take care of it immediately."

"Consider it done, sir."

As D'Manna handed the phone back to the agent, he contemplated the hunch's he was having. If this turned out to be nothing, his adversaries will use it against him. He could hear them now, calling his decision a panic move, inexperience, un-composed, and numerous other negative connotations. He could not explain the feelings he was having, but in his gut he knew it was better to be safe than sorry. Something just was not sitting right with him.

The phone rang again, "Sir, it's the Vice President."

He grabbed the phone, "Rich?"

"Brock, we just got word from the Pentagon, they can't get through to you. Everybody is escalating military status. The Soviets have gone to their highest readiness state. General Patrick phoned and said there's a lot of activity coming from the Iraqi side. The Pentagon wants to know if we should follow."

"No!" damn, how far did The Pulse travel, he swore in his mind, "Tell Patrick to do what he thinks is necessary. Hang on a sec.," he flashed through his phones address book, and when he came to Mushamadeed's number, he dialed it and handed it to the agent. "Ask him to hold when he answers," the agent nodded.

"Rich?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Tell Patrick to get prepared, but not to panic. I don't want our troops firing the first shot, and tell the Pentagon to step down. We won't follow the others into this madness. Get in touch with all our friends and tell them I'll call them as soon as I can. Tell them we don't know what happened, that we'll investigate and fill everyone in once we have some facts," the elevator door opened to the lobby, and the media mass started to surge forward. His agents immediately blocked their advance, but they could not do much to silence their insistent questions.

"I'll take care of it, Brock"

"Thanks bud, I'll talk to you soon."

The agent handed him the phone the Ayatollah waited on, "Mohammed?"

"Mr. President, please tell me you had nothing to do with what just happened."

D'Manna squeezed his eyes shut. What a mess, he thought. He moved down the hall to get away from the media noise and ears, "I don't know what caused that situation, but I'll find out," damn, he hated lying. "I can tell you, we are NOT attacking."

"My friends are very nervous, Brock."

"Mohammed, I'm asking you to trust me on this. We're not readying for an attack. I need you to trust me on this, my friend."

"I trust your word. I just pray to Allah I can persuade the others to relax."

"You need to convince them, Mohammed, if they panic, we're going to have many young folks to bury."

"I will do what I can."

"Thank you. I'll contact you after I get some questions answered."

"Go with Allah's blessing, Mr. President."

"Same to you, my friend; we'll talk soon."

D'Manna took a deep breath to steady his racing heart. He thought of Senator Ash, and hoped he had the strength to stop himself from throttling the man when he saw him. He walked out toward the media mass.

# Chapter 11 Iraq

"Whoa! What the fuck is that?" Brad asked just as the wave went through his body. "What the fuck was that?" he asked again as he watched the shimmering air fly through the base behind him.

Nick shivered from its affect, "I don't know, but it's freaky."

All the troops training in the yard had bewildered looks on their faces. Commander McKartel entered the area at a dead run, "Back to base, gentlemen," he shouted. "Nick, Brad, join me." He left and the brothers had to run to catch-up.

They entered his quarters and the Commander laid out a map of the Iraqi region, "I want you both to sooth the fears of the men, and start memorizing this map."

"What's going on, sir?" asked Nick

"I don't know, but if it's a new ploy by the Iraqi's, then we need to be prepared. Study the map, then go and take care of the troops."

"Yes sir," they said in unison. The Commander left the room.

"I thought Dad worked a deal," Brad stated.

"Yeah, but he always taught us, even the best laid plans could go wrong. He always said we needed a back-up for everything, remember?" Nick replied.

"I guess."

"Let's study this thing, then get outta here."

The three Ayatollahs sat in a tent breaking bread together when they felt the wave. They rushed to the tent opening and witnessed the shimmer flowing through their encampment. "Allah protect us!" was their stunned unison prayer.

"It's the Americans, they have betrayed us!"

"Let's not be hasty," replied Al-Mushamadeed. "Let us hear the facts before we rush to judgment."

"There is nothing to hear, Brother, do you think they will warn us when they decide to attack? I say we act now before it's too late."

The others echoed the same sentiment and Mohammed Al-Mushamadeed bowed to their sentiment. He could not stand against both of these religious leaders. "Let us walk amongst the men and see what there is to see," he suggested.

Their Iraqi countrymen were all very nervous. Nobody knew what just transpired and all eyes intently studied the American base for signs of an attack; no helicopters were in the air, nor could they see any trucks moving about. It seemed like the Americans had disappeared, "They are getting ready to bomb us, Al-Mushamadeed. That is why we do not see them moving."

Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed stared and hoped for a sign that this was not an attack. His countrymen and their friends had the American base surrounded, and easily outnumbered the Americans ten to one. However, the Americans had the superior weapon power, and when they engaged them in the past, the American soldier took fifty Iraqi lives to every one American they were lucky to kill.

He grabbed a pair of binoculars from a soldier and peered into the base. There was movement and it did not appear anything unfortunate was about to happen. Scanning the Special Forces barracks, he noticed two soldiers walking toward its gates. They were D'Manna's boys. Mushamadeed smiled for he knew the American President would not place his children in obvious harms way. He handed the binoculars to his cohort, "They're not attacking. I just saw the Presidents children enter their barracks."

"We do not trust him as you do, Mohammed. No infidel can be trusted in this bloody war."

"Very well, get our countrymen ready just in case, but we do not charge until more is known or an outright attack is launched."

They nodded their agreement.

"Your Holiness, your Holiness!" one of his countrymen was shouting and running toward him holding his cell phone. He left the other leaders and approached the man. "It is the American President, he says it's urgent."

He grabbed the phone "Mr. President?"

"He'll be right with you, sir. Hang on," replied the voice on the other end.

# Chapter 12 The Pulse

As the wave swept the Earth, communities across the face of the planet became startled and nervous. From Iceland to Africa, Norway to China, the affects of The Pulse Phenomena touched every human across the planet.

Russia immediately initiated its highest military alert status, and many of the Earth's super powers did the same. Remote communities clutched children and huddled together as best they could, thinking the GODS were angry and expecting the worst.

The eeriest part every community witnessed was the crazy affect that whatever just happened, had on the animals. Dogs howled, horses whinnied, chickens, goats, bears, and all life forms, just seemed to go into a panic state. In one African village, the people witnessed the mass evacuation of mice. They started climbing out of every hole they were in, and made a mad dash toward unknown destinations. The famous Chinese monkeys started screeching in panic. Lions ran, elephants trumpeted, and gorillas pounded on their chests. No life on the planet went untouched.

Then it came back. This time the wave screamed louder and moved faster. It ushered-in a cold air that took the breath away from the already panicky human and animal life. A frigid blast of air raked historically warm climates, moderate climates fared worse, and the Earth's coldest climates instantly froze over. As it rushed back toward the north from where it originally came, panic truly took hold as blackouts occurred in every community and nation it touched, and it touched them all.

Parents grabbed terrified children who clutched desperately to their legs. Husbands, wives, lovers, and family, quickly retreated indoors in hopes of escaping the chill air and whatever the thing was that raked the land. Animals burrowed, or ran, insects retreated to dens, and birds filled the sky in panic not knowing which way to migrate.

Cars and trains, boats and motorcycles, all stopped where they stood as their motors failed to turn. Computers, TV's, phones, defibrillators and dialysis machines, generators, life support systems, pacemakers, lights, and anything else that was technology based, stopped. Back-up generators failed, and although battery back-up systems still operated, the machines they were supporting, did not.

People who were reliant on computerized equipment to keep them alive, died by the thousands, and people on operating tables and the elderly who already had a weakness in their body, died from strokes and heart attacks. Others watched in horror as planes fell from the skies like rocks tossed from a cliff. The unfortunate trapped within did not have a chance, and the falling and flying debris killed indiscriminately the unwary upon the ground.

It was chaos across the land, and isolation from everything but each other's immediate community and circumstance. Technology seemed to stop working, and without it, a technology based human race became blind.

Within an instant, the dark ages re-visited Earth; an age where strong communities were essential for survival and only the strongest survived. Humankind's greatest challenge was upon them.

# Chapter 13 Iraq

"All right boys and girls, the Marines just received orders to secure the airport. We're to remain here and provide back-up support if anything should happen. Brad, take a company, and provide lookout from the roof. Everybody else, the Iraqi's are mobilizing so let's get ready."

This unit of the Special Forces only had the one sanctioned officer, and that is Commander McKartel, but everyone considered Nicholas D'Manna second in charge and his brother, third. Due to their training sessions, every member of the forces, all thirty thousand, respected and followed the brothers, and nobody questioned their orders. Word spread quickly throughout the barracks and soldiers armed themselves for a conflict if it should come.

"I told you, Brother. They are preparing to attack," he handed his binoculars to Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed.

Mushamadeed scanned the American base and viewed the mass activity that now seemed to be taking place. Trucks and tanks were rolling and helicopters started warming their engines. Men were scurrying everywhere to get into defensive positions.

The Ayatollah sighed in resignation; he knew the Americans were only responding because of his compatriots' actions. If they just had remained calm, things would not be escalating to this point. He scanned the Special Force barracks and noted these troops were not taking part in the activity. They had some lookouts on the roof, but other than that, they remained inside. He handed the binoculars back, "Go secure your camps, my friends, but I pray you show wisdom in your actions."

Both of his compatriots looked at him, and he noted the panic rising within their eyes. They both hailed vehicles and started toward their main camps. Most of Mushamadeed's men occupied the western part of the city, and they all trusted their Ayatollah with their lives. He would not have trouble holding this side of the insurgence in check, but he feared his two brothers would not be able to ensure the same.

He sighed again and decided to seek out his most trusted men. If things went bad, Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed would show honor to the American President, and secure his children. He did not want the most powerful man on the planet to let emotion over take his common sense.

"Oh shit!" Brad exclaimed. "Here it comes again."

All the lookouts quickly turned in the direction Brad faced, and their mouths dropped open in surprise. The wave that swept through just moments before came back. The air in the distance shimmered and moved much quicker than before, and the roar of the distinctive train sound, was loud. It passed through the base in mere seconds, and the icy blast of air made everyone jump in surprise. Every light on the base was extinguished, every engine died. The quiet that followed was mind numbing in its lack of sound. Brad tried to reach his brother via the head set, but it wasn't working. Even his binoculars went dead.

"Sir!" Timmy Johnson shouted, and when Brad did not respond, he said it louder, "SIR!"

Brad looked in his direction and appeared to come back from the thoughts that assailed his senses, "Timmy, go get my brother."

"Yes sir!" Timmy ran.

It became pitch black without any power on the base. The freak wave extinguished every light in every direction. The moon offered some assistance, but not much, "I can't see shit, Brad."

"I know. Neither can I."

"Even my night vision goggles aren't working," said another.

"I'm freezing my ass off," replied a third.

They heard shouts coming from the base as men moved about trying to figure out what just happened. The lookouts peered intently through the darkness in hopes of seeing something that would alleviate their fears. The Commanders voice made many men jump in surprise, "Come on down boys. Let's get ourselves organized."

The voice, after the initial shock, was a welcome sound to the soldiers. As they approached the stairway leading down to the main barracks, they noticed lit candles along the path. With how cold the weather had turned, the small heat from the candles was a welcome feeling, not to mention the light they provided. Walking around blind and surrounded by enemy troops was an uncomfortable situation.

As they gathered within the main hall, everyone's breath clearly shown in the frigid air. Nick grew up in Chicago's weather, and this cold front appeared no worse than a warm winter day. However, most of the soldiers had grown too accustomed to the desert heat, and their blood had thinned.

The Commander's voice cut through the silence, "Listen up men; the Marines are still stationed at the airport, I want a slow advance down Mosul Road and keep all light extinguished, I don't want to give away our position. We'll setup surveillance among hangars two through eighteen. Everybody goes. Let's move out!"

Soldiers started heading toward the exit as shouted orders spread throughout the rest of the barracks.

Nick stopped everyone from leaving, "First, grab your winter briefs. The weather's changed and we can't afford to have a shaky aim."

The Commander nodded his approval; it was a good call. Shortly after, the United States Special Forces, thirty thousand in all, marched down Mosul Road toward their destination. As they left the barracks, the thermostat read thirty-five degrees.

Mohammed Al-Mushamadeed was scanning the American base with his high-powered binoculars when the wave of air came screeching back. It flew through the base and over his men in a flash; the cold air that struck them was breathtaking in its severity. His binoculars went blank and as he pulled them from his eyes, he noted the blackness that filled his immediate area of vision. All lights were out and the generators his men used, stopped. The silence overwhelmed the senses. The engine noise that just started to rise from the American base vanished. It seemed the Earth had swallowed them whole.

"Allah help us," he whispered a silent prayer into the air.

Noticing the men in his immediate vicinity getting edgy, he quickly called for calm, and they passed his order along the lines. He heard some teeth chattering and cold edged voices whispering. It never got this cold in Iraq and he felt the freezing affects. He tried calling his brothers on the opposite side of the city, but his cell phone battery died. He grew uncertain about his next actions.

History showed that Americans cut off all communications whenever they were about to launch an offensive, but he felt deep in his heart this was not an attack. Something monumental happened, that is for sure, but he did not think an attack was forthcoming. He just prayed his compatriots leading the Iraqi front on opposite sides of the city, felt the same.

His hopes came crashing down when shortly after, gunshots were heard echoing through the air. They were sporadic shots, and not signaling an all out assault, but he feared it would escalate very shortly.

He grabbed the nearest men he could find, "Go to the other fronts, and tell them to hold their fire. We are not under attack." When his men looked at him dumbfounded, he yelled, "GO, GO!" and they immediately ran off.

He doubted it would do any good. Mohammed Al-Mushamadeed hung his head dejectedly, and entered his tent. He had a feeling much blood would fall this day, and it deeply saddened his heart.

# Chapter 14 D'Manna

As he approached the media, D'Manna had thoughts flying through his brain in anticipation of the questions. The media had a way of asking the same question hundreds of times until they heard the answer they wanted. It was frustrating dealing with them, and he hoped he did not give too much away. Too much was uncertain to let their broadcasts run rampant. Too many lives were at stake, and a treaty that would end too many years of bloodshed. D'Manna did not want any ill-conceived broadcasts to cause any delays within the process. If the media was not behind you, then politicians had a way of backing off quickly. Their goal was votes, and if you were on the wrong side of the media blitz, a politician soon found that political support dried up. He had to be very careful in these next few moments.

He saw Lisa Rutz within the media circle as he approached, and mentally cringed. She was one of his candidacies non-backers from a media standpoint, and instrumental at trying to deny him the much needed media reach to the American Citizenship.

Lisa was a stunning woman, petite with shoulder length blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her full lips and eloquent speech made her a natural on-air journalist. Although news agencies threw pretty faces on the air to appeal to the shallow audience, Lisa was an aberration. Stunningly attractive, and amazingly intelligent, she had it all and she knew how to use it.

The closer he came, the more they all started throwing questions at him. He ignored them and instead pointed at Lisa to speak. She smiled, "Mr. President, the obvious first question would be, what just happened, but I'd like to know why you ordered the FAA to down all aircraft, and why did you order nuclear sites shutdown. Are we under attack?"

Damn, he picked the wrong person first. He should have picked Les, who stood in the corner. Les never asked anything harder than, "what did you have for breakfast." Lisa bored a hole through him with her stare. He looked her dead in those gorgeous blue eyes and gave her his most menacing look that he perfected over the years, "Lisa," he paused, "If I told you," another pause, "I would have to kill you."

The roar of laughter from the other journalist at her expense was deafening, but her stare never left his face, never altered in any way, she was dead serious and she was not going to let him off easy.

"Mr. President, can you tell us what that shimmer was?" another journalist piped in.

D'Manna held up his hand to stop any other questions, "Lisa has the floor, folks."

She gave him a little cocky smirk, "Thank you Mr. President," she said in an even; I'm going to kick your butt, kind of tone.

He again looked her in the eyes, and at that point decided to tell the truth. He was a terrible liar and they would rip him apart for months if he tried to sugar coat the issue, especially Lisa.

"I do not believe we are under..." Just then, they all heard the roar of a train. D'Manna, peeking past the heads of the gathered media, noticed a similar looking wave sweep back the opposite direction. All the lights in the building blinked-out and journalists looked at their gear in shock. He glanced at Lisa, and she still stared at him, but this time in a questioning way. He held up his index finger, asking her to wait a second, and sprinted toward the doors. This action took his agents by surprise, and they sprinted after him. Before he reached the door, an explosion rocked the building and his agents jumped on him in a flash, dragging him down and shielding his body with theirs. Mayhem erupted in the lobby as people started shouting and scurrying in all directions. D'Manna scanned the room through the arms and legs of his agents and noticed Lisa still standing in her exact spot, she still stared at him with haunted blue eyes. Someone ran in from the outside and shouted that a plane just crashed. D'Manna closed his eyes in agony; his warning to the FAA was not quick enough.

Journalists flew out the door dragging their equipment with them. D'Manna ordered his agents off him; damn they were heavy, he thought. He walked over to Lisa Rutz who stood like a statue. She stared at his entire approach.

He grabbed her gently by the elbow, "That's why I ordered them to land." Lisa just shook her head weakly, and he led her toward a side alcove. She was in shock and he did not know what to do. He passed her to an agent and asked that he help her to a bench, then D'Manna exited the building.

The cold blast of air that hit him was frosty to say the least. The day started as an average winter day in Chicago for this time of year. It was around thirty-five degrees, gloomy, and damp, typical Chicago winter weather. Now, however, it felt like minus twenty, and it went through his bones. Looking around, he saw chaos in the streets with people running, screaming, and yelling all at the same time. He asked someone what was happening, but the person did not know anything.

"Bring the car around, Jack; let's go see what the damage is."

"I can't Mr. President. The car isn't working." He must have given Jack one of his patented looks because Jack quickly corrected his statement, "Mr. President, none of the cars are working." D'Manna just stared at him. Jack obviously felt he needed to explain further, "Everything seems to have stopped working."

D'Manna visually scanned all the cars just sitting in the road. Nothing ran or moved except the people. Damn he was cold. He scanned the daylight sky and spotted the plume of smoke he was looking for. It was off in the distance a little northeast of the hotel. He ran back into the building to get his jacket when he realized his room was on the thirty-fourth floor, and the elevators did not work. There were hotel workers gathered around the front desk. He made his way towards them, and asked if anyone had a jacket he could use.

"Yes sir, Mr. President, sir," said one. "You can use mine," an extremely big man offered; "It may be a little big."

"It's fine. What's your name?"

"Ralph Harmon, sir."

"Ralph, thank you," D'Manna shook Ralph's hand.

The jacket was probably waist length for Ralph, but on him, it was almost a full-length coat, and Down Filled. D'Manna was happy with it. He found earmuffs and gloves in the pockets, and as he readied to exit the building, he turned back toward Ralph and gave him a thumbs-up. Big Ralph smiled back.

D'Manna started walking in the direction of the smoke plume, and feeling pretty darn warm. He loved goose down jackets and Ralphie had a good one. The jacket also had a goose down hood, and D'Manna was bundled from head to toe in warmth.

After a few yards of walking, D'Manna noticed the agents that were on his detail. Only one, Jack, had a jacket and the others already shivered, "Wait guys, you need to go back, you're going to catch a nasty cold."

"We'll be all right, sir."

"No. I insist. Get your butts back to the hotel and find some coats. That's an order, gentlemen."

"I'm sorry sir, but we cannot do that."

"Go on. Jack and I will wait until you get back."

Jack nodded to his comrades as if to say, we'll wait for you. As soon as they were out of eyesight, D'Manna started walking.

"I thought you said we'd wait, sir."

"We will, Jack," D'Manna scanned the smoke plume again, then pointed at it, "We'll wait over there."

"That's not really waiting, sir."

"It all depends on how you look at it, Jack. I told them I'd wait; I didn't say where I would wait. Besides, look at me, I look like a big-round-roly-poly thing. Nobody is going to know who the hell I am. I think it's pretty safe." He started off, and Jack had no choice but to follow.

"You know we're just doing our jobs, sir."

D'Manna stopped, "I know, Jack, and I respect that," he patted Jack on the shoulder. "You-guys need to understand where I come from. I'm just a normal guy. There was no silver spoon in my mouth growing up. I was one of these people, just living life and trying to have a productive living. I walked forty-four years of my life without having people around me for protection, and I think I've survived pretty well. I apologize for taking your duty for granted, Jack. I just think that my life isn't so important that I have to have people around me twenty-four hours each day to make sure I'm still breathing. My life in the overall scheme of things means nothing."

"It means everything to us, Mr. President. You may not know it, but there are people out there who'd like nothing more than to kill the leader of the free world just so they can brag to their terrorist friends about it. Yes, your life means nothing, but what you stand for means everything to the free world. That's what we are protecting, sir."

"Wow, Jack, I thought you actually cared about me."

Jack laughed, "Contrary to what you think, Mr. President, you've given many agents a new lease on life and a fresh perspective on politics. We will always give our life to protect the people we are paid to protect, but with you, we'll do it happily."

D'Manna looked Jack in the eye. That last sentence caught him off guard. "Thank you Jack, that truly means a lot to me," he removed his glove and extended his hand to the agent. Jack followed suit and they both gave each other a warm smile and hearty handshake. They quickly replaced their gloves, "I guess we can wait here for the guys to catch-up."

Jack said, "Nah. I like ditching them, let's make them try to find us."

D'Manna broke out laughing, "You're gonna make the tears freeze to my face," he said as he wiped his eyes.

They decided to wait, and it was not long before eight more agents joined them; in tow came Lisa Rutz, decked-out in a very fashionable jacket and hat. A handful of other journalist kept pace with the stunning reporter.

Lisa looked D'Manna up and down as she approached, "What're you supposed to be?" she asked.

"Warm!" he responded, and the other journalists barked a laugh.

"You know, being from Chicago, you should understand that in this kind of weather, fashion isn't very practical."

"I wasn't planning to run around in freezing weather, Mr. President, and besides, you still haven't answered my question."

He sighed, "I knew it wouldn't last," he said, and started walking in the general direction of the wreckage.

It struck D'Manna as odd that there were no sirens or flashing lights. There was nothing but silence and a plume of smoke. As they neared the wreckage, the devastation was wide. The crash wiped out nearly the entire area just west of the Northwestern University Medical Center, and extended just north of the South River Branch. People ran around everywhere trying to rescue bodies from the wreckage. D'Manna did not wait and started running to the area. The guilt of his failed order to down all planes, rushed back to the forefront of his mind.

They spent the next several hours pouring through the twisted debris of plane and buildings. Rescue teams were already on the scene and more rushed to join as time progressed. D'Manna lost all track of time and just kept pulling bodies out as he found them. Thousands were dead, and many more wounded. Since no ambulances had arrived yet, the volunteers started carrying people to the N.U. Medical Center. Unfortunately for many, the center was powerless and more died from untreatable wounds. As night approached, they lit fires and continued their rescue. It was the most horrifying experience any of them would ever have to endure.

# Chapter 15 Alaska

They gathered in the front conference area of the base coordinating their belongings for the long and disappointing journey back home. Everyone was saying their good byes and wishing one another a happy holiday, when a soldier burst into the room and approached General Gordon. Ash noticed how white the General turned as the soldier whispered into his ear.

"Um, Senator," Gordon said, "the President is on the line for you."

Ash held his composure remarkably well, and followed the soldier to the waiting phone. The rest of the political congregation waited anxiously to hear the message.

Ash returned moments later, "Well, ladies and gentlemen, it appears our little experiment has been felt by the entire nation."

General Gordon could tell the conversation shook the Senator.

"Our resourceful President has tagged us as the culprits, which we'll be hard pressed to deny. General Gordon and I will be traveling to Chicago to clean things up. Go home and enjoy the holidays folks, and when Congress resumes sessions, I'll fill you all in."

"I hope you're man enough to take the blame, Senator," somebody shouted from the back of the room.

Ash thought it sounded like the Senator from Texas. As he scanned the faces, he said, "I'm man enough, Senator, but you will not be resolved of guilt. We said at the beginning that we're in this together. I sincerely hope you haven't changed your mind."

No answer followed.

"Like I've said numerous times, we must never waiver to bring Democracy to lands that are riddled with hate and corruption. This test didn't work, but it does not mean we don't go ahead with our plans to use the full weapon. I'll go and appease the President."

"Whatever, Ash. If your plan fails again, you can kiss the Presidency goodbye."

Ash's' eyes narrowed as he stared down the Senator from Arizona, who is the minority leader and probably the second most powerful politician at the federal level, "You've known me for a long time, Senator; you know I never make idle boasts."

"Just fix this issue as soon as possible. Treason is an ugly word and none of us wishes to have that label applied to our names. Fix it quickly, Senator," he gathered his coat, walked out of the room, and headed to the waiting vehicles.

The rest of the congregation followed suit, and Ash let them leave without another word said. They trusted him, and the fool of a scientist messed-up the test.

Ash grabbed Gordon's arm as the General passed, "Make arrangements to get us to Chicago. The sooner we fix this issue, the sooner we can proceed." Senator Ash then followed his fellow politicians.

McJeeves slowly approached the compound from the south end to get into a more favorable angle for pictures. This area provided him the best view of the waiting vehicles, and just as he approached, people started filing out of the building. McJeeves zoomed in with his binoculars and started snapping away.

He hoped to get a glimpse of Senator Ash. If he could snap the deceitful Senator's mug, he would be able to tie the whole event favorably together. This would give D'Manna the upper hand.

The group that exited suddenly stopped and turned in the direction of another; it was Senator Ash. McJeeves smiled, he had perfect exposure of the Senators profile and snapped numerous slides. He wanted a full facial shot, but the Senator did not cooperate.

Since McJeeves faced north, he did not notice the wave ascending behind his back. Just prior to the wave washing over him, all the Representatives, including Ash, turned in his direction. He thought he was able to snap a shot, but then the sound of the wave swept over him, and his binoculars went blank. When the shimmering air passed the base, McJeeves heard a different sound, it was the sound of ripping cloth, and the wave disappeared as all the lights on the base blinked out. It took him a few moments to realize how cold it had suddenly become.

McJeeves cocked his head questioningly at the base. He checked his watch, and it read ten-thirty, exactly one hour from the start of the test. The day was dark without any lights emanating from the base, but the snow on the ground illuminated his surroundings, and he could make out the structure of the building. It was a decently mild day when he started out on his surveillance, but now it seemed like it dropped to thirty below. He decided to make his way back to his snowmobile and hightail it out of here. He had his photos and knew it was enough damning evidence to fry these participants.

McJeeves barely made it back to where he left his snowmobile. The air was bitterly cold and he was freezing. He grabbed his ski goggles from the handlebars to protect his eyes, hopped on, and turned the key. Nothing happened. He turned it again, and still nothing happened. Panic started to take hold. He got off the seat, manually manipulated the choke, shook some wires, got back on, and still nothing happened when he turned the key. He checked the gas, but it was too dark to see where the level was. He stuck his gloved finger in the tank, and after a few inches, he noticed the tip was wet. Knowing there was plenty of gas, he tried the key again, and again nothing happened. McJeeves was not much of a mechanic, but he knew if the engine would have turned just a little bit, he might still have a chance to get it started. However, when he turned the key, nothing happened, not a click, a hum, a spark, nothing. He got off the seat again, and again wiggled wires, moved the choke, then gave the engine a few solid kicks. When that failed, McJeeves realized his only chance for survival was to make it to the base. It was not very far, but he was already freezing. He grabbed all his gear off the vehicle, and started trudging toward the building.

McJeeves shivered badly by the time he reached the main entrance to the base. To his horror, all the vehicles that waited to escort the Congressmen, still sat in the lot. A few colorful metaphors escaped his lips as he quickly thought of alternatives. He could not feel his toes any more, and his legs were numb. His only option if he wished to continue to live was to get inside the base. He worked his way toward the area where they performed the test. He thought it would provide his best chance of breaking in without the base inhabitants seeing him, and he was correct, the area was deserted. McJeeves was not a religious man, but he thanked the Gods for this bit of luck.

He did not know where he found the strength to climb the outer wall, or how he managed to scale it without having any feeling in his hands or feet, but he made it to the top of the twenty-foot wall, and through the barbed wire. Looking down the opposite side, he agonized over the descent. McJeeves caught his breath, then attempted to climb down. He made it about five feet when he lost his footing and plummeted the remaining distance. The impact with the ground blasted the air from his lungs, and he could smell the frozen mud and grass in his face as he squirmed around trying to catch his breath. It took him many minutes before he regained control of his breathing, and he quickly checked his body for any breakage. Unfortunately, he was too numb to tell. It was also too dark to make out the door that led inside the building.

He knew he had to get inside the observation deck soon, as his strength was leaving him quickly. He started walking, and again thanked the Gods, for it appeared nothing was broken. As he approached the glass area, he took back his thanks. Laying in a group was the dogs, and they were all staring at him. He did not dare move, and he diverted his eyes. He did not want them thinking he was challenging them. With how numb he was, he envisioned a horrible death of dogs chewing him alive, and not being able to feel it. Just then, the door he sought opened, and a soldier whistled. All the dogs jumped, scrambling toward the open portal. McJeeves decided to hold any further thanks until he was safely out of this hellhole and back in his own bed.

Once the door closed, McJeeves slowly approached, and was thrilled to find it still unlocked. He pushed his way inside, quietly shut the door, climbed some stairs, and then collapsed from exhaustion. His last sensation was feeling wet tongues licking his face.

They all gathered back in the conference room. One soldier already lit candles so they could have some light. Senator Ash sat down and cupped his head; his colleagues kept pounding him with question after question. Everyone spoke simultaneously and the noise gave him a headache.

The Senator was dazed. What just happened? How did it happen? Thoughts flew through his head and with the racket his constituents made he just wanted to scream. He looked over at General Gordon, and realized the General was just as dumbfounded. They had a near panic running through the room, and he could not think of what to do next.

General Slovich burst into the room with a team of mechanics, "Sorry folks, but we cannot get the vehicles started."

At this statement, the room erupted in pandemonium. Ash had enough, and slammed his fist on the table, "All of you keep quiet!" he yelled, "How the hell are we going to get anything accomplished if you all keep acting like scared children. Sit down and Shut up!" His outburst shocked the delegation, and most took seats silently fuming over the situation. "General Slovich, can you be a little more descriptive in your analysis?" Ash asked in a tired voice.

Slovich deferred to his mechanic, "We've tried everything folks, but we can't get them restarted. For that matter, it doesn't appear there's anything wrong with the vehicles. By reason, they should start, but we can't get them to turnover."

"Did you run diagnostics, soldier?" asked the Senator from Arizona.

"Sir, our diagnostic unit isn't working. Nothing's working. Even our backup generators failed to kick in. We can't figure it out."

"Well, you have to figure it out young man, we need to get off this base," shouted another Representative.

He nodded his head in understanding, "We're trying, ma'am."

"Go keep trying and give us periodic updates," General Slovich commanded, and the mechanics exited the room. "The freezing weather is hampering their analysis, folks. So please hang in there, we'll get it all figured out as soon as possible."

"Where are the scientists, General?" asked Ash.

"They're helping with our power issues, sir; they're in the breaker room working on the system."

"Can you retrieve Dr. Frankel, please, and bring him here?"

"Right away, sir," the General replied.

It was not long before Dr. Frankel joined them. Ash barely retained control of his anger, and Gordon was not far behind. Of all involved with this deception, he and the General had the most to lose, "Dr. Frankel," Ash started, "Can you give us your professional opinion of the situation, please."

"It's most spectacular, Senator," the freaky scientist began, "It's astounding us and we're trying to analyze our findings. Losing the power is hindering, but overall I think we may have discovered another use of the weapon."

"And that is?" growled General Gordon

"Well, it appears under the right circumstances, we may be able to take out enemy communications. Instead of bombing strategic communication points, we may be able to use the Pulse, and get them all simultaneously."

General Gordon threw his hands in the air and looked at Ash.

Ash continued, "What about the power, Doctor?"

"That's the amazing thing, Senator. There appears to be nothing wrong with anything. Usually, when you have issues of this nature, you'll find circuitry or wiring problems. We've found nothing. Everything appears as it should. It's as if everything has gone into a hibernation state. It's very intriguing."

"How long, Doctor?" Ash repeated

"It could take us a month or two."

Everyone in the room sprang into action and bombarded the little scientist with questions. They needed to get home before the holidays; they could not stay in Alaska for another month or two. They all seemed to be looking at Ash for answers.

Ash just shrugged, "I'm sure the good doctor will do what he can. Thank you for your time, Doctor."

"Anytime folks," he smiled and it sent shivers through the crowd. As he left the room, he kept mumbling the word, "Amazing," and shaking his head.

"Might as well go and make ourselves comfortable. Let the professionals do their job and I hope we'll be out of here by morning," Ash stated.

"Didn't the little freak just say two to three months, Senator?"

"I didn't feel like arguing with him. I assumed he meant two to three months to analyze the Pulse, not our current power issues. General Slovich has his top engineers working on the power, and mechanics taking care of the vehicles. I'm sure they'll figure it out before morning," Ash responded.

"And if they don't?" another Representative piped in.

In a pointed and curt reply, Ash responded, "Well, sir, unless you expect to walk through the Alaskan tundra in bitterly cold weather, we'll just have to wait until they do figure it out."

"Have we tried all the phones on the base?" asked the Senator from Arizona.

"Everything is inoperable, Senator, we've tried them all. Even our cell phones are dead. I'm afraid we're cutoff from the world until we can get things figured out."

"What about heat, and water, and food? What's that situation, General?"

"We have plenty of food, but it'll have to be eaten cold or cooked over an open flame. We have opened all the faucets to a trickle to keep them from freezing; please don't shut them off after you use them. The toiletry will continue working, but we won't have hot water. Obviously, we don't have any heat, and it'll eventually get cold in the outer rooms. We have plenty of blankets, so please feel free to bundle up. Other than that, we should make it through this with minimal discomfort."

"Thank you, General," stated the Senator from California. "I'll be in my room trying to stay warm, and trying to think of pleasant thoughts," she said sarcastically.

As she started to exit the room, General Slovich mentioned worse news; "One other thing, folks, we have a limited supply of candles and cannot light every room. Take a candle with you and gather what you think you need, but we should all camp out in this conference room. Not only will it help conserve candles, but our body heat will help one another stay warm."

The female Senator swung her startled gaze on him, "Don't you have any flashlights, General?"

"Yes ma'am, but they apparently aren't working either."

"What!" she exclaimed, and others mumbled the same.

General Slovich shrugged his shoulders. The Senator stormed out the door, then back in, grabbed a candle off the conference table, and stormed back out the door again. The others followed quietly, some mumbling curses as they went. Even Ash followed, and Gordon could see the defeated hunch to his shoulders. This did not give him a warm-and-fuzzy feeling.

Gordon and Slovich waited until they were all gone, "Well, General, give me your assessment," asked Gordon

"It's just as the scientist said. It's amazing! Usually when you have a power surge, circuits will pop, or wires will fry. There's nothing, sir, nothing. Everything looks fine."

"Well obviously it's not fine. You need to have this fixed by the morning."

"General Gordon, sir, I kept my best engineers on site just in-case something should happen. If they can't get power restored, nobody can. What's weird are the batteries. They shouldn't have been affected by a power surge, but every flashlight on the base is dead."

Gordon sighed, "Get it fixed by morning, General, or we'll all be heading to the firing squad in the not too distant future."

"I understand, sir, we'll do our best, but I can't guarantee anything. Eventually my engineers will figure it out, I just hope we have enough spare parts on site."

"So do us all, General Slovich. We're counting on you."

Slovich just nodded his head, grabbed a candle, and trudged off to the breaker room to lend a hand.

Ash rifled through his room for extra blankets and pillows, and felt utterly helpless. This entire episode was turning into a nightmare. He might have trouble sweeping this mess away, he thought.

# Chapter 16 The Pulse

The sky flamed with the awesome power of her energy, she felt invigorated for the first time in centuries. When they locked her and her tribe away, they did not have the strength to seal her away indefinitely. As she sucked at the fabric of the Earth, slowly opening the way back to her homeland, she used her time to rebuild her strength and rejuvenate her legions. She knew she was close to breaking through, but something happened to expedite her energy. Whatever it was, she was thankful, for now the time of reckoning has come.

Her horde and elite forces were chomping at the bit to escape from Wormwood's snare and inflict retribution on their deceivers. She will reclaim her homeland and ancestral right, and she will make her cousins pay for their treachery. As for the stinking human dogs her cousins collaborated with, she will hunt them down and kill every last one. She will spare no human her wrath. She will never give them another chance to rise against her nation.

"Brother, we are returned."

"I see, Sister."

"I can feel her energy. She is strong once again."

"Unfortunately, Sister, we are not."

"That is why our elders placed the power within the humans. They knew we could not keep abreast with our fearsome cousin. She is an aberration, Brother. She is timeless, and bound to the Earth in ways that we could not discover."

"We defeated her once before, little Sister, we can do it again."

"We defeated her with an entire legion of High Wizards, Brother," she leaned against his strong body for comfort, "and most lost their lives in the war. I am the only one they left behind, and I was but a child when they did their great deed. I am nowhere near the strength of our ancestors, and nothing more than an insect to our cousin."

He hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head, "We will prevail again, little Sister, I will make sure of it."

She turned and looked into his confident and strong blue eyes. She knew his sword was no match against the powerful Mother in the West. She touched the side of his face and smiled, "Go find our brothers and gather them back here. I will gather my strength with rest. We have much to do, Brother, and with how strong our cousin is, we do not have very long to get it all done."

His Sister was stunning, with long golden hair and dark blue eyes. She looked so frail and small to him, but he knew she was a formidable sorceress.

He kissed her forehead, "I shall return shortly, Sister. Rest well."

The ancient home site of the Neclas tribe sat between the forks of the Nile, near the Middle Sea. Luckily, for the returning ancient tribe, humans have not yet encroached upon their territories. For those humans in the immediate area of the re-emergence, tales sprung of the ancient ones returning to Earth. The locals soon considered the heavily forested area sacred, and word spread quickly of their arrival.

"Where would you like us to begin, Mother?"

They considered LinaLias, the Mother, the most striking female of their race; slender, with raven hair fine as silk, and eyes dark as the deep blue sea. Her power was unmatched amongst the tribes, and this in itself scared the others into overthrowing her reign. However, they paid a heavy price, and ultimately failed in the end.

"Spread out and secure the area. Let us understand where we sit, then formulate our path to reclaim our homeland. Kill every human you find."

"With pleasure, Mother," they bowed and left to begin securing their legions.

LinaLias watched her armies emerge from the rift in the Earth's fabric. They called her place of exile, a place filled with grayness and bland to the eye, Wormwood, and she could not wait to break free of its clutch.

She had her six offspring, her fellow tribesmen, and the Horde; the awful mass of destruction she will unleash upon the land. They were her personal creation, semi-intelligent, self-sustaining, extremely vicious, and ferocious in battle. She created them to be the tip of her mighty spear, and planned to use them to soften the defenses of her enemies.

Then her elite tribesmen, with their unmatched skill at arms, would finish the battlefield and secure her homeland. LinaLias had centuries to plan, and now that she was home, the intruders upon her land would pay dearly for their unwelcome encroachment.

Her eldest, Gargon, ordered the unleashing of the Horde. Twenty five million creatures descended upon the countryside in a headlong rush to appease their Mother. They were hungry and vivacious in their work, and quickly spread through the area. Her offspring followed the Horde with her main army, five hundred thousand Elite Swordsman, Archers, and Calvary. The glorious sight filled her heart with pride. She knew she dealt her cousins a serious blow in their last battle by turning their own spell against them. Now she would finish the remnants that remained.

# Chapter 17 Alaska

Things were on him, and they smelled awful. Before he opened his eyes, his situation came back into focus. He was freezing to death and remembered barely making it inside the observatory before passing out. He was warm now, and when he opened his eyes, he understood why. The dogs piled their bodies against his during the night.

McJeeves started to pull himself out from beneath the pile of dog fur, when the door swung open and what appeared to be a Captain, entered holding a candle. This exposed him to the officer's full vision.

"Who the hell are you?" the Captain asked.

"Um, I was freezing to death out there," McJeeves said as he pointed out the window, "My snowmobile broke down and I knew I had to get inside a building or else I'd die. This was the first place I found." McJeeves hoped the officer believed him.

The Captain began to say something more when suddenly, his face lit-up with light, "What the..."

McJeeves leapt to his feet and peered out the observatory window. The sky in the distance was bright with light. He could see some movement on the ground, but the distance was too great for the naked eye to make out details, "Do you have binoculars, Captain?" When no response was forthcoming, he peered at the Captain to ask again and noticed him staring at the light with his mouth-hung open, "Captain?" he asked.

"I've never seen the Northern Lights so bright before."

"I don't think it's the Northern Lights, Captain. Do you have binoculars?"

Without taking his eyes off the spectacle, the Captain pointed to drawers that lined the wall just beneath the window area, "They aren't powered, sir, but they're pretty good. All the powered units seem to be on the blink."

McJeeves quickly rifled through the drawers and fished out the only pair he could find. The dogs were whimpering badly, and McJeeves felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. As he scanned the ground beneath the light, he could definitely make out movement, but the un-powered binoculars could not make out detailed features. It just looked like a mass of gyrating shadows in the light, "I can't tell what's going on," he said as he lowered the binoculars.

"May I have a look?" the Captain asked as he held out his hand, and McJeeves passed them over. Scanning the distance, he asked McJeeves, "You live around here?"

"I live in Barrow. I moved out here a few months ago."

"Where do you work?"

"I'm a journalist," McJeeves blurted out and immediately realized his mistake. The cold must have addled his brain.

"A journalist, on a snowmobile, on restricted government property?" the Captain was about to say something more, but instead said, "Oh my God!"

McJeeves noted his intent scrutiny through the binoculars, "What, Captain?"

"That's an army!" once he said it the Captain realized whom he was speaking to, "I have to talk with my superiors. You, stay here."

Once the Captain left the room, McJeeves did not intend to stick around. He grabbed up his belongings and exited through the same door as the Captain, but he did not go far. There were no lights and the Captain took the candle. He went back into the observatory where the light from the sky provided plenty of illumination. He quickly rummaged through the drawers again, but did not find anything that would help. He noticed another door that led into what appeared to be a control center. He tried the door, and it opened without issue. As he rummaged through this area of the observatory, he noticed his breath for the first time. It was cold inside the building and this brought back the memory of how cold it would be if he decided to leave. He felt like a caged animal, and his search for anything that would help, intensified. In one drawer, he found a flashlight, but on trying it, it did not work. The last drawer he opened, he found another pair of binoculars.

Since he ran out of all other options, McJeeves decided to scan the horizon, and as he did, he nearly dropped them. The Captain did not exaggerate. The mass was an army, and it was huge. He could not make out any detail, but he could see the general outline of what emerged from the light.

The greatest of the mass were the smallest of the group. He tried to count them, but it was definitely in the thousands. There was not much organization to the smaller creatures; they just seemed to flow out from the center of the light. Emerging behind them walked taller shapes, sleek and definitely humanoid. Their regimented steps spoke of their discipline, and as they exited the light, they formed into marching groups and sectioned off the area. They were professionals, McJeeves thought. The last to emerge were riders on horseback. They did not have the same numbers as the foot troops, but they still numbered in the thousands. Whatever it was that emerged out on the tundra, it was large and it was formidable, and it was heading his way.

The door to the observatory opened, and three men entered. One was the Captain, and judging by the stars on the shoulders of the other two, they were Generals. McJeeves recognized the one with four stars as General Gordon. He quickly hid by squishing his body into the lower cabinet by the door. It was a tight fit, but he had to stay out of Gordon's eyesight. The General knew who he was, and that in it self could compromise his life. He was close enough to the door to hear what the men said.

"Whoa!" Gordon exclaimed as he entered the observation deck.

"What the hell is that?" General Slovich asked.

"I believe it's an army, sir. Look at the formation of the riders and the taller people. They march with discipline."

General Gordon looked through the binoculars, "I've never seen an army like that. It looks medieval in its make-up."

"May I, General?" Slovich held his hand out for the binoculars. Gordon handed them over, "I see what you mean, sir. They seem to be expanding out from the middle."

"Captain," Gordon stated, "Stay, and keep an eye on this situation. General Slovich and I are going to round up the men and inform the political delegation."

"Yes sir," Captain Johnson proclaimed.

As soon as they left, McJeeves reentered the observation deck, "Captain, how many men are on this base?"

The Captain jumped from being startled, "Who the hell are you to ask?"

McJeeves realized he appeared to be just a citizen to the Captain. He rummaged through his wallet and produced his credentials. In military speak; McJeeves was equal in rank to a One Star General. The Captain snapped to attention as soon as McJeeves revealed his identity, "At ease, Captain, now; how many men do you have on this base?" he asked again.

"There are seven hundred soldiers, twenty scientist, and about one hundred fifty politicians, sir."

McJeeves swore, "How many troops do you think that army has, Captain?"

The Captain held the binoculars back up to his eyes, after a few seconds of study he responded, "Millions, sir."

McJeeves took a step back in shock. He raised his own binoculars to his eyes and did not disagree with the Captain's assessment. He pulled the binoculars from his face and closed his eyes in thought. His senses told him whatever it is that was approaching, is not natural. He peered at the dogs, and they were all huddled in the corner visibly shaking, "Do you have access to any of the vehicles, Captain?"

"They're all inoperable, sir. I think the cold weather has affected them."

McJeeves hoisted the binoculars as if to throw them, then thought better of it. He was frustrated, trapped, and scared. The last bit took him by surprise because McJeeves could not remember the last time he truly felt scared, "Captain, we have to get out of here."

"I can't desert my post, sir."

"Captain, if we don't leave, we're going to die. That's not a natural army and I feel dread throughout my bones. Look at the dogs, Captain, they're scared witless."

The Captain peered at the dogs, and then called to Sprinkles. McJeeves watched as the spotted mutt, shaking uncontrollably, crept along the floor with belly touching as it came, "I cannot leave my post, sir, and we wouldn't get very far on foot. It's nearly thirty below out there."

"Well, I'm leaving, Captain, and I'm taking the dogs. Do you happen to have anything that I could make a sleigh out of?"

The Captain stared at him for quite some time. He looked back at the dogs, then returned his stare to McJeeves. After a few more minutes, he responded, "Past soldiers at this base used to race against the locals in the Iditarod. Their old sleighs are in the storage hanger in the yard."

McJeeves pointed out the window, "That yard?"

The Captain nodded his head in the affirmative.

McJeeves started grabbing his stuff and calling the dogs to come. They did not move, "Aren't those two-man dog sleds, Captain?"

"Yes sir, I believe they are."

"Good! Get the dogs, you're coming with," before he could get the protest out of his mouth, McJeeves continued, "That's an order, Captain."

"I still would be a deserter, sir, my commanding officer..."

McJeeves cut him off, "Captain, I was sent here by the President to witness the treason being perpetuated by your political guests. My recommendation to him will be to try every officer on this base for treason. That would include you," McJeeves cocked an eyebrow at the captain as he emphasized the word, treason. "If you help me get out of here, I'm sure we can bypass the un-pleasantries that you will carry for the remainder of your life. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir!"

"Good, now get the damn dogs and meet me by the shed."

"Yes sir!"

It took General Slovich awhile to round up the troops. Without any power, intercom service, lights, and limited candlepower, it turned out not to be such a simple task. He deployed his five hundred men all along the north side of the building, facing the mass that was heading south. Some were on the roof, in windows, and any other nook and cranny they could find to keep warm and be in position to defend the base against whatever approached.

The two hundred soldiers General Gordon brought, he deployed in the lookouts lining the area three yards. He setup and communicated a system of flags he would use as orders. Red meaning 'Hold-Fire', green as 'Fire', and when he was comfortable that everyone understood the system, Slovich climbed down the northeastern most lookouts, and crossed the yard back to the observation deck. He was freezing, and he started running once he neared the doors. When he entered the building, General Gordon and the entire delegation, including the scientists, were already present. They all stared out the window toward the lighted sky, and most had bewildered looks on their faces.

"Ah, General Slovich," said Gordon, "may I have the binoculars?"

Slovich looked around the room; "We left them with Captain Johnson, sir."

"Well, go get the Captain, every other pair I've found don't seem to work."

Slovich pulled his binoculars from his service belt, and sure enough, just like every other mechanical device on the base, they did not work either. He sighed, "The Captain was supposed to stay in here, sir. He's not with the other troops."

"Go find him, General. We need those binoculars," Gordon snapped.

Slovich had enough, and snapped right back, "And how do you propose I find him, General? Should I call him, send e-mail, a page, use the intercom? For Gods sakes, sir, do you realize how difficult it is to round up someone without any electronic communication?"

General Gordon, and the entire delegation, turned to look at him as he finished. Then, the light in the sky disappeared. Everyone gasped in surprise.

# Chapter 18 They're Back

"All our warriors have exited, Mother."

The strikingly beautiful female waved her hand, and the portal vanished.

"What are our current coordinates?"

"The stars show we are to the North, Mother, possibly as far as the northernmost tundra."

"I remember this place, Gargon; it is here where they forced me through that dreadful vortex."

Her offspring was too young to remember that awful feeling, so he just kept staring at her.

"I have the Horde spreading and relay points to communicate our progress. We..." his next words were interrupted as a rider came thundering toward him. Even before the horse came to a complete stop, the nimble rider dismounted and without missing a step, strolled up to his position, "Brother, there is a human village just to our north and a human settlement of sorts to the South."

"What is their warrior strength, Brother?"

"We know not. It appears they do not have any in either location."

"Kill them all, child. I want you to bring me their heads."

"You heard the Mother. Proceed at once."

The rider sprinted back to his steed, leapt effortlessly onto its back, and rode off to spread the word.

"You understand we cannot kill them all, Mother. We have a large army to feed, and we can use the humans to tend the fields."

"There are no fields to tend up here, Gargon, and I created the Horde to only thrive upon human flesh. As we spread farther south, you can enslave the females and children to till the land, but kill all the males and feed them to the Horde. I do not trust the males and do not wish to leave them at our backs."

"As you wish, Mother," Gargon mounted his steed and rode off to converse with his brothers.

LinaLias watched her eldest male with pride. He was a great leader and commander. She bred him and her other male offspring for this very epoch in time. Her warriors were the grandest fighting machines, even better than when she was defeated during the last conflict. She trained them hard within Wormwood and learned from her past mistakes. She was confident no resistance could stand against her elite warriors.

"How many have remained in Pelusium, Brother?"

"You look much better, Sister, the rest has done you well," he smiled and it helped to alleviate her growing fear.

"I feel much better," she grinned in response, and he could only think of how beautiful the sight was.

"Two hundred have remained counting me. You make up the other twenty thousand."

She laughed at his jest, and the sound was music to his ears.

She reflected more upon his announcement and her mood quickly soured, "We cannot hope to prevail with such small numbers, Brother. Our cousins will slaughter us."

"Sister," he started, "this war is the human's war. We are only to help them prevail as best we can. If the war is lost, we will ride the path to our next life and the human's will have to endure their fate. My hope is they have remained vigilant through the centuries, and have held true to the first Kings honor. They fight for their continued existence, and anything short of total victory will ultimately be their doom."

"I understand, Brother, but I still fear failure. In the midst of defeat, our brethren were still able to snatch victory, although at great cost. I do not wish to meet them in the next life with failure as my mantle."

"If that is the outcome, little Sister, then it will be the humans who failed. Our forbearers will know this for they are the ones who set the event. Fear not, Sister, we shall do the best we can," he hugged her and she nodded her head in understanding.

"Our brothers have encountered some of the humans in the immediate area. They are behaving very distant and scatter whenever the brothers try to approach. They do not seem to speak the common tongue, and are very cold. The climate in this area has altered since our ancestor's time."

She disengaged from his arms, and walked toward the portal. As she opened it she stated, "I have located the King and the Vassals," she stuck her head out and sniffed the air as if tasting it.

"Vassals?" he asked a little surprised by the announcement. "I did not think the spell worked in that manner."

"Neither did I, however, it has been centuries since our ancestors cast the spell, and Father was the only one who knew its exact make-up. Nevertheless, there are two Vassals near Opis and the Tigris."

"Where is the King?" he asked.

She shut the portal and rejoined him in the center of the room, "He is in the West, near the Lakes of Life." She watched for his reaction, for her fears were just as prevalent.

His eyes lit up in shock, "That is our cousins' former stronghold," he stated, and his sister nodded in the affirmative. "The King was to remain in the East, little Sister; the First King was warned about the dangers of the West."

"It has been many moons since the First King walked the earth, Brother, two hundred lifetimes by way of the humans. I have doubts if this age of King remembers the history. Humans have very primitive attention spans."

"What do you wish of me, Sister?"

"My fate is tied to the King. Take one hundred of our kin and go secure the Vassals. Bring them through Phoenicia, toward Carthage, and camp at the Pillars. I will take the skiff to the Red Hair Island to inform Fathers contacts that the time has arrived. Then I will cross the Mighty Sea to seek the King. If the Red Hair Humans have remained true to their promise, they will make haste to the Pillars and transport you to the West. Since there are two Vassals, leave one behind in Soloeis for safekeeping. If the Red Hairs' do not show, make haste to Agylla across the Middle Sea. They will have ships for passage. The Vassal must be near the King."

"Which Vassal is the mightiest?"

"I know not, Brother, test them in arms and judge."

She moved across the room to a chest, and after what appeared to him as a hesitant thought, she opened the lid. When she turned toward him, he could see the tears in her eyes, "Great Father and Great Uncle severed their link to their swords before they passed to the next life. Bring them to the Vassals, and explain to them the great gift and sacrifice they have been blessed with," her brother gasped, but she continued before he could argue, "I will do the same when I present the Human King with Father's."

He gasped again, "No human has ever been allowed to wield our weapons, Sister, they do not have the discipline for it, and was not Great Uncles sword to be yours?"

"I only follow the wishes of our elders, Brother. Their wisdom is beyond me."

She hefted her Great Uncles fabulous long sword, and admired the ruins along the blade, "My weapon is more than adequate for my needs, and I have been linked to it for centuries. I believe Great Uncle anticipated the potential for two Vassals, and left his sword with Great Fathers on purpose. They both made heartbreaking sacrifices, Brother, let us hope the humans understand the honor that is being bestowed upon them."

He bowed to her, "I will do as commanded."

She noticed the look in her brother's eye, and sensed that, although he would make well on his task, he would force the Vassals to earn the elder's sacrificed gift.

"Go now, Brother, I fear that time is of the essence. I will only have enough strength to perform foretelling but once a moon. I pray your judgment guides you un-erringly."

He crossed the room and embraced his sister in farewell, "It shall, sweet Sister. Take care; for you know our cousin will want to reclaim her stronghold. That is most likely her first objective."

His sister nodded, cupped his face, and kissed his cheek. He grabbed up the swords and marched off to fulfill his quest.

Just as he reached the portal, she said, "The air stinks of befoulment, Brother, I only hope it is not the stench of the humans, for I will not be able to tolerate it for long. The frigid air appears to be the side affect of our cousins return and should not linger more than a few moons. The Earth heals itself. Take this," she tossed him a stone, "it will lead you in the direction of the Vassals."

He nodded his understanding, "The humans do not have our eternal warmth, Sister; they may have a difficult time coping with this air."

He exited and she watched him leave with both fear and excitement in her heart. The task thrust upon her by her ancestors was enormous, and the thought of fulfilling it sent shivers up her spine.

# Chapter 19 D'Manna

They worked well into the night extracting bodies from the wreckage. As the night deepened, it became colder, then the snow started. It started as flurries then turned into a full-blown blizzard as they wound-down the search.

Most of the bodies had been located and last count from the medical center had over two hundred dead with hundreds more injured. As they made their way back to the hotel, they quickly realized the walk was too far in the blizzard and the air too cold. They would not make the four-mile trek safely. They found refuge in a backyard with a covered porch. The owners of the house did not appear to be home, so the rag-tag group decided to make camp in the yard. Although the porch saved them from the blinding snow, it was still well below freezing. Eight agents, a handful of reporters, and one President, spread out to find wood to burn throughout the night. It was their only hope of surviving the conditions.

As the fire blazed beyond the covered porch area, D'Manna listened to the crackling wood hiss as the snows fell, and scanned his little entourage. Everyone was bedraggled with torn jackets, pants, muddy shoes, and haunted soot smeared faces. Nobody said a word, and most just stared into the flames. Although the fire helped, the frigid air still made it very cold. Ralph's jacket was wonderfully warm, although now tore in many places, the only discomfort D'Manna felt was his feet.

D'Manna retrieved more wood to toss on the fire. As luck would have it, they found a treasure trove of firewood in this person's backyard. The house did not appear to have a fireplace, but behind the garage was a goldmine stacked neatly to the shingles. They scouted the other homes in the immediate area, but none appeared to have fireplaces, and all appeared to be vacant. They found the only house with wood, and it should be plenty to keep them living until morning.

As he tossed another log on the fire, D'Manna scanned the horizon. In the blizzard, he could not see far and wondered how others fared under these conditions. He needed the power back so that he could assess the situation, and begin the clean up effort. He looked upon his ragtag group and noticed that most were already asleep. Only Jack and Lisa Rutz were still stirring, "Do you know what time it is, Jack?" D'Manna asked.

"No sir, my watch stopped at twelve thirty."

He could see Jack having a hard time keeping his eyes open. Lisa on the other hand, was a mess. Black streaks smeared her beautiful face. Much of it charred soot, but her mascara added to the haunted look. She shivered and he could see her teeth chattering. Her coat was in shambles, and because she wore a skirt, nylons, and dress shoes, he could understand her freezing discomfort even though she nearly sat in the flames.

Lisa noticed as he started to remove his coat, "No, Mr. President, I'll be all right."

He took it off anyway, immediately feeling the freezing air, "Take it, Lisa, and give me yours. I'll wear it like a blanket."

Lisa walked towards him, took his coat, and placed it back over his shoulders. She shivered uncontrollably, "Ms. Rutz, you'll not last the night unless you get warm," D'Manna responded.

Without answering, Lisa walked back in front and took the zipper as if to zip his jacket for him. It brought back childhood memories, but before she did, she stepped inside the jacket zipping it up around them. Well, this is interesting, he thought, and definitely not like childhood memories. She made a contented sound, turned around, and buried her face in his neck. The jacket was big enough to cover them both comfortably, and he was thankful Ralph was a very big man. It took him a moment to notice her cries, and he wrapped her in a hug while whispering repeatedly, "it would be all right."

It was awkward to coordinate movement, so he just stood by the fire holding the reporter until she got it all out of her system. After what seemed like an eternity, Lisa finally seemed to relax. He thought she fell asleep, but then she turned her face toward his, "Thank you, Mr. President."

"I believe we can go on a first name basis now, Lisa."

She giggled and reburied her face in his neck.

"Um, if you want to stay in this position all night, I'm afraid that you'll end-up killing me."

She looked up again, "But I'm so warm now," she whined.

"Well, let's go get into a good laying position and see if we can get some shut-eye. I'm afraid I won't be able to sleep standing up."

The President and the journalist shuffled over to a spot near the fire that looked level enough for a comfortable sleep, but still out of the blast of the blizzard. Feeling a little uncomfortable, D'Manna saw all the other members of his group fast asleep, "Wait a second," he said, "why don't you take off your coat so we can throw it around our feet."

She did as he suggested, and flew back into his coat for warmth. He noticed how short her skirt really was, and understood why she was freezing to death. D'Manna sprawled on the concrete slab of the porch positioning Lisa's coat around his feet. Lisa then maneuvered herself on top of him, and he zipped them together without disturbing the coat. Since that was the coldest part of his body, the warmth felt amazingly good.

However, Lisa did not feel comfortable in that position. She kept squirming around trying to find the right spot, and kept kneeing and poking him in places that did not feel good. She finally made him lie on his side, and to his chagrin, she wrapped her legs around his waist, which of course positioned certain areas of their bodies perfectly. She explained it was the only way to keep her feet warm, and D'Manna hoped he did not awake with the common male morning condition. She finally lay still and he was thankful he could get some sleep.

They were lying face to face, and he could feel her warm breath on his lips. He shut his eyes hoping sleep would find him quickly. It was a long and horrific day, one he hoped he would never see again. He felt her soft lips touch his, "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome," he responded.

"You know," she started, "any other President would've made a show of helping for the media exposure, then would've left the dirty work to the others. You didn't seem to care about any of that."

He just grunted.

"You're not in this for show, are you?"

"I'm glad you finally figured that out, Ms. Rutz. I never did anything for my own ego, dear. Politicians were messing-up our country and somebody had to put a stop to it."

"I thought we're dispensing with formalities, Mr. President."

He grunted again. He wanted to get some sleep and hoped she got the hint.

After a long pause, "So what happened, Brock? You seem to know more than you're letting on."

"Are you asking as a friend, or as a journalist?"

"I've never been able to separate the two."

"Then I know just as much as you. A terrible event happened and it appears an entire globe felt the affects."

"Globe!" she said in a hushed surprise, "I didn't know it went that far."

D'Manna winced; he was too tired to play the media cat and mouse game. Since he already let the cat out of the bag, he decided to release a little information; "I spoke to an Ayatollah in Iraq just before I came to meet with you media folks. They felt the same thing there, and he wanted my assurances we were not attacking. Apparently, everyone on the Earth felt what happened."

"What did happen?"

"I don't yet know, Lisa, we'll figure that out once they get the power restored and we get some communication lines open," he was not going to tell her everything, he thought.

"If they felt what happened around the earth, then they are inflicted with the same issues?"

Feeling she was leading him, he asked, "What're you getting at, Lisa?"

"Well, if the entire earth was hit with the same issues, wouldn't there be planes crashing all over the globe?"

"God, I hope not," he replied, but she sparked a world of dread inside his head. If that were the case, hundreds of thousands of lives were lost this day. The thought was overwhelming.

"And," she continued, "If whatever happened affected all motorized," she fumbled for the right word, "stuff, then it would not be out of line to think that boats, trains, etc., would be affected."

"Lisa," he interrupted, "those are things I don't wish to speculate upon. I'm hoping for the best and I pray to God he'll see us through." Unfortunately, now that she opened the can of worms, he did start to think of it, and the sorrow he felt for the potential of such mass loss of life was almost too much to bear.

"Sorry," she said.

"Get some sleep, Hun; we'll sort this all out in time." Hun? Why did he just call her Hun? he thought. He was too exhausted to try to make amends, and when she did not say anything else, he quickly fell fast asleep.

Lisa stared at the President as his breathing grew heavy, feeling terrible for all the nasty things she did to this man and said about him as he tried to gain the Presidency. She gained a new perspective of him, especially when she watched him pull body after body from the wreckage.

At one point, he pulled a tiny girl out from under a burning piece of debris. She knew the girl was dead from the second she saw her, but the President ran with her little body all the way to the medic tent and wept openly when they could not revive her. She cried then, and the tears again flowed from her eyes.

This man did not care about anything in those frantic hours except saving as many as he could find. There were not many survivors, but he alone pulled at least three people from certain death, and at great risk to his own life. His agents tried to stop him from going into danger, but he just shrugged them off. There were many points throughout the day where she thought he would be lost; it surprised her when she openly feared for his safety, and at her elation that he came through unscathed. The dread in her stomach wreaked havoc in her brain. She openly disdained this man from the beginning of his Presidency, yet today, she experienced such a deep connection to him that it made her guilt unbearable. Something about him tugged at her senses, and she blushed at the thought. There was something special about this man, and she vowed to change her ways.

She kissed him again, this time long and tenderly. He did not respond and obviously, he did not feel it, but it made her feel better. She snuggled her head into his neck, loving the warmth of his body, gave him a big hug, and wiggled her body into him, then she soon fell soundly asleep.

They all suddenly awoke as the Earth violently shook beneath their exhausted bodies.

# Chapter 20 Iraq

Judging by the position of the sun, it was near noon, yet still very uncommonly cold for Iraq. They took shifts throughout the night covering their positions, and both sides exchanged heavy gunfire throughout the night's blackness. Once dawn approached, gunfire dwindled to sporadic shots. Apparently, both sides of this conflict were content to hunker down and wait for the cover of darkness to resume their assault.

So far, the conflict consisted of small arms weaponry. They did not find out until just recently only conventional weapons were working. Throughout the night, the American Soldiers kept waiting for the missile strikes to hit the Iraq lines, but they never came. Just like all their vehicles, anything electronic remained inoperable. This issue unnerved both sides in this conflict, but the Americans were more reliant on these now useless weapons.

The Iraqis mostly had mortars along with shoulder launchers, and they used them vigorously during the night. Although casualties on both sides were low, many American soldiers now feared the enemy had the superior firepower. Without their night vision, smart rockets, air cover, or anything else besides their rifles, they felt inadequate against the heavier conventional loads the Iraqi's could throw at them.

The boys were lying around a burning fire pit in hangar fourteen, trying to get some rest. It was a long night, and although the other areas of the base received the heaviest fire, they did face some strong opposition from the southwestern part of their front. The Marines did not call on the Special Forces unit to reinforce the line, so the Forces helped carry the wounded to the medics.

The medic building looked like a medieval chop shop with candles burning for light, torn bandages everywhere, screaming and moaning men, and water boiling over fire pits. Even without any power, the medics worked furiously to save limbs and mend torn flesh.

Brad always became squeamish whenever he entered the Meds, nearly losing his lunch at one point. On the other hand, the process fascinated Nick. He would hang around asking questions whenever he thought he was not in the way. The nurses loved his attention and were more than willing to teach him things he could do in the field. Nick's mind was like a sponge, soaking-up as much information as possible.

"Hey guys!" someone yelled, "It's snowing."

"Great!" said another, "That's all we fuckin' need."

Looking upon the snow, they could not see more than ten feet ahead of them.

"This is so cool!" said Timmy Johnson, "I've never seen it snow like this before."

Brad looked at him as if he were nuts.

"Get your gear together, guys," Nick said as he looked at the snow in alarm. "The Iraqi's may try to take advantage of the poor visibility."

Men scattered to retrieve gear, and as they readied to leave, the Commander entered the hangar, "Back to your positions, and be on the lookout," he noticed that his men were already set to leave. He nodded his approval, then ran off to the next position.

They were back at their assigned point, supporting the Marines in the front. There was already at least two inches of snow covering the ground and it did not appear it would end anytime soon. Not only were they cold, now they were miserably wet from the heavy flakes, "Damn, I want to get out of here," said Timmy.

"I thought you liked the snow," Brad responded.

"Well, that was before I had to stand in it."

The look on the kids face made Brad crack-up, "Just keep your eyes glued, Tim, you don't want to be caught by surprise."

"I can barely keep my eyes open, it's like blinding me."

"It's called snow blindness. Try to focus on colored objects. If you keep looking at the white, it'll mess-up your sight."

Timmy nodded, but it looked like he was having a hard time with it.

Brad concentrated hard trying to see through the snowstorm. There was now close to three inches on the ground, and still no sign of a let-up.

Nick tapped his shoulder, "Hey, do you remember where we packed our fist daggers?"

"Yeah, they're in my foot locker. Why?" Brad answered.

"Just incase," Nick wiped snow from his face, "I'm gonna go get 'em. Do you need anything?"

"Yeah, grab me some candy bars. I hid them under my dagger case. I'm starving, man."

"You're always starving," Nick remarked, "It's all that muscle mass. I told you not to get that big."

"You just didn't want me to be able to kick your ass."

Nick laughed, "Am I that obvious?"

Brad smiled, he was glad his brother was here with him, "Hurry back, Bro."

Nick nodded and ran off in the direction of the barracks.

The snow stopped about twenty minutes later as abruptly as it started, and a cheer went up from both opposing camps. For some reason that Brad could not fathom, the Iraqi's started shooting.

The southwestern quadrant launched a barrage of mortar rounds on American positions. Brad was perplexed they waited until the snow stopped. It would have made more sense for them to attack under the cover of the blizzard.

The air rang, whizzing with the sounds of bullet and mortar fire. Men on both sides screamed, yelled, and swore. Brad hated the chaos that battle brought. He always liked to think things through, and when the heat of battle rose, thinking took a back seat. Action and instinct took over, and adrenalin pounded through veins and ears. This is when the danger was highest for mistakes and friendly fire accidents.

A mortar round struck the Marine position they supported, "Where'd that round come from, Tim?"

"Northwest," Timmy pointed out the direction. "There's more coming."

"Damn!" Brad yelled, this is the first time that position engaged, he thought. "Timmy, I'm going to find the Commander, I'll be right back."

Timmy gave him a thumbs-up.

Nick made it to the barracks and while he rummaged around through Brad's footlocker, he heard the shooting start. It sounded like a grand finale at a fireworks show, only ten times more intense. He located the cases and took out the daggers. They were the coolest and cruelest looking weapons he had ever seen. He did not know how his father did it, but right after he received his fourth degree black belt and Brad reached his second, their Dad gave them custom-made fist daggers.

They were matching pairs for both hands, and professionally balanced. The hand portion fit perfectly, each sporting an expertly sharpened eight-inch dagger in the middle that could part silk as if it were butter. Flanking the middle dagger on each side were two-inch serrated edged blades, which if ever used, could carve flesh as a well-sharpened knife. His father also had belts fashioned from hand made leather, allowing easy access for both hands. Along these belts were ten slits that held three-inch Chinese throwing stars. He and Brad used to practice throwing the stars at targets and they both became extremely adept at placing them within a fraction of their aim.

Nick placed his belt around his waist securing it with the wolf's head buckle. He drew both weapons, marveling at how natural an action they were to draw. His father always denied how he was able to get perfect measurements. He called it magic, but he and Brad always speculated that their father had taken their measurements while they slept.

Nick examined his blades, reading the message his father had inscribed. At the base of the middle blade it read, "Nicholas Brock D'Manna. My Blood, My Son, I am Honored to be your Father. Love Dad." Each of the smaller blades he inscribed with "Nick's Wolves" at the base. Brad's weapons read the same but with the Eagle as his mantra.

Nick grabbed Brad's weapons, sprinted toward the door, stopped, and ran back to the footlocker. He snatched up the huge bag of candy bars that Brad had hidden then began running as fast as he could back to his position.

Just as he exited the barracks, the Earth rumbled. It was not enough to knock him from his feat, but enough to let him know that something unnatural just took place. As the rumbling stopped, so too did the attack. Nick listened for the occasional popping of sporadic shots, but heard nothing. He saw others exiting buildings looking around in confusion. Usually when commanders issue a cease-fire order, the shots dwindled slowly as word passed through the lines. This was not the case here. It seemed as if everyone stopped firing at the same exact time, and that does not happen in battle.

Nick took-off toward his position running as he never ran before. He was feeling scared, very nervous, and he worried for Brad. Everything that has happened since the freak wave, just felt so wrong to him, so unnatural, as if the entire world had gone stark mad. If he kept his pace, he would make it back within twenty minutes. He hoped someone would have some answers.

Al-Mushamadeed was furious with his line of troops. His southern line was hard enough to control, and he really did not have much success holding them in check once his brothers started firing from the opposite sides of the American base, but now his northern lines engaged in the battle and were not heeding his calls for a cease-fire.

Through the night, he was able to keep control of most of his men. His southern lines, which had the heavier concentrations of mercenaries from neighboring countries, were out of control. Once dawn arrived, they stopped firing only because their supplies were getting low, and they grew tired. The daylight provided a much-needed break for everyone.

Then the snows started and all the troops prayed for Allah's blessing. It never snowed in Iraq before, and this event caused a near panic through the ranks. Some called it a sign from Allah to shield the Americans from seeing them. Others whispered it was an American trick and they advanced through the blizzard to take them by surprise. Al-Mushamadeed did not think it was either, but the event still disturbed him greatly. Not only was the snow giving him uneasiness, but also that the Americans have not yet retaliated with their accurate missiles. He knew if they wanted to, the Americans could hit his lines with pinpoint accuracy, scattering the remnants of his men. However, they did not, and it deeply disturbed him.

When the snow ended, the sun was nearly gone from the sky. Al-Mushamadeed knew the firefight would resume as soon as night fell, and by his estimate, that would be in another hour.

Over three inches of snow now covered the desert floor and the air seemed even cooler than before. His men gathered around burning trashcans for warmth, feebly trying to ward off the freezing air. When nightfall came in full, the men will extinguish the fires, then the battle would resume. So far, there have been few casualties from the small arms fire, and he prayed that no missiles or smart bombs would come this night.

Al-Mushamadeed arrived back in his tent to get some rest before nightfall. Just as he finished his meal of soup and bread, two of his captains appeared in the doorway, "Ayatollah, it appears that during the blizzard the southern line mercenaries moved forces to the north. They joined with men from the eastern lines of our brothers, and appear to have many mortars with shoulder units."

Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed placed his head in his hands and gave a great sigh. His brothers took the war from his hands and he was powerless to stop it. He realized at this point, if the Americans failed, his life and the life of his people would be forfeit. They would tag him a traitor for not participating in the attacks.

"Pull our people out," both captains looked at him in surprise, "Pull them out toward Ar Ramadi. We will set-up camp there to wait this conflict out."

"But we'll be outcast if we leave now."

"We are already outcasts. Now we must look after our families and ensure we keep our strength so we can force peace if the Americans fail."

"There is more, Ayatollah. Our agents broke out of the American base during the blizzard. They report the American missile systems are not operational. They cannot fire their smart bombs, planes remain on the ground, and none of their tanks, start. The Americans relied so heavily on their technology, that they did not bring much conventional weaponry with them. We not only out number them; we also have the superior fire power."

Al-Mushamadeed now understood why his brother clerics usurped his command. They received the same information, and now planned an all-out assault. Without their superior weapon systems, the Americans were at an extreme disadvantage.

"Pull our people out. I want us stationed and reinforced within the Ramadi region by daybreak. Is that understood?" Both his Captains bowed and exited without further argument.

It was too late to join his brothers in this conflict, Mushamadeed thought. They would not forgive his actions from the previous night, and he really did not care if they did. Their hatred for the Americans was misguided and Al-Mushamadeed would not let himself join their poor judgment. He would save as many of his men as possible, secure their families, then he would fight for his country against these so-called mercenaries.

He will need to send emissaries to neighboring countries, and work his vast political power. Once they recalled their citizens, his brothers would not have the strength to face him and his Iraqi men, alone. Peace will come to Iraq, just as he envisioned before this unholy wave struck.

Al-Mushamadeed left his dwelling searching for his special agents. He found them within their compound.

"Brothers, we are pulling our people out of this conflict."

His loyal men all bowed in understanding, and many smiled, "I want your force to stay behind and when opportunity shows, I want you to get the children of the American President out of the city. We must stick to our plan, is it understood?" They all bowed again.

He had fifty of the most specialized forces Iraq had ever seen, and they were loyal to him until death. They would do as he bade, or they would die trying. Al-Mushamadeed bowed to them in respect. It was an honor to receive the Ayatollahs blessing in such a way, and many stared at him in bewilderment. They returned his bow by placing their foreheads to the stone. Al-Mushamadeed smiled; he may still wrest victory for his people, he thought.

He started back toward his dwelling to gather his belongings for the long trip to Ar Ramadi. It was the stronghold of his proud Iraqi people. If his brothers come for him, they will meet a mighty force of resistance, indeed.

Just as he reached his tent, his southern lines started firing again, then before too long, his northern line joined in. He knew his brothers across the base were also involved, and if they are firing before nightfall, then they already know they have the Americans out gunned.

He gathered up his belongings, and started his journey. Many of his people were already on their way and the sight brightened his mood. These people relied upon his guidance, and his decision to withdraw weighed heavy upon his heart. Seeing the backing of his people was a sign he was doing the right thing. Too many young men became enthralled in this Jihad battle cry. This war was never a holy war. The Americans do not fight for Christianity; they fight for freedom. Even so, their motives for this conflict were purely financial. Iraq had oil, lots of oil, and the American political system wanted it. They used the weapons of mass destruction theory to ignite the world against the Iraqi people. D'Manna worked a deal that would satisfy everyone, but now it all seemed for naught. One side would win, and the winner would take all.

Just as he reached the outskirts of his command's boundary, the earth trembled beneath his feet. It did not last long, but when it stopped, so to did all the sounds of battle. Al-Mushamadeed cocked his head listening to the unnatural silence where just a moment ago, explosions filled the air. Something was wrong, and he did not wait to find out. His course was set and he let Allah guide him to his destiny.

# Chapter 21 Legends

If a human could hear this exchange, it would sound no different from barks, chirps, and grunts. However, it is the language shared by many of the earth's inhabitants. Humans have just forgotten the skill.

"Grok! Crust tremble, Grok."

"Grok feel."

"Grok travel time. Call pac to Grok."

"Crull call pac. Grok no do. Grok travel to High Stones. Crull call pac to High Stones."

"Crull call pac," the creature bobbed his massive head, "Grok shelter no more?"

"Pac tells Grok travel or no. Grok follow pac."

"Crull follow Grok. Crull call pac to High Stones."

Grok bobbed his head, and his pac mate, Crull, left the den.

It was time for the hidden to un-hide. The ancient slavers have returned.

# Chapter 22 Alaska

There was yelling coming from the yard, but the Congressional delegates along with the Scientists and Generals, could not see what transpired,

"I think they're raising flags," Ash said as he smashed his face against the window trying to peer through the tinted glass into the darkness beyond.

Many joined him in an effort to ascertain what was happening.

"General Slovich, I think you picked the wrong color flags to use, I can't tell the green from the red."

Slovich sneered, not caring if he offended the powerful Senator. Nobody thought to bring candles with because the light from the sky generated plenty, but when it blinked out, the blackness of the Alaskan winter night engulfed the delegation.

He tossed his useless binoculars on the counter; the sudden noise startled everyone in the room. He gingerly made his way into the control room, felt with his hands behind the door, and pulled what he knew was a white smock from the hook. He brought it to his face to make sure of the color, and the faint moonlight shining through the tinted glass confirmed it. He reentered the main observation area and felt his way to the stairs leading to the exit door. Slovich could not see clearly through the room's darkness, but he sensed that everyone in the room had their faces plastered to the window.

"You won't be able to see much through the glass, folks. It's tinted," his disgust came out through his words, "I'm going out into the yard so I can tell what the heck is happening. If you see a white cloak waving, everything is clear. Any other color," his words were condescending, "means it is not clear."

The silence that followed him as he descended the steps was deafening. As he began to exit the door, he shouted back, "And if you want to see what the fuck is going on, get off your damn asses, and get into the yard," Slovich slammed the door behind him as he left, and the frigid air blasted him with its full force.

After a few more seconds of silence, the ever-blabbering Senator stuck his two cents in by lambasting the professionalism of the Army command. The Senator from Arizona had enough of this idiot.

"Listen, Ash, you have made a colossal mistake over these past few months and culminated it with a monumental error in judgment. You will never see the seat of the Presidency. You can mark my words."

The Senator from Arizona then started shuffling toward the stairs, and the entire delegation, minus Ash and Gordon, followed suit. Even the Scientists were leaving.

Ash heard the confused curses that emanated from the exit door once opened, and it brought a smile to his face, "It's too cold for their candy assess," Ash said to Gordon.

He was about to verbally assault the members when gunfire erupted along the walls.

They say dogs know their place when shown a sled, and Sprinkles went right to the lead harness. All the other animals went to their preferred locations and only two dogs had an issue. The larger of the two exerted its dominance, and the other slinked submissively to the last remaining spot.

The Captain started latching them in place and as he hooked-up the animals, McJeeves scoured the shed for items that would help keep them warm. He found old blankets filled with Goose Down feathers and he started doing the jig in his mind. He also located some old ski goggles, gloves that were still serviceable, two kerosene lamps that still had liquid in them, a couple of canteens, rope, ice picks, a short shovel, game traps, and old wax that still looked usable. He packed them all on the sled and amazingly, the items really did not take very much space.

As they progressed, the fifteen dogs pulling the sled were doing a magnificent job. Captain Johnson controlled the reins as McJeeves rode in the front, and they made good time. Although they could still feel the dangerously frigid air, both men felt more relaxed about their survival chances.

Captain Johnson was sure this was a suicide attempt, but as they kept putting more distance between them and the base, he felt more comfortable that he would not freeze to death. There was plenty of snow on the ground to make water, and they had enough lighters to make fires, but food would soon become an issue. The Captain had his pistol with him, but there was no time to get his rifle. They would have to hunt for food between towns hoping they made it before frostbite set into their limbs.

"Where are we headed, Captain?"

"I'm heading south until we hit the Meade River, then we'll follow it to the town of Atqasuk. We'll stock up on supplies, warn the townsmen, then figure out where to go from there. I'm thinking east to a town called Umiat, stock up again, and see if we can make it to the only main road I know of."

"Which road is that?"

"Dolton Highway," he shouted above the sound of barking dogs, "It goes south, eventually turning into Interstate two. If there's still no power, we can just follow the road and restock as we go. If the snows start thinning, we'll find wheels and let the dogs pull us down the road with them."

McJeeves smiled. This Captain was coming in very handy, "I follow your lead, Captain. Take us to safety."

"Ye..." the Captains remark was interrupted as gunfire erupted from the base behind them. They were a good distance away, but the unmistakable sound of rifles popping clearly echoed to their location.

"Keep us going, Captain, we can't help them now."

The dogs jumped at his urging, running south toward safety.

McJeeves pondered that word, and considered its implications. Certainly, this part of the country was in serious jeopardy. Nevertheless, how big of an area could this massive army dominate? Maybe all Alaska, possibly some northern Canadian locales, but every army needs supply routes and food resources. It would take this army time to organize their position and he hoped it would give the American forces time to deploy a counter offensive. He knew the world has never before met a force of this size in combat, but he did not see any heavy artillery or vehicles. Whatever it was that emerged in the Alaskan tundra was in serious trouble once America responded. This will be a battle of the ages, and he prayed he made it to the people who could make it happen.

The sound caught Lina's attention immediately. Word already returned that her forces had secured the village to the North. Her youngest male, Sanon, led the Horde and one hundred thousand warriors, and he relayed the total massacre he inflicted upon the humans. He put every human to the sword, and the Horde is eating well. His forces did not have a single casualty.

Lina planned to visit the village to view some of the unknown artifacts her offspring encountered. Sanon relayed to her images of covered wagons with no horse hitches, metal objects with avian appendages, and ships with no sails. It appears the humans somehow became creative through the centuries, and she thought it best to receive more knowledge before proceeding with her campaign.

However, the popping noises interrupted her northern trek. Dracon led the same number of warriors against the human settlement to the south, and that was where the sound, a sound like thick hollow sticks pounded against each other, came from. Lina reached out mentally to her offspring.

Dracon surveyed the field riding upon his magnificent steed. His perch sat along a ridge overlooking the settlement below, and he kept his swordsmen in formation all around his position. He ordered the Horde to surround the settlement and advance in unison, holding his other warriors in check, content to use them as gap fillers if the Horde line should falter. He deployed his Calvary to the east and west with his Archers to the south and north. He did not know what type of forces this settlement would counter with, but he knew it was not large enough to match his five million Horde, eighty thousand Elite Swords, ten thousand expert Archers, and Calvary. It was a massive formation, yet it consisted of only one fifth of his Mother's total society. Dracon smiled at the sight; the humans would not be able to withstand the force his tribe mustered.

As he viewed the scene, flashes of light erupted from the northern walls of the settlement, followed by loud banging noises. He watched as his northern line of Horde faltered in its headlong charge, and he saw his underlings issue retreat orders. His northern archers were nowhere close to striking distance and whatever the humans were doing, it had a much farther range than his superior Archers did.

He gave his lines approaching from the south, west, and east, the charge signal, and their advance picked-up tenfold. The flashing lights and loud noise from the settlement intensified, but his Horde quickly closed upon their position, clambering over the walls. Whatever it was the humans did, it soon diminished to sporadic flashes and bangs, then stopped all together. He was about to ride down to the settlement to investigate when his Mothers voice entered his thoughts.

"Dracon? What is transpiring?"

"We have the settlement subdued, Mother, I am going to investigate."

"What was that sound?"

"It came from the settlement walls, Mother, I do not yet know, but the humans flashed some light that made banging noises. We have some casualties."

"Keep some of the humans alive, it appears we need to extract some information."

"As you wish, Mother," he gave the signal to take prisoners, "Will you be joining me?"

"I am traveling toward your position, keep things in order."

His Mother exited his thoughts, and Dracon started his descent to the settlement. He dispatched his swordsman to encircle the structure, and took a small company with him. Whatever the humans did had him unnerved as he approached, and the smell in the air was repulsive.

He swung toward his northern line to ascertain what took place. The first casualty he approached appeared to have wormholes; the creature had a minimum of eight round holes in its bloodied torso.

"Look, Brother," one of his captains turned the body over. The holes through its back were twice as big as in the front. Although the Horde did not wear heavy armor, their rawhide torso was tough enough to turn even the greatest arrows at long distance. Dracon peered in the direction of the settlement, gauging the expanse at more than three times the distance of his Archers reach. He combed his fingers through his jet-black mane of hair.

"What have we here?"

Dracon looked at his Mothers approach. He bowed his respects, "The humans have made holes in the Horde, Mother, and look," he pointed in the direction of the settlement, "the distance is much farther than even our greatest archers could achieve."

His Mother scanned the body at her offspring's feet, then at the thousands of others lying upon the frozen tundra. She looked at her remaining Horde, and she saw uncertainty wrought upon their features. This is not how she envisioned her conquest to begin.

An Elvin warrior approached her male, placed something in his hand, and whispered in his ear. She watched as her offspring opened his palm, peering at what seemed to be large rabbit droppings. Dracon offered her the trinkets.

She plucked one out of his palm peering at it within the moonlight. It was made of some type of metal she had never seen before. She sniffed it, and besides the stink of Horde flesh, Lina picked-up a scent she had experienced before, but could not place. Another warrior approached, bowing his respects, "We have humans trapped within the dwelling, Brother. They have barricaded the portal but even now our warriors enter from other openings."

"Keep them alive," Lina responded, "How many human warriors are deceased?"

"We have counted seven hundred, Mother," the warrior bowed again.

"And how many of our warriors have fallen?" Lina asked.

The warrior this time bowed before he spoke, "Near twenty thousand, Mother."

Dracon watched his Mother's expression as his warrior relayed the loss count. Her beautiful face rarely showed distress, but he saw it flicker upon her features then. She waved the warrior away, calling to her steed. Dracon did the same, and a contingent of warriors flanked them as they descended upon the human settlement.

Once they neared the walls, Dracon's other siblings, minus Sanon who still secured the northern village, joined their company. When Dracon relayed the loss count to them, his eldest, Gargon, could only sigh. If this is what they were up against, a mere fraction of human warriors could wipe out all their plans. The uncertainty upon his siblings face was plainly evident.

LinaLias contemplated the mass imbalance of warrior loss in this conflict. For the first time, she feared she miscalculated the numbers needed to destroy the human invaders upon her homeland. She could have doubled, even tripled the Horde numbers while she was in exile, but she calculated she had enough on hand to easily defeat the humans. She hoped she was not wrong.

The smell upon the metal object also caused uncertainty in her mind. Its odor hung in pockets within the air, and it was causing her great consternation. She knew that smell, but she could not place it within her memory. It almost emerged numerous times, but her mind could not fully extract the information. As she approached the area where her warriors said there were prisoners, her anger raged through her body. These humans would pay dearly for their obstinate display.

Once the gunfire erupted, all the delegates and scientists quickly retreated into the building and upstairs to the observation window. Ash nearly commented, but the gunfire had him mesmerized. At each flash, the delegates received glimpses of the situation; like a surreal strobe light affect. The troops concentrated along the north wall, and all fired out into the darkness beyond.

Even above the gunfire, the delegates' heard a low humming sound which appeared to get louder by the second. General Gordon moved toward the exit door, and when he opened it, the roar was deafening. He scanned the walls to the north of the yard, and with the now constant firing of the rifles, he could clearly see the attackers. With the troop's concentration focused on what came from the north, they did not hear the sounds emerging from the south.

Gordon knew that sound, a sound of charging men in a headlong rush. The sheer mass of the attackers will overwhelm his soldiers and overrun the base in mere minutes. He quickly shut the door trying to lock it, but all the doors on the base were electronically controlled. Without any power, the doors would not lock. He slammed his fist repeatedly against the metal door in frustration.

"What the hell are you doing, General?"

"We need to lock the door, Senator; this position is going to be overrun."

The panic that erupted in the room was chaotic. Screaming, yelling, everyone talking at the same time, chairs falling over, people swearing as they stumbled. Gordon charged up the steps shouting at the top of his lungs. When that failed to quiet everyone down, he pulled his pistol and fired a shot into the control room, hoping that no one hid in there. The gunshot had the desired effect.

"SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP! We have a situation here that we need to think through, and keep our wits about us. This room is the most fortified area on the base. We made it to withstand heavy explosions, and a marred of other offensive things. We need to barricade the doors and keep what's out there, from coming in here. DO YOU ALL UNDERSTAND?"

He took their silence as a yes, "Now, listen very carefully; with the power out, the doors will not lock."

"Then how do you propose..."

Gordon did not wait for Senator Ash to finish; he pointed his pistol at the Senators head and cocked it, "I said to listen, Senator, not to talk, do you understand?"

"How dar..."

Gordon charged Ash shoving the barrel of his gun against the Senators forehead. It was pathetic the way the man flailed his arms in defense. It was at this moment in time General Gordon truly regretted all his actions for allowing himself to follow this blabbering idiot of a man.

He grabbed the Senator by the neck, dragged him to the control room, and shoved him in, "If you come out of this room, Senator, I'll shoot you." Gordon slammed the control room door shut for emphasis.

He turned to the others, "We need to find rope, chairs, whatever we can, to barricade these doors. We don't have much time folks, so let's move."

"We don't have any light, General."

"Improvise you IDIOTS!"

Gordon left the observation deck through the rear door feeling his way to the front conference room. As he approached, the light from the candles they left behind made his progress much easier. It was very cold inside the building, but the conference room, with its many burning candles, provided a brief warming. He noticed the burning candles were down to the end, so he scooped-up a box of fresh ones, a book of matches, grabbed one of the nearly spent candles to use for light, and headed back toward the observation deck. Along the way, he stopped in the mess hall, entered the pantry, and grabbed a box of ready-made meals. When he arrived back at the deck, most of the others were still in the room.

He was about to screech his disgust at them, when the Senator from Arizona entered behind him, "I found rope."

"Tie the doors, Senator," Gordon tossed the candle box and matches to Doctor Frankel, "Light some of them," he said as he placed the ready-made food on the counter, then went to give the Arizona Senator a hand.

The door opened out toward the yard, so he and the Senator secured the rope to the doorknob and headed back up the steps. They tied the other end to the top of the stairwell railing and Gordon removed his knife from his belt to cutoff the slack.

The door in the back of the observation room opened toward the hallway. They followed the same procedure as the exit door, tying one end to the knob and the other to the same wrought iron railing. With the railing embedded in concrete, they felt confident that it would hold. Both slapped each other on the back in triumph.

"They're in the yard!" screeched the Doctor.

Gordon moved toward the window and saw chaos erupting in the yard. The soldiers along the northern wall finally noticed the breach at the southern end, and they turned to opened fire. There were hundreds of creatures streaming toward them. The delegation tried to make out features through the flash of rifle fire, but it was still too shadowy to tell. Gordon quickly extinguished the candles that Doctor Frankel lit, and through the strobe light affect of the rifle fire, they watched as creature after creature hurled short rods at the shooting soldiers.

As more and more of the creatures threw their sticks, gunfire from the soldiers dwindled. During the chaotic battle, Gordon thought he saw General Slovich sprinting across the yard toward the door, but then the image vanished. Sporadic shots were all that remained, soon stopping altogether. Blackness once again engulfed the yard, and as their eyes adjusted to the moonlight, they were able to see shadows passing over the snow-covered ground.

"What were they throwing, General?"

Gordon shook his head in disbelief, "I think they were throwing spears."

"Spears? Spears, General? What the hell is out there?"

Just as he began to respond, hundreds of what he thought were rocks, started hitting the observation room glass.

"They're throwing those sticks at the glass!" shouted one delegate.

"Relax folks, the glass is re-enforced. It won't break," at least Gordon hoped it wouldn't. As more and more spears, (they could defiantly tell that they were spears now), hit the glass, it was evident that it would not shatter. The creatures must have deduced the same, because they stopped hurling their sticks.

One delegate was in a panic, "What are we going to do? Oh my God, help us, please help us, please, oh please."

Gordon got in the persons face and growled, "Stop blabbering and be quiet. We don't want those things to know we're in here."

He started pacing, trying to think of something. The attackers had them trapped, and without power, there was not much they could do. They were isolated.

"Rifles!" he said aloud, "There're rifles in the prep room," he should have thought of it sooner, "Senator, help me open the rear door. The prep room isn't far and if those things break through the door, we'll be able to hold off an army from in here."

The Senator from Arizona helped untie the knot and Gordon quickly opened the door. He was about to step through when he heard muffled voices coming from down the hallway. As the voices drew near, Gordon could make out some words.

The speakers had thick English accents, "Oh my God. Oh my, shut the door, Senator."

The Senator complied, retying the knot. Gordon slipped to the floor wrapping his head in his hands.

"What is it, General?"

"General?"

"General Gordon!"

Gordon raised his head; "They're British. We've been attacked by the British!"

Everyone erupted simultaneously, asking questions, cursing, telling him to open the door and let them in, and blabbering about the end of the world.

"HUSH, you fools!" the Texas Senator shouted. He had to repeat himself numerous times before everyone finally complied, "We can't let them in. They just wiped out an American base. Think you idiots. Damn-it!"

"There's something coming into the yard, guys."

They rushed to the window trying to pierce the tinted glass and darkness beyond. Approaching the door appeared to be riders on horseback. Just then, pounding rattled the door in the back of the observatory. Everyone jumped at the sound, and General Gordon pulled his pistol.

"Open the portal and your lives will be spared."

"It's the English, it's the English, let them in, let the..."

The Senator from Arizona slapped the delegate from Mississippi hard across the face, and she fell over in shock from the blow.

"General, if anyone else even raises a whisper, shoot-them," he whispered harshly.

Gordon just frowned. He vowed to stop taking orders from political morons who had ill-conceived notions of their self worth. It seemed everyone he has met lately, had the same attitude toward their own importance. It disgusted him to his core.

Pounding started to come from the door that led to the yard.

"Well folks, they appear to know we're in here."

"Shish!" many voices responded simultaneously.

As she approached, a warrior ran up to offer his assessment of the situation.

"Mother," he bowed deeply, "there appear to be humans behind this portal, but we cannot open it."

"Burn it down."

The Mother looked at her daughter out of the corner of her eye, "It is a stone dwelling, dear, I doubt fire will work."

"What is that shiny stuff, Mother?" asked Dracon.

"I know not," she looked puzzled peering at the reflective surface that stretched the length of the dwelling, "We need to capture some humans to retrieve answers."

"We could lay siege, Mother, and wait them out."

"Then we risk them starving to death, and we still would have no answers, dear."

LinaLias moved toward the portal, examining its unrecognizable metallic surface. She placed her hand in the center, shut her eyes, and concentrated on the make-up of the material. If it came from the Earth, she would be able to unravel its mysteries. She frowned as she pulled her hand away, "It is constructed of earthly minerals, but has been altered too significantly for me to counter its making."

"Is it magic, Mother?"

She again looked at her daughter, "No, dear, it is not magic, but I need your help. Come here."

RikaLias, the future Queen of the Lias Empire, dismounted from her horse and approached her mother.

"My strength is not yet full from our reentrance. Give me your hand so that I may draw upon your life-force."

While holding her daughters hand, Lina placed her other upon the portal and closed her eyes in concentration. Rika felt the power her mother extracted, and it sent euphoria through her being. She shut her eyes, enjoying the feeling.

Light started to pulse into the observation deck from the door that led to the yard. Soon after, the entire room lit-up from the brightness of the glowing metal.

"What is that, General?"

"I think they're blow-torching the door," he responded.

More panicked whispers erupted amongst the delegation, but for the most part, they kept it quiet. Gordon aimed his pistol at the door, waiting for it to open. He did not have to wait long. The rope burned and he knew it would soon snap.

As his mother heated the portal, Gargon had archers form-up just behind, "As soon as the portal opens, fire a volley into the opening," he ordered.

The warriors nodded their understanding.

As it happened, the portal did not open as Gargon had envisioned. Instead of blowing apart into millions of fragments, it instead just slipped open a fraction. His Mother withdrew her hand, cocking her head in contemplation of this unusual event. She and her daughter backed-up away from the portal, and she motioned for one of the Horde who peered through the legs of a steed, to open it the rest of the way. The creature approached the portal, and dug its spear tip into the crack. When she nodded her approval, the creature flung the portal open.

General Gordon stood poised at the top of the stairs with his pistol aimed at the center of the door. When the rope finally burst apart, he bent down to a knee to stabilize his arm, and waited for them to enter. He had eleven shots in his pistol, with numerous clips on his belt. He watched as a tip of a spear worked its way into the slight opening along the edge, then the door flew open. Gordon fired.

The delegation stared at the General as he positioned himself at the top of the stairs. They watched and they jumped when his gun roared. The General fired one shot when suddenly his body flew backward, slamming into the opposite wall. They all saw the numerous arrows protruding from his chest, but could tell he still lived by the sound of his labored breathing.

They heard a gut wrenching scream come from the direction of the open door. The Senator from Arizona rushed to grab the Generals pistol, but before he could get close enough, many men entered the observatory and started swinging swords.

Gargon watched as the portal flew open and his archers let fly their arrows. A loud bang preceded the flight, then there was silence, until his mother started screaming.

She was down on the ground clutching her leg, which appeared to be bleeding, screeching at the top of her lungs. Gargon was in shock, and it took his mind a moment to comprehend what his Mother hollered. Fortunately, the other warriors were not so slow in their duties. They rushed into the portal with drawn swords as his Mother hollered for her warriors to kill them all.

As Gargon rushed to his Mothers' side, he heard the telltale screams emanating from the dwelling. He was pleased that no more bangs came forth, and shortly after, the screaming stopped. As he peered over his Sister's shoulder, he noted the wound in his Mother's leg. It was merely a flesh wound along her thigh, and his sister expertly bound the damage.

Ash watched through a small window in the door as General Gordon was pin cushioned with arrows, and as the invaders slaughtered the rest of the delegation to the last. He used the screaming to mask the noises he made as he scrambled to hide, and he prayed, and prayed, and prayed.

Senator Ash tried to make himself as small as possible, cramming his body into the cabinets that lined the window in the control room. He wetted himself, and the stink made him gag. He prayed as he never prayed before, hoping they would not notice him.

Dracon approached as she paced the yard in anger and humiliation. A flesh wound was all, and she overreacted. She needed information, and because of the human insolence, she ordered them killed.

"They are all dead, Mother. We finished searching the dwelling, but have not found anymore of the humans."

Lina nodded her head, still too infuriated to speak rationally.

"I have warriors collecting the banging spears the humans used. You should look inside the dwelling, Mother; the humans have created some very unusual devices. There are many horseless wagons on the other side, along with some of the avian creatures Sanon found in the northern human village."

A warrior approached her male, "We found some unusual tracks heading south, Brother. It appears as if the humans no longer use horses for transportation. There are signs of many canines pulling a device, with occasional human tracks intermixed amongst them."

"How many humans are there?" Dracon asked.

"There appear to be no more than two."

Dracon nodded, "Catch them alive," and he waved the warrior away. Dracon looked to his Mother, but before he spoke, he noticed his Brother, Brako, approaching carrying some of the human banging spears.

Brako dropped them at their feet, "There are many more, but this should give us an idea."

Dracon and his Mother took a step back, staring at the devices as if they were angry cobras.

Brako laughed at their uneasiness, "They will not bite you, Brother; I think you need magic to make them work."

Lina stared at the human spears lying in the snow. They did not look like normal spears; they had a flat handle with round hollow tips. They were definitely not made to puncture flesh, and the other decorations were not conducive to battle, "The creatures have never had use of magic, Brako, we need to find a human to tell us what these are."

Brako pulled a knife from his belt, "They have learned to make blades," he passed it to his mother.

Lina studied it. She noted the poor balance of the weapon, and a grip that would fail once saturated with blood. The blade had a good edge, but was not Dimondon laced. She tossed it back to her male offspring, "Keep it as a token, but I doubt it will be useful in battle."

Brako caught it effortlessly, re-sheathing it in his belt.

"Mother, look what we found!" Gargon and Rika came through the portal dragging a human male with a rope tied around his wrists. It wept like a child, begging for mercy, "The male hid like a rodent, Mother." Rika hated rodents, and her disgust of the human was evident.

The human dropped to his knees pleading for its life profusely.

"You may receive your wish, human, but you will have to please me."

Lina wrinkled her nose at Gargon, "Wash the filth from this beast, dear. Its odor is terribly offensive." Before her eldest could drag the creature away, she yanked the humans head back by the hair, and stared it in the eyes, "And your answers better please me," she forcefully shoved it over into the snow. "Bring it to me when clean."

Lina stormed into the dwelling with Brako, Rika, and Dracon in tow.

Lina became bewildered at the things the humans were able to build; smaller dwellings within the big dwelling, clear walls to see outside, fur to cover the dirt, cloth sitting devices, paintings; there was so much she would have to discover.

The horseless wagons truly astonished her; humans have always tried to bring all their belongings with them when they traveled, instead of living off the land, and their wagons of yore were barbaric compared to the wagons they now utilized. Lina still could not understand what use the humans had for the metal contraption with avian devices. Some had fowl appendages and yet there were some with flat sword-like devices fashioned to the top. Everything flabbergasted her and again made her worry that she miscalculated her warrior strength. Elves do not multiply magically, and their birthing requirements do not allow for swift procreation. However, Lina could have kept multiplying her Horde, and this is where she might have erred. She now feared that her force was insufficient. The human spears also worried her. A mere handful of human warriors caused a significant loss of Horde life, and the way things stood, she would need every spear she could muster. However, she was thankful Dracon used the Horde as a first strike. If the human spears had hit her elite warriors, the loss would have been monumental.

Lina busied herself inspecting a marvelously crafted wooden dining bench located within the inner dwelling. The wood was oak, and it encompassed the entire length of the area. Surrounding it was seating devices that could accommodate nearly eighty warriors. The humans must have used this as their primary inner dwelling based on all the packages containing garb. These surprised her, and as she started to pick through some of the garments, Dracon entered carrying some of the human spears.

"Gargon is bringing the human."

Lina nodded her head in understanding.

"You should come see this dwelling, Mother, there is water coming from a metal device."

"Show me," she replied in amazement.

The inner dwelling Dracon brought her to was no more than a five-foot square area with a seating device filled with liquid, and a metal tube dripping water. Lina became perplexed. She noticed the reflective shiny metal that was similar to the large wall on the outer dwelling, "I look horrible, Dracon."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Mother, and you are truly stunning."

She smiled, "Flattery will get you everything, dear."

Dracon laughed.

As they exited the small inner dwelling, Gargon approached with the human. The creature looked pathetic with no garments upon its body. Gargon anticipated her question, "Its garments smelled horrific, Mother."

"Well, there are more in the large inner dwelling," she noticed how much the creature shivered and remembered that humans did not draw upon the Earth's warmth, as do Elves. She had forgotten this fact. Lina placed her hand upon the humans arm, and transferred warmth into its body. It was a repulsive act to perform on a human, but she needed answers and did not want the beast perishing of cold.

Senator Ash stiffened at the touch, immediately feeling warmth flow through his limbs. He let out a heavenly sigh. The one called Gargon made him wash his body with snow, and with the temperature well below freezing, Ash thought he would turn into an icicle. Her touch, whoever she was, was wonderful, and he felt like it was a cool summer day.

These people spoke English, and Ash felt comfortable that he would be able to wield his influence with the British troops to save his hide. He had many connections in England, and rumor had it that his family descended from a royal line. However, something just did not seem right with these folks; for one, they did not seem to need light to see. He walked blind, relying on this Gargon fellow to lead him along; and two, although they spoke English, they had weird reflections in their voice that made their speech almost seem alien to him.

"What is this dwelling, Human?" Lina asked.

The question confused Ash. He answered, "It is one of our Alaskan military bases. We have several in the area."

"What is a military base?"

Now Ash became extremely confused. Who the hell are these people, he thought, but responded, "They are government bases for our soldiers."

"What is government and soldiers?" Lina asked.

"The government rules the country and our soldiers protect it."

"Ah," she responded, "These soldiers are your warriors, yes?"

"You could say that, yes," Ash responded. "Why have you attacked our country?"

"What do you mean by, country?" Lina asked.

"Our land, our borders, I don't know, it's just our country."

Ash felt an explosion rock his face and if Gargon did not hold him, he would have fell, "This is my land you human filth," Lina grabbed his hair yanking his head into the dwelling with the water, "What is this dwelling?" she asked angrily.

"I told you," Ash felt another blow, this time on his back, "Stop, please stop," he begged.

"This dwelling in here," Lina yanked his head hard in emphasis.

"I can't see what you're talking about," Ash pleaded.

"Mother, I do not think the human can see within the darkness."

Of course, Lina thought, she forgot all about their shortcomings. She concentrated, and a small pebble in her hand started to glow. The light was not obnoxious enough to affect the superior Elvin sight, but should be enough for the human.

Ash immediately recognized the room this crazy woman was talking about, "It's a bathroom."

"What is a bathroom?" the woman asked, and Ash moaned in frustration, which earned him another punch on his back.

Ash quickly demonstrated; he turned the faucet all the way and the water started flowing. The gasp from these people would have been humorous if it were not for his current predicament. He then flushed the toilet, and again they let out a gasp, "We use the sink," Ash pointed to the faucet, "to clean-up. It's better than snow," he said sarcastically, but it was lost on these people. "The toilet," Ash pointed to it "is used to relieve waste."

"What is waste?" The woman asked, and Ash could not take this basic questioning anymore. He turned toward the woman and began to say so, when he glimpsed her features. His knees buckled; this was by far the most gorgeous woman he ever had the pleasure to meet. An exotic beauty with ravens black hair and deep blue eyes; he guessed her height at maybe five and a half feet tall, extremely petite, and feminine featured. He stumbled for words, but he forgot the question, and he was now very aware of his own nakedness. An explosion rocked the right side of his face.

"Eyes down you swine, if I catch you looking at anything but the Mothers feet, I will carve them from their sockets."

Lina asked again, "What is waste?"

Ash really had to go, so he shuffled to the toilet bowl, and relieved himself, "Waste," he said as he pointed to his piss. He thought this would earn him another beating for pissing in front of the Mother chic, but instead, she and the Gargon fellow just stared and cooed. This made him very uncomfortable. When he finished, he pointed to his rear-end and sat down, "You can do both into this same bowl. We use this," he pulled some toilet paper from a roll, "to wipe-up when we're done," Ash stood back up, "When you're all complete, you press this little knob, and the potty monsters take you're poopoo away," he finished as if he spoke to some small children, and again they did not seem to catch his sarcasm.

Gargon reached out, touching the toilet paper, "It is soft, Mother, much better than leaves."

Lina just grunted her understanding. She had a feeling this human toyed with them, but so much has changed and she felt extremely uninformed, "Bring the human to the large inner dwelling, Gargon, I shall be along shortly."

As Ash passed her by, she pressed the glow stone into his palm, "Thank you," he said, and Lina sniffed in reply.

When Gargon and the human moved out of sight, Lina used the cleaning room as the human demonstrated. She walked back to the inner dwelling with a smile upon her face. She learned something pleasantly new today.

Gargon led Ash back to the main conference room at the front of the base. Ash was amused by their reference of it as a, 'large inner dwelling', but confused by who these people were, and how they got here.

The Gargon fellow allowed him to find his suitcase and dress. He chose the warmest attire he could find, and he started feeling much more comfortable, although still sore from the beating he received.

The warmth in his body remained, but as time progressed, he could tell he was getting colder, and noticing the steam coming from his breath, he knew it was freezing inside the base. Whatever the woman had done to him, he was thankful and would not mind having done again.

He studied the little pebble the woman gave him, but he could not tell where the light emanated from. He felt so helpless stumbling around in the dark. He placed the pebble on the conference table, sat back in the chair, and reassessed his situation.

These people just murdered over one third of the nations leadership without breaking a sweat, but he still lived, and would have to play his cards right.

Ash studied this Gargon fellow; he was tall, sleek, with the same colored raven hair as the woman, and he noted how much they resembled each other. He had the same blue eyes, facial features, and the same length of hair, except his tied back from his face with what appeared to be a leather band. He dressed in some type of medieval garb, with chain-link covering his body over what appeared to be a black leather jacket. He also wore black leather pants and moccasins. Ash loved visiting the Renaissance Fair whenever it came to town, and these people reminded him of the folks you would find there.

This Gargon fellow was just as gorgeous as the woman, except in a masculine-way, and definitely powerful looking. Ash knew this is a very dangerous man. Gargon stood between him and the rifles piled at the other end of the table, and the door. He kept his gaze squarely locked onto him. Ash tried to pretend that it had no affect, but the guys stare became more and more annoying.

Another popped his head through the doorway, "Have you seen Mother, Gar?"

This guy was nearly an exact replica, Ash thought.

"She will be here shortly, Brother, you may want to summon Rika. Mother may have need of our Sister."

The duplicate left and shortly after, another female entered. At first, Ash thought it was the Mother, but this woman somehow looked different, "Mother is on her way, you may wish to stay," Gargon gave Ash an evil stare, "for the show," he finished.

So, this is the Sister, Ash thought. And, no less stunning than the mother.

Rika bore a hole through him with her gorgeous eyes, "It shall be a pleasure, Brother," she said, her gaze evil in its intensity.

After a few minutes, the Mother entered and her beauty again struck Ash to his core. "Rika, dear, please summon your Brothers. I want everyone gathered while I speak to the human."

Ash watched as the Rika beauty shut her eyes, seeming to sway from foot to foot. It looked like she was dancing.

"My name is Jefferson," Ash stated, "Jefferson Ash."

Gargon started to charge at him, and he realized that he had looked at the Mother's face when he spoke. Ash curled into a defensive position, but the Mother called off the charge before the man had a chance to hit him.

"You may look upon me, human, for I see our immediate futures linked, but to me, you have no name. Is that understood?"

Ash shrugged his shoulders, "As you wish my lady, but if you do not know what a bathroom is, then it appears you need me more than I need you."

Lina could not deny the creature's statement, but she did not want it to think it had the upper hand, "You are expendable to me, human, do not underestimate my kindness. I can find another to tell me what I wish to know."

As she finished her statement, three more men entered the room. Ash noted the exact likeliness they all shared with one another. If he looked close, he could tell them apart, otherwise, they would seem like duplicates.

Since they seemed to like playing a medieval role, Ash thought to play along, "My Lady," he stated, "you may find another to fill my void, but you will not find any others with the influence I wield for my country."

"You are a lordling, then?" the Mother asked.

"In a sense, My Lady; I am an elected official for the people of my land. They call me a Senator."

Lina was unimpressed, "Who is your King?"

"We do not have Kings, My Lady; my nation is ruled by elected officials who serve the interest of the people they represent," Ash was proud of his statement.

"How many humans make up this council? Lina asked.

Ash noted that everyone took seats except for Gargon. This helped put his nerves at ease, "Hundreds, My Lady," he replied, "You killed nearly one third of the representatives of my nation today," Ash saw the duplicates smiling at one another.

Lina was very pleased with the creature's statement. Humans have a way of giving-up once you eliminate their Lords, "You seem very proud of your standing, human, but a people who are ruled by so many, are not ruled at all. We Elves have tried councils of your sort within our history, and the concept bore fruit in the early stages, but as generations progressed, the honor of the first council diminished and corruption held sway. How many human generations have passed since your rule of council?"

Ash sat up in shock. Did she just say elves, he wondered. Ash was too dumbfounded to think of time in generations, so he answered her in years.

She smiled at his answer, "That is many generations by way of you humans. I would stake my life that corruption runs rampant through your council."

Ash remained silent, still too bewildered to speak.

Lina nodded her head in understanding, "Now tell me, for your life depends upon your answer. Where does your King reside?"

"We do not..." Ash cringed as Gargon stormed in his direction, "Lady, please, we truly do not have a King, we have a President, but he is merely a figurehead. Congress runs the nation."

Lina held up her hand to ward off her male. The human mentioned a different name for the King. Maybe the humans have changed their designation of the leader, "Where does your," she stumbled to repeat the word.

"President," Ash interjected.

"Where does it reside?" Lina repeated, motioning to one of the seated duplicates. He pulled a map from his belt and placed it in front of him.

There were no markings on the animal-skinned map, but it was a good hand drawing of North America. Ash pointed to a location near the east coast, "We call it the White House," he said, still too confused to think clearly.

Lina slapped him across the face, "That is impossible. The human Kings have always resided in the East. Gargon, k..."

"Wait, wait, please let me explain," Ash was truly terrified, "My nation is made up of many people from the East. England, France, Italy, Pakistan, gee there are people from all over the world living here. I tell you the truth, My Lady. I have no reason to lie to you."

"I do not know those names you speak. Why should I believe you?"

Ash whined, "Because I am telling the truth, Lady, I truly am."

Brako interjected, "Mother, there were Ethiopians amongst the humans we eliminated."

Lina looked at her male offspring and nodded her head, "Very well, we will seek this King in the White House the human mentioned. Runko, you will take your force to the East above and around the Waters of Life," she outlined his path on the map and Ash noted it traveled south along the Hudson Bay, east between the Bay and the Great Lakes, then the path swung down the East Coast from the north.

"Gargon, Rika and I will travel your path until you swing east above the Waters. Sanon will reclaim the northern ice lands, Dracon and Brako will retake our lands to the west. Conquer everything in your path. We will join forces with Runko in the east once we reclaim the mid and west lands. I wish to cleanse my territories before the warm season."

Lina motioned to Dracon and the spear, and he slid the human weapon across the table to her, "What is this?" she asked.

"That's an assault rifle, My Lady," Ash responded.

"This weapon killed many of my creations, human, how does it function?"

"I've never shot a rifle, My Lady, all I know is that you pull the trigger and a bullet will shoot out the end."

Lina felt the human spoke the truth, "What is a bullet?"

"What is an Elf?" Ash responded, and speaking the thought aloud startled him.

They all laughed at him; "The humans question is reasonable, Mother, they have probably all forgotten about us," Gargon stated.

Ash watched as the Mother folded her hair behind her ears, "They're pointed!" Ash said in wonderment, "What are you people?"

"We are Elves, not people, you swine," Ash noted the one called Rika, answered. She did not seem to like him very much.

"But that's just a fairy tale. Elves don't exist," Ash said in disbelief.

"That is a long story for another time; now, what is a bullet?"

Ash shook his head, he could see the clip, and he pointed at it, "They're kept in there, and when you pull the trigger," he pointed again, "the bullet shoots out the end," he finished by pointing to the muzzle.

"Mother, we should use the human spears against them. They shoot five times the length of our bows."

Lina looked at her daughter, and noted the shaking of Gargon's head. She agreed with her eldest male, "We would never become as efficient in their use as the humans are, dear. It is a mighty weapon, and could be our undoing." Lina shifted her gaze back to the human, "Show me this bullet."

"I told you, My Lady; I don't know how to use them. I just know they're kept in there," he again pointed to the clip.

Ash grew worried as Gargon drew a sword from his waist. It seemed odd to him because he did not remember seeing the guy, elf, whatever these things are, wearing one. Thinking that Gargon would finally finish him, Ash fell to the floor, curling into a defensive ball. It took him a moment before he realized that the cracking sound he heard was the rifle. Ash slowly lifted his head to peer onto the table.

"Are you crazy?" he remarked, "You could have blown those things up."

Gargon looked at him in dismay, quickly backing away from the table.

"Show me this bullet, human."

The sword blade severed the clip cleanly in half, and made a huge slice into the wood table. Ash looked at Gargon's sword in disbelief; the edge had to be extremely sharp. He saw that the sword split the clip perfectly. A hair either way would have sent lead flying around the room. He grabbed the clip, carefully extracting one bullet, and set it on the table. He pointed at it, "That is a bullet."

"It is so tiny, Mother," one duplicate noted. Ash thought the Runko fellow answered, but they moved around and he lost track of who was who. He could definitely tell Gargon from the rest, and of course, the females, but the other three were too close in looks for him to decipher them apart.

"How does it work, Lordling?" the Mother asked.

Ash picked up the bullet, and Gargon immediately flexed into a defensive position. Ash held up his hand as if to say, it's ok, and placed the bullet in his palm. Ash pointed at the fat end, "Gun powder is packed inside this cap," he then showed them the bottom of the bullet, "This little thing right here, is a charge. The rifle," he pointed at it, "has a little hammer that strikes this little charge, and it makes the gun powder explode."

"They make a banging sound?" Gargon asked.

Ash nodded his head, yes, "When the gun powder explodes and makes the banging sound," he nodded at Gargon, "this top piece shoots out at a very fast speed. If it hits you, it'll hurt."

Ash noticed them all nodding their head in understanding, and he was thrilled he was able to explain it like he did. He really had no idea about guns, but he has learned enough to know the basics.

"You must show me this powder, Lordling," the Mother stated.

Ash, although pleased she stopped calling him a human, but mystified she would think him a Lord, looked at her in confusion, "My Lady, I don't know if I can open it without it exploding. I do not know much about weapons"

"Then you are of no more use to me, Gargon..."

"Wait - wait, I'll try," Ash stammered. He knew the bullet end would come off; he just did not know if it would blow-up in his fingers. He studied it, then grabbed half of the sword split clip. He held the bullet by the base, and used the clip to grab the top by pinning it against the table. He noticed the Elves shuffling out of the way. He slowly wiggled the bullet while he ground the clip into the led at the top, and after a few minutes, he was surprised when it separated. He slowly pulled the bullet off the base with his fingers, and poured the gunpowder onto the table. He was very proud of his accomplishment.

The Mother came over, and sniffed at the gunpowder, "I recognize this material," she stated to her offspring. "I last seen it used by our great ancestors. They use to tell us children stories around a camp fire, and would toss bits upon the fire so it would spark," she walked back toward Rika, "Our greatest ancients use to draw ruins in the dirt before they cast their mightiest spells. It was not until later in our upbringing when we discovered the dust had no bearing on a spells success or failure, and the practice was forgotten." She placed her fingers upon her chin in contemplation, "There is a spell that was used to negate the use of dust. Sorcerers would cast them at each other while they each tried to draw a ruin in the dirt." She looked at Ash, "How many warriors are in your service, Lordling?"

Ash was confused. How could she negate gunpowder? "Um, there are about five hundred thousand in total." They all gasped. He did not mention that over three hundred thousand were out of the country.

The last time the humans drew battle against her, they could only muster thirty thousand warriors, Lina thought. If they kept their use of these weapons, she would have no chance of prevailing. She asked, "How many swordsman, archers, and cavalry?"

Again, Ash was confused, "We no longer use swords or archers, and our vehicles have made horses obsolete," he responded.

Now it was Lina's turn to be confused, as were her offspring. They all just stared at him as if he were a stark raving lunatic, "What is a vehicle?" she asked.

"Four wheels and metal," Ash responded. He did not feel like trying to explain the simplest details to these Neanderthals.

"The horseless wagons, Mother," a duplicate, blurted out.

They are hardly horseless, My Lady," Ash interjected, "Each vehicle has the power of three hundred and fifty horses." They again looked at him as if he were mad.

"I would rather have three hundred horsemen with swords, than one horseless wagon, human. You seem too proud of such an insignificant exchange," Runko stated.

The Senator threw his arms up in defeat.

"So, you do not have any swordsmen?"

Ash shook his head.

"Or archers?"

"Nope!"

"Or cavalry?"

Again, Ash responded in the negative.

"Well, children, this may be easier than I thought," Lina smiled and Ash thought it was the loveliest thing in the world to see, until he realized what it would mean for his country.

"Um, My Lady, without rifles you won't stand a chance. They are one of the deadliest things man has ever created."

"They will be useless trinkets very soon, Lordling." She grabbed Rika by the hand and led her to the gunpowder, "I have a spell that can render the sparkle dust useless, but I will need to draw upon your energy once again. It will likely make us both very weak for a few lights. Gargon, you and Rika will stay with me. Dracon, Runko, Brako, you have your mission so go to it. Once Dracon and Brako neutralize their areas, they will join me by the Waters, then we will reinforce Runko in the East. Do not kill the King, Runko, I wish that pleasure for myself. Without their weapons, the humans will be novices in battle. Enjoy your killings, children."

She turned toward Ash, "Without trained warriors, your human race will soon become extinct."

As her children started filing out of the room, Ash sat down, placing his head in his hands. My God, he thought, this woman is worse than Hitler.

"Gargon, take the human to another dwelling. Rika and I will remain in here to cast the spell."

"Gladly, Mother," Gargon pulled Ash to his feet, roughly shoving him toward the door.

"Oh Lordling," Ash turned in her direction upon hearing her sweet voice, "After I complete this task, you are going to teach me all there is to understand of your human life. I will know everything, or I will leave you to the crows. Do you understand?"

Ash nodded as he exited through the door.

He sat in General Slovich's office with his feet propped-up on the desk trying to get some rest. The Gargon fellow stood in the doorway. How was he going to get out of this mess? Ash thought. Elves! What the heck are Elves? He thought they were supposed to be little, like Santa's helpers, but every male he saw was tall. Ash stood six feet, and so did most of the Elvin males. He had to be dreaming because this nightmare was excessively freaky.

He also worried about giving the direction of the White House away. His thought at the time was to lead them away from D'Manna, but now it appeared the largest force would head straight to where the President vacationed, and with most of the US troops stationed in Iraq, what chance did America have?

The thought was too much to bear, and he was about to close his eyes, when suddenly, the ground began to vibrate. Gargon grabbed a hold of the door jam to steady himself, and Ash clung to the arms of the chair. He looked to Gargon for an answer, but the intimidating brute just smiled at him. Ash had a feeling his greatest nightmares were about to begin.

# Chapter 23 McJeeves

It was McJeeves turn to guide the sleigh while Captain Johnson buried himself under the goose down blankets. He could not believe how cold it became, wondering how many appendages he would lose to frostbite.

They made good time. Only once did they have to backtrack to find a safer route. The dogs seemed to have a sense of the right path to take, and he let them have the lead.

As they meandered through the wilderness, McJeeves tried to take in the sites, but the eternal Alaskan night made it difficult to see very far. What he did make-out, took his breath away. Large peaked snow capped mountains, which seemed to glow in the moonlight, deep chasms the dogs' somehow avoided and frozen streams that were shiny as glass. There were a few instances where McJeeves thought he saw some wildlife, but nothing definitive.

As they came around a bend in the trail, the dogs slowly trotted to a standstill. McJeeves strolled up to the front, and stroked Sprinkles ear. The trail flowed into a deep gorge. It was too deep for McJeeves to make out the bottom. Scanning the area proved they had no other alternative but to backtrack and look for another route.

To their dismay, they had to backtrack a long way to find a safe route around the gorge, and the passage took them back toward the north, which neither of them felt comfortable with; even the dogs seemed jittery. Once they were able to curve their direction back south, they started feeling better.

As they rounded another bend in the path, Sprinkles skidded to a halt and started growling. All the other dogs joined in, and McJeeves became very nervous. He thought a bear blocked the path, causing the dogs to get upset, but the dogs just kept growling viciously. Captain Johnson popped his head out from under the blankets and McJeeves could tell he had his pistol drawn. Although McJeeves wanted to keep his own pistol hidden from the Captain, he figured this might be a good time to have it handy. He pulled it from his inside pocket while maneuvering toward the front.

As the dogs kept growling, McJeeves scanned the wilderness. They stopped on flat land, so he did not fear an attack from above, and every dog faced in the direction they pointed. He thought he saw movement against the snow through the blackness, but he could not be certain. Just as he contemplated the idea that the creatures from the base may have tracked them, a spear imbedded itself in the frame of the sleigh right between Captain Johnson's legs. The Captain scrambled backwards, and so did the dogs.

"They found us, McJeeves!"

"Hush!" he said as loudly as he dared.

When the Captain looked at him, he motioned for him to get behind the sled. McJeeves kept his eyes locked on the dogs; he could tell they watched the creatures, and he used them to be his eyes. One dog, the one that lost its desired spot on the sleigh, snapped its head toward the Captain. The Captain was not aware, but McJeeves trained hard to trust his senses and he swung his pistol toward the first movement he saw in the dark, and fired. The creature screamed as it hit the Captain, and tried to take a bite out of his back. McJeeves put a second bullet in its head before it could. As he turned back toward the dogs, McJeeves felt pain erupt in his shooting arm. The gun fell from his hand and as he looked to the side, one creature readied to impale him on its spear. His only option was to punch, but then a gun exploded, taking the creatures face off. He silently thanked the Captain.

He noticed more movement toward the front of the sleigh and saw another creature charging in his direction, readying to launch its spear. The vision paralyzed McJeeves in that moment of discovery. He did not have his gun, and the creature's spear would have him before he could adjust. He watched as the creature pulled its arm back at a dead run, then saw it stumble forward. It still managed to throw the weapon, but its aim was awkward and McJeeves dodged it easily. The incident dissolved his paralysis and as he bent to retrieve his pistol, he saw the creature flailing at Sprinkles. While the dog and the creature wrestled, the dog must have taken a hard blow because it backed off with a whimper. McJeeves took aim and fired, and another gunshot exploded to his left. He hit the creature in the neck, and continued to fire more rounds as it tried to rise from the ground. The creature finally stopped moving.

McJeeves turned toward the Captain and saw he had shot another that came from the rear, "This was a coordinated attack, Captain," he said. "These creatures are no dummies."

The Captain nodded his understanding, scanning the darkness looking for more. As they did so, the ground began to tremble. It lasted just a few minutes, then subsided.

"What the hell happened?" the Captain asked, but McJeeves just shrugged his shoulders. He instead, concentrated on the dogs, which kept peering into the blackness beyond, "There's more out there, Captain, keep an eye out."

"How can you tell?" he whispered.

"I can't, but the dogs can. They're following them with their eyes. Watch your side, I'll watch mine."

McJeeves seen movement just to the right of the dogs, and he fired, but the gun did not discharge. He ejected the bad bullet and waited for the creature once again.

After what seemed like hours, but in reality took only a few minutes, he heard the Captains' gun crack, but his weapon did not fire either. He heard him eject the bullet, but McJeeves did not dare turn his head to look. All the dogs snapped their sight to the left and McJeeves heard the Captains gun crack several times, but once again, it did not discharge. The Captain tossed the pistol to the ground and charged at a creature that readied to launch its spear. As the Captain neared, the creature pulled back its throw, setting the spear against the charge. McJeeves had room for a couple of quick shots, but his weapon failed to discharge once again. The spear came close to impaling the Captain, but somehow the large man dodged the thrust of the weapon, bowling into the creature like a linebacker.

McJeeves ran to the front of the sleigh and pulled the spear from it. As he approached the two wrestlers, he saw the little creature start to gain the advantage; he waited for an opening while both combatants grunted with exertion. The little creature let out a loud grunt and rolled the Captain onto his back. It scrambled on top, launching multiple punches at the Captains face. McJeeves plunged the spear into the middle of the things exposed back. He was surprised at how easily it penetrated, worrying he might have pushed too hard, impaling the Captain as well. The creature reared back and let out a piercing scream as it frantically clawed at the weapon protruding from its spine. The Captain shoved the creature off with a grunt and scrambled to his feet. They both watched as it wiggled in the snow until it finally died.

"What the hell are these things, McJeeves?"

"I don't know. Watch the dogs, Captain. We don't know how many are still out there."

They both looked at the dogs. All of them were on their feet staring back, and wagging their tails. "I think it's over, Captain. I want to see what the hell these things are."

McJeeves ran to the sleigh, found one of the lighters, and ran back toward the creature he killed with the spear. As he scanned the body with the light of the flame, he and the Captain became speechless.

The creature measured maybe four feet tall, wore a loose fitting leather jerkin, and slacks tanned black. It looked like a young child; very fair, with long dark hair, creamy white skin, and full lips. McJeeves opened its eyes and noticed there was no white.

"Is it an alien?" remarked the captain.

McJeeves did not know what to think, but the little creature looked handsome. Before he finished that thought, he grabbed the crotch to verify the sex.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"It's a male." He brought the light close to its ears, noticing they were very large and pointy, "Whoa! Have we gone back to middle earth?" McJeeves stated.

"I don't know, but I'm totally freaked out, sir."

McJeeves opened the creature's mouth, and nearly dropped the lighter. Its teeth resembled some kind of vampire. As handsome as the creature was, with its teeth showing, it looked evil beyond compare.

"Ouch, that's hot," he let go of the lighter and stuck the end in the snow. It hissed. "Help me drag this thing to the sleigh. We'll bring it with us to show people that we're not stark raving lunatics."

As they neared the sleigh with the body, the creature seemed to evaporate in their hands, then disappeared altogether. They searched the area for the other bodies, but all of them were gone; even their blood splatter in the snow, vanished. The Captain started swiveling his head around as if expecting them to come charging back through the darkness, but McJeeves saw that the dogs were calm.

"They're gone, Captain, lets get the hell out of here, I'm getting way too uncomfortable with this entire situation."

"I'm with you, sir."

They quickly repacked their sleigh and retrieved their handguns.

"I think they froze up, Captain. We'll have to thaw them under the blankets in case we encounter any more of those things," he patted the Captain on the back, "I believe it's your turn to drive."

"Gee thanks," he replied, but McJeeves was too tired to banter back. He crawled onto the sleigh and under the covers, placing the handguns under his body to warm them. If they were going to survive, they would need their guns.

Before he started the dogs running again, Captain Johnson checked each thoroughly, patting their fannies in thanks.

"Check Sprinkles, Captain, I think he took a hard blow from one of those things."

As he checked him out, the Captain could not find any obvious damage; the dog seemed to be okay and ready to run. "He looks fine, let's get out of here."

# Chapter 24 The Neclas

Her skiff just finished traversing the central branch of the Nile on its way to the Middle Sea, when she felt the waves kick-up and the surface start to tremble. She closed her eyes, feeling the tremendous amount of energy that emanated from the West, "The Mother just cast a spell. A very powerful spell."

"How will it affect us, Sister?" asked one of her shipmates.

"The spell was cast upon the Earth, but I do not believe it will affect the waters. She moves quickly to establish control of her former domain."

"Will we be able to stop her, Sister?" asked another.

She looked at the faces of all the Neclas tribe on the ship. All of them, she included, were too young to remember the last great battle of the tribes. In that battle, it was the mighty force of the Neclas tribe from the east, against the Lias tribe of the west. Her elders told the stories many times in an effort to engrain the history into the next generations. Unfortunately, almost all the Neclas tribe made the final journey to their next life, and only left a token force of young volunteers to keep the Wormwood link with the Lias in tact. She was the only sorceress who volunteered for the task, that because LinaLias destroyed most of the Elder and more powerful sorcerers in the final confrontation. The handful of young who developed the magical skill, were not willing to ply their diminished gift against the Elf who destroyed thousands of the most powerful that the Neclas tribe could muster. After centuries of council and deliberation, the Neclas tribe Elders declared an end to their Elvin presence upon the Earth, and in whole, decided to make their final journey. They bequeathed the Earth to the humans, to grow and prosper under the First Kings wisdom.

She remembered the stories told of the First Human King, Morcollias of Agylla. He became a powerful ruler of the human clans that occupied Tyarheni, Ombrici, and Eneti, and became a close friend with the Father of the Neclas.

At that period of the Earths time, Elves were the dominant race, followed by the Gnomes, Kobolds, Halflings, and Dwarves. Morcollias of Agylla was the first human to unite their race into some semblance of civilized culture. He created councils and localized leaderships, path systems for easier transport of farm produce, and organized a human warrior force that soon stabilized the area from the ever-increasing Kobold intrusions. He formed alliances with the Dwarven clans that occupied the Alpis Peaks, and the Neclas tribe of Elves that dominated Thrace, Lydia, and most of the lands below the Middle Sea.

When word reached the Neclas that, the Mother of the West was putting the Bear Clan to the sword, the Father decided to intervene. LinaLias was eliminating many races; The Bear Clan was very close to the Earth and had built relations with the Father. They were a slow producing race, which nurtured the Earth in ways that no other race could. They helped keep a natural balance upon the Earth force and if LinaLias succeeded in their elimination, the power from which the Neclas Sorcerers drew upon would be lost. If this occurred, LinaLias would effectively eliminate all magic use, except for hers. She was the first Elvin sorceress that did not draw upon the external forces of the Earth's power. She drew her force directly from the Earth crust. If she eliminated the Bears, she would be able to reign over the entire Earth.

Since the Faerie race drew their energy from the upper earth, Dragons, Pixies, Dryads, Trolls, Goblins, Dwarves, and a slew of other races, all would instantaneously be eliminated if the Bear Clan ceased to exist. The Father pieced together a mighty force to cross the Great Waters and confront the Mother before she succeeded. Morcollias of Agylla volunteered his five thousand Human warriors to help the alliance he had so carefully cultivated.

Once the Neclas and Human force reached the West, Morcollias was instrumental in establishing an alliance with the human Horse Lords.

The Horse Lords distrusted any Elf after years of torment and slavery from the Lias tribe. Morcollias gained their friendship, helping to unite a force of over twenty thousand horsemen. It was the first human Calvary ever, and the stories told said the Horse Lords were even superior to the Elvin Calvary. Many who saw it first hand claimed that the human Horse Lords could strike a hornet from the back of a horse, at full gallop. The young Neclas warriors laughed when the ancients told these stories, but the Elders who witnessed the feat, never wavered on their assessment of these great warriors. They held the Horse Lords in high regard, telling of how Morcollias earned their trust, friendship, and allegiance.

During the battles, when LinaLias gained the upper hand and was just on the verge of eliminating the last Neclas sorcerers, it was Morcollias with his Human warriors that intervened, allowing the Father to complete his trap. The First King drove his human force against the mightiest warriors that LinaLias had surrounding her stronghold, carving a path directly to her throne. The Mother had to divert some of her power to help her warriors, and this allowed the Father an opening that he so desperately needed. If Morcollias had not attempted his gallant ride, LinaLias would have prevailed and controlled the earth, and with the Faerie race eliminated, the Mother would slaughter the Neclas to the last.

Avera's tribe owed the humans a great debt. Unfortunately, many of the tribe decided not to pay it back with blood. Morcollias of Agylla was the first to unite the human tribes from the East and West, forming a human alliance, which, although unknown at the time, would forge a new age of human domination upon the Earth. She hoped it would be enough.

Breaking from her deep thoughts, Avera engaged all the young Elvin warriors; "I hope the humans have remained true to the First Kings valor. Many lives depend upon it, but they are human lives, not Elves. We are to help the humans as much as we possibly can. My strength cannot match the Mothers; my skill is vision of the immediate, and I will gladly use it to help the King guide his forces. However, my strength only allows for use of this ability only but once per moon. The other time will be the humans to decide. We will train them in warfare, teaching them how to evade Dimondon weapons. We will teach them the tactics of Elvin warfare so they may anticipate and counter the Lias tricks, but if the humans fail, we will make our journey to the next life, and leave the remnants to their fate. They must be able to save themselves."

# Chapter 25 D'Manna

They scrambled in all directions when the Earth rumbling started. D'Manna jumped to his feet, immediately falling on top of Lisa Rutz. He had forgotten about their sleeping arrangement. His agents scrambled to alert positions and the other media folks grabbed pen and paper. They all kept glancing at the reporter and the President as the two awkwardly disengaged from their predicament. Many agents sighed in relief when Lisa emerged from inside the Presidents jacket fully clothed. Having a scandal of that magnitude performed in the middle of a bunch of reporters, would have been a monumental feat to cover-up.

Jack wandered over to one reporter who busily scribbled some notes. As he peeked over the reporters shoulder, he saw a very artistic picture of Lisa Rutz with the President. Jack casually approached and before the reporter could react, Jack tore the drawing from his pad, tossing it into the fire.

"Don't go starting anything that doesn't need to be started," Jack said, "and if I see you draw it again, I'll shoot you."

"How dar..." the reporter never finished his comment as Jack slapped him hard across the face.

D'Manna was busy getting himself organized and did not notice the situation between the reporter and Jack, until he heard the slap, "What'd he do, Jack?"

"Ask him," Jack replied, pointing his thumb at the still stunned reporter.

After a few moments of awkward silence, "Well?" D'Manna asked.

The reporter shuffled around a bit, then stated what he had drawn. D'Manna glanced at Lisa; she turned a dark crimson from embarrassment. The tension at that moment was thick, and D'Manna thought it was a harmless thing, although very inappropriate. Nobody spoke, and he thought there were more important things going on than a crude picture by a reporter looking for some sensationalism, "Did you make me look like I liked it?" he asked the reporter.

The laughter from the group was enough to melt the tension, and now it was the reporter's turn to blush. D'Manna scanned his little group, "Does anybody have any ideas about what just happened?"

"I was awake when it started, but I have no clue, Mr. President," Jack stated, "I've been in earthquakes before, and this was nothing like it. It felt like the ground trembled just as if it had a chill up its spine."

"Yeah, like we've been doing the last ungodly number of hours," piped in another reporter.

D'Manna thought about it for a second, realizing there was nothing any of them could do about it, "Let's pack-up and get out of here. I want to make it back to the hotel before lunch."

Everyone did as instructed, and they soon trudged back toward the hotel through at least two feet of snow, and extremely cold air.

Numerous times during their trek, Lisa looked over at the President, wishing she could get back inside that jacket. She was freezing cold all over again, and her memory of the jackets warmth was a torment.

Nobody spoke as they walked, and since no clocks or watches worked, nobody knew the exact time or even how long they had been going. There were very few people on the street as most decided to stay indoors to keep as warm as they could. D'Manna felt his nose freezing every time he breathed in deeply, and he knew it was well below freezing.

At one alleyway they crossed, groups of people huddled around flaming garbage cans. D'Manna could see the top of his hotel down the road, but it was still a good ways off, "Let's get warm, then we'll finish our little stroll, folks."

Everyone looked at him in relief, wondering if the cold addled his brain. Lisa gave him a look of sheer thankfulness. He could tell she was once again beyond cold.

Jack and a few other agents started to make a beeline into the alley to secure it for the Presidents entrance, "Hey guys," D'Manna said, "lets just stroll in and act like normal people. They don't need to know who we are."

He could tell Jack did not like it, but his agents complied. D'Manna led the way, physically forcing Jack to stay behind him. As he approached the group, he asked, "Do you mind if we share your fire for a bit?"

"Not at all, come on in."

D'Manna recognized their appearance, and this group, although homeless, was not the typical crazy streetwalkers.

"Where y'all from?" asked one of the homeless.

"We helped with the plane wreck through the night, and are heading back to the hotel," D'Manna said, "Why aren't you guy's underground?"

The homeless man doing the talking gave him a double take when he asked that question. D'Manna threw it out on purpose to let these folks know that he knew the city and was not an easy mark. It was his subtle way of warning them to behave.

When the man recovered, he said, "There's too many people down there when the weather gets like this, this is our fall back."

D'Manna nodded his head in understanding.

"Anybody got a cigarette?" asked another of the homeless.

One agent pulled out a pack, and D'Manna just shook his head. Sure enough, once he gave the man one, all of them wanted one, and the agent soon found himself with less than a full pack, having to keep an eye on his lighter as it passed from one person to the next.

"Do I know you?" asked the outspoken one.

"Yeah, you on the TV," said another.

D'Manna just smiled.

"Do you knows what's going on, TV man?" asked another.

D'Manna knew these guys had their ear to the ground in many ways, "I know about as much as you guy's. Do you know if they're still working on the power?" he asked.

"Yeah, Derrick told me they was still up at the ComEd place this morn. But, I ain't seen any lights yet. Them boys need to work faster, it's damn cold out here."

"Sure is," replied another.

After some general discussion, D'Manna and his group set off toward the hotel. Before he left, he passed out some money to the homeless for their hospitality, and so they could buy some food to help wait out the weather. Lisa was the only person not ready to leave, but if she sat any closer to the fire, she would have a permanent tan.

The hotel was farther than it looked, and once they neared the building, they all felt like frozen icicles. As dusk closed in, they marveled at how long it took to travel the distance on foot. If the cars worked, they would have been back in a matter of minutes.

The ragtag group staggered through the front doors, extremely thankful the hotel had the lobby fireplace roaring. It seemed like most of the guests were in the lobby. The people glanced in his direction as the little troupe entered, and gave dirty looks once the cold air poured in from the open door. The way his group looked, all torn-up, dirty, bloody, and disheveled, D'Manna wondered if the people in the room thought they were homeless beggars looking for handouts.

The heat from the fire made the lobby comfortable. Lisa Rutz quickly found a place near the fire, and curled into a ball for sleep. People in her immediate area backed away to give the dirty girl space. Other reporters found locations to their liking, and quickly followed suit. D'Manna noticed hotel security starting to head in their direction, probably to get rid of the beggars, he thought, and once they recognized him, they started waving signals to one another. One guard approached him as he started to weave through the crowd, helping clear a path. At the front desk, D'Manna found Big Ralph huddled with some of the other workers, and handed him his jacket back.

"What the hell, um, 'scuse me sir, but what the..."

Before he could finish D'Manna promised to buy him any jacket he desired, and once again thanked Ralph for his kind sacrifice. "It saved not only my life, Ralphie, but that young lady," he pointed to Lisa, "would have died if not for your jacket. You're a hero, young man."

Ralph perked up at the compliment, but still looked disappointed at how torn-up his jacket was.

"Look at it this way Ralph, once the power comes back on, I'll sign your jacket and you can sell it on EBay. You'll make a killing."

"Yeah, Mr. President, yeah now your thinking, all right it's a deal," and they shook hands. D'Manna slapped him on the back in a good gesture, then went to find his wife.

He started weaving a path toward the elevator before realizing the power was still out. He looked at the doorway that led to the stairs, remembering his room was on the thirty-fourth floor. He rubbed his face in consternation, and as he was about to start the long climb, the concierge called to him.

"Mr. President," he called in a not so quiet voice, and many in the general vicinity started whispering and pointing. His agents quickly surrounded him in case some of the folks decided to approach.

The concierge finally made it over to him, "I apologize, Mr. President," he said as he looked over the guests in the immediate area, "We moved your room to the fifth floor lounge. It's the only other room in the hotel with a fireplace, and much easier access," he smiled. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you the way."

"Lead on." D'Manna replied.

The climb up the steps was not very difficult if a person had not just spent all day walking through snowdrifts and freezing temperatures. The sporadically placed candles provided an eerie light as they ascended, and once D'Manna made it to the room, he was ready for a nice long nap. The agents that remained behind had the area well secured, patrolling the halls at regular intervals. It was much colder up here, their frosty breath clearly shown through the candlelight. Jack slapped something into the concierge's hand, staying behind as D'Manna entered the room.

Candles lined the bar directly to his left as he entered. There were agents lounging in the couches that formed a little alcove to the right, and a small fire burned in a fireplace that separated the alcove from another just like it on the other side.

Each greeted him as he entered, "The first lady has been set-up in the back by the other fireplace, sir," one stated.

"Thanks, guys," he responded exhaustedly.

D'Manna felt the warmth of the lounge area and looked forward to passing out. The room formed an 'L' wrapping around the bar to the left. There were candles along the length of the bar and on the tables within the alcoves. As he made the turn toward the back of the lounge, he noted the room dividers that separated this area from the alcoves that the agents occupied.

Laura stood in the makeshift doorway holding a candle, "I thought I heard you," she said smiling.

He approached and gave her a tremendous hug.

"I worried about you, Mr. President."

"I worried about me too," he said, drawing a giggle out of her.

"You look like hell, what happened?"

"Lots of people dead, babe, I really don't want to talk about it."

He moved into the room area noticing how nicely they decorated it. Laura had candles lit everywhere and a fire blazing. She could always make great fires, he thought. They placed a bed and dresser across from the fireplace, with a desk, table, and comfortable looking lounge chairs. This section of the lounge was much warmer than the entrance area, thanks to Laura, and he knew he would sleep well tonight.

"You want a drink?" Laura asked.

"Oh, hell yeah! Bring me two."

She smiled a serious smile, then walked out toward the bar area.

D'Manna peeled his clothes from his body. Soil, mud, and blood caked his torn clothes. Sometime during the past day and a half, he lost his tie. He smelled like a zoo, relieved to get out of the smelly clothes. He found a comfortable jogging suit in one drawer and decided to wash-up before putting on clean clothes.

Laura entered the make shift room with his drink. "I'm gonna wash up, babe, where's the bathroom?"

"It's just outside the room along the back wall. The plumbing doesn't work, but there's buckets with water you can use. If you use the potty, you have to pour water from the bucket when you're done, and it'll flush."

"Wonderful," he replied sarcastically.

"Tell me about it. You know I need my shower in the morning. This sucks!"

"Where'd they get the water?" he asked.

"They're melting the snow for everybody."

"At least they're thinking. I'll be right back," he gave her a kiss.

"Pew, hurry back stinky," she said.

He felt much better now that he was clean and in comfortable clothing. He sat at the table with Laura, filling her in on the experience he had. She relayed what life has been like in the hotel, and how the snobby guests were giving the staff a hard time about the power and plumbing. He finished off his warm drink and was about to go fill another, when Jack knocked at the makeshift door, "Jack! Come in," D'Manna stood up and motioned for the agent to enter, "You want a drink?" he asked.

"Yes sir, please."

"Everything is warm, but what's your pleasure."

"A beer would do me fine, sir."

"The other agents hung some out the window, Brock, they'll show you where," Laura commented.

"I'll be right back."

Jack smiled, "Ma'am" he said in greeting.

"Hi, Jack. You need to go get cleaned up."

"After I'm done here, I'll do that. Then I hope to sleep for the next week," he replied. "It's been a horrible time lately."

"That's what I hear."

Her husband came back into the room with Jacks beer and another drink for himself. There was an icicle sticking out of his glass that he must have gotten from the windowsill. Laura noted his triumphant childlike look, and smiled. The drinks loosened him up, and after she saw how disheveled he was when he first arrived, she was happy again.

She was scared witless for him while he was gone, worrying she would never see him again. She also worried about her parents. Her Mother did not have a fireplace, and in this weather, that could be devastating. When she and Brock moved to the Capital, they gave their house to his parents, and Brock always made sure they had enough firewood for the winter. She hoped they restored the power quickly.

"So, Jack, what's the word?" her husband asked.

"The power company is still trying to restore the electricity, but obviously they're not having much luck," he took a long drink from the beer bottle. "One of our guys tried fiddling with the car, but says he can't find anything wrong. He tried other cars and came to the same conclusion. It seems they just stopped working. There isn't even any battery power. This is the weirdest thing I ever seen, Mr. President," another long swig from the half-full bottle. "Also, the building engineers can't find anything wrong with the circuitry, and the backup generators didn't kick in. They're trying to get the plumbing flowing again, and may have to trace the issue to the pump stations, which are a few blocks away. If the pumps are out like everything else, they think they can bypass them, getting straight lake water flowing. This will cause all kinds of other potential issues because it'll be untreated water," jack nearly finished off the rest of his beer. "I think the best we can do is wait to see if ComEd can get power flowing again."

"I agree, let's wait this thing out, and let the professionals work. I'm going to hit the sack; you need to do the same. Let's take a fresh look at this in the morning."

They clinked glasses and Jack left. D'Manna downed the rest of his drink, strolled to the bed, and flung himself down face first. Laura came over and rubbed his shoulders, "Good night, baby," he mumbled.

She kissed his back, "Good night," she said, and he soon fell into a deep slumber.

Laura rubbed his back well after he had already fallen asleep. She was so thankful he survived, and would not know what to do if he were truly gone forever. She felt very alone these past long hours; alone and scared. She laid her body up against his, soon falling asleep to the sound of his deep breathing.

# Chapter 26 Nick & Brad

After sprinting the entire distance back to his position, Nick breathed billows. The unnatural sound of the quiet battlefield baffled his senses, and worried his soul. He found Timmy still standing guard at his assigned post, "Where's Brad, Tim?" he huffed.

"He went to find the Commander," Timmy responded, "One of the Marines came back here looking for some fresh rifles. He said all theirs stopped working."

"There's thousands of Marines up on the front, Tim, what do you mean?"

"That's what he said, Nick, and the way all the gunfire automatically just stopped, I don't doubt what he said at all. This is really worrying me."

"Did you give 'em fresh guns?"

"No. Ours aren't firing either."

"Wha..." Nick picked up his rifle from where he left it, released the safety, and fired a shot into one of the sand bags piled-up as a barrier. The hammer clicked, but otherwise nothing else happened, "What the hell is going on, Tim, this is fucked-up."

"I hoped you could tell me," Timmy looked at him smiling, but it was a haunted smile, full of dread and fear.

"Stay here, bud, I'm gonna find the Commander. And Tim?" Timmy looked back at him again, "Drop the rifle and pull your knife. If this thing gets dirty, we'll have to carve our way out of here." Timmy nodded.

Nick ran off in search of the Commander and his brother. He asked the Special Force troops he passed about their whereabouts, they all kept pointing northward. Nick picked his way through the sand bags and soldiers, and acknowledged many shouts of greetings as he progressed; he shook his head when they asked if he knew what was happening, telling them to keep their knives at the ready. As he approached hangar ten, he heard a dim roar coming from the encamped Iraqi direction. It kept rising in intensity each time, like a heartbeat, they would roar, then quiet, then start again. Unnerved as he entered the hangar, he found the Commander inside going over maps of the area. A lantern burned on the table, and Brad, along with a few others, sat around him.

As Nick approached, the Commander looked up, "It's about time, D'Manna, where the hell have you been?"

"Getting these," he tapped his waist, tossing Brad's weapons to him.

"Didn't your momma tell you not to bring a knife to a gun battle?" one soldier commented.

Nick gave him a look that could melt ice, "If you haven't noticed, our guns aren't working."

"That's enough!" said the Commander.

The roar rose and fell once again, "What're they doing, Commander?" Nick asked.

"They're getting ready to attack," he responded.

"With what, their hands?" said the idiot that questioned Nick.

The Commander just gave him a look, shaking his head in frustration, "Listen up; we are here," he pointed to the hangars lining the east side of Methenna Airport. "There's a very large contingent of insurgence occupying Salam City all the way south toward the old Presidential Palace," he outlined the route on the map. "This is the only side of the base that's not bordered by the river, and although the largest concentrations of insurgence are in those areas, I expect a big push to come in from ours. We need to hold this line while our other forces hold the river crossings. If we break, this entire compound will collapse."

"Are the other units coming to reinforce us?" Nick asked.

"Negative. There're more Iraqis at their point of attack than at ours," the Commander stopped to listen to the rise and fall of another roar. It sounded like a huge crowd at a football game, "We have sixty thousand Marines opposite Salam city, and another forty thousand Army recruits along the line toward the Palace. With our thirty thousand Special Forces, we have over a third of our total strength on this side of the base. We will not get help from the others," he encompassed them all in his gaze. "We have to hold this line."

Nick stroked his fingers through his hair, "How many insurgents occupy Salam City, Commander?" he asked.

The Commander stared at Nick before answering; another roar rose and fell from the Iraqi lines. The Commander then looked at every other face lining the table, "Six hundred thousand at last count," he drew a line from the southern edge of the ancient Salam City, to the Presidential Palace, "There are another four hundred thousand estimated to be lining this area," the Commander paused for a response.

Nick did not disappoint him, "One million against one hundred thirty thousand," Nick said, "I Guess we finally got a fair fight."

Commander McKartel smiled, which was a rarity coming from this man who always seemed to have a stone face, then he motioned them closer, "The D'Manna Brothers will reinforce the Marines with twenty thousand Special Forces at Salam City," he looked Nick in the eyes, "It's your command."

Nick nodded his understanding.

"Brad, you're second. The rest of you will come with me. We'll reinforce the Army along Jinub Street," the Commander again encompassed them all in his stare, and to the amazement of them all, he shook their hands, "Gentlemen," he continued, "We cannot lose this line. Understood?"

"YES SIR!" they shouted in response.

"Go take up your positions."

As they started filing out the hangar door, the Commander grabbed Nick by the arm. He waited until everyone had left, "If things go south for you, rally the troops to Jordan Street. We'll figure out our breakthrough plan there. Understood?"

Nick nodded in the affirmative.

"Good," the Commander stated, slapping Nick on the back, "I have complete faith in you, Nick, I'm proud of you, soldier."

"Thank you, sir," Nick responded.

As Nick approached his unit position with Brad at his side, he contemplated his command. The Iraqis severely outnumbered them, but he knew his Special Forces were the best hand-to-hand fighters in the American armed forces. The Marines were tough, and Nick knew they would make an accounting of themselves, but his forces had to take out fifty Iraqi lives to every one of his men in order to turn the tide.

He turned toward Brad as they approached the center position, "This is gonna be a blood bath, Bro."

"Yup," Brad replied.

"It's gonna be a good old fashioned street brawl," he continued, "and if we get sucked into it, we're going to lose badly."

"Yup," Brad replied again.

"Is that all you have to say?"

Brad smiled and said it again; Nick backhanded him in the arm, "This is serious, Brad."

Rubbing his arm, "I know, I'm just thinking and you keep interrupting me with the obvious," another roar from the Iraqi lines interrupted their conversation.

"It seems louder out here," Nick said.

"They're trying to intimidate us," Brad orally surmised, "Hey Nick; I'm thinking we need to approach this like a medieval battle."

"Keep talking, little Brother."

"Well, it appears to me that the Iraqi's are going to make an all out rush at the Marines, trying to break through the lines. If they can get into our base, they can take our other positions from behind."

"And if that happens, it's over," Nick interjected, "but how do we stop'em?"

Brad scratched his head, "We need to flank them," he stated, "I'll take ten thousand and come in from the north, you take the other ten and hit them from the south. I want them consumed with their headlong rush at the Marines so that they won't see us coming at their sides until it's too late. It'll work, but we need the Marines to hold the center long enough for us to tear into their flanks."

Nick nodded. The plan had merit and considering their current circumstances, there wasn't much else they could do, "I'll go talk with the Marine command. You form-up the men and pass the word. We don't have much time."

"All right, go. I'll have them ready."

Nick took off as soon as Brad gave him the okay. History was Brad's passion, especially historic warfare, and Nick was confident his Brother would have the Forces ready by time he returned.

The Marines were set-up roughly one mile west of the Special Forces position, so it did not take Nick long to locate the Command Center. A one star General led this Marine unit, and both he and his Brother served under him in the first few weeks of their joining the military. After this General observed the Brothers hand-to-hand ability, he commandeered their path into the Special Forces.

Nick found the General in a small building going over tactics with his command. He saluted as he entered.

The General returned his acknowledgement, "D'Manna, it's good to see you again."

"Same here, sir."

"What can I do for you?"

"Sir, we think we have a strategy to take the Iraqi's by surprise, but we'll need the aid of your Marines to do it."

"Where's Commander McKartel?" asked another in the room. Nick did not know this officer.

"He's left me in command of your backup, sir; he's leading the backup of the Army to the South."

"He leaves a child in command of our back-up. Great! Shall we just lay-down our weapons and surrender now?" said the officer.

"That's enough, Williams," the General turned back toward Nick once he was certain his officer was through with his comments, "What's your plan, Nicholas?"

"Sir, we think the Iraqi's are going to make an all-out charge at your position. If you can hold the middle line, we'll flank them and take them by surprise."

The officer could not contain himself, "You're supposed to be our backup, not part of the offense. What part of that position do you not understand?"

It took great effort for Nick to hold his tongue. He had complete respect from his Special Forces men, but they did not keep rank in the Forces and technically, this officer outranked him within the service hierarchy.

The General interceded, "Williams, please excuse yourself from the post." The officer looked at his General in shock, but then saluted and exited the building.

"I apologize, Nicholas, this is a stressful situation we find ourselves in. Have a seat and tell me what you're thinking."

"Thank you, sir." Nick explained the tactic in more depth, outlining his thought process on the General's map. The General listened closely and nodded his head often. When Nick finished, the General took a few moments of thought, then agreed to the plan.

"Let's map this out, Nicholas. I'm thinking about stacking my Marines ten deep and six thousand long," the General drew a line on his map showing his troop position, "If they try to go around us, I'll have my back lines adjust to cutoff the maneuver. We'll force them to come right at us, but we won't be able to hold it forever. You'll have to hit them hard, here, and here," he indicated the points on the map.

Nick nodded his agreement, "If you could have your Marines make a lot of noise, it'll help cover our approach, sir."

"I planned to do that anyway. I'm getting tired of hearing these bastards."

Nick smiled, "Me too, sir."

"Then let's give them a battle of the ages. Hold up your end and we'll have a grand story to tell," the General extended his hand; Nick did the same.

When Nick arrived back at the Special Forces position, Brad already had the men in formation. As he approached, he whistled at the sight. Brad had them formed into two squares, one thousand deep and long. It was a remarkable sight.

Brad approached, "That group is yours," he pointed to the northern most square. "Are the Marines with us?"

"Yup!" Nick responded.

Brad laughed, extending his hand to his Brother. Nick grabbed it, pulling him into a hug, "Let's go kick some ass, Brad."

"I'll meet you in the middle, Nick."

"That's a deal, Bro. I'll see you there."

Each brother started their march to their destinations in close-order drill. Close-order drill is the precise marching and movement of a unit in formation. To some, drill might seem like mere ceremonial flourish, a parade-day distraction from the real stuff of war fighting. It is no distraction. Drill teaches discipline, teamwork, attention to detail, and something else vital in this environment: total obedience to orders. The Special Forces were masters of this precise marching formation, and their progress toward their destination was astonishing. In some cases, troops marching in this formation would chant or grunt, but this mission required silence, and each soldier stepped as if the dead themselves would awake at the slightest noise.

When they were halfway to their desired location, the Marines started a chant that helped cover what little noise the Forces made. It was a tremendous sound, and members of the Force grew a little bolder as they progressed. Although their rifles and pistols were currently not much use, each carried their weapon to use as clubs, and most tied daggers to the end of their rifles in an effort to make them more lethal. When they were almost into position, the Iraqi force gave a roar that immediately drowned out the Marines. It reminded them all of the size of the army they faced, and it hardened their nerves to the core. This would be a bloody day. Each soldier knew it, and each reveled within it. Although they were scared, nervous, unsure, and concerned for their futures, the planet has never seen a better fighting force. They were ready for the moment.

The roar from the Iraqi's did not stop this time, it grew to a height unheard of to this point, and it echoed from all directions as all the Iraqi's surrounding the American base joined in. At the height of their fervor, they charged. It was a view taken from some of the epic medieval war stories, men charging on foot to battle others in hand-to-hand combat, to the death. The clash of the front ranks rocked the earth. The grunts and screams of soldiers filled the air, reverberating for miles. A new age battle has just joined, and it was reminiscent of the battles of old.

Standing on the roofs of buildings at opposite sides of the surging mass, both brothers watched the scene unfold before them, and both winced when the front lines met. The battlefront turned into one gigantic melee as the larger Iraqi force slowly pushed its way into the Marine ranks. To the Marines credit, their line bent, but it did not break. As more and more Iraqi's flowed into the Marine line, they started to bow in the middle.

As the Marine commanders readjusted their outer edges to reinforce the middle, Nick and Brad had their queue to charge into the flanks. The Iraqi's were so intent on breaking through the center; they did not see the flanking attack coming from the American Special Forces. Both the north and south units hit in almost the same location, but at opposite sides of the Iraqi line. They could not see or communicate with one another, but if they did, they would have known how precise their convergence was.

Once they tore into the flanks of the Iraq force, total mayhem engulfed them. Nick used his daggers in such an efficient manner, that soon the Iraqi soldiers in his immediate path avoided any interaction with him, choosing easier prey. Brad experienced the same avoidance on the other side of the field, and for both Brothers, the pickings were easy from there on out.

Punch, stab, slash, kick, flip; on and on the maneuvers continued as they charged through the Iraqi mass. The other men of the Force easily held their own against the lesser skilled Iraqis, and the loss of Special Forces life was minimal.

The two units of the U.S. Special Forces met in the middle just as they planned, staring at one another in awe and disgust. Blood and gore soaked every soldier, and none could tell how much of it was their own. They effectively split the Iraqi force in half. With the western Iraqi half fighting to join their comrades who were now on the opposite side of the Americans, the Special Forces found themselves fighting on two fronts. The Brothers met-up on the battlefield for a brief respite, shook hands, and gave each other pats on the back.

"You look like hell," Brad commented to his brother.

"So do you, Bro. Take your force and help the Marines. I'll take the western front."

"You got it. Take care of yourself, Nick."

Nick slapped Brad in the arm, "You to. Let's get this over with."

Nick and his unit turned their attention solely on the western force, relying on Brad and their other comrades to protect their rear. Nick felt like he was swimming in blood, and keeping his footing became more and more of a challenge. Men were screaming and dying all over the battlefield, and soldiers killed the ones on the ground as quickly as they could before the standing ones came at them. If they did not, the half-dead men on the ground would take swings at their exposed hamstrings.

The soldiers learned many lessons as they fought for survival. The ones that learned the quickest, survived to continue their assault, for the others, an unglamorous end of their life and eternal darkness, unless their God was kind.

The Iraqi's on the western half soon realized they were out skilled, and many started to break rank. This made them easy targets for another American unit that drove into them from the south. Once this new unit joined the fray, the rout was on in full force.

"D'Manna?" asked one blood soaked soldier as he approached him on the field.

Nick tried to identify him, but things were such a blur, and all the blood just made everything unrecognizable.

As the soldier drew closer, Nick noticed the familiar walk, "Commander?" Both men smiled, shaking blood soaked hands, "What're you doing here?" Nick asked.

"The Iraqi force along the southern edge was surprisingly light," the Commander stated. "We routed what remained, then we got hit from behind by another large mass. They drove us north so I figured we'd just meet-up here. It appears that some of the river crossings have fallen. The Army is fighting a tactical retreat toward us at this very moment," the Commander looked over the field, "Where's the rest of the Force?"

"Brad's leading them against what's left of this Iraqi force. He and the Marines are squeezing them from both sides."

"I'll take over here. Go find your Brother and have that unit fall back to this location. We need to regroup and face off against what's coming," the Commander pushed him along, and then started reforming the Special Forces units.

Nick ran as quickly as the blood soaked, debris, and body littered ground would allow. When he caught-up to Brad's unit, he saw them fighting a tactical retreat. He asked soldiers where his Brother was, and after many frantic and fearful moments, Nick located him within the madness.

Brad was fighting desperately, and many Iraqis had him surrounded. Nick sprinted to his Brother's aide, and as he did so, he peered around for other Special Forces that could join. Many had their own life and death struggle to contend with, and unfortunately, would not be able to help.

Nick flew into his Brother's melee with abandon. As he ran up to enter the fight, he launched three of his Chinese stars, each flying unerringly into the necks of the men surrounding his Brother. This gave him an opening, hurdling over the fallen bodies to get himself by his Brother's side. When Brad turned at his approach, Nick saw the murderous concentration on his face. Brad fought for his continued survival, swinging at anything that came too close. Nick thought he made a mistake and readied to defend himself against his own Brother, but luckily, Brad recognized him at the last second, and returned his attention to the others threatening his existence.

Both Brothers said nothing, fighting back-to-back in perfect unison. Their expertly crafted, blood soaked fist daggers, reeked havoc on the remaining combatants, and they quickly gained the upper hand. Shortly there after, no other Iraqis challenged them.

Brad draped a bloodied gut soaked arm over Nick's shoulder, "Thanks, Nick. I was getting tired. I thought they had me."

"I got your back," Nick grabbed Brad's neck in affection. "We need to fall back. Some of the river crossings fell, and Iraqi forces are flooding behind our lines."

"Yeah, I know. We were crushing this unit between us, but then another force hit the Marines from behind, and all hell broke loose from there. They lost a lot of guys, Nick."

"It's not over yet, bud, the Commander took over my unit. We need to reinforce them as quickly as we can. Another large force is coming up from the south."

Brad nodded in understanding, "I'll turn the left, you get this side."

Nick nodded, watching as Brad ran off to reorganize the scattered Forces, then bent to a knee to search the bodies for his stars. He found two of them relatively quick, and was amazed at how deep they penetrated the base of the skull. He never used them in this manner before, and never thought the act of retrieving them would be so gruesome.

Each star was imbedded two thirds of the way, and as he yanked them out, the gore and gook that flowed out of the opening was sickening. This must have been the last straw for his body to handle; the smell of blood, fear, and body waste, which permeated the air, was thick in his nostrils, and when he removed the stars, he threw-up. The convulsions racked his body for many minutes, and he feared he would make an easy target. Fortunately, the fighting that still raged around him did not come in his direction, and he was able to recompose himself, locate his last remaining star, then re-join the fray.

The effort involved in turning a large force engaged in hand-to-hand combat was cumbersome, especially at night with only the moon and occasional fire pits to light the way. Fortunately, it was a full moon with a clear sky, and most could see effectively to function. As the command passed to fall back, the Special Forces slowly began to withdraw toward their original entry point. The Iraqi's were happy to let them go, preferring the easier pickings of the other American units.

Nick and Brad took the lead, meeting-up toward the middle of the mass of soldiers. Once again, they arrayed themselves in close-order drill and the Force numbered nearly the same strength as when the melee began. This time they did not travel quietly, and somebody started a chant that was quickly picked-up by all the soldiers. The Brothers joined in, and as they progressed, the sounds of the Forces approach turned every head, causing every foe to flee from their path. Other American units in the vicinity merged into the Forces rank, and their numbers swelled as they neared their destination. Brad was amazed at how far he pushed into the Iraqi lines. He thought he only gained a few yards of ground at the most, but the trip back to his original starting point took much longer than he thought it should.

As they approached, they encountered a large force of Iraqi's swarming over remnants of Army and Special Forces, who fought desperately to hold the area. The Brothers glanced at each other, then gave a shout of outrage, charging at the large mass threatening their countrymen. They were not disappointed when the Forces behind them entered the battle cry, and charged with them into the madness.

Soldiers were tired and sore, and cut in so many places, but they did not waver, and fought with total abandon. Life or death swayed in the balance as men were in total control of their own destiny. They helped one another when opportunities allowed, but because they were so severely outnumbered, they mainly fought alone and usually against multiple opponents. The Special Forces trained for this type of warfare, and they slowly progressed through the Iraqi ranks, and toward their friends trapped on the other side. After what seemed like hours of continual battle, they started encountering American Army and Special Forces soldiers that remained standing.

Through the madness, Brad occasionally saw glimpses of his Brother as he hacked and slashed his way forward, but this was a one-on-one war, and he kept his attention focused on the next opponent that dared entered his vision. He had numerous cuts and was surprised his uniform remained on his body. He took one nasty slash across his back, felt the warm blood from the wound, and hoped he did not pass-out from blood loss. The Iraqi that slashed him died quickly as Brad entered into a frenzy of anger from the pain. Many others felt his wrath in the moments following, and even more combatants soon started running away from the blood soaked madman.

His fighting fell into a routine; slash, duck, stab, spin, kick; he felt like a machine, literally unstoppable. The blood lust of battle had him, and he relished in it. He entered survival mode, dispatching any who threatened his existence. At one point, Brad let out a blood-curdling cry of rage. He did not know why, but it felt good, and gave him a boost of energy. He had been battling continuously for what seemed the entire night, yet he did not feel tired or fatigued. Although he lost his energy earlier when Nick came to his rescue, currently he felt like he could go on forever.

"What the hell are you screaming at?"

Brad turned his head at the words, seeing Nick to his immediate left; he smiled in response.

Nick thought his Brothers answering smile was the scariest thing he had ever seen. The blood and gore completely covered Brad's face, and the white smiling teeth reminded him of some evil demon in a Hollywood movie. He noticed the large gash across Brad's back, but it did not look very serious.

"Brad! Help me locate the Commander," he shouted. Nick barely heard himself yell but Brad nodded his head, and they both shot through the melee in search of their leader.

It took forever to locate the Commanders position, and many more foes fell to the combined skills of the D'Manna Brothers. Brad noticed brightness starting to show in the eastern sky. It approached dawn and they had been fighting all-night.

As they neared the Commanders position, the fighting started to intensify. They came upon a knot of Iraqi's that had a group of Special Forces surrounded. The exhausted and sore Brothers looked around for some additional support, but most in the area fought for their own personal survival. Nick and Brad circled the fray looking for the most advantageous spot to enter, and with words of encouragement to each other, they charged into, and through the Iraqi ranks. Their movements were so precise and so well orchestrated with each other, the Iraqis' in their path started moving aside to let them through without contention. Once the brothers breached the main line of battle, their fellow Forces shouted cheers of recognition. As the word spread of their arrival, soldiers redoubled their effort and the Brothers joined them. The morale of the Forces intensified, and as it did, the Iraqi's that surrounded them soon decided to find easier prey. The battle slowly dwindled, allowing the exhausted troops to catch their breath.

"Where's the Commander?" Nick asked one of them.

The guy was so tired that he just pointed. They followed the finger direction and after asking others along the way, soon located a group of men surrounding a prone body.

Medics worked feverously on the wounds, "Oh shit!" Brad exclaimed.

They ran up to the area and the Forces parted to let them through. Nick kneeled down by the Commanders head, Brad knelt on the other side. The Commander was still coherent, but he was wheezing and in horrendous pain.

"What happened?" Nick asked one medic.

"Stab wound through his lungs."

"Both?" asked Brad, surprised.

The medic just nodded, and both Brothers dropped their head into their hands in disbelief.

"Hey Soldiers," said the rasping voice.

As they lifted their heads to look at their Commanders face, he reached up with torn hands, grabbed them both at the neck, and slowly pulled them closer.

His voice was a quiet rasp, "If I had sons in life, I'd have been proud to have them be like you two," he said. "I'm dying boys; the Forces Command is yours, Nicholas." He yanked both of their heads very close to his mouth, "You're both number one to me. Now go take care of business and let me die in peace," he pushed them away and the Brothers, with tear-streaked faces, helped each other to stand.

"FORCES!" the commander shouted from his prone position, and the Brothers were amazed at the strength from his voice. The Forces in the immediate area flocked close to their Commander.

"Nicholas D'Manna has command from here on out. Follow him as you followed me. Make me proud of you boys; I'll be watching."

Soon after, Commander James McKartel passed away. There was not a dry eye amongst the men.

"Brad, pass the word, I want all our Forces to fall back to this position, now."

Brad noticed the stern, determined look on his Brother's face, nodded, and ran off to give the orders.

Nick approached the medics who picked over the remaining men, "How does everyone look?"

"Most of the men on the ground are dead or dying, Commander," Nick understood. In this type of warfare, when you knocked someone down, you finished them off, "Everyone else seems to have minor injuries that we can take care of."

Nick nodded his understanding.

"Commander! Commander!" someone kept shouting, and it took Nick a while to realize it was him who they called. He turned toward the soldier who yelled, motioning for him to come forward.

"Sir, there's a small group of Iraqi's who said they want to parley. It doesn't look like they've been involved with the battles, sir, they look like Holy men."

"Take a small group of our soldiers and escort them here," Nick replied. "Tell them they'll be safe."

"Yes sir!" the soldier saluted, running to carryout his orders. Nick took a deep breath to settle his nerves.

As his order passed through the ranks, more and more of his Special Forces were making their way to his position. Nick watched them approach and he wondered if this was how medieval warriors looked whenever they returned from battle. The troops shuffled along, torn and bloody, and fatigued to their core. Killing a man with a rifle was much easier than actually sticking him with a knife or bashing their heads in with a pipe. The latter was the type of war the soldiers fought today, and the experience changed every soldier in his command, forever more.

Nick passed orders to the closest men in his vicinity. He wanted the troops aligned in a semi-circular formation facing south and east from this location. He wanted them five deep and however long they could make it. He knew the length would be dictated by however many still lived. His communicators passed his orders through the ranks and Nick watched with satisfaction as the Forces complied with his wishes.

As his defensive line formed, Nick had soldiers locate all the fallen American troops, and ordered them stacked along the north wall of the building where his former Commander now lay. He did not know what he was going to do with all the bodies. The Forces were just like the Marines; they did whatever it took to ensure every man returned home. However, he did not have any trucks, planes, or helicopters to evacuate the dead. He would have to leave their bodies and the thought of that action tore at his soul.

As he agonized over the decision, five robed Iraqi's, escorted by a company of his Special Forces approached. Nick noticed Brad angling across the clearing to join him. The robes the Iraqi's wore were white, and except for the blood, mud, and snow splattered along their ankles and hems, they appeared as clean angels next to his blood soaked troops.

Each bowed as they arrived, the one in the middle spoke, "Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed sends his greetings and condolences, American Commander," he bowed again. "Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed asks that the D'Manna children escort us back to his compound."

"Please tell the Ayatollah we are a little busy at the moment," Nick responded, "Tell him he can come here and talk once we have the area settled."

Nick's comment seemed to shock the robed men. The one in the middle spoke again; his accent was heavy and Nick listened closely.

"There is no time, the mercenaries have routed the American base, and your other soldiers are in full flight to the south. The mercenaries are a very large force, once they regroup, they will come at you here. You Americans do not have the strength to stop them from overwhelming your position. There is no other support coming to your aid, except from the Ayatollah."

Brad tapped Nicks arm, pulling him off to the side, "This Ayatollah guy is the one Mom said Dad talked with, remember?"

"No I don't," Nick responded.

"It was the night before Thanksgiving when Mom barged in our barracks and embarrassed us."

Nick nodded, "She embarrassed you, Bro, not me, but I don't remember her mentioning this guy."

"She did," Brad insisted, "I believe Dad made a deal with this guy. We should go see what he wants. If what these guys say is true, we won't be able to hold-off against this Iraqi force."

"Then take a squad, and go verify if what they're saying is true. I'm not going to take their word for it. Verify it with your own eyes, then I'll make my decision."

Brad nodded, "Fine. Hold them here until I get back."

Once Nick agreed, Brad headed in a southeasterly direction, gathering a squad of troops to accompany him.

Nick turned to three men he used as communicators, "Get a count of our force size, I need to know what cards I have," they ran off to fill his order. "Gentlemen," Nick looked up at the fast spreading light coming from the sky, then back to the five robed Iraqi's, "please join me while I consider your request."

As Brad and his little company picked their way toward the enemy position, the death and destruction that littered the fields, streets, and alleyways, awed them. Bodies lay everywhere, some telling stories of how their demise had occurred. There was one American soldier with bodies piled three feet high all around him. The Iraqi bodies formed a perfect circle. This soldier stood on his little piece of the earth, taking on all comers until someone finally slipped through his guard and ended his life. Brad approached the soldier and saw that some type of heavy pipe caved-in the back of the guy's skull. He reached for the soldier's dog tag, and pulled it from around his neck.

He looked over his little band of troops, "Take the tags of any American you find. I want their families to know what happened on this terrible day."

They all nodded their heads in understanding.

As they progressed through the dead, they noticed more and more stories that only the wind would be able to tell accurately. Their take of tags was getting large, each man stuffing pockets, and anything else they could find to hold the identities of the soldiers who fell.

They traveled along the main road south from their position at the southern edge of Salam, and as they approached Jordan Street, they started hearing the sounds of a very large force gathering to the east. They skirted buildings and rubble as they slowly inched eastward to have a look. When they rounded a corner near Jinub Street, they glimpsed the force that gathered. It was massive, stretching north and south as far as the eye could see. With the daylight approaching fast, there was no mistaking the size of this force. The Iraqis clearly had control of the now former American base, and although Brad knew the Forces would put-up a good fight, they were not going to overcome this monstrosity.

He motioned for his little band to back away, and they quickly made a beeline toward their main position. They grabbed more tags as they progressed, and were saddened they could not retrieve more, but if they did not get out of this situation, it would not matter how many tags they carried. As they approached their own line of Forces, it solidified their understanding of their chances. Although they still had a formidable sized army, it did not compare to what would soon be approaching.

Maneuvering through the men, they started handing out the tags they collected so that all the living shared the burden. Brad ordered another group to collect the tags of the men they were piling-up to the north of Nicks little command post and he specifically asked for the Commanders. He wanted to carry that burden back to the man's family. It was the least he could do for a person he grew to respect with all his heart.

He found Nick seated inside the building with the so-called Iraqi delegation. He motioned for Nick to join him outside, and when he did, Brad explained the situation.

"Dude, that force is gigantic. We're in serious trouble."

Nick ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair, "Any sign of our other troops?" he asked.

"No, none. That force has our base and it didn't appear they were getting any kind of counter resistance. We're cutoff."

Nick reached to the ground and grabbed a hold of a large rock; "FUCK!" he screamed as he threw it at a pile of rubble. Troops in the general area looked over toward them.

"Get the troops into close-order drill, Brad, twenty wide, we're getting out of here," he patted Brad's shoulder and reentered the building.

"Gentlemen, we will honor the Ayatollahs request," Nick said.

"Excellent!" the main speaker announced. The others smiled at the news. "If you send your troops south toward Saddam Airport, they should be able to meet-up with your southerly retreating soldiers. We will take you and your Bother toward Ar Ramadi. It is a two day walk, and unfortunately no vehicles will be able to speed us along," all five stood as the speaker finished. They were ready to go.

The guy's statement confused Nick. He asked, "What do you mean?"

Now it was the Iraqi's turn to be confused, "What do you not understand?" the main speaker asked.

"My men are coming with," Nick kind of asked and stated at the same time. He did not know what they intended and was a little unsure.

"Commander, the Ayatollah has made arrangements for you and your Bother. He will not be able to accommodate your men. They are too large of a force to hide. You will have to leave them behind."

"Like hell I will; my men accompany me or you can go tell your Ayatollah to go scratch his ass."

The five of them stared at him in open shock, and it took them awhile before they composed themselves. The main speaker held up a finger indicating for him to wait, then they huddled together. Nick exited the building to give them their privacy. His men already formed the lines for close order drill, and he decided to travel directly west if the Iraqi's forced his hand. As he continued to scan his forces, the five white robed men exited through the doorway.

"We will honor your request, Commander, but if any fall behind, they will be on their own. We must travel swiftly."

Nick gave them a nod of understanding then went to position himself at the front of the line. The five Iraqis followed him, and soon after, Brad joined him in the lead.

"The counting is done," Brad, stated to his Bother, "We have twenty thousand Special Forces and another ten thousand Marines."

"How many medics?" Nick asked.

"A handful, maybe two hundred at the most."

"What about officers?"

"We couldn't find one. It seems they took the brunt of the attacks. I saw a lot of them scattered on the ground, dead."

Nick nodded as he thought about his former Commander, "Let's get them moving."

Brad gave the motion and the command to get the troops marching issued down the line.

"RIGHT FACE, Forward HARCH!"

The line of troops stretched just over one mile as they progressed west toward Rabia Street, then southwest toward Ar Ramadi. As they traveled, their lines would break at times to collect more tags of fallen comrades, and split to maneuver around buildings, stalled vehicles, and other debris. It was still extremely cold, which was highly unusual for this region of the earth, and the blood soaked troops were miserable. They had no change of clothes, no food, except what they carried while they were on the lines, and no gear for a traveling excursion. They also had no choice. From their earliest training exercises in boot camp, through their deployment in Iraq, they trained to adjust, improvise, and overcome. It was part of their make-up. They were the best, and they marched not as a defeated group, but as proud soldiers of the most powerful nation on the planet. They would overcome, they would adjust, they would improvise, and they would succeed. There was not a doubting mind amongst them. They held their heads high as they proceeded, and when the first day ended, they had made astonishing progress toward their destination.

They located a small hill within a very large field located northwest of Al Fallujah, and decided to camp at the crest. Snow still covered the ground, quickly turning to mud as thirty thousand feet stomped on it as they prepared to bed down for the night. They lit no fires, not because they worried about discovery, but more because they did not prepare by gathering wood before they camped. Everything in the immediate area was too wet to burn. It was an oversight that Nick vowed would not happen again. These men now relied on him to see them through, and he could not make mistakes that would cost precious lives.

Nick called Brad over to better plan for the coming days ahead. He realized that this force was too big to control effectively without electronic communications equipment. He would have to assign leaders of groups and create communications teams that could quickly carry his orders throughout the ranks. He discussed flagging type signals much like the medieval days. Banner men would communicate with troops in the field by waving certain colors and intricate movement patterns to tell them what the leaders wanted done. Unfortunately, nighttime excursions would render the flags useless, but that is when his communication teams would be most effective.

He and Brad planned well into the night, until they were finally comfortable with the system they would implement. Once they realized they were the last two still awake, both brothers quickly followed the lead of their fellow compatriots. They found a pile of bodies that looked relatively warm, and buried their bodies in with them. Everyone stayed warm by lying on top of one another. If any had flown over the general area, they would have been amazed at how little space thirty thousand people took-up when they were cold. A bonding of the troops took place that night, a bonding that would carry them through their darkest days ahead.

The dawn came much too quickly for some, and not quick enough for others. Everyone was cold, damp, sore, hungry, and miserable. It was a gray day and still bitterly cold for the area. Word came through the ranks of fellow troops not surviving the night. The men collected more dog tags, and left the bodies where they lay. There was no getting around the soul tearing practice, and everyone felt shamed by the necessary decision.

Shouts of close order drill echoed along the long stretched lines, then the mass of soldiers ambled in a westerly direction toward their destination.

Brad walked next to Nick, and after the first few miles, Nick noticed his Brothers' labored breathing. He looked at Brad as they marched, and could see sweat on his brow, his skin looked deathly white.

"What's wrong, man?" he asked.

"Nothing, I'm just tired and hungry," Brad responded. He appeared to struggle with his steps.

Nick remembered the bag of candy bars he gathered just before the attack. When all hell broke loose, he stuffed them inside his jacket then forgot all about it. He fished them out of his pocket, and handed them to his Brother.

Brad held up the bag of smashed and crumbled candy bars as if studying its contents, "What'd you do, sit on 'em?"

"Funny, just eat 'em you knucklehead. You're lucky I was able to keep 'em at all. Look at all these holes I've got in my clothes."

Brad scooped a handful of the chocolate mush out of the bag, fisting it into his mouth, "You want some?" Brad held the bag in his direction.

Nick shook his head, "Nah, Bro. I'll be all right for a while. Just keep some handy."

Brad nodded as he stuck another handful into his mouth.

Nick remembered the gash he seen on his Brothers back while they were fighting, peeking at it as they continued their march. It did not look good at all, and seeing the sweat still on his Brother's face made him worry about infection. He motioned for some of the medics that marched in the front ranks, and they quickly came forward to have a look. Brad tried to shrug them off, but they would have none of it. The medics treated him as they walked, and Brad only complained once, when they used snow to clean away the dried blood and dirt.

"How bad is it?" Nick asked.

"There's definitely some infection potential, but it's not too far along. Without proper equipment, we can't be too sure."

"We have to get used to that, Doc, use your best judgment," Nick responded, immediately feeling foolish for stating the obvious to the professional.

"We're running low on a lot of medications, sir. We'll spread some treated ointment on it and see how it responds by morning," Nick nodded, watching as they completed patching the gash.

It was late afternoon when word spread from the back ranks that a large force was bearing down on them. Nick ran the mile toward the rear to have a look, swearing under his breath. The approaching army outnumbered his by at least two to one. With how exhausted his men looked, he worried about the outcome.

"Who are they, sir?"

Nick looked at the speaker, doing a double take as he recognized Timmy, "Tim! Damn man, I'm glad you're still with us," he clapped Timmy Johnson on the back.

"Me too," Timmy responded with a smile.

"It looks like the Iraqi's don't wish us to leave, Tim. Pass the order to have the men form-up. I want five deep lines, with the Marines split in reserve. Tell them I want two companies of five thousand Marines bunched at either end of the Forces line," he regretted not being able to implement his flagging system yet, "Tell the Marines I want them to hit the flanks when this army strikes our middle line," he pushed Timmy along to get him going.

"Yes Sir!" Timmy ran to pass his orders.

"They are not Iraqi's, Commander."

Nick looked to his left and was surprised to see one of the Iraqi robed men, "What?" he asked.

"They are mercenaries, not Iraqi's."

"With all due respect, sir, they're not coming here to have a party. To us, they are one in the same."

The robed man bowed, "True Iraqi's keep their word, President's son. Our Ayatollah made a deal on behalf of the Iraqi people, and the Iraqi people will live up to that deal. We never wanted the mercenaries within our borders, but you Americans did not give us a choice. We needed fighters and they were willing. It was a deal of mutual interest, nothing more."

"You mean to tell me that we didn't fight any Iraqi's back at the base?" Nick asked.

The robed man shook his head, "There were Iraqi's in that battle, but they are men that are blinded by others ulterior motives. These men will soon come to regret their actions."

"Well, sir, I don't think today is that day. I'd ask that you move behind my men. I do not wish for you to come to any harm," the robed Iraqi bowed and did as requested.

Nick turned to scan his men, and he was pleased at how quickly they were completing his orders. He walked along the front line toward the middle, and as he went, he offered words of encouragement, pats on the shoulders, and smiles to those that looked too glum. He took the centermost position, placing himself ten feet in front of his lines. He wanted this force to hit his line dead center so the Marines could take the flanks, and he used himself as the enemy's target.

When the approaching enemy reached to about one hundred yards, they let out a roar, charging just as Nick wanted. An answering roar erupted from both ends of the American line, and before Nick understood the implications, he noted both Marine units charging to meet the attack.

"No! NO!" he started yelling, but realized it was no use. "CHARGE!" he shouted to the Forces, and as he started running, so did the troops at his back.

The Marines reached the enemy well before the Forces could join, and they took a devastating blow from the much larger army. They hit the flanks as instructed, but not with the intended outcome. By the time the Forces joined the fray, the Marines were overwhelmed.

Nick charged headfirst into the melee, soon finding himself in desperate straits. He had no time to think, letting his instincts take over. He did not know how many men he killed, but those around him saw a path of bodies that would never see another sunrise.

The superior skilled Forces soon started to take control of the front ranks, and the attackers were turning more and more to the defensive. Nick was swinging wildly at one point, when he noticed horses charging through the enemy ranks. They passed by his vision in a blink of an eye, and he started wondering if he was seeing things. Then another wave came through, then another. The attackers started to break and flee. Nick and most of his Forces were too tired to pick-up the chase, and they just stood in place, watching as the horsemen ran down the fleeing men. There were thousands of them, and they disappeared over the horizon as they continued their pursuit.

"What the hell was that?" Brad asked.

Nick turned to his once again blood-splattered Brother, "I have no idea," he responded.

"Those are the finest Iraqi horsemen in the world, my friends."

Nick turned toward the voice, coming face to face with a horse trying to bite at his shoulder.

He backed away quickly, "And who are you?" he asked the rider as he pushed the horses head away.

The man scanned the horizon with his arms spread wide, "I, young man, am Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed. Welcome to my domain," bowing from the saddle of his magnificent horse.

# Chapter 27 Lina Lias

Nearly a third of the moon cycle had progressed since she reemerged upon her homeland. LinaLias was eager to reclaim her territory, and after the fall of the human warrior dwellings, her warriors barely encountered any type of resistance. The humans hid in their dwellings, providing easy pickings for her ravenous pets.

Three fortunate events occurred that were totally out of her control, and she felt her divine right to her homeland was all but sealed. First, when she finally tore through the Earth's outer shell, unraveling the spell her cousins entrapped her within, the Earth, on its own accord, started to heal the rift by blasting the land with frigid air. Since humans had no connection to the Earth's inner warmth, they hid themselves within their shelter. This made organized resistance against her all but futile. Learning how reliant humans became of this so-called technology (as the Lordling called it), then how it disappeared upon her arrival, was fascinating and fortunate all in one. She vowed to study this oddity sometime in the future, but she had other events to attend before she would dedicate the time.

Second, when her cousins entrapped her upon Wormwood, they paid a heavy price. She did not currently feel their presence upon the crust, and knew her counter spell had worked. Their sorcerers had committed suicide in their attempt to stop her all those moons ago, and although it worked for a time, it was a temporary inconvenience. Her powerful cousins would not be able to stop her this time around.

Third, the humans seemed to have progressed rapidly within their society structure. Morcollias of Agylla, the imbecile who prevented her plans so many moons ago, had a vision that seems to have prospered very well during her exile. Fortunately, the human lordling she captured was turning out to be extremely informative. Oh, it tried to be resistant, but she soon figured out if she let its body heat dissipate to the point of near death, the little Lordling would start squawking like a goose. It no longer resisted, openly offering educational information about the entire human evolution, and clearly described all the innovative inventions her warriors encountered along their march. This made the killing of the pests much easier to manage, and she looked forward to viewing the large cities the human described to her.

Lina was amazed at the number of humans that now inhabited her homeland, and that the human animal was able to take sparkle dust, turning it into such a formidable weapon. Her Elvin ancestors discarded it early in their progression as a useless trinket, only useful to dazzle the Elvin youth. If she had known its potential during her conflict with her eastern cousins, she would have easily destroyed them, and the humans would have never had an opportunity to progress as a culture. Lina felt fortunate her abilities transcended from the Earth's crust, and she was able to negate this human weapon. Once she had the humans under control, she would reactivate the dust for her own uses, but until then, she could not afford to let the humans utilize it against her. There were just too many of the rodents on her land to let them have that large of an advantage.

She nearly had the area the Lordling called Alaska, under control, and after her initial uneasiness about her chances, she felt much more confident. Without their banging sparkle dust weapons, the humans proved to be an easy kill, and without the weaponry and skill of Morcollias' human past, these humans of today were proving to be nothing more than inconvenient peasants. She would enslave some to till fields in the future, but until she solidified her northern wilderness, she was content to eliminate any threat that could come from behind.

The maps the Lordling provided were wonderfully effective. Rivers that used to take days to cross in the past now had bridges evenly spaced. The humans tamed the wild wilderness with what the Lordling called roads, and as luck would have it, many large human dwelling centers congregated off them. It taught her how to comprehend the map markings and she relayed the information to her offspring as they planned their marching strategies.

As the days progressed, her armies spread. One by one, her extraordinary warriors eliminated the large dwelling places that the human called Anchorage, Fairbanks, and Prudhoe Bay. Those humans barely made a sound as her forces swept through their ranks, dwellings, and roads. In fact, it was so easy; her Elvin warriors never entered any armed conflict. The Horde was doing all the dirty work, and eating their fill.

All her forces now converged on dwellings the human called, Dawson. Her little Lordling was very nervous, calling the land, Canada. It said it is another country not of its people. All the humans would soon learn that all the lands are hers.

She wondered if each land had its own King, and if so, it would make her task of locating the Morcollias line more difficult. She would have to hunt them all down one-by-one to eliminate the threat. During her last battle with her eastern cousins, she felt the Father, toward the very end of his breath; transfer some of his essence into Morcollias of Agylla. It was a desperate act brought on by her counter trap of their powerful spells. She herself was in trouble in those last moments, and did not have time to understand what the Father was up to, but she knew enough to understand the far-reaching consequences. When an Elf transfers a fraction of its being to another, that essence becomes a part of the receiving creature for eternity. She knew the Morcollias line would inherit the Elvin essence, and without knowing exactly why, she knew she had to eliminate it to obtain total victory. The Lordling said its country did not have a King, but that a President ruled from a White House, and other countries had similar leadership structures. If there truly are as many humans on the land as the little Lordling stated, it could take her an eternity to locate the threat.

"Mother?" her offspring's mental voice interrupted her thoughts.

She cocked her head to the side, "I am here, Runko."

"The dwellings called Dawson have been taken. We will await your arrival."

"Splendid, dear, I will be there shortly," she responded.

Another victory and a very important position; the Lordling outlined a main road that led out of this Dawson location, and with how quickly her warriors made progress on these human paths, she may be back in her stronghold within three moons.

# Chapter 28 Ash

Senator Ash became both mortified and excited by his interaction with these so-called Elves, and the creatures they called the Horde. The Mother Lady rarely let him walk in her presence, only calling on him when she had questions or concerns. In fact, none of the Elves wanted anything to do with him, and assigned a small group of the Horde to be his keepers. All these creatures were magnificent in their beauty. The women he saw throughout the camps looked exotically gorgeous; with sharp angular features, prominent milky white body tone, and although both the males and females were extremely beautiful, there was a distinct difference among the sexes. The females usually stood no more than five foot seven, while the males almost uniformly stretched to six feet in height.

They were not a bulky race, but rather lean and efficient. Judging by the nuts and berries they gave him to eat every night for dinner, he could understand why. Not once did he see them hunt meat or gather any dairy food. Where they found the berries, he did not know, but they seemed to have an endless supply of them.

The Horde was another matter all together. They were small, about four feet in height, having long black hair and attractive features, if you ignore their teeth. Ash did not know what to make of these creatures. Although they were a handsome race, they thrived on killing people and eating them. This practice obviously caused many nights of terrified dreams for him, and was his most humbling experience. They also spoke in childlike voices, which added to their terrifying practices. However, the Mother said if he helped her, she would allow him to rule the human slave community for her. She said she would need many human slaves to till fields, plant, and harvest crops, and she would like him to be that leader, as long as he continued to please her. Ash really had no choice in the matter, so he helped as obediently as he could, and prayed his fellow Americans would save the day. After all, he had a family to protect, and a nation that relied on him to be their future President. He could not imagine throwing all that away by risking his life foolishly.

"The Mother calls, Lordling," said the sweet childlike voice of the Horde thing that approached him from behind. Ash became used to these majestic creatures applying a lord title to him, and thought it fitting for someone of his heritage. After all, he had some royal blood in his family tree, and as he marched along with the masses, he often let his thoughts wander to what it would have been like during the medieval days of the Earth, marching with armies and conquering new lands.

Ash followed the creature as it meandered its way through the marching Elves, and as he neared the outskirts of the Canadian city of Dawson, the Mother and her children waited for him. He noticed the maps in their hands and presumed they wanted new directions.

The Mother transcended the beauty of the other Elvin females, as she and her daughter existed in a class all by themselves, and although the rest of her offspring treated him like a plague, the Mother always made him feel like a respected advisor. Although he had twinges of regret for his actions, he realized he had to make sacrifices today, to live, and make amends down the road. He knew people died because of his information, but they were going to die anyway; this army was just too excessively large and organized for that fact not to happen. He would make it up to them someday, then Senator Jefferson Ash would be humanity's savior and greatest hero.

"Ah, my Lordling has arrived," the Mother, stated. She waved her hand dismissively to the Horde thing, and it backed away a respectful distance.

"Bow when you approach the Mother, Lordling," Rika threatened.

The Gargon fellow gave his best intimidating face, and the other children did not acknowledge his existence.

"Tell us where these paths travel," the beautiful Mother demanded, handing him the map. She squeezed his forearm and as she withdrew her hand, he felt new warmth flood through his body. It still felt well below freezing outside, yet these creatures strolled along as if it were a fresh spring day. Ash enjoyed being able to do the same.

Although it remained nearly perpetual darkness in this part of the world, parts of the little town still burned, and Ash could view the map without the aid of his glowing rock. He studied the map, then spread it over a boulder that sat in the general area.

"You are here," he marked the location of Dawson on the map. "This area," he said as he circled a section with his finger, "is the Yukon Territory of Canada, and right here, is the Northwest Territories," again showing the area with his finger. The Mother and her children intently peered over his shoulder, "Where you see this red line," Ash continued, "it indicates a major road."

"So," the Mother began, "it appears this Dawson dwelling will make a perfect launching area, children. Sanon, you will reclaim my Northern lands," Ash watched as she traced a line from Dawson through Victoria Island, Nunavut north of Hudson Bay, and all the way to the Eastern Coast. "Also reclaim these lands," she indicated the Queen Elizabeth Islands, "and this," she pointed to Greenland. "Kill everything, Sanon."

"There is water among those lands, Mother," he looked at Ash, "are there human bridges spanning the waters?"

Ash was stunned; this is the first time the Sanon fellow ever even acknowledged his existence, "I don't know," he stammered in response.

"Improvise, dear," the Mother stated. "Dracon and Runko, you will follow the red lines south and take back my Western Lands," Ash watched as she indicated numerous cities with her fingers; Whitehorse, Fort Nelson, Hay River, Vancouver, Edmonton, Calgary, Seattle, Boise, Reno, Salt Lake, Denver, L.A., New Mexico, Arizona. She then stopped, drawing a line east and west across the northern part of Mexico, "Do not cross the Chupacabra line, children, I do not wish to anger our distant cousins," they both nodded their heads in understanding. She tapped her finger on the Rocky Mountains near Albuquerque, "This is the homeland of the Bear Clan," she indicated, "be wary, and kill them if they should be brave enough to confront you."

Ash was a little confused regarding the Bear Clan, he never heard of them before, "Who are the Bear Clan?" he asked. His question immediately earned him a slap across his mouth.

"Rika!" the Mother exclaimed, "Leave my little Lordling be."

"The human is insolent Mother, it should only speak when spoken to," Rika responded in defense, as she gave Ash a look that could peel skin.

"Nevertheless, dear, the human has been very cooperative. Leave it be, and that goes for all of you," the Mother said as she scanned all their faces.

Ash tasted his own blood, but was happy the Mother took his side. She returned her attention back to the map; "Gargon and Rika will accompany me here." Ash watched as she traced a line through Fort Smith, Churchill, Winnipeg, Bismarck, Minneapolis, Milwaukee; she stopped at Chicago and tapped her finger, "This is where our ancestors dwelt for many centuries, and according to this human map, many roads lead into and out of this area. This will provide a fabulous location for us to coordinate our conquests." She looked at Ash, "What are your thoughts, Lordling?"

Ash swallowed hard. The last place on the planet he wanted to be was near D'Manna. He just shrugged his shoulders.

She again scanned the faces of her offspring, "The West lands have always been difficult to control and terrible for farming. Kill all the humans until you reach here," she tapped her finger on El Paso. "In this area," the Mother traced the entire central part of the country, "the crust has always been rich; let the females and young ones till the fields for us. Kill any male who is thirteen cycles or more."

"Gladly," Dracon replied. The rest of his siblings chuckled.

"Runko, dear, you will band with me until we reach here," the Mother tapped her finger on Churchill, "then you will journey east taking all this," she tapped Moosonee, Fort George, Ivujivik, St. Johns, Quebec, Montreal, and Ottawa. "Kill every human, Runko; we cannot afford to leave stragglers behind."

Runko nodded his head in understanding then tapped his finger on Washington DC, "What army does this King have, human?"

Ash shrugged his shoulders, "Our military bases are scattered across the country and with most of them in Iraq..." Ash stopped himself, but it was too late.

"Explain, human," Gargon stated, crossing his arms.

He made a mistake and he knew they would hurt him. Ash again swallowed hard trying to think of a way out of this.

"Mother, I think your little Lordling is hiding something," Rika chimed in. She had a smirk on her face as if she was enjoying herself.

The Mother tapped a finger on her chin, looking at him hard with squinted eyes, "You have been so very cooperative my little human, that I did not wish to extend energy intruding upon your thoughts, but I am afraid you now leave me no choice." She looked over the burning human village, locating a dwelling out of the fires path, "Bring it!" she commanded, as she swirled and walked with purpose towards it.

Ash fainted.

# Chapter 29 The Neclas

Her skiff traversed the Middle Sea swiftly, and the sights they saw fascinated her fellow Neclas tribesmen. The humans built wonderful looking dwellings all along the shoreline. Elves never really had use for dwellings like the humans. Elves preferred to be amongst the stars by dark, and bathed by the glorious sun at day. However, humans did not share the Elvin eternal warmth, thus scampering to seek shelter from its harsh elements. At times, the Elvin race would seek shelter, especially during heavy rains, but they were uncomfortable and eager to get back upon the crust.

As they progressed, they did not see many humans and she figured the frigid air to be responsible. She analyzed this event, attributing it to a side affect of her ancestors spell craft. Somehow, when they used the upper layers of the earth, they damaged the Earth's filtering mechanism. She could sense the regeneration of the layer, marveling at the Earth's power. This was a magical place and she was glad she volunteered to stay.

"Sister?"

Noting the urgency in her Brother's voice, she sat up, looking where the speaker pointed. She scanned the horizon and noticed what caught his attention; ships floated in their path. She looked toward the landmass they followed in order to pinpoint her location, and recognized the southern tip of Ombrici, the ancient home of Morcollias of Agylla. One oddity she immediately noticed, none of the ships had sails, and stood too high off the water to allow effective rowing.

"Bring us along side, Brother," even though it remained far in the distance, her exceptional eyesight viewed no movement along the decking.

As they approached, they grappled to the port side, and a Brother nimbly hopped onto the human ship. After a few heartbeats, he popped his head over the rail, "They are all deceased, Sister. It appears they succumbed to the frigid air."

"How many?" she shouted.

"Two adult males, a female, and a small child."

"What are they thinking by traversing the Middle Sea without sails?" asked a Brother.

"Dying," another responded.

"Come back aboard, Brother," she called, "Let us view the others for survivors."

They boarded three other ships in the general area, all ending with the same results.

As they continued their journey, they spotted more ships, and more dead humans. None of the ships had sails or oars, and this perplexed them to no end. Another oddity was the construction of the human ships. They used no trees, and the ships did not appear to have masts attached to their hull. The mystery would have to wait for another time. They made exceptional progress, and the Sister felt her energy growing with each new day arrival.

As they passed the outer island of Tyarheni, she realized Carthage stood just to the south. She would have liked to stop and advise them of her shore bound brethren's anticipated arrival, but she had other matters to attend.

New tingles along her skin indicated magic use. The Mother has once again cast a mighty spell. She and her Neclas brethren had another moon until she reached the island of the Red Hair. She hoped she had time to spare.

# Chapter 30 McJeeves

They passed Fairbanks and kept running south. Once they reached the main road, they started making fantastic time. The dogs seemed tireless, but Captain Johnson warned him that they trained the dogs to keep pulling until they dropped. McJeeves did not intend to kill the animals, but until they could put a safe distance between them and the invaders, he knew he had no choice.

They rested whenever they thought the dogs needed it, making sure they kept them fed and watered. With the near constant darkness, it became difficult to distinguish how much time had passed, so they just kept running when the dogs looked fresh, resting the other times.

All along the way, they encountered stalled vehicles with powerless communities, but the folks in these parts were used to rough weather, living off the land, and just kept doing what they have always done; survive. McJeeves and Johnson warned everyone they could, told them what they saw, described the size of the invading force, but the townsfolk just looked at them as if they were crazy; nobody listened. A few of the people they told boasted they would kill the beasts if they came their way, patting their rifles. It was useless trying to persuade these types, so he and the Captain just shook their heads, and kept on going.

They stayed on Route Two all the way, until it split. They had a choice of heading to Dawson or Whitehorse. They chose the latter and only history would tell them how fortunate a choice they made. Unknown to them, they bought themselves at least a two-day lead from the advancing wall of destruction.

Once they exited from the Artic Circle, they noticed a significant warming, and although it was still frigid, it at least was not twenty below zero. Now it only felt like ten below. Ten degrees made a huge difference to the freezing men and mutts.

The dogs seemed to be fairing exceptionally well, and contrary to what the Captain said earlier, Sprinkles seemed to know how each dog felt, adjusting the pace to compensate.

"Where did you find these dogs, Johnson?" McJeeves asked one day as they traveled. Sprinkles totally amazed him with its intelligence and endless endurance.

Captain Johnson answered, "An old Eskimo native used to take all the older sled dogs people discarded, and give them sanctuary until they died. The old man thought I was sick in the head when I told him I wanted to purchase some. It took me awhile to convince him I was serious, and when he finally realized it, he brought out a banded team that has been together since they were pups. He told me the previous owner died out on the trails, and these dogs still pulled the sled and the dead guys' body hundreds of miles to town. Because of superstitions, nobody else wanted the dogs, so he took them in, keeping them fed."

Fate had a funny way of working, McJeeves thought as he remembered the story.

"Hey, McJeeves," the Captain popped his head from under the covers, "Find a spot to rest. I'm starving."

McJeeves gave him a thumbs-up and continued. They traveled down a stretch of road that remained vacant of any discernable civilization. They could see no cars, houses, buildings, nothing. He hoped to find another vacant mini-van since it offered a little bit of comfort, but unfortunately, they traveled on a barren wasteland of a stretch of road. Although still dark, the sky was clear, with moonlight and stars reflecting off the white snow covered ground. As he scanned the sides of the road for a good place to rest, McJeeves smelled smoke. He took a couple of deep sniffs just to be sure.

"Hey, Johnson!" he called, and again the Captain popped his head out from under the blanket, "I smell smoke."

Captain Johnson took a few deep sniffs, giving him a smile, "It's going to be a good night, McJeeves."

"Not if we can't find where the smoke is coming from."

He coaxed the dogs to a stop. Both he and the Captain quietly scanned the stars and moon for any sign of smoke drifting by. They had to move a good distance away from the dogs since their heavy panting was lifting their breath into the air, confusing the senses. It was a calm night, the smell of smoke was distinct, and that meant that wherever it came from, was very close by.

"There!" McJeeves exclaimed as he pointed.

Both men could clearly see puffs of smoke floating past distant starlight. It came from the east side of the road. It was a heavily forested area, and they had to walk with the dogs as they moved into it.

"We can't get the sled through this, McJeeves."

"I know," McJeeves, answered, "Stay here with the sled. I'll go take a look."

"What are you boys up to?" someone shouted from the woods.

Both men nearly jumped out of their socks, Sprinkles started growling.

"Freezing our butts off, sir," the Captain replied. Sprinkles quieted as McJeeves patted his head.

"Hmm, there's a path big enough for the sleigh over here," he came out from behind a tree, waving them to follow, "I came up here to hunt for the holidays, and now I'm stuck. Any of you boys know anything about cars?"

"A little, sir," the Captain responded, "but it won't do much good, it seems like every vehicle has stopped working."

McJeeves noticed the rifle the man carried.

The man stopped, turning back in their direction, "Where're you boys, from?" he asked with bewilderment in his voice.

"We're from the Barrow military base, sir. We're trying to get back to the states."

"Ah, military boys. Well, follow me. My shacks warm and we can talk more there," he turned, motioning for them to follow.

They did, and as they maneuvered their way through the narrow path, they noticed a little hunter's shack tucked back into some trees. The smell of smoke was strong. An old Chevy sat off to the left with its hood up.

"Put the sled there," the man pointed, "and bring the dogs in, there's plenty of room."

As they entered, they noticed the shack was bigger than they thought, and warm.

"Oh, yes!" McJeeves moaned.

Johnson gave him a smile as the dogs immediately piled into a corner by the fireplace.

"This is a nice place, sir," the Captain mentioned, "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Don't mention it, have a seat," he motioned to the couch.

The man was maybe in his mid to late fifties, but looked sturdy like a rock, and big as a house. He looked to McJeeves like a man out of the old woodsman stories. Wild hair and beard, flannel shirt, and overalls. McJeeves watched as he placed his rifle away from the dogs, on the opposite side of the fireplace.

"I've got some deer cooking' out back. You fellas want some dinner?"

They both smiled, nodding their heads vigorously, and their mouths immediately started watering.

Everyone, even the dogs ate well that night. Chester Carter was the man's name. Chester originated from Tennessee, but now lived in Toronto, and he liked to go hunting before Christmas. He called his place a shack, but it was as big as a normal sized house, and neatly decorated in old rustic fashion with deer heads, bear rugs, and even a full stuffed timber wolf.

"I shot that one accidentally," he indicated the wolf as they sat in the great room drinking some coffee; "I thought it was a Coyote at first. It's a pretty beast, ain't it?"

Both men nodded their heads.

"So, what you boy's running from?" Chester asked.

"An army," McJeeves answered.

Chester squinted, "You deserters?"

"No, sir," Johnson answered. He looked at McJeeves and Jason nodded for him to continue. "Sir, North America has been invaded. There's an army marching through the countryside as we speak."

Chester Carter just stared at him, then at McJeeves, then back again, "Has the cold addled your brain, boys?"

Jason McJeeves cupped his face in his hands in frustration. After a few seconds, he looked at Chester; "Mr. Carter, why else would we be traveling in sub zero weather with a team of sled dogs as our only mode of transportation?" he held out his hand in a gesture to forestall the Captain from interrupting. "The American base in Barrow was overrun to the best of our knowledge. Creatures out of myth attacked us as we fled, no technology seems to be working, and even our guns are useless," McJeeves, pointed to the hunter's rifle, "Have you tried firing your rifle recently?"

Chester shook his head, "A man shouldn't fire a rifle unless he's got something to eat sighted in the scope. I haven't had the need."

Jason pulled out his handgun, firing it at the ceiling, "click-click-click" was all that sounded. He tossed the pistol to the Hunter. Captain Johnson looked at him as if he were stark raving mad.

"Check out the clip, Mr. Carter, that's a fully loaded nine millimeter. I've changed the bullets several times, and still nothing."

Carter caught the gun, checked the clip and chamber, and gave him the same look that the Captain did, "Boy, you're lucky it didn't fire. That's a good ceiling up there," he tossed it back. "You mean to tell me that if I try firing my rifle, it won't shoot?"

"That's what I'm saying, sir."

The Captain nodded his head in agreement.

The big guy stood up, grabbed his rifle, and headed for the door. The dogs looked up, but did not move; they were not ready to leave just yet. McJeeves and Johnson followed Carter outside and into the frigid air, which did not seem to faze the hunter. Chester Carter pointed his rifle at a nearby tree, and fired, "click" was the sound as the hammer hit the bullet charge. The rifle did not fire. He did it repeatedly, yet still nothing happened.

"Well I'll be dammed!" he exclaimed. "You sure this ain't no trick, boys?"

"It's not a trick, sir," McJeeves answered, "We have no clue what the hell is going on. When the creatures from hell attacked us, we fired a few rounds into them and our pistols worked fine. Halfway through the encounter, they stopped firing. We thought they were just cold, but later during our escape, we tried hunting some rabbit, and our guns still would not shoot. We were lucky to find enough food stores along the way to keep ourselves and the dogs fed, otherwise we'd already be dead."

Carter pointed toward the car, "Those not working either?"

"Nope," the Captain chimed in, "Nothing, sir."

Chester Carter started glancing all around into the woods expecting these creatures to come crashing through, "Let's go back inside, fellas. Y'all are given' me the hebegeebees."

Seated back in the great room, nobody spoke for some time. A few of the dogs grunted in there sleep, and the fire crackled. Carter got up, throwing more logs into the blaze. It provided the only light in the house.

"Well," he said, "that explains why I don't have any hot water."

"Or electricity," the Captain said.

"I never had that here, except for the hot water. I built this place to be self-sustaining."

"Where does your water source come from?" McJeeves asked.

"There's a pond up a hill a ways," he pointed out the window, "You can't see it through the darkness, but I built piping from there into the house. I ran it to the hot water tank and through the plumbing. The hot water stopped working about two weeks ago, about the same time the car broke, and I've been heating my water over the fire to warsh off," he looked them over, "What did y'all do with the creatures you killed?"

Both men looked at each other before answering, McJeeves spoke; "We left them where we killed them," Jason lied. "We had no room to carry 'em on the sled."

Carter nodded his head in understanding, "Well, why don't you boys hunker down for the night, we'll figure out what to do in the morning."

"God, it's nice to see morning again," McJeeves, stated, "Eternal darkness can drive a man batty."

"You get used to it livin' in these parts. It's part of the beauty of the land," he smiled.

McJeeves gave a half smile in return. As Chester trudged toward a back bedroom, McJeeves and Johnson found themselves comfortable couch spots, letting the warmth lull them to their dreams.

The next morning, McJeeves and Captain Johnson enjoyed washing themselves with buckets of hot water. It seemed like they would never be able to enjoy the warmth of water again. It was a blessing, and they treated it as such. Chester Carter found some old clothes for them to use; flannel shirts, and bib overalls. McJeeves laughed at his own reflection, and doubled over when he saw the Captain.

"You boys can throw your old clothes in the fire; they look like they've seen their last days."

McJeeves did not hesitate, making sure he emptied his pockets prior. Captain Johnson did the same except for his military jacket. They both thanked the hunter profusely.

Chester then gave them a hearty breakfast of more deer meat, and eggs he scrambled over the fire. It was a good day to be alive, they thought. As they prepared to leave, Chester brought out a box with lanterns, filled canteens, hunting knives, kerosene, some smoked meat, and doggie treats. McJeeves cocked an eyebrow at him when he saw the dog biscuits.

Chester shrugged, "I used to have some huntin' dogs, but they became too much to keep. Those are old, but the dogs won't mind. Here," Chester pulled a couple of warm looking jackets from a closet, and some old gloves, scarves, and hats, "These belong to my kid's. They haven't been up here for quite some time, and I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

Both men thanked him for the gracious gifts, but McJeeves noticed Chester was not getting dressed, "Aren't you leaving?" he asked the hunter.

"Nah! You boys go on. I'll be fine."

"Chester, with all due respect, your life'll be in danger if you stay. That army will be along soon."

"May I ask something?" He continued once they nodded, yes, "Did y'all see the base fall to this army?" Carter asked.

They both shook their heads in the negative.

"Now, I'm not questioning what you boys say you saw," he put up his hands in a friendly gesture, "but I'm thinking maybe the base still hasn't fallen." McJeeves started to shake his head at the hunter's logic, but Carter raised his finger to forestall his response; "Now, it might have fallen, but even if it did, and if this army is as big as you say it is, it's gonna take them a long time to reach my little shack. I'll be able to get out in time."

McJeeves shook his head, "I hope you're right, Chester. You've proven to be a great man and I'd hate to see anything happen to you."

"I'll be fine, boys, now you go on; you've got a long way's to go."

They shook hands, said their good byes, hooked up the dogs, and started on their way towards Whitehorse. If luck found them, they would make it in the next three days.

On the second day after the soldiers left, an army of creatures descended on his home. Chester Carter did not have a chance.

# Chapter 31 Ayatollah

For the next two weeks, they remained guests of the Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed. After the Ayatollah's Calvary routed the attackers, he led them to a camp spread-out especially for them. He had tents constructed, fire pits, troths to bathe in, and plenty of food and drink. After their hellish ordeal, the American troops felt like they had died and entered heaven. Although not as comfortable as their barracks back at the base, they were thankful for the amenities provided.

After the first week, the Ayatollah had some fresh American uniforms delivered. When Nick questioned him about it, all the man would say was that he had his ways. Every American soldier had a fresh uniform, socks, undershirts, briefs, jackets (although not necessarily their original units), shoes, warm overcoats, gloves, and backpacks stuffed with numerous other trinkets. In order to get over twenty thousand items of this nature, Nick knew the man had access into his former base. Considering his host's hospitality, Nick did not push the issue.

The Iraqis gave his medics access to supplies, and the trained professionals did their best to patch skin, reset broken bones, and cure infections. Luckily, Brad's infection was easily treated, and he suffered no ill affects. However, after the Marine's failed to follow orders when they charged ahead of schedule, Nick now only had roughly twenty-two thousand troops at his disposal. Seven thousand Marines died before the Ayatollah came to the rescue, and another thousand died of their wounds shortly after. His remaining men burdened themselves with more dog tags, and the new backpacks started to bulge from the load.

Overall, Nick surmised nearly sixty thousand Marines, forty thousand Army soldiers, and near ten thousand Special Forces, died during the bloody conflict. In total, over one hundred thousand American men and women, dead, but that was only on his side of the front. The America base housed just over three hundred and thirty thousand troops, and he did not want to think about what happened to the other positions.

During their stay, he and Brad constructed their flag system, and the Iraqi's were kind enough to provide the material. He separated his troops into four units of five thousand soldiers each, assigning one unit leader and five subordinates to them. Since the Marines now only had about two thousand men remaining, he formed them into his communication teams, whereby they would remain with him and his Brother during conflict, and would operate the flagging system, carrying messages to and from the deployed units. Blue, green, red, and purple, were the unit colors. Soldiers assigned to their particular color, attached armbands of the same color for recognition, and the leaders attached one on each arm.

He then had four flags attached to long poles for the Marines to carry, each with a color of the unit. When he wanted the blue unit to carry out an order, the Marines would raise the blue flag pole, followed by a pink for retreat (Brad called it "run like women"), white for maneuver, and black for attack. So if he wanted the Red's to maneuver the field to the left, the Marines would raise the red flag, followed by the white, they would then move the white flag in the direction they wanted the unit to maneuver; in this case to the left. Then from there he could order them to attack or retreat. It seemed like a reasonable system, and he passed instructions throughout the ranks. Nick was confident his men would follow it precisely.

He was lying in his tent when one of his Marine communicators stuck his head in. As it happened, Henry, the big Marine Brad clocked back at the base, was one of the survivors, and he turned out to be one of Nick's biggest advocates, "Sir, Iraqi Horsemen are approaching."

Nick sat up, "Thanks, Henry. Go find my Brother and have him meet me here."

"He's already on his way, Commander."

Nick smiled and nodded. Henry ducked back out of the tent, and Nick straightened himself for his meeting. As he exited his tent, the horsemen approached leading their horses on foot. Brad walked with them, carrying-on a conversation with the Ayatollah.

"Commander D'Manna," the Ayatollah bowed as he worded his greeting. Nick returned the gesture.

The Ayatollah motioned his men to take the horse away. Nick invited the man into his tent. They seated themselves on the comfortable pillows the Ayatollah was so kind to provide, and Nick realized he did not have any drink to offer. He began to apologize for his oversight, but Henry entered the tent with a steaming decanter of tea. Nick winked his thanks.

"You make a good host, Commander; I thank you for your hospitality."

"You're way too kind, sir. It's I who should be thanking you," Nick responded.

"Then we shall be thankful together," the Ayatollah smiled. They touched cups in toast, "Your men are looking very good, Nicholas, I'm glad for you. Your Father would be proud of your progress."

"Thank you, sir," Nick responded.

The Ayatollah encompassed both of them in a grim look, "I'm afraid I have some dire news to share," he took a sip of his tea, "Your American comrades are in full retreat toward Kuwait. Iraq is now in a bloody civil war, of which I am now involved, and there is already rumor of conflicts with our Saudi neighbors. I hoped to reengage you with your fellow soldiers, but I am afraid that is now out of the question. The entire Eastern and Southern area of my nation is in deadly conflict, and I would not be able to ensure your safety."

"How many troops are heading towards Kuwait?" Brad asked.

"Maybe one hundred thousand," the Ayatollah sadly replied.

Nick ran his fingers through his hair, another hundred thousand dead, he thought. "We'll risk trying, sir; we have to get to our base in Kuwait."

The Ayatollah shook his head, "That is not possible, Nicholas. You would not make it. Your men killed many insurgent mercenaries, and the only reason they have not come after you, is my protection. I cannot escort you to your other soldiers. Alone, you would be easy prey for these bad men."

"What do you suggest, sir?" Brad asked.

The Ayatollah took more sips of his tea before answering, Nick did not mind. Thoughts flew through his head. He thought of trying to join the other units regardless, but there was already too many American dead. His men now relied on him to use their life wisely, and he had to do what was best for them. Trudging through enemy territory with no weapons was not one of them. The Ayatollah interrupted his thoughts.

"I have made arrangements with the Jordanian King; he has offered safe passage through his lands and will provide escort for you to Israel. You have a large base there, and should be relatively safe until things in Iraq quiet. I hope by then power will be restored, and the world will return to normalcy," he smiled.

Nick blew out some air in thought, "May I think on it?" he asked.

The Ayatollah gave a slight nod, "I'm afraid you do not have much time. I'll be moving my people at first light. I have much to do to make things right again in my land. I will promise you this; once things normalize here, I'll contact your commanders in Kuwait and make amends. We have had terrible tragedies occur on our sacred land these past few weeks. The Iraqi people have made a deal with your Father, and Iraqi's always keep our word. The bad men who have started this conflict are not true Iraqis. They will be dealt with, I promise you this," the Ayatollah rose from the cushions, "You have a choice, Commander. If you decide to take my kind offer, follow the road west at first light. I will have agents along the route to look after your well-being. When you reach the Jordanian city of Mahattat al Jufur, the Jordanian King will have escorts available. Take the tents and anything you wish to carry. They are my gifts to you."

Nick nodded his understanding.

"One other thing my young D'Manna friends; Syria may cause you some issues. Avoid their borders and if you must, fight for your life. They have a deep hatred for your culture," the Ayatollah hugged each of them in turn, "If you decide to follow your Brothers to Kuwait, I will no longer be able to provide you aid. May Allah guide you," the Ayatollah bowed and exited the tent.

Both Brothers plopped down onto the cushions. "Now what?" Brad asked.

Nick lay back, shutting his eyes. This whole situation was a bloody mess. "Do we trust him?" he asked his younger Brother.

Brad picked at a pillow thinking the same exact thing. He knew his father had dealings with the Ayatollah, but did his Father trust him? For all he knew, it may be a trap. Separate them from their main command, and slowly whittle away at their numbers. On the other hand, was the Iraqi trying to lead the Special Forces away from the other American troops? The Ayatollah understood the numbers, over a hundred thousand American soldiers dead, but only ten thousand Special Forces. If he truly wanted his land back, he would have to get rid of the Forces one way or another.

"Well?" his Brother asked again.

"I'm thinking," Brad snapped.

"Well, think faster."

"Damn, now you're sounding like Dad."

Nick chuckled, "Yeah that did sound a little like what he'd say."

"I really don't know, Nick; it could be a trap either way, or he could be telling the truth," Brad tossed the pillow across the tent in frustration.

Nick sat back up, "If he wanted us dead, I don't think he would have gone through all the trouble of helping us heal. With how exhausted we all were, he could have had his men slit our throats the first night we arrived. I don't think any of us would have put up much of a struggle."

"So, what are you saying?" Brad asked.

Nick scratched at his head. He had a tendency to do that whenever he came to a final decision.

"We go west, young man," and he smiled.

# Chapter 32 D'Manna

"People are miserable, Brock, when are they going to get the power restored?"

D'Manna looked at his lovely wife. She dressed in a jogging suit, and although she thought she looked terrible, he begged to differ.

"I've got Jack and some of the guys trying to figure that out, Hun," he watched her as she paced the lounge.

She reminded him of the big cats at the Lincoln Park Zoo, pacing back and forth, trying to figure out how to get out of the trap. He could not take it anymore and got up to go stare out the window.

It was New Years Eve, ten days since the power went out. Although it remained quiet in the downtown area, rumors spread of sporadic riots and looting through the rural areas of the city. As more and more people started to panic, he imagined it would get worse. D'Manna hoped things did not digress to the same levels as New Orleans after the Katrina Hurricane disaster, or Haiti after the earthquake, but deep down he knew it was just a matter of time.

According to hotel management, they had enough food and firewood to make it at least a month, and with many of the locals braving the weather to get back home, they might be able to stretch it another two weeks more. All that remained in the hotel was foreigners who had nowhere else to go, and a handful of travelers from out of town; present company included.

As far as the hotel staff, the ones that had a family, left, and D'Manna did not blame them. They received no paycheck, they were miserable, and they had loved ones at home who needed them more than spoiled hotel guests. The ones that stayed were immigrants who lived in the hotel itself, and the Manager, who also used the hotel as a permanent residence. Although the remaining guests did not receive a bill at present, D'Manna knew the manager kept close tabs on what people consumed. As soon as they restored power, people were going to find some nice sized charges hitting their room bill. He chuckled to himself.

"What?" Laura asked.

"Ah, nothing, I was just thinking of stuff," he turned toward his wife, "You want to go down to the lobby with me?" he asked.

"For what?"

He shrugged, "I just have to get out of this room for a bit. I'm gonna start climbing the walls."

"No, go ahead. Just don't stay out forever, dear," she gave him a wicked smile.

He crossed the room, embracing his lovely wife in a hug. She did not have a clue their current issue could be more widespread than the immediate Chicago land area. If he told her what he really thought, she would worry to no end about her children, and he worried enough for the both of them.

"I'll be back soon," he kissed her cheek. "Why don't you find some drink mix behind the bar? It's New Years Eve and I'm thinking of suggesting a party. Let's help the people forget stuff for the night."

Laura nodded.

As soon as D'Manna exited the heated lounge, the cold air blasted him full force. The five agents who warmed themselves inside the lounge took over for the five that patrolled the hallway; these five escorted him down the five flights of steps to the main lobby. The hotel manager replaced many candles with kerosene lanterns, and D'Manna wondered where the man received all the stuff.

Under normal circumstances, the President would have hundreds of agents at his disposal, along with Press Secretaries, Writers, the Secretary of State, and numerous others who took care of everything from getting his coffee, to dry cleaning his suits. However, it was the holidays and D'Manna demanded everyone to go home and enjoy themselves with their families. Besides, he argued, he took care of his own duties prior to becoming President, and felt uncomfortable having so many people dawdle over him. After receiving pressure from everyone and their mother to, at the very least, take his security force with him to Chicago, he relented; but he only agreed with twenty in total, refusing to budge from that number. After two years of constant action, and finally being on the cusp of achieving one of his three objectives, D'Manna felt everyone involved in his Presidency deserved to take time and relax.

When the lead agent opened the doors to the lobby, the warmth rolled into the stairwell, sending shivers up his spine. There were still many people camped out in the warmth, and all the prime locations were being guarded by zealous patrons. It reminded him of the city streets when he was a teenager. Whenever it would snow, people would place objects - chairs, crates, traffic cones, or anything else they could find, in front of their houses to protect their parking spot; and woe to the people who tried to infringe on their territory. He remembered how cocky he was as a teenager, and the spot he tried to take as he visited his girlfriend who lived across the street. A little Old Italian lady whose territory he just invaded came charging from her house with a broom in her hand, swearing at him in Italian. He did not speak the language, but he definitely knew some of the colorful metaphors streaming from her mouth. When he realized she was really going to beat his butt if he did not move the car, he raised his hands in defense and pretty much begged for forgiveness. She stood outside in the cold weather with her arms crossed and the broom leaning against a tree, until he moved the car and replaced her chairs. As he did so, his girlfriend finally came out of her house, crossing the street to talk with the old woman. After a few words, the lady approached him, giving him a hug, kissed both of his cheeks, then patted his face as she said a few more words in Italian. Once he was alone with his girlfriend in the car, he asked her what the woman said.

"She said you had a pretty face and she would hate to have to kill you if you do it again," his girlfriend translated. The memory brought a smile to his face.

He scanned the lobby as he approached the front desk, and became a little disappointed at what he saw. Families with small children sat farther away from the fire than others who already claimed prime spots. They also forced the few remaining elderly couples to the outskirts as younger couples held onto prime real estate. One man angrily scolded a young child who dared enter his little space. The child's parents, who camped near the front door entrance, called to him to come back. D'Manna scanned the fireplace area, realizing if people shuffled around just a bit, there would be plenty of room for everyone to enjoy the heat.

The hotel manager interrupted his thought, "Mr. President, how may I be of service?"

"How'd these people pick their spots?" D'Manna asked. He surprised the manager with this question.

"W..we arranged people by the types of rooms they had. Obviously the ones who paid more were given first choice, and so on and so forth," he responded.

D'Manna did not say anything as he scanned the crowd. There were three families with small children, seven kids in all, and three elderly couples, all pushed to the outer fringes and away from the heat of the fireplace.

"Mr. President?" the hotel manager asked again.

D'Manna turned toward the man and noticed his nametag. Frankie Little, it read. "Frankie," he said, "It's New Years Eve. Let's put on a little party for everyone."

"That can be arranged, sir, how should I bill this?"

D'Manna gave him one of his patented looks, "Just put it on the house, Frankie, your room accommodations are terrible. Think of it as a way to make-up for it."

His response took the manager off guard, and before the guy could interject, D'Manna continued. "Also, I want you to empty the lounge of all the liquor, use it for the party, and," he held up his finger as the manager tried to interrupt, "I want you to relocate the families with children and those elderly couples," he pointed them out, "to the lounge. Is that understood?"

The manager stumbled for words, then just nodded his head.

As D'Manna turned to leave, a blast of cold air blew through the lobby as Jack entered with a bunch of people in his wake. He spotted D'Manna near the front desk, and headed in his direction.

D'Manna turned toward the manager once again, "That's all, Frankie. Please coordinate it immediately."

The manager nodded, hurrying-off to take care of his orders.

When the President entered the lobby, Lisa attempted to make herself as small as possible. Lisa Rutz, sitting just off to the side of the front desk, watched and overheard the entire conversation the President just had with the hotel manager, and with notebook in hand, jotted down as much as she could.

Lisa watched Jack enter the front door with other men and work his way through the crowd toward the President. As Jack whispered near the President's ear, he noticed her and gave a wink in recognition. Lisa smiled back in response.

She watched as the group made their way to a small conference room just off the main lobby. The hotel manager kept the door locked to keep the main room as warm as possible. One of the hotel workers, who carried the coat D'Manna used during the plane rescue, opened it for them. Three agents remained outside to guard the door, and the President delayed entering, exchanging words with the very large man carrying the jacket. The man handed the President what appeared to be a marker, and she watched as D'Manna signed the inside lining. As the President entered the room, the large worker handed the keys to another, then left the hotel.

Lisa returned her attention to the room and the closed door the agents now guarded. She would have loved to be a fly-on-the-wall.

The conference room was cold, but nobody complained, "Well, gentleman, what do we have?" D'Manna asked. Besides his agents, Jack brought four other people with him.

Jack introduced his guests. Pointing out the first person, Jack said, "This is Earl Stacks, Chief Electrical Engineer with the power company."

"Mr. Stacks," D'Manna repeated and shook his hand.

He did the same with the others as Jack completed the introductions. The people included Ray Hammond, a Mechanical Engineer, George Foreman, Chief Engineer with the city's Sanitation Department, and Fred Mitchell, Commander District One Chicago Police Force.

"Have a seat, gentleman," D'Manna motioned to the chairs.

Jack pointed to Earl Stacks. Earl cleared his throat as he shuffled around in his seat. The man was obviously nervous, D'Manna thought.

"Mr. President, we basically have an issue with the cities power system, and I don't think we can fix it. I had workers check three main power stations, and they can't find anything wrong with the systems. There are no blown circuits or broken cables. Nothing that indicates anything is wrong. I even had the main power circuitry and motherboards replaced with new parts just to make sure, and they didn't respond either. It took us days to walk to the supply depot and back again, and I don't think anyone is up to making that trip again. I can't even pinpoint the exact issues because none of our testing equipment is working. I've never seen anything like this, sir; it has us all stumped."

D'Manna just sat and stared as Earl narrated. His worst fears played out before his eyes.

Jack, sensing the President was not going to say anything, asked, "Do you think it could be related to the cold weather?"

"I don't know, sir," Earl responded, "It could be. I've never seen the weather this cold in Chicago."

Jack nodded and when he realized the President wouldn't provide a remark, he pointed at Ray Hammond, the Mechanical Engineer, to speak.

"I've been experiencing the same issues, Mr. President. From cars, to furnaces, and even some trains parked in the yard, all the motors appear to be fine, but our diagnostic gear has failed. We really cannot tell unless we totally tear an engine apart and rebuild it from scratch. I don't even think that'll work. It just seems like the whole damn world has stopped."

As the President continued to stare into space, Jack thanked Ray for his analysis, then nodded to George, and motioned for the man to speak.

"We've got a potential for some big problems if the power isn't restored soon," George stated. "Prior to the construction of sewage treatment plants in and around the city, sewage and storm water was disposed of directly into the river through a common sewer main. To alleviate the problem, the Water Reclamation District began a program of constructing holding reservoirs and deep shaft tunnels parallel to the Chicago River system. During storms, these tunnels held excess water until pumped to water reclamation plants. If the power continues to stay out, the pumps will not kick-in, and raw sewage will start flowing into the river."

D'Manna's voice startled everyone in the room, "How does the city get its water, George?" he asked.

George fumbled his words through his mind, then responded, "The South Water Purification Plant located at 79th Street. It serves the south water district, over 1.8 million people. There's also the Jardine Plant. The total system serves some four hundred square miles, including Chicago and over seventy suburbs. The total plant and facilities of the systems include three water intake cribs located about two miles off shore in Lake Michigan..."

The President cut the man's response short. He was getting too much information, "If we bypassed the pumps, how large of an area would still be able to receive water?" D'Manna asked.

"I don't know, Mr. President. Water and plumbing systems work by gravity. Pumps were introduced to push water to farther locations, and up hills, or in the cities case, up tall buildings," George responded. "The city is slightly above lake levels, but the cribs would still allow a fair amount of lake water to flow freely until gravity takes affect. The immediate downtown area may be able to receive a limited water flow, but only at the lowest elevations."

"What about the suburbs, George?" D'Manna continued.

George Foreman shook his head, "It would work pretty much the same way, Mr. President. Communities that get water from lakes and streams would only be able to water a very limited amount of space. Most suburbs that don't receive lake water pump their own from deep underground reservoirs. They won't be able to get water up to the surface."

Jack asked, "What happens when there's a power outage in those communities, how do they maintain their water flows?"

"That's where the water towers come into affect," George responded. "They're built tall for a reason. When power goes out, or even when water usage peaks, the towers release water via gravity to the communities they serve. When the power is restored, pumps refill the tanks to keep the towers at sustainable levels."

"How many days of water can the towers hold?" D'Manna asked.

"Usually two to three days, Mr. President. If this current power outage is also hitting the suburbs, their water towers will be empty because the pumps could not replenish them. Just like in this building. This hotel has its own water tower on the roof. Most tall buildings do. After the city's power went out, people didn't notice an affect until the towers drained. They may have noticed there wasn't any hot water, but the faucets still flowed and toilets still flushed."

"So then," D'Manna fumbled for the right words, "the toilets still flush if you pour water into them, correct?"

"Yes sir," George answered.

"How, where does it go?"

"All plumbing systems work by gravity, Mr. President. As long as there's water to trigger the flush, the toilets design will force the water to drain. The issue is the treatment facilities. Because there's no power, the waste will build-up until it overflows or backs-up the sewage system. Chicago is designed to overflow into the river, but other communities would see cesspools of waste forming because there will be nowhere else for it to go."

"Even in their own houses?" Jack asked.

"If the sewage systems back-up that far, yes," George answered.

"George," D'Manna asked, "if sewage flows into the river, wouldn't it contaminate the lake area where the intake pipes are located?"

"Not in Chicago, Mr. President. They had this problem when Chicago first settled in 1900. The city engineers reversed the Chicago River where all sewage flowed, making it the first river to flow away from its mouth. This took sewage away from the immediate settlement areas and away from the cities water source. All waste would now flow away from the lake and will eventually end-up in the Cal-Sag canal, and keep flowing farther south."

"So," D'Manna interjected, "all the waste from Chicago would flow, untreated, to these southern locations?"

"Yes sir," George answered.

"What about disease, George. This cannot be a good thing to happen."

"Cholera struck Chicago in the summer of 1849 as raw sewage contaminated water supplies." George responded. "Many Chicagoans died, Mr. President. As the city grew, smallpox, dysentery and typhoid struck its population at alarming rates. Once they reversed the river and built treatment facilities, all the diseases disappeared and people stopped dying. If raw sewage was again allowed to flow freely, then I would presume the same types of diseases would return to areas where the sewage congregated."

D'Manna placed his face in his hands, "A six percent death rate of our current population level would be catastrophic, George. You're talking about millions of people."

"Sewage is a nasty business, Mr. President, and with how overpopulated cities are, I would guess the percentages would be higher in today's world. The good news is; it will not affect the immediate downtown area to a great degree because the river's a mile to the West, and it'll be flowing away from the city. The bad news is; all those communities where it's flowing to, will be in for some hard times."

"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Foreman," D'Manna stated, "You're extremely well versed in your business, and this brings me a level of comfort. I would ask you to brainstorm some alternatives to our sewage issues if this power situation is not resolved. We need to figure out creative alternatives that don't rely on electricity."

"I'll try, Mr. President."

"Thank you, George. I know you will," D'Manna gave him a smile and a nod of confidence.

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"Mr. Mitchell," Jack stated, "Would you please enlighten us on our current security issues."

"Mr. President," Fred began, "the downtown area has been relatively free of panic, but the inner city has had some riots and looting. The longer the power remains out, the more people are going to panic. I think the frigid weather is keeping many people from joining in, but as their stored-up food and wood diminishes, they're not going to have a choice." When D'Manna did not respond, the Commander looked at Jack, and Jack nodded for him to continue, "Uh, along that same vein, Mr. President, there are groups out in force looting as much prime goods as they can get their hands on. We don't think they're doing it for their own needs, but more as a moneymaking opportunity. As people run out of necessities, they'll have to go to these folks, and the price will be high. They're opportunist looking to cash in on peoples misfortunes."

"Where are they operating from, Mr. Mitchell?" D'Manna asked.

"Um, it's hard to separate fact from fiction, Mr. President. With all our communication paths offline, we're relying on word of mouth. However, I have personally seen men emptying some grocery stores. They aren't ordinary citizens, Mr. President; it was an organized operation with many individuals involved."

"Did you try to stop them, Commander?" Jack asked, and D'Manna noted it was more of a planted question than Jack's attempt to get answers. Apparently, Jack has already heard the story and merely helped the Police Chief along.

"Yes we did, and I almost lost a good officer in the trying," Fred Mitchell looked around at the faces in the room. D'Manna recognized nervousness, and the Commander suddenly became very uncomfortable, "A group of my men confronted the organized looters, and both sides opened fire on one another, except nothing happened," D'Manna cocked an eyebrow, and the Commander put up a hand to forestall his question, "The guns didn't fire, Mr. President. It was the oddest thing I've ever encountered in my life. Both sides kept trying and even reloaded fresh clips into guns, but nothing happened. The hammers on the guns clicked, but bullets failed to discharge. When both parties realized their guns were useless, the encounter turned into a fistfight. We were outnumbered, Mr. President, and one of my officers was severely injured. The rest of my guys pulled out to get more men, but when they returned, the looters were gone."

"Mr. President," Jack interrupted, and waited for D'Manna to turn in his direction, "If I may demonstrate?" Jack asked.

D'Manna noticed his drawn gun, and he signaled Jack to go ahead. Jack pulled the trigger as he aimed his gun at the wall. Nothing happened except the clicking of the hammer striking the bullet charge.

"Mr. President," Jack continued, "None of our guns are working," he indicated the other agents in the room.

Someone blew out a startled breath, but D'Manna was too deep in thought to notice whom. He tapped his knuckles repeatedly on the conference room table; nobody spoke as they waited for him to speak. After a few minutes, D'Manna turned toward Jack, "Can you empty a shell for me?"

Jack thought it over, "If I had pliers."

D'Manna motioned to one of his agents, and the agent opened the door, relaying the request to another guarding the opposite side. D'Manna looked toward the Police Commander. The guy still did not answer his question. "Commander, I'll ask again. Where are these people, these organized looters, operating from?"

He noticed the Commander swallow, but kept his stare locked squarely on his eyes. He was not going to let him side step the question once again. After a minute or two, the Commander answered.

"Bridgeport, Mr. President."

This time, folks around the table, sucked in air.

"Isn't that where the Mayor resides?" D'Manna asked.

"Yes sir, but I don't think it's the Mayor's doing."

"Then who do you think it is, Commander?"

The Commander swallowed again, "Those men we confronted were organized, Mr. President. The rumor is the Pecholi brothers are coordinating the activities. They've got a large warehousing chain that would allow them to store the goods until people paid the price."

Just then, an agent entered the room with pliers. D'Manna needed time to think, so he motioned for Jack, watching as the agent popped a bullet from the chamber, and used the pliers to separate the tip from the casing. Jack dumped the gunpowder onto the conference room table.

"It looks like gunpowder to me," Jack stated.

D'Manna separated a small amount and grabbed a lighter. When he placed the flame against the powder, the expected flash did not occur. Instead, the powder just kind-of slowly melted into a black glob. He scooped up the rest of the powder, and the same result occurred. Where there should have been a flash, was now just a gooey looking mess.

"Hmm, well gentlemen," D'Manna looked around the room, "It appears that besides no electricity and water, we now have no guns."

Nobody said a word.

After a few more minutes of silence, D'Manna again addressed the Police Commander, "How many men do you have at your disposal, Mr. Mitchell?"

"One thousand, sir," he responded.

"How many horses are in your district, Commander?" D'Manna continued.

"One hundred, sir."

One last question Commander, "How many miles is it from here to Bridgeport?"

The Commander thought for a moment, "Roughly five miles, sir."

D'Manna did some calculations in his head, then tapped the table when he was done. "It'll take us approximately three hours by horse, gentleman. Commander, if you'd be so kind as to round-up thirty horses and twenty officers, I'd be much obliged. We'll leave at first light tomorrow morning. Tell everyone to dress warm. It's going to be a cold ride."

"Um, Mr. President, that's the Pecholi brother's stronghold," the Commander looked at him as a deer caught in headlights. "We don't have enough people to confront them," he finished.

D'Manna looked him dead in the eyes, "I'll deal with the Pecholi's, Commander. Just get the horses and supplies, and get me there. I'll take care of the rest." He then addressed his other guests, "Gentleman, I wish to thank you for your time. You have proven to be exceptionally informative. We'll have much work to do in the coming days, and I look forward to your guidance and input," he then shook their hands. As they exited the room, D'Manna grabbed the Commander by the arm, "Tomorrow morning sharp, Commander."

The Commander nodded his head.

Lisa Rutz watched the door to the little conference room like a hawk. Every other stranded media person in the hotel left days ago to get back to their families, giving her the opportunity to grab all the exclusives. She had nowhere else to go, no family close by. In fact, her closest relative lived in Ohio. Her apartment was in Schaumberg, which was over forty miles away, and she was in no mood to walk home in this damn weather. Her only regret was having no change of clothes, and no plumbing to wash the stink from her body. She knew she looked wretched, but she had absolutely no choice in the matter. So she made due with what she had, and looked forward to the bright days to come. She just wished they would fix the damn power already.

At one point, she noticed the door open and words pass between two of D'Manna's agents. The one guarding the door strolled over to the front desk, and after a few minutes, returned to the room carrying two pliers. Lisa wondered what kind of torture was going to take place, and she wished she could somehow witness it. The intrigue was killing her.

After what seemed like hours, the door opened again, and all the inhabitants exited the room. Lisa recognized the Police Commander, watching as he and D'Manna exchanged a few words before they shook hands. D'Manna and his agents started walking in her direction. It was the only way for them to get back to their rooms, and she was remiss that she did not anticipate this by getting out of their way sooner. Lisa again tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, and thought she was home free, but then she heard the President speak her name. She ignored him.

"Ms. Rutz?" D'Manna repeated, walking up to her seated position.

"Mr. President?" she said in surprise.

D'Manna watched as she tried to straighten her hair, "I didn't know you were still here," he stated. "I was told all the media left to go take care of their families. You should've said something."

"I'm fine, Mr. President. It's just too far for me to walk home, and I don't have any other family close by," she watched as the President put his hands on his hips.

"Lisa, you don't look fine," he held up a finger to stop her rebuttal, "You look like shit, Lisa, so don't tell me you're fine. Now get up off your butt and come with us. There's plenty of room in the lounge and I'll find you a change of clothes."

She tried to decline, but the President would have none of it, "Jack, please escort the young lady when she's ready."

"Yes sir, Mr. President," Jack replied, giving her a welcoming smile.

The President and his other agents quickly departed the lobby, and after a few minutes, Lisa and Jack followed.

"I'm fine, Jack, I don't need this hand out."

"Lisa," Jack started, "you look like crap, and if I were you, I'd just shut-up and accept the opportunity the President has given. How many other reporters do you know who will ever get the opportunity to stay in the same room as the President?"

Lisa did not know what else to say, so she just nodded her head, following Jack into the inner sanctum of the President of the United States. The thought overwhelmed her.

D'Manna immediately noticed the noise as he entered the lounge on the fifth floor. The seven kids were having a blast with their new surroundings, and when he checked the bar area, he was happy to notice all the glasses and bottles had been removed. He guessed the children's age ran from ten down to two, and it was the two year old who squealed the loudest as she tried to catch the older kids in a game of tag.

D'Manna looked at the agents who sat near the entrance, and gave them a big smile. They did not return the gesture. One kid slammed into D'Manna's leg; he looked to be about four years old, "Are you da Predent?" the kid asked.

D'Manna scooped the kid up, flipped him upside down, and started tickling him, making him squeal with delight. The other kids flocked toward him, screaming, "Do me, do me!"

"No-no, kids. I can't do everyone," he placed the four-year-old back down and scooped up the two-year-old little girl as she tried to run away. She started squealing even before he had a chance to tickle her. His agents looked at him with murder in their eyes.

"Come with me kids, we have to be quiet now," D'Manna started walking toward the back area of the lounge, carrying the little girl; "Those grumpy men don't like little kids making so much noise. It hurts their brains."

"Banes?" the little girl asked as she touched the top of her head.

"That's right darlin', that's your banes," he repeated, "What's your name?"

He did not understand her response, looking to the Mother for translation. "Lisa," the Mother said.

"Hi, Lisa," D'Manna repeated, looking back toward the door.

Lisa Rutz was already in the room watching him. He pointed to her, "Her name is Lisa too. She was outside playing in the mud, and now she's all dirty and yucky."

"Yucky?" little Lisa asked.

D'Manna nodded his head, and whispered in her ear, "Yucky and stinky," he said, and little Lisa laughed.

Big Lisa on the other hand, bore a hole through him with an evil stare. He gave her a smile, placed little Lisa down, "Go play," he said, then noticed Laura standing by their little room area, watching him.

"You done playing, little boy?" his wife asked.

"Yes, Mommy," he said, and he waddled to her with his hands in the air, just as a little boy would do.

She laughed at his nonsense, giving him a hug when he persisted in continuing with his little game. Since he would not let go of her, Laura pulled him inside their concealed room; "Mommy, bad?" he asked. She pushed him on the bed, and this brought a big smile to his face, "Mommy, very bad?" he asked again.

"No, Mommy not bad, Daddy, err baby, or whatever the hell you are, is bad."

He laughed at her attempt to scold him, and his lovely lady-like wife, dove at him, leveling him onto the bed. He laughed even harder. After a few minutes of pretend wrestling, they both sat on the edge of the mattress, "So what's with the kids and people?" Laura asked.

He put on a serious face, and told her of his conversation with the hotel manager.

"I figured it was something like that," Laura stated.

"You don't mind?" he asked.

"No, well only if they keep me awake at night, but no, it'll break-up the monotony around here."

"Good," he kissed her cheek, "I have to go out tomorrow and probably won't be back until night."

"You, WHAT! Where the hell are you going?"

"I have to go to Bridgeport to visit the Mayor, and some other folks who are turning looting into an organized revenue stream."

"You're the President, Brock, why don't you make them come to you?" Laura asked in a not to happy way.

"Oh yeah, I can see it now," D'Manna imitated one of his agents going to the door of the bad guys, "Scuse me Mr. Bad guy, the President wants you to travel five miles on foot, through two feet of snow and freezing temperatures, to tell him why you're being bad and to tell you to stop it."

Laura chuckled at his bad impersonation, "Fine, I understand," she said, "but why is it gonna take you all day?" she asked.

"Laura," he gently took her hand in his for emphasis, "It's five miles away through snow covered roads. If we walked, it'd probably take us six hours just to get there. As it is, I have the Police Commander rounding up some horses. It should only take us about three hours by horse, and by time I finish having conversations with everyone, I'm guessing it'll be late in the day and dark by time I get back."

"Fine," she said, "When are they getting the power restored?"

"Um, they're going to stop trying until the freezing temperatures let-up," D'Manna responded.

Laura turned frightened angry eyes on him, "And YOU agreed to that!"

"I didn't really have a choice, dear. They've tried everything they could, and said they can't even find out what's wrong because their testing gear isn't working. What was I supposed to do?" he responded in defense.

Laura got up off the bed and stormed toward the seating area that she set-up in the opposite corner of their little room, "Fine, go ahead," she said.

D'Manna just shrugged, what other choices did he have? He walked over to the dressers and started picking out warm clothing to wear. He chose two pairs of socks, long johns he did not even know he had, sweatshirt, etc... When he was almost done, he realized Laura stood directly behind him. As he turned, she gave him a hug.

"Don't forget, the New Year celebration is tonight," she said.

"Damn! I forgot all about it, babe."

"I figured," she said as she kissed his neck, releasing her strangle hold around his head.

D'Manna finished stuffing his duffel bag, and placed it by the entrance so he would not forget it in the morning. Laura watched him as he moved around the room with purpose.

"Aren't you worried about the bad guys, Brock?"

"Nah, it's the Pecholi brother's, Lor," he gave her a smile.

"Then you better tell them to be nice to you, or I'm gonna kick their butts," Laura said.

He smiled at her reaction, "I'll tell 'em, baby," he snapped his fingers as he just remembered something he was supposed to mention, "I also invited a reporter who helped with the plane wreck, to stay in the lounge. She looks terrible, Lor. Can you help her get cleaned-up and some fresh clothes?"

"Her?" His lovely wife responded with raised eyebrow.

"Ah, yeah, Jack has a crush on her so I told him I'd help," he lied.

"Fine!" was all she said once again.

The party, although very subdued, went over great with the hotel guests. The hotel manager, Frankie, did an excellent job of heating one of the Ballrooms, and had a relatively extensive array of snacks and drinks available. Although no electricity flowed, kerosene lanterns provided plenty of light, casting a romantic peace amongst the guests. Frankie had one of the hotel Grand Piano's rolled into the room, and one guest, who had extensive experience with it, played songs throughout the evening. People danced and socialized, the children ran and screamed, even the hotel staff, after setting-up the ensemble, joined in with the guests and everyone appeared to have a relaxing, enjoyable celebration. When he thought the midnight hour arrived, D'Manna called everyone together near the piano.

"I want to thank you all for coming to my party," he began, and everyone snickered at the jest.

"Truly, folks; we've had many trying times through the year, none more so than what we currently face, but also many happy moments with things that have blessed our lives.

Let us remember those who have passed with fondness; let us pray for those who need our support; let us love those who are close to us and also those who are our neighbors; We must never forget, we share this world together.

Let us enter the New Year, with determination, renewed faith, positive minds, and hearts filled with compassion. Let us guide our young," D'Manna pointed a little Lisa, and she gave him a big smile, "for they are our future. Let us cherish our elderly, for they are our past; and lastly, let us make this a year of renewal for the human spirit."

Here-here! People shouted, and glasses rose in salute.

D'Manna scanned the faces of the gathered, "All right," he said, "everyone count with me; TEN, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, ONE, HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

People hugged, laughed, cried, and kissed. The children ran around throwing torn-up pieces of paper into the air, and the pianist played an upbeat tune. It was a pleasant ending to an old and trying year, and a hopeful beginning to the new.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. D'Manna nearly finished getting dressed when an agent popped his head into his makeshift bedroom.

"The horses are here, Mr. President."

D'Manna nodded his understanding and completed dressing. Laura rolled over so she could face him, "You better hurry back, Mr. President," she said groggily.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, "Yes, my First Lady."

"Your first and only, Mr. D'Manna."

He smiled at her, "Of course, dear."

"You gonna be warm enough?" she asked.

"I have three pair of pants on, three socks, three sweatshirts, and a full length down jacket, thanks to you. A ski goggle, two pair of gloves, scarves, and God knows what else. If I freeze to death, then fate has pulled my number, dear."

"Then I'll have to kick fates ass," she responded.

He laughed, "For a little lady, you're ready to kick lots of ass, aren't you?"

"I may be small, but I'm tough; and don't you forget it, bub."

"I can't forget anything about you," he kissed his wife again. "I have to go. I'll see you later, baby."

As he left the room, mostly everyone still slept. With all the layers of clothing, he felt like he was waddling. Ten agents, including Jack, joined his escort.

The Commander and eighteen officers waited in the lobby chewing on some coffeecake Frankie supplied, and had warm cups of coffee in their hands. After the third day of no power, Frankie started making coffee heated over the fireplace, and everyone was ready to sell him their soul for a cup.

D'Manna waddled over to the table, "Happy New Year, gentlemen."

They raised their cups in salute, and D'Manna helped himself to the treats.

"Have you ridden before, Mr. President?" the Commander asked.

"I can manage, Fred, Just give me a tame one."

The other Cops snickered.

Once ready, they exited from the warmth into the frigid winter air. One President, nineteen police officers, and ten agents, waddled out to the waiting horses.

"This one is yours, Mr. President," the Commander handed him the reins of a horse colored yellowish brown, with white splotches on its legs.

As he was about to mount-up, a horse, pure black from head to hoof, interjected itself between him and the brown horse.

"Ah, that's Firecracker, Mr. President. He's a little high-strung."

D'Manna eyed the creature as it pranced and moved about. Firecracker's previous rider tried to get back in the saddle, but the beast would have none of it. The beautiful black stallion moved in front of the President and nudged his hand with its snout.

D'Manna grabbed its reins, "Ah, Commander," D'Manna stated, "This one doesn't look too tame to me."

The Commander smiled down at him from atop his own horse, Firecracker was not letting any other horses get close to the President, and the Commander figured it was safe enough, "He's just young, Mr. President. Show him whose boss and he'll quiet down for you."

D'Manna, noticing the snickers coming from the officers, knew they were having entertainment at his expense. He looked over at the rest of the men, and they were all already on their horses waiting. Jack had another rider sitting in front of him on the saddle and when D'Manna looked closer, he saw it was Lisa Rutz. Damn, he thought; that's all he needed.

He pulled on Firecracker's rein to get him to hold still, and pointed his finger at the beast's face, "If you want me to ride you, you better behave, horsy."

The creature tried to bite his finger, and this started another round of snickers through the ranks. The Commander dismounted his horse, coming over to lend a hand. He grabbed the reins, motioning for D'Manna to climb on. It took him a couple of attempts as the horse kept sidestepping away, but he did finally manage to get in the saddle. The Commander handed him the reins then adjusted his stirrups. As soon as he was done, Firecracker started his prancing about routine again, and it took him awhile to get the horse under some semblance of control.

The Commander remounted his own horse, asking if he was okay; D'Manna just nodded his head, yes. He was not going to let this horse get the better of him.

They started their journey by heading towards Michigan Avenue. They would then take it to Ohio Street, and on to the I-90/94 interstate toward Taylor Street.

All the other horses walked calmly in a straight line, but not Firecracker. His horse wanted to zigzag all along their route, frequently trying to bite some of the other horses, and a few times when they were not available, he would stretch his neck around, trying to take a chunk out of D'Manna's leg. It was a battle of wills, and sadly, the beast was winning. At one point along Ohio, Firecracker zigzagged toward Jack and Lisa's horse.

"You're being too nice, Mr. President. Yank him around and he'll start to behave," Lisa shouted.

"You want me to be mean to the horse?"

"Not mean, just push him around a little and he'll quit trying to knock you off," she replied.

Another battle of wills ensued, but this time D'Manna held his ground, forcefully making the beast do his bidding. Firecracker finally started to respond. He smiled at the reporter like a kid in a candy shop.

Now that he could look around without having to worry about the feisty horse, D'Manna was able to witness some of the affects the Pulse was having on humanity. He was blind within the hotels confinement, and one of his primary objectives when he decided to take a ride today, was to see the true picture first hand. Too many weird issues transpired since the idiotic congregation decided to set-off the Pulse. In hindsight, he should have demanded McJeeves destroy the weapon at all costs, but it probably would have ended the agents' life. Now, he had a nation paralyzed because of it, and potentially every nation on the Earth. If this weather continued at its current pace, and power did not resume quickly, many people are going to die from the elements. Then many more will succumb from diseases that raw sewage and rotting corpses would pose. It would be an unparalleled catastrophic disaster, almost in-line with the extinction of the dinosaurs.

His second objective was to set-up a requisition and distribution channel for the population. Most people do not stock-up months of food and water in case of an emergency. It has already been ten days since the power died, and D'Manna doubted if the populace could last another ten without major help. He also surmised that with the decentralization of Corporations, and every major farming and manufacturing operation pretty much owned by corporations, there remained no dedicated stake owners who would plant and harvest the fields, distribute goods, and manage the necessities. How many employees are going to go to the farm, the plant, or the office, for no pay, he thought. Probably not many, and if they did, they would not be able to manage the acreage and operations by themselves, especially with no machinery.

His hope today was to persuade the Pecholi brothers to become stake owners and not common criminals preying on the populace. From the intelligence he heard, these guy's had the manpower and wherewithal to manage a wide scale operation for the betterment of society. He hoped to persuade them to establish far-reaching distribution and requisition operations, and help as many people survive, and eventually adapt to current life. He did not want people preying on people; he wanted people to help. Now he would have to convince the Pecholi brothers that this was the right course to take.

Along the route toward the expressway, D'Manna witnessed all the vehicles stalled in their tracks. They just stopped right where they were, and all traces of the owners disappeared. Many people had some form of fire burning, whether it was in their backyard or fireplace, but how much longer would the wood hold out, he thought. When would they start tearing each other's homes down to get more?

As they neared the expressway, more cars clogged the streets and the horsemen had to maneuver around them. This proved especially tricky for the President and his jittery horse. Once they reached the expressway proper, the going became easier. Although there were plenty of vehicles stalled in the lanes, the riders had easy access to the shoulder of the road.

As his horse cantered along, D'Manna watched the smoke from thousands of fires fill the clear day sky. The quietness of the sky reminded him of the days following 911 when no planes were allowed to fly, but it was compounded as no trucks, cars or any other motorized sounds were heard anywhere. It was an eerie feeling to his senses. He did not see many people about, and those he did, stopped to watch the parade of horses. So far, he thought, people were surviving the hardship.

They made their way toward Ruble, then over to Canalport and finally Halsted. The Bridgeport neighborhood was not very large; perhaps three square miles, tops.

As they approached the outskirts, D'Manna became concerned. The occupants sectioned off the entire neighborhood from the outside world with barbed wire, debris, bricks, stalled cars, sandbags, and anything else they could find. It looked like the Iraqi war zone, and men strolled along the interior at what appeared to be regular intervals. The Commander and his men dressed in their uniforms, and this of course made the men on the other side of the barricades, leery.

"Where is the entrance?" the Commander called out to one individual they passed.

The guy pointed in the direction they traveled, "About a mile up ahead," he shouted back, "You can't miss it."

The Commander waved his thanks, kicking his horse into a trot. The others followed, and even Firecracker did not cause issues. By the time they reached the entrance area, D'Manna guessed it neared mid-day, and the trip took longer than he thought it would. The person they asked was correct with his directions. They could not miss it. There were numerous men milling about the fortified entrance, even some dressed in police uniforms. There was also a stream of men rolling merchandise on wheelbarrows through the entrance area, into their little protected world. All the activity at the gate stopped as the horse procession approached.

"What can I do for you guys?" asked one of the gate guards.

The Commander looked at the President, then responded, "We need to speak with the Mayor."

"I don't think he's available," the guy answered, his cronies snickered.

D'Manna scanned the many faces as the Commander continued to persuade them to open the gate. He knew the Commander was not going to win. He was about to order them to clear the way for the President, which probably would have earned another laugh, when he thought he recognized one face.

"Jeffy?" he called.

The guy turned when he heard his name.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here, cuz?" D'Manna said, removing his hood and goggles.

"HEY CUZ!" Jeffy shouted, "Open the gate you friggin knot heads, that's the friggin President."

All heads snapped in his direction. The bad guys looked at him to verify Jeffy's word with their own eyes, and the good guys looked at him in shock that the President knew one of them.

D'Manna dismounted, patting Firecracker on the neck. His legs felt funny as he walked toward Jeffy. Firecracker followed, "Long time no see," D'Manna said as he wrapped Jeffy in a hug.

"No kiddin', cuz, what brings you out?"

"I came to see why the Pecholi's are braving this weather to steal food."

Jeffy looked over his shoulder at the mounted riders, "Let them in, guys," he waved D'Manna's group forward. "Come on, I'll bring you to 'em. They're in the house right over there," Jeffy pointed in the general direction. "Hey guys," his cousin called back to the group at the entrance, "put them up in Joey's house; he won't be back for a while." One cop, who spoke with the mounted Commander, waved his understanding.

"No-no, bud, just him! You need to stay with your friends."

D'Manna looked over, seeing Jack heading in his direction. Jack did not pay attention to Jeffy's words and kept coming.

"HEY, numb-nuts, I told you..."

D'Manna put a hand on Jeffy's chest to stop him, "I'll take care of it, Jeff."

He walked over to Jack, and whispered a few words in his ear. Jack nodded, returning to the main group. D'Manna saw the worried and confused look on Lisa's face, and knew the reporter would drill him endlessly about this when she had a chance. He walked back toward Jeffy, putting his arm around his cousin's shoulders.

"So, why are you-guys out, Jeff?" he asked as they walked toward the house Jeffy pointed to earlier.

"The early bird gets the worm, cuz. If we wait until the weather gets warmer, we'll have to fight everyone and their grandma for the stuff," Jeffy looked him in the eye. "What the hell is going on anyway?"

Lisa watched D'Manna walk away with the Jeffy character, wondering what in tar-nations was going on. These people were obviously stealing merchandise, and the President seemed to know them. Why would he want to talk with them instead of taking them away and locking them-up? She was flabbergasted at the whole situation. She kept watching as the two men continued to a house just down the street. The President entered alone, as Jeffy covered the door. The beautiful Firecracker followed both men, and started pawing the snow in the front yard, digging for grass.

"Come on, Lisa," Jack called.

A few more glance's at the house, then she reluctantly followed the Special Agent.

D'Manna entered the non-descript bungalow, and was amazed how large it was on the inside. You would not know it from the outward appearance. Numerous elderly men sat in the living room, the smell of cigar smoke hung heavy in the air. He noticed the Mayor seated amongst the group.

"Nick's boy," D'Manna heard one Pecholi brother say to another.

"Ah, hey, he looks like Nick's boy," the other replied.

Three seated men stood up and exchanged greetings with him. D'Manna looked at the Mayor, "Mr. Mayor," he greeted as he nodded.

The Mayor gave him a smirk, "Aren't you a little out of your jurisdiction, Mr. President?"

"Hey Johnny," one of the Pecholi's said, "Escort the Mayor back to his house."

The Mayor began to protest, but wisely decided to leave.

"Have a seat, Mr. President," he indicated the chair the Mayor just vacated.

D'Manna accepted the offer with thanks.

"What can we do for you?" the eldest Pecholi brother asked.

D'Manna looked them over, recognizing their resemblance, "It's what I'm gonna do for you, gentlemen. I have a proposition to propose," he smiled, and accepted an offered cigar. This could turn out to be a pivotal moment, he thought.

# Chapter 33 The Pulse

The human race has always been very resilient, overcoming exceptional difficulties throughout their earthly existence. The current disaster was no exception; at least in the beginning.

The earth was freezing from the tip of the North, to the very bottom of the South, and humanity banded together. As this event occurred so close to the holidays, many travelers found themselves stranded in unfamiliar places. The lucky ones at airports and depots, as for the others trapped within planes, they no longer cared. Commuters became stuck in cars and trains, miles away from their homes with temperatures too extreme to risk the walk. With their children and loved ones left to care for themselves, strangers helped strangers, and neighbors helped neighbor; humanity came to each other's rescue.

Then one day became two, then five; Christmas and New Years came and passed, and still no power existed anywhere on the Earth. However, humanity banded, hoping and praying the power companies would come to the rescue. As the days progressed, food became low and things to burn started disappearing. Information was non-existent and humankind started to panic. Self-preservation began to rule thoughts. Public servants left their posts, firefighters, police, paramedics; they had families to support and mouths to feed, their fellow workers did not come to work as scheduled. They had to go home and nobody blamed them.

Stores closed or never reopened, the workers had families to care for, and as they left, nobody blamed them.

Power Company employees on the job eventually gave up; their labor fruitless, spare parts unavailable; they had families to support and nobody blamed them.

Many never made it home. Some that did wished they had not. Mankind was in trouble and too reliant on the modern age, they forgotten basic community principles.

As the days progressed, panic intensified. Looting and riots, only the strongest were surviving. Those that had stuff, lost, as those that wanted it took their prize.

The elderly and the young fared much worse, mankind's creed in the modern age was me-me-me, us' did not have a chance.

Neighbors shunned neighbors, hoarding their own; they had families and would rather be alone.

Stranded strangers soon lost favor as individualism reigned; once the food supply dwindled, they had to leave.

Self-survival ruled the day; take care of ones family in every way. The more primitive people who were less reliant on technology, fared the best, and rarely struggled; their modern cousins failed the test.

And, through it all, her horde progressed, without much resistance or physical tests.

# Chapter 34 Nick & Brad

They broke camp the following morning after the Ayatollah gave them their options. The Iraqis presented both Nick and Brad with beautiful Arabian horses, pure white from head to hoof. Their guide said it was a gift from the Ayatollah himself, and spoke on and on about how blessed they were to receive such a wonderful present from such a powerful man. Both brothers stopped listening to the guys' rambling after the first twenty minutes.

Getting the troops rolling was not too difficult, and they formed-up in their respective segment colors. The brothers liked what they saw.

The camaraderie of the troops grew with each passing day, and they wore their colors proudly. Even the Marines got into the spirit, creating multi-colored armbands representing all three colors of the flagging system. Henry wore the colors on both arms representing the leadership role of the two thousand remaining men, and he presented Nick and Brad with armbands containing every color in the unit. A true community began forming, with a single purpose, survival.

They averaged near thirty miles a day which included setting camp up in the evening, breaking it down in the mornings, and roughly thirty minutes mid-day to eat a meager meal while resting aching feet and sore backs. The only favorable thing about the marching was it heated the body, making the cold weather more bearable.

The New Year came, and the troops barely gave it a second thought. Too many lives were lost and none felt celebrations were in order. Therefore, they marched, and they marched, placing all their concentration into keeping their feet moving and their spirits up.

Their Iraqi guide led them westward down the only major road leading toward Jordan. After the first two hours of marching, Nick noticed some of the soldiers loosening collars. Looking around, he saw all the troops were hot and sweating, but because he rode a horse, he was still freezing his butt off.

"Hey, Brad!" Nick said. When his brother looked at him, he could tell Brad's teeth chattered, "You notice anything different with the group?"

Brad squinted his eyes scanning the area, "Nope," was all he would say.

Nick dismounted from his horse, "Brad, get off the horse and walk awhile."

His brother gave him a look as if he were nuts.

"I'm serious, man; it'll warm your blood."

"Fine," Brad dismounted, "What'll we do with the horses?"

They were in the process of passing a small village, and Nick thought of leaving the fine horses with the villagers, when he spotted a wagon. He looked over at the soldiers, seeing how they frequently kept adjusting their backpacks.

"Help me get that wagon, Brad. Let's see if we can rig-up the horses to pull it, and let everyone take a load off their backs."

Brad considered it, then nodded, "Good idea," he replied.

They were only able to get one horse hooked up to the wagon, but once they had the details figured out, it worked like a charm. Unfortunately, the wagon was not large enough to accommodate twenty-two thousand backpacks simultaneously, so they used it to carry the tents, flags, poles, wood they found along the way, and extra bits of food and clothing.

None of the troops off-loaded the dog tags they carried. These represented their brothers in arms, and they would rather die carrying the burden. It was their way to honor the fallen. They used the second horse to carry orders quickly to all the units, and at times to scout the land ahead. It was a beautiful horse, but walking warmed their bodies, and at this point, warmth was preferable to saddle sores and freezing limbs.

As the days and nights moved along, they arrived at a town named Ar Rutbah, which their guide said was close to the Jordanian border. From here, the road split; one branch continued west toward Jordan, the other spilt to the northwest, toward Syria. If the Syrians decided to attack the Americans, this would be where it would happen. So far, no signs indicated any trouble was forthcoming.

There was a small airport just down the road, however dashed hopes reigned as the men discovered that power remained out, and motors still did not operate. The weird events leading up to the hand-to-hand brawl with the insurgence was a topic of nightly conversation and much speculation. Nick tried not to focus on why things are happening. He coped with the present, letting the why's, and how's, take care of itself. If you cannot change the past, he thought, then make sure you take care of the present.

While in the town, Nick called for a break, his men stocking-up on food and water, and made necessary repairs to shoes, socks, and pants. Walking for hundreds of miles tended to wear things out quickly, and once the men were ready, they continued on their way.

They have been on the road and on the run for nearly a full month since the fall of the base. If they pushed it, they would make it near the defacto boundary separating Jordan from Iraq, by nightfall, then should be able to reach Mahattat al Jufur by midday tomorrow. Nick hoped to give his men a good rest in Jordan before pushing on to Israel. He did not know what they would do after that.

"My lord, there is an army of humans camped up the path."

"How large, Brother?"

"Near twenty thousand warriors."

"My seeking stone is pointing in their direction, Brother, but it will not verify the Vassal unless I touch it to the human. I certainly was not expecting to touch twenty thousand humans."

His brother just shrugged his shoulders in reply.

Ever since his sister sent him to find the two Vassals, uneasiness and confusion plagued him. Never once did he learn of the things he and his brothers encountered. The metal wagons and high dwellings were the most troubling to his senses. Humans have always lived within dwellings because they were not as attuned to the earth's warmth, but they were usually small structures to contain the heat from their fires. He could not fathom the amount of wood it would take to heat such monstrosities.

They avoided most of the humans they encountered along the way, and the ones they did approach, spoke in a language the Elves did not understand. It appeared humans no longer spoke the common tongue, and this would prove very troubling if it hindered communication with the Vassals.

They followed the main route eastward, and were pleased with the pathing systems the humans utilized. Morcollias of Agylla had built similar walkways, but not to this level of sophistication. Although it was confusing to understand initially, it definitely helped them cover more ground in less time. They contemplated why the humans would abandon their metal wagons all along the path. It did not seem rational to the Elves, but they could not communicate with any humans to understand the logic.

Another Brother approached, "My Lord, there are human warriors approaching from the north toward the encamped warriors. They do not wear the same dressings, and they approach with stealth," he paused, "I believe there will be conflict."

"How many, Brother?"

"Two thousand, my lord," his scout replied.

Other scouts began streaming back to his lookout with little news elsewhere. He knew the stone pulled him toward the large human camp, but this second group of humans troubled his thoughts. They were certainly not numerous enough to confront the large human gathering, but they approached nonetheless, and that meant they would use stealth. He twisted a stick in the snows while he thought through the situation.

"How are the encamped human patrols, Brother?" he asked his scouts.

"They have groups of ten warriors patrolling their camp perimeter, but we can easily breach this defense. Once inside we should have easy access. The humans do not patrol within their camp, and they slumber within cloth dwellings."

Algar nodded, then encompassed all his brothers within his gaze, "It appears the smaller human warrior clan will wait until deep night to strike. At least that is what I would do when facing a much larger foe." He looked each in the eye before continuing, "We are not numerous enough to prevent this conflict, nor do I wish to interfere within the conflict of humans. However, we have an obligation to protect and secure the Vassals," he paused, "I will not know the Vassals until I can touch the stone upon their body," he pointed out three other Elvin Warriors, "We shall enter the human camp before this other tribe strikes, and warn them of this event. We will have to work quickly, Brothers, I do not wish to be in the middle of their conflict. Once we identify and secure the Vassals, we will make haste to the Pillars."

His fellow Elves nodded their understanding.

"Let's be off!"

Nick and Brad shared a nightly meal with Red Company, and now meandered their way through camp toward their own tent. It was another clear and cold night, but by now, everyone became used to the weather and well adjusted in how to cope. He and his brother had to maneuver quietly through the others, as most already slept.

As they approached the outer fringes of the Marine tents, tired men went to their beds. The Marines would not sleep until both brothers were safely within their shared tent. Although he could not tell the time, Nick knew it was still early in the night. Henry was usually at their tent entrance, and tonight was no exception. Henry was always the last Marine to sleep. Nick tried to tell them it was unnecessary, but the Marines ignored him, following their established routine. He stopped trying to argue with them.

"Good night, Henry," Nick said, as he patted him on the shoulder.

Henry returned the salutation.

Once inside the tent, Nick let out a huge yawn, "I'm beat."

Brad watched his brother lie down and curl-up under his covers. Although he buried himself under his own warm blankets, he was not tired. He wondered how ancient man survived the boredom. No TV's, radios, video games - it was enough to drive a man nuts. Especially no lights and heat; he never gave those conveniences in life much thought, but now could think of nothing else. When would the madness go-away? He closed his eyes, letting sleep come whenever it wished.

Brad bolted upright, craning his head toward the voices he thought he heard. It was odd to hear any conversation this time of night. He reluctantly pulled off his blankets, put on his thick overcoat, and as he exited his tent, he saw four tall men talking with a group of Marines off in the distance.

The fires that still burned cast eerie shadows across the men and tents. The Marines in the group, ten in all, had their backs to him as he moved to join them. Henry was there, and spoke with three men as a fourth stood behind, observing. As Brad approached, he and the fourth guy locked eyes.

The man was tall, roughly around Nick's height, and slim. He wore his golden hair long, dressed in medieval looking armor and clothing, with a sword hanging from his belt. Brad was well versed in history, and these four would have fit right in.

"What's going on, Henry?" Brad asked, and his voice seemed to startle the Marines.

Henry approached, pulling him out of hearing distance, "These guys are British, Brad, and they say there's a group of men sneaking up on us from the north."

Brad cocked an eyebrow.

"The Red Company escorted these guys here, then sent scouts to check it out."

Brad nodded, "Why are there British here?"

"I don't know," Henry replied, "They've got very thick accents, and keep talking about Vassals. We told them they would have to wait until morning, but they insisted on meeting the Commander immediately."

"I'll speak with them."

Brad started walking in the visitor's direction with Henry following close. All four visitors watched him wearily as he approached.

"Gentlemen," Brad stated, "welcome to our camp. How may I help you?" he noticed the swords were not just for decoration.

The man who stood behind the others spoke for the first time, "Are you the Commander these fine humans speak of?"

Brad was caught slightly off guard with the reference to humans, "No, but he's my Brother, and I'm second in charge. Anything you need to say to him is safe with me."

The man in the rear stepped forward, "I am AlgarNeclas, son of AlgierNeclas, Father of the Neclas tribe. I seek Vassals to the King."

His accent was heavy, but unmistakably British, "AlgarNeclas," Brad repeated, "Are you serious?" he asked, and the Marines snickered.

The Algar fellow stared unflinchingly.

"Well then, welcome, Algar Neclas and his friends," Brad stated more formally. "Please, sit with me," he motioned toward a still burning fire pit.

Algar nodded, sitting near the fire, while his three friends stood standing behind him. Brad also sat, and the Marines took position at his back. It felt like some kind of ancient ritual. They sat, staring at each other, and now that Brad could see him more clearly in the light of the fire, he noticed the mans exotic looking features. He did not remember any British friends or acquaintances ever looking like this guy.

"May I ask a favor?" Algar asked, waiting for a reply.

Brad nodded.

"Would you be so kind as to hold this for me?" Algar held up a blue stone.

Brad did not know what else to say, so he held out his hand. Algar dropped the stone into his palm, and it immediately flared into a brilliant blue light. Before he could react, Brad felt a wave of warmth spread through his body. It has been so long since he felt warm that he forgot what it was like.

He pinched the rock between his fingers, holding it out to get a closer look, "What is this?" Brad asked in bewilderment.

Algar just stared at the human with the Elvin magic. He knew he was supposed to find the Vassals, and he knew what would happen with the stone once he did, but the acceptance of the stone still took him off guard. This human held the essence of his father, the very Father who forfeited everything to the human King to stop the vileness of the Mother.

"Algar?" Brad asked again.

The man shook himself from his trance, "I apologize," Algar cleared his throat, "That is a seeking stone. It verifies that you are a Vassal to the King."

Marines gasped behind him.

Brad noticed the shaking in Algar's voice from emotion, "I don't know what a Vassal is, sir, what does it mean to me?"

"It means you must travel to the King. There is a great war approaching and humankind must defend its existence."

Brad stared in shock, and the few Marine faces he could see, did the same.

One man standing behind Algar bent, whispering into his ear. Algar nodded, "You mentioned your Brother is the ruler?" Algar asked.

"He is the Commander, yes," Brad replied.

Algar nodded again, "May I speak with this Commander?" he asked.

Brad nodded, turning toward Henry, and Henry immediately stalked off toward Nick's tent.

Brad again looked over the men. Their medieval outfits drove him nuts, "Where're you from, Algar?"

"We are from Cyrene."

Brad became confused, he never heard of a Cyrene in Britain, "Where is Cyrene?" he asked.

Algar gave a look as if Brad were insane, "It is at the mouth of the Nile, just off the Middle Sea."

"I've heard of Cairo, Port Said, and Damietta, but they're on the Mediterranean Sea. Is it close to those cities?" Brad asked.

Algar shook his head, "I heard names of such mentioned on my journey here, but the humans in that area did not speak in the common tongue."

Brad heard commotion stirring within the ranks, and another Marine joined the group; "Sir, there are troops hunkered down not far toward the north. Our Iraqi guide says they're Syrians. Red Company is forming-up to march on their position."

"May I interject, Vassal?" Algar asked.

Brad gave him a confused look, then nodded in the affirmative.

"We spotted these humans silently approaching. They are not as numerous as your warriors are, and I suspect they will disperse once discovered. I do not believe you need to waste life in their pursuit."

"That is sound advice, stranger," they all snapped their heads around as Nick walked up to their little gathering. "Tell Red Company to stand ready, but do not advance," Nick ordered.

The Marine communicator ran off to relay the command.

Algar stood up, Brad noticed how fluid and effortlessly the man moved, "Commander," Brad said, "I'd like to introduce you to Algar Neclas."

Nick extended his hand in greeting, but Algar clasped his forearm instead, "Well met, Commander," Algar said.

Both men stood equal in height, Nick a stark contrast to Algar. Where Algar had pale skin and light hair, Nick was olive toned with dark.

"Are you British?" Nick asked.

"I do not know this word," Algar responded.

Nick was confused, looking at Brad, but his Brother just shrugged his shoulders.

"Shall we?" Algar asked as he pointed to the ground.

"By all means, please," all three sat down, the Marines and Algar's men resumed their position.

Brad realized he still held the glowing stone; his body remained warm. He handed it back to Algar and it immediately turned back into a blue rock. Algar handed it to Nick, and once Nick took it within his fingers, it flared back to life.

Nick felt the warmth, sighing from the heavenly feeling, "What the hell is this?" he asked.

Algar smiled, "It is a seeking stone. You and your Brother are Vassals to the King."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Nick became thoroughly confused. He looked to Brad, but his Brother once again just shrugged his shoulders.

"All right," Nick said as he scratched his head, "Why don't you start at the beginning, because I really don't have a clue what you're talking about."

His Marine communicator and their Iraqi guide interrupted them as they rejoined the group. When the Iraqi noticed Algar, he dropped to the ground, prostrating himself in front of the man.

"Sir," the Marine said, and Nick took his confused gaze off the Iraqi, "the Syrians are leaving."

Nick nodded his understanding and turned to the Marines that still stood behind him, "Please do not let anyone else interrupt," he ordered.

"YES SIR!" they yelled in unison, and immediately encircled the group, which made the three people who stood behind Algar, nervous. Nick looked back at his Brother, and Brad shrugged his shoulders again.

"Please, stop doing that," Nick grumbled.

"What?" Brad asked in mock shock.

Nick leaned over, tapping the Iraqi on the shoulder. The Iraqi lifted his head slightly. "What are you doing?" Nick asked.

"The ancients have returned; I am showing my respect."

Nick looked at Algar, and to his chagrin; the guy also shrugged his shoulders.

"I give up," he exclaimed, "Please sir, from the beginning," he motioned to Algar to speak.

"My sister sent me to find the Vassals of the King," he pointed at him and Brad, "and so it appears that I have. I am to escort you to Soloeis for transport beyond the Great Waters."

Nick peered at Brad, but saw the same confused look. He turned away before his Brother could shrug his shoulders once again, "And where is Soloeis?" he asked.

"It is south of Atlas near the Pillars," Algar explained.

Nick plopped his face in his hands, "I'm afraid to ask. Where are the Pillars?"

Algar gave him a look as if he were dense in the head, "Between Atlas and Tartessus. It is where the Middle Sea meets the Great Waters."

Brad nearly laughed but he noticed his brother was on the verge of exploding on this guy. He placed his hand on Nick's arm. He had a hunch and he wanted to follow his logic.

"Algar," Brad said, "What cities lie across our path toward Atlas?"

Algar smiled, "We must pass through Phoenicia, Pelusium, and the lands of Libya. We will rest in the human cities, Cyrene, Garamantes, and Carthage along the route. I am to meet a fleet in the city of Soloeis and leave one Vassal there, while I sail the other across the Great Waters toward the King."

Nick flung his hands in the air in total frustration, but Brad continued, "Do you have a map?"

Algar nodded his head, rummaged through a pouch on his waist, and handed him a folded-up piece of animal hide. Brad unfolded the hide, tilting it toward the fire to get a better look. He recognized the landmass, which confirmed his hunch.

"Algar," he said, "I recognize the lands on this map, but these places no longer exist. I mean, they do exist, but they're called different names."

Nick looked at him, then at the map. He started to follow where Brad was going with this.

Brad continued, "For instance," he pointed at the map so Algar could follow along, "This is no longer Phoenicia; it's now called Israel and the West Bank. And this is Egypt where the Nile meets the Mediterranean; it's no longer called the Middle Sea."

Algar watched intently as Brad traced the path with his finger.

"Libya exists, but it's now farther to the West, here," Brad pointed, "I don't know where Cyrene is on this map, nor Garamantes, but Carthage is now called Tunis, I think," he scratched at his chin trying to piece together the Ancient map to his memories of geography. "Tartessus is now Spain, and Atlas is called Morocco. Soloeis could be Casablanca, and we call the Great Waters you've identified, the Atlantic Ocean. We no longer call this area the Pillars. It's just where the Mediterranean meets the Atlantic Ocean." Brad tapped the map, "This is not Ombrici and Tyarheni. We call this, Italy. This is where my Brother and I originate. We're Italians."

Algar was staring intently at everything Brad outlined on his map, "Now this makes sense to me, human," he looked at Nick. "The First King originated from Agylla," Algar pointed at his map which read Ombrici, "It tal y," he mimicked, trying to pronounce what Brad said.

Nick had it, "Ok, enough of the geography lessons. Why do we have to go to this Soloeis, Algar? What's the issue?"

"Casablanca," Brad interjected.

"Whatever!" Nick responded in exasperation, looking at Algar for the answer.

Algar stared while Nick waited patiently for him to speak.

"The Mother has returned. We must stop her from destroying the Earth's magic."

Nick's mouth dropped, and if he had the notion to look around, he would have noticed this same expression on all his men.

"You're crazy, sir. I believe I'm finished with this conversation," Nick stood up, storming back toward his tent.

Brad watched his Brother leave, "Algar," Brad interjected, "it's late and I apologize for my Brother's behavior, but to be quite honest, your story is a tad farfetched." He put up his hands to forestall Algar's objection, "Please, let's sleep on this for the night, and we'll discuss it further at dawn. Okay?"

He stood-up to signal the end of the discussion, Algar followed suit.

"I will return at dawn, Vassal."

Brad extended his hand, but Algar grabbed his forearm. They both nodded to each other, and departed ways.

# Chapter 35 The Neclas

It took twenty-four passings of the light, and another six to locate the human dwelling of the Red Hairs, whom the Father ordained to remain vigilant until the end of times. They are a line of Morcollias, the First Human King, and their ancestors partook in the great battle against the Mother.

When she sailed into the port village, the humans shunned them. In fact, no humans were prevalent as they remained within their dwellings to escape the bitter cold air. She and her brothers were lost, excited, and confused, all at the same time. The dwellings the humans built, and their pathing systems, were amazing. Dwellings that stretched to the skies were numerous, and she marveled at the ingenuity the humans employed.

The air was thick with the smells of burning trees; she realized the humans struggled with the frigidness of the air, but she also knew it would pass after a few more moons. They would have to survive as best they could.

Elves disliked resting within structures, so she and her brothers found open wilderness amongst the human dwellings. One such place also had small ponds to bathe within, and a human path that made a perfect square around the perimeter surrounded it. It felt wonderful to bathe the travel grime from their bodies.

Most of the dwellings they approached stood empty, and the few humans they found within, could not help them locate the descendants of Morcollias. They could not fathom where the humans kept their horses.

One evening, when the moon neared full rise, they located what one human described as the education facility. It called it the college and the facilities reminded her of the Elvin studies the young ones attended. However, where the Elves gathered on hilltops, the humans built large dwellings to accomplish the same goal.

Down the road from this human college, they discovered a dwelling that had numerous humans gathered. The smell of burning trees emanated heavy from within, and the humans she saw through the clear portal appeared to be celebrating an event.

She entered with three of her brothers. There was a group of humans on a platform making enjoyable sounds, and most of the others sat at tables with containers filled with liquid. As she and her brothers entered, the music stopped, and all humans within the dwelling turned in her direction.

"Pardon my interruption," she said, "I seek the descendants of Morcollias of Agylla."

A human started laughing in the far corner, but the other humans ignored him. They all looked at her with stunned expressions.

"Does anyone speak in the common tongue?" she asked.

The laughing grew hysterical, followed by coughs and choking. A human sitting at a nearby table, spoke.

"You Brits aren't welcome here."

"You leave 'em be, Johnny," one female servant spoke.

"Please," Avera intoned, "we are on a mission of great import, and must locate the descendants."

"We don't know what you're talking about, lady," said another human.

The coughing, laughing, and wheezing, drew closer, and Avera noticed an ancient human approaching from the back of the dwelling. It utilized a walking stick for aide.

"Growing-up, we all thought the Bones and the Whites was crazy," said the ancient human as it approached. Racks of coughing shook its body.

"You're crazy, old man," a human yelled, and the same female silenced him.

When the ancient human finally quelled its coughing, it looked at her with milky eyes, "Jacky Bones and Tommy White used to tell everyone they was descended from royalty," the male smacked its lips, "They said they'd be called on to fight in the greatest battle. They've been keeping hundreds of ancient Viking ships in storage for years," the human paused again to smack its lips, and she waited. "They're outcasts in Ireland, Lady, and keep mostly to themselves."

"Where may I locate them?" she asked.

The human looked at her with its glazed eyes, "They're deceased," it said.

"The entire descendant line?" she asked in shock.

"No...no, missy. Jacky and Tommy. They was my friends through school, 'til they gone crazy. Their sons went crazy too, and killed some folks who tried to take their lands and ships for taxes," the ancient human was again racking its body with coughs. A young male came to its side, helping it back to a table.

The young male approached. It had dark red hair, fair skin, and blue eyes, "My grandfather," it pointed to the ancient human, "used to tell us stories about the Whites and the Bones. They believe they descended from the two kings who founded our city, Olaf inn Haiti, or Olaf the White, and co-ruler of Dublin along with Ivarr the Boneless, son of Ragnarr Lodbrok. Nobody believed them, and made fun of their crazy ranting. My grandfather was their friend, but once the other town folks started to shun him, he broke all ties with the Bones and Whites. Their entire families left the city boundaries and now live in a community to the South. Nobody has any dealings with them much."

"Can you lead us there, human?" she asked

"I can, but rumor is the family isn't what it used to be. Ever since the elders passed and their sons imprisoned, they've been bankrupt, selling land and their prized ships to keep afloat. Their granddaughters are rumored to own the land."

She did not understand much of what the human spoke, but it said they lived, and it knew the way. That is all she needed to know. "Take us," she said.

"Now!"

She nodded her head, and the dwelling erupted with laughter.

"Little Jimmy," the ancient human said from its seated position, "Take 'em, and tell the granddaughters I have grieved for the loss of their grandfathers. It will plague me 'til I die."

"It's over an hour's walk and freezing outside, Grandpa," he turned back toward the stunningly beautiful woman, "I'm sorry, lady, but anyone 'be crazy to walk there in this weather."

"I will help you keep warm," the room erupted in loud cheers and whistles. Others shouted, "I'll take you!" The human male, turned a crimson color over its features.

She looked over the room, waiting for the jeering to cease. She scanned every human face within the dwelling before she spoke, "There is a great warrior race sweeping through the lands across the Great Waters."

"That 'be the Americans, Lady," a human shouted, and more laughter erupted.

She ignored it, "Humans are their prey, and once they finish in the West, they will travel the Great Waters here." She peered at their faces, "The descendants of Morcollias are correct, a great battle approaches, and every human is in grave peril. Pick-up your shields, quivers, and swords, and adorn your armor. Humanity is near extinction and the King will need your strength," all peered at her with stunned expressions. "I beg of you all, seek the King by the Waters of Life," she grabbed the Red Haired human and dragged it out the door.

"That 'be one crazy woman," a patron shouted.

"Hey Jimmy, she took your boy," someone yelled.

Jimmy Sr. turned toward everyone in the room. He could not see much anymore, but the old stories his friends spoke of came flooding back into his memory. He spoke, and his words flowed clear and strong.

"The waters of life that lady spoke of, is the Great Lakes. Jacky used to tell me stories of the ancient dwellers that lived near those lakes," the memory flooded back and he felt alive once more. "They used to say the great dwellers of the past would once again walk the earth, and when that happened, mankind would fight the battle of our lives."

"What are these great dwellers, old man?" someone shouted.

Jimmy Sr. picked up his cane, stood up on legs that felt stronger than before, and hobbled to the door. Before he exited, he turned back to everyone in the pub.

"That's why they called Jacky and Tommy crazy," he paused, "The dwellers of the Great Lakes was Elves," he opened the door, walking out into the night. Nobody in the pub said a word as he left.

"Brother, Brother?"

Elves rarely entered a deep sleep, but they do enter a meditative state that allows their bodies to rest and heal. It was in this state his sister entered his thoughts.

"Sister?" he responded in thought.

She spoke within his mind, "I have located the descendants, Brother, and they have remained ever vigilant. They have a fleet of ships that can sail across the Great Waters, and I am recruiting humans to make the journey."

The news surprised him, "That may not be necessary, Sister, I have located the Vassals and they travel with a very large warrior clan."

"How large?" she asked.

"Twenty thousand warriors," Algar replied.

There was a long pause before his sister again entered his thoughts, "How far are you from Soloeis?" she asked.

"At least three moons, Sister, it will take us a moon to reach Carthage."

Another long pause, "We have a change in direction, Brother. The ships will await you in Carthage within the moons cycle. There will be enough ships for all."

"Both Vassals?" he asked.

"Yes, Brother, I have thought long over this event. Bring both and if one should fall, or the King, we shall still harbor hope. I shall meet you by the Waters of Life. Hurry!"

He felt her presence leave his mind. It neared dawn, and he prepared himself to be more forceful with the human Vassal who calls itself Commander. It was a young human, and he must make it aware of the consequences if it did not act with expedience.

# Chapter 36 Nick & Brad

His men were breaking camp when a commotion rippled through the ranks. Nick still felt the warmth from the stone, and he did not wear a coat. When he asked Brad, his Brother was just as bewildered. It was the oddest feeling, and yet very comforting, especially after being so cold for so long.

As the commotion neared his area, Brad joined Nick and both watched as the Iraqi guide led a large group of the same dressed men that visited camp the previous night. They all looked identical, and Algar walked in the lead.

"How many are there, Brad?"

"At least a hundred," his Brother responded.

As the group drew near, his Marines formed-up in a semi-circular formation, allowing an opening for the visitors to pass through then closed it off behind them. The finest Marines the US Armed Forces could muster, surrounded Nick, Brad, and the odd group of visitors.

"Be nice," Brad said under his breath.

Nick grunted in response.

The Iraqi moved off to the side as Algar approached him and his Brother, "Greetings Vassal's," he intoned.

As he bowed, murmurs erupted through the nearby Marines, then spread. When Algar stood back up, the reason for the murmurs became evident. The man had the pointiest ears any of them had ever seen.

"Who are you?" Brad asked in stunned awe.

The man looked him over, "I am AlgarNeclas, son of the Father."

Brad held up his hands in apology and cut off the guy's remaining reply, "What are you, Algar?" he asked.

"I am an Elf," the murmurs grew ten-fold.

Nick and Brad just stared, not knowing what else to say.

Algar walked up to Nick and stood face to face. Both men stood equal in height. Brad watched as they stared-off at each other. His Brother did not flinch.

"I am centuries your senior," Algar started, "You are a mere pup in the annals of the Earth, and I do not wish to educate you on the consequences that shall befall all life, if you do not heed my call. You have no choice but to follow where I lead."

As Algar spoke, Brad shook his head. That was the wrong way to approach his Brother, and what gains he made last night talking with Nick in the tent, may have vanished.

Brad saw the crimson enter Nick's cheeks, his Brother was upset, and he hoped he would not say anything stupid.

"Sir," Nick intoned, "I am responsible for the lives of twenty-two thousand men who rely upon me to make decisions that will not place them within unnecessary peril. I don't know you, or anything that you speak of," Nick continued, "You talk gibberish as a child with wanton fantasies. If you have not noticed, we are thousands of miles away from the West with a vast ocean between. No ships function and we have no means to cross. If you intend to take me anywhere, you must also take my men. I will not leave them behind. Moreover, without ships, you will have no means to accomplish the task. So talk and threaten all you wish, Algar Neclas, but you hold no sway here. Is that understood?"

Both men stared at each other for a long period. Algar spoke first.

"You have no choice in the matter, human."

Brad watched as Nick gave Algar a wicked half grin, "I have twenty-two thousand choices, Elf," his Brother, with sheer venom in his voice, spit the words out.

Again, both just stared at each other. For Brad, it was an extremely tense situation, and he noticed the other men that followed Algar, all had hands on the pommel of their swords. The Marines surrounding them were ready to charge in.

Algar, who the Eastern Elves considered a great sword master of his tribe, realized he was too forceful in his approach of this young human. The young ones always let pride drive their actions, and this human was no different. He has beaten pride out of many young through the centuries, and it was time these humans learned that lesson well. It was the only option still open to him without trying to drag the human by its malformed ears.

"I challenge you to a spar, Human. If you or your Brother defeats me, I shall depart."

"And if not," Nick asked.

"Then you shall follow where I lead."

Brad grabbed Nick's arm pulling him back out of hearing range, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Do you hear how these things talk?" Nick said. They call us 'humans', and 'its'; we're nothing but cattle to them. I'm not gonna take their insults and follow them blindly. From everything I've heard, this is their war, not ours, and I'm not going to place all these lives in that arrogant son-of-a-bitch's hand."

"I understand," Brad said, "but you have to admit there's something going on beyond what we know. They're friggin Elves, for Gods sake. There's something here bigger than us, Nick, if you don't see it, then you're blind."

Nick looked over at the group of strangers. Algar rejoined his friends and although he could not tell for sure, Nick had a sneaky suspicion they could hear him and Brad.

"Listen, I know there's something beyond us taking place, Brad, but our men rely on us to lead them. Even if this guy beats us, we'll earn the respect of all these men standing behind our backs," Nick scratched his head, "If we go with these guys, then we go as equals, not as cattle."

Brad glanced at Algar, "He looks very able; those aren't toys on their waist. Do you think we have a chance to beat him?"

Nick smiled, "We're co-national champions with the saber, Bro. Even if he beats us, we may at least earn respect for not only us, but for all the men. What-cha say?"

"Fine," Brad said, "but I'll go first. If he beats me, then at least you'll be able to judge his moves better."

Nick slapped his Brother on the back, "Go get 'em, tiger."

Naturally, the Elves heard everything the Vassals said. Their ears are far superior to the humans and the two Vassals did not talk quietly. "The wide one goes first, Brother."

Algar nodded his head in understanding, "I will save my best for the other," he looked over at the one named Brad. "I said I would not give them Great Father and Great Uncle's swords without testing them first. This will be their test, Brothers."

Nick sat down watching as Brad and Algar walked toward each other. As fate would have it, they stood in the middle of the road, and on each side, the land sloped upward. Word must have spread through the ranks because all the Special Forces gathered on the sloping hill to watch the show. One Marine approached the two with the spare flagpole. Nick watched as Algar pulled his sword and sliced the pole cleanly in half. He handed one to Brad, and took the other.

Algar addressed everyone and his voice rang loud, "We have an agreement of spar," Algar turned slowly, speaking so that all heard his words, "The rules are simple; the first to deliver a simulated fatal blow, is the victor. If I prevail, all will follow my lead. If a hum...," he stopped himself and looked Nick squarely in the eyes, "If I should fail, I and my Kin shall leave."

Nick nodded his agreement, and Algar did the same. The combatants separated and after each took test swings with their sticks, they squared off.

Brad attacked first, a feint thrust and a reverse strike at the Elf's head. Algar expertly blocked the move then switched onto the offensive. Nick saw the blinding speed of his swings as he drove Brad backward, and to his Brother's credit, each strike was blocked, jumped over, and sidestepped.

The two flowed and shuffled across the paved road, and although Brad's attacks moved much slower, his defensive parries were quick and precise. At first, Nick thought Algar was playing with Brad, but as their battle progressed, he noticed shock play on the Elf's face when Brad blocked a strike the Elf thought would score.

Brad's strength was also a factor; every stroke Algar blocked made his arm shiver, and Nick noticed that instead of trying to block Brad's stick head on, Algar started expertly deflecting them to minimize his Brother's power. The shouts and roar of the men watching the contest sent shivers up Nick's spine. It reminded him of Gladiator movies, with ooh and ahh's erupting with every attack and counter. Toward the end, Brad breathed billows, and Algar barely broke a sweat. Nick started limbering-up for his turn.

The decisive blow came seconds later. Algar sped into a blinding attack sending his stick low, high, and everywhere in between. Brad had no chance to turn the tide and desperately stayed on the defensive. Algar left an opening and Brad did not hesitate. His Brother took a quick lunge, but the Elf deflected his stick upward, spun a three-sixty, and connected loudly against his Brother's sternum. Brad dropped to his knees in obvious pain. Nick and the medics ran to his aid.

"You all right, Bro?" Nick asked.

It took him awhile to answer as he struggled for breath, but Brad finally nodded his head. The medics helped him to his feet.

Nick's anger rose as the medics guided his little Brother to a sitting position on the side of the road. Nick picked-up Brad's stick and turned toward Algar.

"My turn, Elf."

Algar bowed to him, and one Brother grabbed his arm, "Do not play with this one, Brother; finish him quickly."

Algar nodded, moving to join Nick in the center of the road. A hush fell over the crowd.

Nick was angry. He saw numerous opportunities where Algar could have ended it in a less painful manner. The Elf obviously wanted to make a statement. Nick took some practice swings with the stick to get a feel of the weight, then turned toward the Elf.

Brad watched Nick and Algar move into a ready stance. His ribs hurt, but he didn't think any were broken. The Elf was very good and he peered intently as both traded some benign strokes, then Algar accelerated into a move that surpassed his previous speed. Brad watched Nick hold his ground, matching the blinding speed of the Elf stroke for stroke. Splinters flew from the wooden sticks, and the clashing sounds reverberated through the crowd. Then it ended in a stunning flash.

Algar knocked Nicks stick wide to the side then attacked with a blinding thrust at his Brother's heart. The move was so fast, most watching the event stopped breathing at that very instant. The thrust came from the Elf's right hand, and Nick sidestepped it to his left, and simultaneously grabbed Algar's wrist with his right hand while delivering a crushing blow to Algar's face with his left elbow. The Elf dropped like a rock. Nick placed both his, and Algar's stick against the Elf's throat.

"You lose, Elf," Nick said, and the roar that shot-up from the surrounding men, was deafening. Nick dropped both sticks on the fallen Elf's chest, and walked toward his little Brother.

Algar's group was in shock as their leader slowly rose to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose and mouth. He walked over to his waiting Brother's and wordlessly held out his hands. One Elf placed two cloth wrapped packages in them. Algar walked up to the humans, depositing one at Nick's feet and the other at Brads.

"These are gifts from my ancestors. Use them for the good in which they are bequeathed." Algar turned and walked off, his fellow cohorts followed. The Marines respectfully stepped out of their way.

Nick turned to Henry, "Spread the word to form-up, it's time to move out."

"Yes SIR!"

"How's the rib?"

"Sore," Brad replied. "Nice move."

"Next time don't spar, little Brother, play to win, or else don't play at all," Nick started unwrapping the package at his feet.

Brad followed, "It was only a sparring match, Nick," he commented.

"Whoa!" They both said in unison.

The swords were still within their sheaths, but just looking at the design of the hilt was impressive.

Both brothers pulled the blades simultaneously, and images of great battles immediately assaulted their vision. They saw villages burning and creatures from nightmares fleeing and fighting. They saw great dragons filling the sky and other Elves crying over the dead. They saw dwarves, hobbits, and pixies, but did not know how to describe them. There were flying horses, giant eagles, and giant men the size of small buildings.

Other images appeared of Elves, but these had hair as black as night, and eyes as blue as the oceans. They were gorgeous, and their battles with the fair-haired elves were bloody, long, and desperate. Humans came to the fair-haired elves rescue, and helped drive the black hairs away. A dark haired woman, who was stunningly beautiful, fled from the human onslaught.

One human stood out from the rest, wild dark hair, long beard, and dark piercing eyes. His horse reared-up as he yelled out orders to the others. Then grayness followed, hazy, yet life sustaining, and the fair-haired elves lived within, but then decided to leave.

The dark haired woman appeared again, this time angry, and determined. She followed behind a black mass that swept the land before her. They saw her walking down a deserted road with buildings burning on either side. There was a Dairy Queen and McDonalds in the background.

The picture flashed to a human male and his lover entwined in passionate love. Both looked in their direction; the male wore a crown...

Henry and the medics tried to pry the swords from the brother's fist, but nothing they did worked. Both men lay on the ground flailing around, and everyone feared they would hurt each other with the very sharp looking blades.

They were moaning, shouting, and crying as they flopped around on the road. It was the oddest thing anyone had ever seen. Everyone jumped when both brothers bolted up into a sitting position and screamed; DAD!

Nick looked around dazed, noticing the medics hovering over him with concern etched on their faces. Brad did likewise, and they both looked closely at the Elvin blades they still clenched in their fists.

"Henry," Nick said, "bring me the horse."

The big Marine ran.

"What happened, Nick?"

Nick looked at his Brother, "I don't know, but I recognized one of the street signs I saw. If what Algar says is true, then Canada is already under attack, and Dad is in trouble."

"Nick, Dad was in bed with that dark-haired Elf woman."

"I saw it too, Bro, I don't know what it means."

Algar and his Brothers walked away from the human camp in shock. None tried to console their leader, and just followed quietly behind. They have never seen Algar lose in battle, and yet the human leader had ended the contest without much effort.

"RIDER!" One Brother shouted from the rear of the line.

Half the elves moved off the road to the right, and the other half moved off toward the left. Algar stood his ground, and all had their swords drawn. Algar watched as the rider halted the steed fifty paces away, dismount and approach. The human had the Great Father's sword strapped to its back.

"Algar Neclas," Nick said, extending his hand toward the Elf, "My men and I will go with you, as friends."

Algar nodded, grasping the human's forearm.

# Chapter 37 Lina Lias

Her warriors marched for just over a moons cycle, and although she lost some Horde to pockets of human resistance, it was merely a handful, and her Elvin warriors still did not enter direct conflict.

Her little creations were so successful, and the humans so numerous, that her Horde no longer ate every human killed. Hundreds of thousands of human slugs lay in her vast armies wake.

Their progress was swift, and according to her little lordling, they averaged just over fifty miles per what it called, a day. In fact, she learned all kinds of interesting things from the Lordling's mind as she forcefully intruded upon its thoughts.

As she suspected, the human system of running their subjects was very corrupt, and her little lordling was one of the worst. As the Elves learned many centuries ago, if you do not instill individuals with utmost integrity and without any special interest that conflicts with the overall good of a tribe, corruption will reign and colonies will fail. Eventually, the human population, just as every other nation has, would revolt and reclaim what a few take away. Control mechanisms limit corruption of the few, and without, the result will always remain, she thought.

Lina also learned of this human President, D'Manna. It was a fortunate event the humans had spread across the earth, and that the most powerful warrior race in the West, was fighting battles in the East. It would make conquest of her homeland surprisingly simple, give her time to consolidate her holdings, find, and eliminate the Bear Clan, then take her Eastern cousins land as her own. It would be sweet revenge for their defiance of her so many moons ago.

It was also fortunate the current ruling humans nearly eliminated the indigenous tribes that rose up against her when Morcollias of Agylla landed upon her shores. The indigenous humans were nothing but beggars, slaves, fodder, and varmint upon her lands when she ruled, and little did she know how capable they could be in battle.

The indigenous human horse warriors proved superior to her exceptional Elvin cavalry in every way, and consistently defeated her best upon the battlefields. If she had known, she would have eliminated their race prior to attacking the Bear Clans. Fortunately, she will not have to worry about these horse warriors now.

If this D'Manna ruler turned out to be a descendant of Morcollias, her task of eliminating it will be exceptionally simple. In addition, since it had the audacity to make its home within her former stronghold, she would be able to eliminate the threat with her own hands.

Everything was falling into place wonderfully for her and her tribe. Dracon's warriors have quickly maneuvered, securing the Western lands up to what the Lordling called Vancouver, and Brako was in process of taking Edmonton. Sanon to the North progressed at a slower pace, but that was expected. The human paths upon those lands were not as numerous, and the water barriers among each land mass consumed precious time to maneuver. As it stood, Sanon was assaulting what the human map named the Baffin Island, and already slaughtered every human from Dawson and beyond. Rika, Gargon, and Runko, converged on the human dwellings of Churchill. Once they secured this area, Runko would swing his warriors east above the Waters of Life, then converge down the Eastern shoreline.

Runko displayed much displeasure when she discovered the human king was no longer at its white castle. He wanted the glory of that kill, but it certainly did not displeasure her. Lina planned to mount its head upon a pole.

For the life of her, she could not fathom why the humans built their castle so far away from the rest of their tribe. She chose the Waters of Life as her stronghold because it afforded her access to the abundant plains for grazing horses, and provided a never-ending supply of fresh water. As she pondered her fortuitous situation, a rider approached.

"Mother, the dwellings of Churchill have been taken," Lina nodded in response, and the male rode off.

She mentally called to her offspring.

Ash rode on a pitiful looking tan horse they found along the route. Rika beat him senseless one afternoon when the Horde creatures complained he slowed them down. When the Mother found out, she ordered them to find him a mount.

Up to this point, all the animals they found locked-up, the Elves set free, and any fences sectioning off the lands, they destroyed. The zoos were the worse. They seemed to blame him for the incarceration of all the animals, and beat him whenever they found them. North America now had numerous wild animals roaming around that have never been free on its soil. The lions, tigers and all the carnivorous animals that still lived, they fed human carcasses, and set free. Elephants, giraffes, gorillas, baboons, and more, all ran loose. The Mother called it a crime, while Rika wanted to lock-up humans to show them what it was like.

Ash wondered what kind of animals these Elves were. They had no respect whatsoever for human life. However, the only exception they made to their animal freedom rule was with Bears. Any bear they found alive, they killed immediately.

It was over a month ago the Mother violated his mind, and he looked at the stump of his left hand as he rode. It was a constant reminder not to disobey or hold back information. After she had violated him, she ordered one of the Horde creatures to chew off his hand, and used her magic to force him to remain conscious throughout the event. The pain was excruciating, and he had recurring nightmares of the creature's face as it lustfully gnawed off his appendage. Afterward, the Mother healed his stump, soothing his body to abate the shock. Then she pet him like a puppy, scolding him for making her do it. As further punishment, she now waited until he neared death from the cold before she would again infuse him with warmth. The indignity of it appalled him, and when he cited the Geneva Conventions, she laughed in his face. Rika then beat him for his insolence when he was out of the Mother's sight.

Ash grew to hate D'Manna for forcing him to come to this forsaken land, and blamed him for the death of the thousands of people these creatures slaughtered. If the upstart had kept his nose out of politics, the world would have kept progressing at a normal rate, and he would still be at his mansion enjoying the fruits of his labors.

As President, he would have never allowed this army to swarm the land uncontested. Where were the President and the American military? Why does D'Manna sit and do nothing as the slaughter of humanity continues? Ash swore he would make D'Manna pay for the abuse and neglect of his duties. Once he became President, he would assign a commission to detail D'Manna's failures, and have him incarcerated for crimes against humanity. For good measure, he will have his children dishonorably discharged from the military and smear their family name from coast to coast. The D'Manna's would be ruined, and deservedly so. They had no business being in charge. All these dead people counted on America to defend them, and the President does nothing. He will make him pay.

"How many have we lost?"

"Three, Mother, these humans hide within their dwellings like rabbits in a hole."

"Then how did we lose three, Runko?" she asked.

"The creatures became careless and entered one of those police stations the Lordling told us about. They were caught off guard."

"Make sure they understand what is expected, dear," the Mother responded. "As we move farther south, the human vermin become more numerous. Even though they run and hide, they vastly outnumber our strength and I do not wish to lose more than is necessary."

She encompassed all her offspring within her formidable stare, "The human has told us where their largest populations congregate, and where their warrior strongholds are located. We must be cautious in our approach. Let the Horde run free until you reach them, then consolidate your strength for an all out assault. If these humans ban together, they could cause us some grief."

All her offspring nodded their heads in understanding.

The Mother pulled out the human map, "From here, Runko, you head east above the waters. You must not march down the East Shore until all the humans in these other areas are eliminated."

Runko nodded.

"Rika, Gargon, and I will continue south, pushing toward the human dwelling of Chicago," she gave them a smile. "I wish to have the human leader's head upon a stake prior to the warm season."

# Chapter 38 McJeeves

They lost all track of time and once they passed through Edmonton, they continued down Route Sixteen toward Saskatoon and Winnipeg. Snow was still thick on the roads, and without any plows to clear the way; they had no choice but to continue using the dog team. People were mainly non-existent as most remained indoors to escape the cold. As they neared the heavier populated cities, the interstate roads became more of an obstacle course; they had to dodge stalled cars and trucks that littered the lanes. The few stores and restaurants where they did stop at, had minimal food supplies to spare, and much of what they did purchase, they gave to the dogs. Their main concern was keeping the dogs fed, watered, and warm, and they stole blankets along the way so the animals, including themselves, could keep warm when they stopped to rest.

Most of the people they warned, ignored them, and those that actually listened, still did not leave. It was an extremely frustrating experience for the men as they desperately fled the invading forces. Their only consolation was finally making it far enough south where daylight once again came during normal daylight hours. Running as they did, and having to stay in near perpetual darkness, taxed nerves and played tricks with the senses.

They did not know how far ahead they were of the invaders, but did not see any mass refugee evacuation and figured they had a good lead. What they did not know was there were no refugees because the people did not have a chance to escape.

"Hey, McJeeves," Captain Johnson shouted, "There's a farm up ahead."

McJeeves popped his head out from under the sled covers, looking where the Captain pointed. He gave the thumbs-up then reburied himself under the warmth of the blankets.

It took another thirty minutes to reach the road leading to the main farmhouse, then another twenty to the house itself. It was getting late in the evening and darkness came very quick at this point in the season. McJeeves jumped off the sled, helping the Captain perform their evening ritual of unhooking the dogs, feeding them, setting up their extensive blanket structure, then giving each dog attention and praise for the fine work they did. Without the dogs, he and the Captain would have been dead ages ago.

McJeeves studied the outside of the house, "I don't see any fires burning."

"Nope, neither do I," Captain Johnson pointed to the top of the house, "That's a fireplace chimney, so if anyone were home, it'd certainly be in use."

They climbed the steps to the front door knocking several times, but nobody answered. McJeeves tried the doorknob, and it opened. The men let themselves in, calling out to any inhabitants. There was no reply.

The great room of the house sat just off to the left as they entered, and a fireplace stood in the northern corner. The men walked through the charmingly decorated room noticing the ashes in the hearth.

"Somebody was here recently," McJeeves stated.

The Captain peered up a flight of stairs, "I'll check upstairs."

McJeeves nodded, "I'll look around down here."

The kitchen looked like a standard country kitchen that one would imagine you would find within a farmhouse, and the only other lower level room had a dining table in it. Dirty dishes filled the sink, but McJeeves could not tell how recently someone used them.

"There's a dead lady up here, McJeeves," Captain Johnson shouted from the upper level.

McJeeves expected the smell of rotting flesh as he ascended the steps two at a time. He realized once he reached the room that it was much too cold in the house for the body to decompose. She was an elderly woman, and as he noted the wheelchair in the corner, she was obviously not able to move around by herself.

"I think she froze to death, Captain."

"Looks like it to me, but who would've left her alone? Someone kept a fire lit," the Captain responded.

"I don't know," McJeeves blew on his hands to keep them warm, "Let's get a fire going then go check the barn out back."

Once they had a raging fire established, they exited the back door through the kitchen. Both men immediately noticed human tracks leading to the barn. They followed, and as they neared the barn doors, they found another body sprawled in the snow. It was an elderly man and from the looks of the snow around him, he thrashed around as he died.

McJeeves turned the body over, but could not find any wounds. This alleviated his fear the invaders made it ahead of them.

"I think he died of a heart attack."

A horse neighed from behind the doors, and both sprinted to open them. They found four horses still within their stalls. All four looked reasonably well kept and they deduced the couple must have recently died. The Captain found some hay in the corner and restocked the horse's depleted rations.

"There's a makeshift wood stove in the corner, McJeeves. The old man probably came out to feed them and stoke the oven, when he died. The old lady didn't have a chance without him."

McJeeves nodded, "Let's get the stove lit for the horses, then we'll drag the old man back to the house. Let's put him with the wife."

"I'm with you on that," the Captain replied.

Back at the house, they found some canned beans and fruit, helping themselves to a warm meal prepared over the raging fireplace. Since nobody was going to object, the men brought the dogs inside so they could enjoy a night of warmth. The big one kept trying to go up the steps, and McJeeves worried it would start feeding on the bodies. He and the Captain blocked off the stairs to prevent it.

"Are we taking the horses?" the Captain asked.

"That's what I'm thinking," McJeeves replied. "We can load up the sleigh with as much food as we can carry, and let the dogs follow. We might make better time."

"Good idea," the Captain replied, throwing more wood on the fire. He walked back to the couch to lie down, "I'm getting some shuteye, bud; let's get an early start tomorrow."

McJeeves nodded. Tonight they would enjoy a luxury that rarely presented itself along their hasty journey.

Captain Johnson woke with a start as Sprinkles licked his face. He felt the coolness in the room and quickly threw another log on the still smoldering ashes. Once it lit, he dove back under the covers.

"What time is it?" McJeeves asked sleepily.

"Time to go back to sleep."

Sprinkles came over to him and started licking his hand. McJeeves looked up and saw the other dogs standing by the door staring at him with urgency. He kept the blankets around his shoulders as he shuffled his way to let them out. At least they were house trained, he thought. He saw the faint light in the eastern sky.

"It's time to go, Johnson."

"Do we have to?" the Captain muffled a reply.

"'Fraid so. Unless you want to be skewered by the nasty creatures."

"At this point, I'm starting not to care."

McJeeves walked up to him and tapped him on the head, "Come on, we have a lot to do before we hit the road."

McJeeves found a box in the cellar, opened the pantry, and started placing items into it. He also found many bottles of fine wine down there, and he took as many as he could. Back in the kitchen, he grabbed frying pans, pots, just a couple of dishes and cups, numerous knives, spoons and forks, and he found a manual can opener that would come in handy. Captain Johnson let the dogs back in, then came to help. Once they had the sled packed, they made their way to the barn and slowly figured out how to get the saddles on the animals. As luck would have it, neither of the men had much experience with horses, and the process took much of their morning trying to figure it out. Luckily, the wood stove worked exceptionally well, and they did not freeze as they worked.

Since the dogs could easily carry the weight of two people, the men loaded the sleigh with their equivalent weight of hay and firewood. With everything organized, they once again continued on the long and frigid trail to safety, and gradually figured out how to get the horses to do what they wanted. Sprinkles seemed to help in this area, as he would bark whenever the horses seemed to get jittery. Once the dog barked, the horses stopped messing around and kept walking diligently.

They were maybe two days out from Saskatoon near the Saskatchewan River, when both horsemen noticed movement near the riverbank. It neared late afternoon, and men, horses, and dogs, needed a break. McJeeves pulled out his binoculars, scanning the area. The movement occurred a good distance away, and as he brought the sight into focus, McJeeves immediately discerned the telltale bloodstains in the snow.

"There's blood on the snow down there, Johnson," he pointed in the direction, and Captain Johnson raised his binoculars in response.

"Lots of blood," the Captain confirmed, "Hey McJeeves, look at that tree just off to the left, is that a dead bear?"

McJeeves scanned the area, "I see it, but it's not near a tree."

"Ah, that's because there're two dead bears. Look," he pointed the way with his finger, and McJeeves identified the other animal.

"You think they fought each other?"

"I don't know, Captain, but the dogs can eat some bear tonight. In this weather, that meat will still be fresh."

Both men hitched-up the horses and meandered their way toward the downed animals; they left the other two horses and the dogs, on the road. The snow was deep in this area, but the horses easily manipulated it, and actually seemed to enjoy themselves with the untouched powder. However, as they neared the first dead bear, they saw a wide trampled area. McJeeves jumped off the horse to have a look at the tracks, and quickly remounted.

"These are the little scary creature tracks, Johnson."

"You sure?"

"I memorized them when they attacked us up North. It's the same footprint."

As they maneuvered the horses around the general area, both men continually whipped their heads around looking for an attack. There was no sign any of the creatures still remained in the area, but now the fugitives worried the invaders had somehow moved ahead of them. If that proved true, they would now be behind enemy lines, and in some very serious trouble.

They walked the horses up to the nearest dead bear, and saw numerous puncture wounds and slashes. It appeared the creature went down fighting.

"Good for you, buddy," McJeeves said, patting the bear's head.

"Do you think it killed any?"

"Who knows? Those creatures disappear after you kill 'em," McJeeves replied. "If these trees could talk, they'd probably tell us a horrific tale."

Both men jumped to their feet brandishing knives when they heard rustling in the nearby trees.

"I don't like this one bit, McJeeves," more rustling emanated from the woods and it was getting closer.

"There!" McJeeves shouted, pointing at another bear thrashing in the undergrowth of a large pine tree.

"It's hurt!"

"All right, Captain, we have to get out of here. Let's cut some slabs off this bear, and get moving."

"I'm thinking we just leave now and forget the bear, McJeeves. We don't need the meat that bad."

"You're right, but the dogs do. They need the protein."

"Huumon!" a distressed moan came from the large pine tree.

"Oh, hell no, McJeeves, we have got to go."

"Huumon, hup," moaned the voice again.

"McJeeves, man that is not a normal voice."

"I know. Start cutting this bear, Captain, I'm going to check it out."

"Huumon!" the wail came again.

"You ain't leaving me, I'm coming with."

McJeeves nodded, and started moving toward the pine tree. Captain Johnson had his hand on McJeeves back as both men cautiously approached. There was no sign of the injured bear that thrashed on the ground just moments ago.

"Cummme!" the voice said.

Both men stopped dead in their tracks.

"Cummme huumon."

The men started to back pedal, and began to bolt back toward the horses, when Sprinkles came trotting past, slithering between the branches and into the large pine tree.

"Pup!" the voice said.

Sprinkles popped his head from under the branches to look at the men.

"Huumon, pup," the voice said again, and the dog disappeared back into the tree.

"You think Lassie is trying to tell us something?" Captain Johnson asked sarcastically.

They tiptoed to the pine tree, moved some branches, and peeked into the interior. Both fell over each other as they frantically scrambled to get away.

"Oh-shit, oh-shit!" Johnson repeated over and over, as they stumbled in the snow.

"What the hell is that?" McJeeves asked, knowing the Captain did not have a clue.

Sprinkles came back out from underneath the tree and started barking at them.

"What do we do?" the Captain asked.

"We get the hell out of here. That thing is huge."

They called to Sprinkles, but the dog just kept barking at them. Then the tree branches started moving around and the thing they saw inside came tumbling out, screeching in apparent pain. Sprinkles walked up to it, and the creature reached out a giant hand to pet him.

The creature moved its head so it could see the men, "Hup, huumon cummme."

McJeeves started walking back toward the creature.

"What the fuck are you doing, McJeeves?"

"I'm gonna help," he paused, "I hope."

"What! Are you crazy?" Captain Johnson started to follow, "If that thing eats us, I'm gonna come back and haunt you."

McJeeves gave him a look, but kept on walking. He trusted Sprinkles against the little scary creatures, and he trusted the animal now. As they neared the beast, they slowed, approaching cautiously. The thing was enormous; at least seven feet tall, hundreds of pounds, and hair covered from head to massive toes. The eyes watched them move closer, and there was a distinct intelligence within them.

"Look at the feet, McJeeves. Is it a Bigfoot?"

"Burrr Kan," the creature moaned. "Dak," it said, pounding a fist on its chest.

"Jason," McJeeves said, and pounded his chest in imitation.

"Huumon Jassooon, hup Dak," the creature said. Its voice a deep grumble as it spoke.

McJeeves knelt down by the creatures' side, and cautiously started examining its body. It had numerous punctures, but none seriously deep. He worked his way down the creatures' leg, and it pointed at its left ankle. When he examined it, it looked malformed as if dislocated.

"I don't know how to fix this, Dak," he said to the creature.

"Huumon Jassooon heals."

McJeeves flung his arms in the air, "I don't...," he looked at Captain Johnson, and saw the terrified look on the officer's face. The man was white as a ghost, "Do you know how to fix this?"

The Captain just shook his head.

More rustling came from deep within the forest, and as the noise drew near, two more of the hairy creatures emerged. Both appeared much larger than Dak, and both carried puncture wounds on their torsos. As they approached, the larger of the two waved McJeeves away from the Dak creature. Jason McJeeves did not hesitate, and quickly backed away to stand next to the Captain. The larger creature sat on top of the Dak creature, holding its shoulders down. The other grabbed Dak's deformed ankle, and in one quick motion, yanked on it. Dak let out an ear-piercing scream, then lay still, panting heavily. They watched as the large one patted Dak on the face, much like a human would, then with the help of the other, they lifted Dak to its feet. The creature that yanked Dak's foot back into place, grunted at the larger one, then walked up to the two men.

"Jassooon, Huumon," the Dak creature said to the one that approached.

The big one stopped in front of them, and just stared. Both men, terrified to the core, did not move a muscle. The creature then bent closer, sniffing heavily at the air. The creature was gargantuan, blocking out everything within their view.

"Huumon, hup. Gud," the voice bellowed.

McJeeves looked down as Sprinkles rubbed against his leg, then sitting between him and the Captain, with wagging tail. Thinking back to when the nasty little creatures attacked them, and the way Sprinkles acted then versus now, emboldened him to look up at the creatures face. He thought the thing smiled, but it was more scary than friendly. McJeeves smiled back. The creature cupped his head within its massive hands. It smelled like a wet dog, and McJeeves was too terrified to move.

"Huumon, Jassooon, Kan fend."

The creature bent, kissing the top of his head, and a flood of warmth coursed immediately through Jason McJeeves body. It was a wonderful feeling. It did the same to Captain Johnson, who squeaked in fear when the creature grabbed his head, but then let out a sigh once the warmth streamed through his frozen limbs. Sprinkles put its paws up on the creature, and received the same treatment. The dog then rolled in the snow a few times, and took off running and playing with the white powder. The creature stared at them for what seemed like an eternity, but at this point, both men no longer remained frightened.

"Kan fend, slllaversss cummme," it rumbled, "Fund Kinnng. Kan cummme." It then gave them a smile, turned, and helped the other large beast carry Dak away.

The creatures walked up toward their sled and the one that touched them called in a high-pitched chirp to their horses in the field. Both ran to it, and it touched them, then it touched the two remaining horses by the sled, and finally all the dogs. Then the creatures disappeared into the woods beyond.

It was a long time before the men moved or spoke.

# Chapter 39 Avera

In just over a half moon cycle, they crossed the Great Waters from the Red Hair land, and once again closed in on a discernable land mass. The human that volunteered to venture with, was terribly sick throughout the voyage, and continually emptied its track into the waters. At the sighting of land, the human seemed to perk-up, regaining its hunger.

As their skiff drew closer toward the shore, Jimmy McNiff, Grandson of the ancient Senior Jimmy from Dublin, recognized one of the most telling signs of freedom, the Statue of Liberty.

Jimmy graduated from Syracuse University, and traveled many places within the U.S. before deciding to go back to his native Ireland. He ventured numerous times to Manhattan with college friends, and he used this knowledge to persuade the lady Elf to take him with her. If he had known how fast her ship could sail, and how rough the water would be, he might have declined. Living in Ireland, Dublin in particular, Jimmy was used to boats and water, but this Elvin ship could fly, and with them crossing the Atlantic in just sixteen days, the feat amazed him.

When he first learned of the Elves, he was in total denial, but once they visited the Bones and the Whites, his senses calmed, and he accepted the truth of the matter, even though it contradicted all things of the world, as people knew it.

During the voyage, the lady Avera and her Elvin kin, remained relatively quiet, and pretty much ignored him as he puked his guts out over the side of the ship. However, they did talk with one another and Jimmy picked-up on some of their conversation. Among this talk, and the conversations that took place with the Bones and the Whites, who by the way, were not in the least bit surprised by the Elves visit, he was able to discern a King was somewhere near the Great Lakes, and an army attacked the Americas. Any sane person would have stayed away, but Jimmy was bored, and his life headed nowhere. This was an adventure of a lifetime, and since he knew the road systems of the U.S., he figured he could be an effective guide for these exotic creatures.

To describe beautiful, would be to describe many actresses, but the lady Avera was beyond any comparison, and her male counterparts appeared no less stunning.

He was staring at one male when the Lady called to him. Jimmy shuffled to the front of the ship, scanning where her finger pointed.

"That's the Statue of Liberty," he said. When she did not respond, Jimmy continued, "America is founded by all different races from all over the world. This nation represents every culture and religion on its soil. People die trying to come here."

"What of the Horse Lords?" The Elf asked.

Jimmy became confused, "I don't know what you mean, my Lady."

Avera looked at him from the corner of her eye while she continued scanning the shoreline, "The Horse Lords. The indigenous humans upon the Western lands helped my people defeat the Mother in the past."

Jimmy nodded his head, "If you mean the Indians, then yes, there're many still here, but America uses cars nowadays. Nobody rides a horse anymore."

"The metal wagons?" she asked surprised.

"Huh? Uh, yes, the metal wagons," he stammered, "One metal wagon has the power of hundreds of horses." Jimmy pulled at his ear in thought, "America is free, Avera, people here are able to follow their dreams without interference from governments, or in your case, Kings."

"Explain," she commanded.

"America is a Democracy. No one-person rules; instead, a group of people who are elected by everyone else, rules it. These people represent the voice of everyone, making laws and governing the nation, together. Lady Avera, America does not have a King, they have a President, and he is in Washington D.C., which is that way," Jimmy pointed south along the shoreline, "Not near the Great Lakes. You may be wasting your time."

She looked at him with her stunningly gorgeous eyes, "The King is there," she pointed inland in the general direction they sailed, "Jimmy McNiff, but now I worry if the human King does not rule, will other humans follow?"

Jimmy snickered, "In today's world, I would highly doubt it."

"Then Jimmy, I am afraid the Earth will no longer have humans."

She walked away from him then, and went back to sit by her male counterparts. Jimmy turned to stare at the statue, contemplating the woman's words. Self-importance ruled many nations across the world, and America was the leader in that vein. Very few communities existed where everyone worked for the betterment of everyone else. America is famous for its greed, corruption, and me-first attitude. What chance would people have if they forgot about their neighbors and tried to make it alone? It was a thought Jimmy did not want to contemplate, because he already knew the answer.

Jimmy studied the map he still had from his college days, but being on a ship messed with his bearings. He wanted to land on the mainland in order to avoid Long Island, but instead they landed at Coney Island. This fact took him awhile to figure out, and by time he did, it was already too late to turn back.

As they traveled inland, atrocities assailed their eyes. Bodies lay in the streets stripped of clothing, an abundance of smashed store windows, and all their merchandise gone. It was a scene from a war zone except for blown-up buildings. As it was in Ireland, no power existed here either. Vehicles littered the roads, most with missing wheels and interiors, and the smell of burning wood hung heavy in the air. When Jimmy asked the Elf woman about the power outage, she did not know what he was talking about, and it was impossible to explain it to someone who has never experienced it. As far as heat, Jimmy no longer had to worry about it since the Elf infused him with warmth whenever he asked. Just as electricity was impossible to explain to her, her explanation of magic was equally frustrating. Jimmy finally gave up asking.

Jimmy knew they had to get to Interstate Eighty, but the only way that looked best on the map was to cross the Fort Hamilton Bridge to Stanton Island. Even though there did not appear to be many people on the streets, he did not want to walk through Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx to cross the bridge to Jersey City.

As they neared the Fort Hamilton Bridge, they encountered a plane that had crash-landed into the neighborhoods, and now it did look like a war zone. The downed aircraft smashed and burned the entire neighborhood, and debris littered the streets. There was no sign of bodies, but looters stripped the interior clean, and smoke rose from the first class section of the broken jumbo jet. One of the Elf males ran off to inspect, and returned shortly. Apparently, some homeless people used it as shelter. The Elves did not understand the concept of homeless, and try as he might, Jimmy could not adequately explain it to their satisfaction. They seemed appalled human's would let other humans live without a house (what they called a dwelling).

At the Bridge itself, Soldiers stationed within the Fort stopped them. Fifty of them funneled out of the fort, standing between them and the bridge. Jimmy surmised the U.S. still used this Fort for reservists.

"Where are you heading, folks," a soldier asked. Jimmy noted the stripes on his tattered uniform. The others, in equally tattered garb, stood staring at the Elves, and especially Avera.

Jimmy placed his hand on the Elf woman's shoulder to stop her from speaking, "We need to get to Chicago, sir," he said.

The soldier looked them all over, "That's a long way off in this weather. Where're you from?"

"I'm originally from Ireland, but I studied at Syracuse," Jimmy replied.

"How many warriors have you here, Human?" asked Avera. Jimmy cringed when he heard her speak.

"Are you from England, ma'am?" the soldier asked.

"I do not know that word," she replied.

The soldier looked her over more closely, and if he was impressed with her beauty, he showed no signs. Then he looked over the rest of her group. Luckily, they all wore light cloaks over their armor, which also concealed their swords. Jimmy was getting very nervous.

"Where're you from, ma'am?" the soldier spoke directly to Avera.

Avera looked the man squarely in the eyes, "We are from Ireland."

The soldier again stared at her long and hard, then turned to Jimmy once more, "And you're going to Chicago?" he asked in a somewhat confused voice.

"Yes sir," Jimmy replied.

"Go on folks," the lead soldier said, waving them forward, "Just be careful, there's a lot of looting and rioting going on. People are starving, cold, and desperate."

The soldiers stepped aside, and the little Elvin band progressed toward the bridge. Once past, Avera turned to watch as the human soldiers moved back inside their dwelling.

"Brother!" she called and one Elvin male hurried to her side.

Jimmy watched as they shared a brief conversation, then the male came back to the group to usher them across. When he looked back at Avera, she was walking toward the fort entrance.

Jimmy kept them marching west along the road that would lead over another bridge, where they could turn north toward Newark and intersect Interstate Eighty. Avera did not catch-up to the group until they had almost reached the western bridge.

"May I ask what you said to them?" Jimmy asked.

She looked at him for some time before she responded, "I told them a large warrior force was sweeping the land, and the King would need their assistance."

Jimmy slapped a hand to his forehead, "And what did they say to you?" he asked.

"They thought my remarks humorous," Avera responded.

"Avera, lady," Jimmy started, "You can't talk like that to people. They'll think you're crazy. You really should let me speak for you."

"They believe now, Jimmy McNiff. They will do what is necessary."

"What did you do to them?" he asked.

"I convinced them." She smiled at him as she said it, and Jimmy did not want to think about how she did it. He dropped any further questions, and led them forward.

As they passed the airport on their way to Newark, another plane appeared to have crashed. However, what they saw the most was many different aircraft parked everywhere as if they had all landed quickly, then abandoned by their crews. They also saw smoke rising from the airport terminal area, which meant many stranded people.

Although Jimmy could not gauge time accurately, he figured it took them three hours to walk to Newark and get on Interstate Eighty, and if they pushed forward, he felt confident they could reach Cedar Grove before nightfall. The farther away from the city he could make it, the more comfortable he would feel.

They made Cedar Grove well past nightfall, and all felt exhausted from the journey. Riding a ship for many days, then walking a full six to eight hours, took a toll on the group. They ate a meager meal of oats and berries; which they ate for the past seventeen days while they sailed on the boat, and curled up for a night of rest. The Elves did not make any type of shelter, preferring to sleep under the stars, and since they infused him with their natural warmth, Jimmy enjoyed the experience. It was a magnificent experience; now he just had to figure out how to get some fresh meat, bread, and potatoes into his diet. The Elves ate like rabbits, and Jimmy would wager they did not weigh much more.

As they moved farther and farther toward their destination, it became apparent to the Elves that the human slowed them down. Although it was a young and sprite human, its need for rest and food weighed on the well-conditioned Elves. Avera sent scouts out to locate some horses, and it took them many days to return. When they did, they had three hundred of the majestic animals in tow.

"Where did you get those?" asked an exasperated Jimmy. He held his head as if it would explode.

"We found them roaming some fields," one of the Elf males responded.

"What types of fields? Did they have fences or barriers around them?"

"White barriers," the Elf responded as he nodded his head.

"That's stealing!" Jimmy exclaimed. "That's a crime in this country," he said. However, all the Elves looked at him with dumbfounded faces. Jimmy threw his hands in the air in frustration. Looking at the horses more closely, he did not see any saddles, "Where are the saddles," he asked?"

Again, the Elves looked at him confused.

"Saddle," he said slowly, trying to get his point across, but it did not have the desired effect. Jimmy threw his hands in the air again, and picked out a horse that at least wore a harness. One Elf carried some rope, and he asked for about three feet of length. This of course earned him another confused look. Jimmy grabbed for the rope and extended it about three feet, then motioned for the Elf to cut it. He was shocked at how easily the Elf's blade sliced through. It was a thick rope, and the sword split it cleanly without even a tug.

"Dimondon," the Elf said, and Jimmy did not try to get a further explanation.

He tied the rope onto the horses harness, and after some consideration of the best way to do it, he managed to leap up, pulling himself into a comfortable position. He was used to riding horses, and considered himself proficient, but riding a horse without a saddle was cumbersome.

When the Elves saw the human was in control of the animal, they once again continued down the road. They journeyed through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and through the towns of Berwick, Lock Haven, and Clearfield. Once they reached the Allegany River west of Du Bois, the Elves decided to take a bath. Avera persuaded Jimmy to un-garb and enjoy the frozen waters of the Allegany River, and besides meeting Elves, Jimmy never experienced an odder feeling in his life. He was amazed the Elvin warmth that emanated through his body, extended to freezing water. It was exhilarating.

They camped at the river that night, and Jimmy finally managed to catch himself a rabbit. His mouth watered excessively as he cooked the beast, and once he sat down to consume his hard earned and most elusive prey, the Elves exited his immediate area. They did not converse with him until he consumed all traces of the little bunny. Jimmy moaned in ecstasy as he swallowed each mouthful; it has been a long time since he ate such a delicious meal.

The next morning as they broke camp, a group of Native American Indians came upon them. The natives traveled north toward the Indian reservation, and after a long discussion with Avera, the natives continued on their way with the extra horses the Elves had acquired. Jimmy asked, but Avera did not wish to discuss their conversation.

As they traveled, Jimmy started educating the Elves on the modern world. He explained the cars, trucks, and aircraft. He talked about houses, plumbing, and populations. He described the cultures of the world, and America's rise to dominance. When they asked about the American warriors, Jimmy explained their current situation with Iraq and of all the soldiers that fought overseas. That bit of information really seemed to disturb the Elves. In return for his teachings, the Elves taught Jimmy the art of swordplay, and grew extremely impressed with his quick learning. He tried to explain his athletic accomplishments, but the concept was lost on them. All they knew was war, and could not comprehend games.

All along the route, they encountered looting, death, and starvation. They tried to help here and there, but the Elves were eager to reach the King, and only spared what they could. The warnings they shared with people seemed to go on deaf ears. The Americans were trying to survive and did not have time to listen to ranting about invasion, and war. After all, no army has ever invaded, or attempted to invade the modern Americas.

The Elves chattered nervously about the human incompetence they witnessed. Quite a few Elvin males who performed the scouting, talked about the humans as gluttons and over stuffed beasts, and from the atrocities seen along the way, Jimmy could hardly argue back. His own race was looking very bad compared to the elegant Elves, and at times, Jimmy was embarrassed.

The atrocities seemed to worsen as they moved toward more densely populated areas. Gary Indiana was the worst by far, with roaming gangs of filthy people preying on the less fortunate. Fortunately, one hundred people riding horses and brandishing weapons, was a very good deterrent. Still, one large group of desperate men gave it a try, and persisted in their evil intentions. Avera and her brothers appeared reluctant to kill the humans, but at times, unavoidable events shape our decisions. None bothered them after that.

They camped that evening just outside Hammond near the shores of Lake Michigan. The Elves wished to get off the road and see what they called, the 'Lakes of Life'. That night, Avera cried, and the sight tore at Jimmy's heart. These creatures were not even human, and she cried over what humans had become. If Jimmy stayed awake for it, their late night discussion would have mortified him. The Elves teetered on the verge of giving up and leaving the humans to their fate. It sickened them that they would risk their lives for a dream that died centuries ago when humans inspired their Elvin ancestors. They have seen no inspiration along their journey. Instead, the humans have laughed, ridiculed, shunned, and ignored the Elves every step of the journey.

The self-importance of the human race disgusted them, and the zoo animals the Elves released along the way had a higher place in their hearts than the humans did. Any race that desecrates the land to such a horrific extent, dishonors the natural balance of the earth, and dares to own what is not their natural right, deserves the fate that lay before them. All the wonders they saw along their route, the magnificent creations the human mind could imagine, proved meaningless compared to the destruction and abuse the race perpetuated everywhere else. A race so blessed should have been able to enhance their environment for the betterment of all the earths' creatures.

Unfortunately, their short sight was going hand in hand with their short life expectancy. The race only cared about today and did not give a thought to tomorrow. Avera was getting pressure from her brothers to abandon the humans. However, she persuaded them to see the mission through to the King. Then, if they still felt the same, she would recall all her tribe, and let the humans fend for themselves. After all, the earth now belonged to them, and unless the humans overcome their transgression, within a few years, the Mother and her Elves would rule once more. Maybe the earth would be better that way, Avera thought.

# Chapter 40 D'Manna

D'Manna sat in the lounge enjoying some peace and quiet when the mutiny came. Laura, Jack, Lisa, and numerous others stormed into the room with determined looks on their faces. Even little two-year-old Lisa was staring at him with her hands on hips and a foot tapping. They just stood there and stared.

He put down the map of the city he was analyzing, "What?" he asked.

"Mr. President..." Jack started to say, but was immediately cut off by his lovely wife, Laura. Jack shrugged his shoulders at him.

D'Manna looked at his wife; she was obviously the ringleader. He smiled at her.

"We want to know what's going on Mr. President."

There was a lot of sarcasm in her voice as she addressed him by his title. His wife was upset, and he did not think he would be able to deflect her this time.

"Where would you like me to start?" he asked.

"The power," Laura said. "It's been two months, Brock. Two Months! Nobody knows what the hell is going on, but you keep making decisions as if you do. Now, we want to know what you know, so maybe we can understand this nightmare and possibly help, and if you give us the run-around again, I'll hurt you badly."

D'Manna looked at Jack, but his agent was not offering any help. He looked at Lisa Rutz, unsure of how much he should disclose.

"Fine," he said, "Have a seat." He motioned for them to sit, then looked at the bar. A drink would have gone good now, but they consumed most of it during their New Years Eve party, and the rest went shortly after.

"Power," he started. "A test of a new bomb was performed just before Christmas and I believe it caused the outage," he looked at Laura, "I believe it's a world wide issue."

His wife covered her mouth in shocked understanding.

"You ordered this test?" Lisa Rutz asked.

He shook his head, "No. Members of Congress coordinated the test in secret. They planned to override my peace negotiations, and drop it in Iraq."

"With our children there?" Laura screeched.

"With many children there, babe," he replied.

"Why?" she asked.

"Oil," Lisa responded.

D'Manna nodded at her deduction.

"So, the whole earth is affected?" Lisa asked, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. If it was regional, then we'd still have flights arriving from other places."

"What about the cars?"

"That, I don't understand," he replied, "or guns."

"Guns?" Lisa asked.

D'Manna looked at Jack.

"Our guns don't work," Jack replied.

"So our boys are stranded in Iraq," Laura asked, "With no working guns?"

D'Manna nodded.

"Oh, great!" his wife threw her hands in the air, "For how long?"

He shrugged.

"What about the weather?" Lisa asked.

"I don't know," D'Manna responded. "It's not as cold today as when it first started, so I'm assuming the weather will return to normal sooner or later."

Nobody spoke for a few minutes, and just stared at him.

"What's your relationship with the Pecholi's?" Lisa Rutz then asked.

"Listen, Lisa, and all of you," he scanned all the seated faces. "What do you think would happen once people started running out of food and things to burn?" nobody responded, so he answered for them. "They would go and take it, then if they were beaten to the stuff by other people, they would try and take it from the other people, then others would come and take it, then others, and so on and so forth. Anarchy would rein, and lawlessness would abound."

He slapped a hand on the table, "People are already dying by the thousands because of this damn cold weather. Children are dying because they don't have heaters in their houses, or what they burned also burned down the houses around them. The same is happening with the elderly, and the sick. Hospitals cannot treat patients because there's no more medicine."

He sat quietly for a moment to let his words sink in.

"The Pecholi's, Lisa, were already looting because they saw an opportunity to make a buck off others misfortune. I was not going to let that happen."

D'Manna again encompassed them all within his stare, "We're isolated from the rest of the country, and the world for that matter. Until recently, I didn't even know what the hell was happening outside these damn hotel doors. Now," he laid the map he was studying on the table. Everyone could clearly see the semi-circular red line encompassing a large area.

D'Manna continued, "there's a communications network in place within this entire area from just north and west of Hammond Indiana, to Palos, Orland Park, Naperville, Palatine, Wheeling, and Deerfield. The Pecholi's, and now the Mayor and his friends, are confiscating supplies, food, medicine, wood, and anything else they can get their hands on, and they're rationing the stuff to everyone within this area so that supplies last and everyone has needs available. People, who had nothing to keep them warm, are now housing with others who do. The elderly and children are getting the food and medicine they need. Doctors are also getting supplies to treat as many people as possible. People are helping one another to stay alive. I wish I could extend this network out faster, but the weather is hindering that movement. As the warmth returns, we'll continue to spread out and ensure society remains calm, and people are taken care of."

As everyone sat, staring at the map, D'Manna walked to the window.

Lisa Rutz broke the silence, "What did you offer them in return, Mr. President?"

D'Manna stood staring at the frozen world outside his little window, and took his time in responding. Everyone else waited for him to speak.

He returned to the table and sat down, "People were already panicking before we had this system totally implemented, folks. There are thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands who are dead, most from the cold, but also many from riots. Since implementation, the death toll is minimal, but we're not out of the woods yet. The Pecholi's are saving lives, and ensuring people don't panic and do things that would be bad for the whole. Instead of the little piddly funds they could make from people's suffering, I offered them a chance to earn millions in emergency relief funds once we have power restored and banking systems functional. I offered them a chance to be heroes of the people, and to be quite honest with you; they've already earned more than what I promised. They took my initial idea, and have been expanding it ever since. The effort is astounding, and shows true character and dedication. Instead of thugs, they are saviors. My only hope is that others, who are isolated across this nation, have established similar systems. I'd hate to think of the consequences of the alternative."

"Dey gud peepls mer prededent," little Lisa piped in, and she came, pulling herself up into his lap.

"Most people are good, Lisa," he said, stroking her hair, "Sometimes, we all just need a little reminding of that fact."

"So, now what?" Laura asked.

"We wait, darlin'. Once this weather breaks, we'll be able to assess things to a greater degree, then take it from there. There's not much else we can do."

One of the elderly men who now shared the lounge, asked, "What of the bodies, Mr. President? Once the weather breaks..." He looked at little Lisa sitting in the President's lap, and did not finish his thought.

D'Manna knew where he was going with his question, "The streets are already being cleaned up, sir, and matters of that nature are being stored until the ground will allow for some digging. Depending on the total scope of the situation, we may have to resort to cremation."

Everyone at the table nodded.

An agent who stood guard in the hallway, entered and approached. He whispered something into Jack's ear, and Jack motioned for the President to follow. D'Manna handed little Lisa to big Lisa, and walked toward the agent.

Jack pulled him close, "There're horsemen approaching from the South. From what we know, they're British, carry swords, and wear medieval armor. They're looking for a King."

D'Manna chuckled, "That's all we need. How many, Jack?"

"One hundred. They're about three hours away."

D'Manna nodded, "Tell the guys to watch them and shadow. If they look like they're going to cause trouble, we'll have to intervene. Otherwise, let's see where they go," he smiled, "I'd like to meet this King of theirs. It aught to be interesting."

"I agree," Jack responded.

# Chapter 41 Nick & Brad

Nick set a grueling pace toward the ships that would take them home. Every soldier was determined, focused, and re-energized. Once word spread that invaders threatened America, not one man objected to a forced march. They had twelve hundred miles to cover in order to reach their destination, and they did it in twenty-four days.

Moving, feeding, and manipulating a force of twenty-two thousand men, was an enormous undertaking and one they would not have been able to accomplish on their own. Word spread quickly through the region, and with the aide of their Iraqi guide, the Jordanian King, and numerous others, help abounded all along the way. From Amman, Israel, the West Bank; to Gaza, Alexandria, Marsa Matruh, and Bardiyah, the people willingly provided food, clothing, medicine and numerous other items. Ajdabiya, Surt, Tripoli, Medenine, and finally Tunis, the people, some of which who have hated Americans all their life, helped, cheered, and gave words of encouragement. Without their support, the troops would not have been able to average fifty miles a day. Time was crucial, and the people of the region helped the soldiers salvage valuable days.

As they approached the shores of Tunis, their eyes bulged at the sight; one hundred Viking war ships littered the Mediterranean waiting for their arrival.

During their forced march, Elves and humans became well acquainted, and established a training routine amongst the men. Algar assigned twenty-five Elves to each Special Forces unit then separated them further for sparring routines. The Elves taught the humans how to balance and fight against Elvin forged Dimondon laced weapons. When fighting against such formidable weaponry, they taught the defenders not to rely on armor to protect them, or try to deflect the blows with inferior devices. Only Dimondon could turn Dimondon made metal. The trick was to balance and avoid, then strike at exposed regions of the attackers body.

To demonstrate, the Elves had the human warriors try to parry their Dimondon swords with steel pipes found along the march. The superior swords easily sliced through the thick pipes, and only the skilled training of the Elves stopped the blades from continuing into human flesh. They drilled these lessons into the human warrior tactics, and the Elves became very impressed with the Special Forces ability. As the days progressed, more and more humans scored hits on the Elves, and once the humans learned how to use their superior body mass to their advantage, the Elves started receiving a substantial amount of bruises.

However, the training of the Marines was not progressing nearly as well. Algar and his twenty-four brothers who he assigned to the Vassals personal guard, continually returned to basics in footwork, agility, and balance. The Vassals explained the training difference between the Special Forces warriors, and the Marines, and Algar likened it to the Calvary and foot warriors of the elves. The Elvin foot warriors are the most formidable in battle, and highly skilled in hand-to-hand swordplay. The Elvin Calvary on the other hand, although capable in hand combat, they specialized in steed fighting. Algar suggested the Marine warriors concentrate on Cavalry skills, and Nick agreed. Once they reached the West, Algar would send scouts to find mounts, then start training these humans in that unique skill.

All the soldiers stood in awe, gazing at the Viking war ships. All but two of the ships had massive sails crosshatched in red. The two with the mermaid carvings on the prow, had solid red sails. The other ships had snake or dragon headed prows, and each ship had at least sixty oars sticking out of the sides.

Nick and Brad stood up on a ridge scanning the Mediterranean, "How big are they, Brad?" Nick knew Brad studied the Viking age through school, and hoped that knowledge would come in handy.

"Those are seventy meter ships, Nick. When I studied the Vikings, most of their ships were much smaller. Rumor had it some Viking Kings had fleets of these massive warships, but only one ship was ever found. Only the greatest Viking Kings could afford to build them."

Nick looked at his brother, and felt a little foolish asking, "How many feet in a meter, Bro?"

"Weren't you a high honors student?" Brad asked.

"Spare me the lecture, Brother."

Brad laughed, "Those ships are about two hundred and thirty feet long, Nick, or in your way of thinking, almost eighty yards. That's almost a full football field," he said the last as if explaining to a child.

"Ha-ha," Nick intoned, "So, how many men can we get on 'em?"

Brad thought for a few minutes as he tried to remember his studies, but a woman's Irish accented voice interrupted them from behind.

"They have a crew of one hundred of my countrymen and can carry almost three hundred more," another woman laughed.

Both brothers spun around, and their jaws dropped nearly to the ground. The women giggled at the looks on their faces.

"So, you gentlemen are the leaders?"

Nick nodded. Brad just stared.

"Those are our ships, and while you ride them, we're in command. You'll do what we say, when we say it," the taller of the two spoke.

"And if you should have need to empty your guts, we'd be grateful if you'd hang your heads over the sides," said the smaller woman.

Both men nodded.

"I'm Lindsey Bones," said the taller.

"And I'm Vicki White," intoned the other. "We'll start loading everyone on the ships throughout the night, then set sail at dawn. Okay?"

Both men nodded.

The girls giggled as they turned and left, "They're hunks," Vicki said.

"I'll take the tall one on my ship. You get the other," Lindsey responded.

"That's a deal," both giggled again as they trotted-off to make preparations.

Once out of hearing distance, "Dude!" Nick exclaimed, "They're hot!"

Brad looked out at the ships, "Do you think they're all woman?"

Nick laughed, "I hope so. It'll be the best damn boat ride I ever take."

"They are the only females, Vassals."

Both spun around again as Algar approached, "Damn! People have to stop doing that to us," Brad held his chest.

Algar smiled, "You must always be aware of your surroundings. If not, then you will be surprised many times in life."

"You sound like my father," Nick responded.

"Then your father is a wise man, Nicholas D'Manna."

Unlike the training of the others, both Nick and Brad learned to deflect swords with their own superior Dimondon weapons, and of all the humans, the brothers skill in arms was exceptional. Ever since the human Commander defeated Algar, the Elf's respect of the human race grew ten-fold. Algar learned a great lesson during their initial match, and vowed not to be careless again. The training lessons have proven the two to be more of an even match.

The Commanders brother was also impressive. Although Algar could defeat it regularly, none of his brother elves could, and both humans had the utmost respect of their Elvin partners. This fact gave the Elves hope, and confirmed they had indeed made a wise decision to come back to the earth.

"I am told the human war ships can carry three hundred warriors," Algar said, "and that we should make landfall in the West within a moons cycle."

"That sounds about right," Brad responded.

"We must secure weaponry for your human warriors, Nicholas. The female Commanders say they know where to obtain them, but are secretive and will not share," Algar scratched at his neck. "Perhaps you can address this concern during our travels."

Nick smiled, "If I'm not puking my guts out all the way home, I'll be sure to ask."

Algar had a confused look on his face.

"Never mind him, Algar," Brad interrupted, "We'll find out. There're many giant sporting good stores where we can confiscate bows and arrows, and anything else we can get our hands on. We'll figure it out as we go."

Algar still had a confused look on his face, but nodded and followed the humans to the waiting ships.

# Chapter 42 Lina Lias

Once they reached the more densely populated human dwellings, her warrior's progress slowed, and casualties of the Horde grew more numerous. Fortunately, none of her Elvin warriors met a premature death, but their progress was definitely frustrating.

The largest hurdle her warriors faced was hunting down the numerous human dregs. They lived everywhere and consumed too much time in the hunting. It took Dracon a full moons cycle to eliminate the humans in the dwellings of Vancouver, Seattle, and Portland; however, he lost nearly three hundred thousand Horde in the process. Brako was making better progress and had pushed all the way to what her lordling called, Denver. Brako lost roughly a half million of the Horde creations, but neutralized the human dwellings of Edmonton, Calgary, Spokane, Boise, and every place in between. Once this Denver dwelling was subdued, Brako would start acquiring some human slaves.

Sanon, in the far North, had progressed all the way to what the Lordling called Greenland, and was in the process of crossing the water barrier. He conquered the Baffin Island, along with Victoria, Banks, and the Queen Elizabeth Isles. His losses remained minimal, and Lina was very proud of her youngest.

Once Runko's force split from hers in Churchill, he made steady progress above the Lakes of Life toward the East. Moosonee and Sudbury have fallen, and half of his forces now advanced upon Ottawa. He dispatched the other half to the North and they successfully progressed through Chibougamau, and finished up in Chisasibi. His losses were also minimal.

Rika and Gargon led her central warriors as they progressed all the way to the outskirts of the human dwellings in Minneapolis. Although Lina lost numerous Horde in the process, the dwellings of Saskatoon, Regina, Winnipeg, Thunder Bay, Bismarck, and Duluth have fallen, and she now considered her entire Northlands cleansed of the human disease.

Her little lordling helped her trace their progress upon the human map. The detail the humans placed into making such a document was astounding, and without it, she would have had a much more difficult time finding and eliminating the scum from her lands. She thanked her little pet by once again infusing it regularly with warmth, and it responded by being even more informative than ever. Whenever they entered the larger dwellings, or what the human called cities, her lordling would point out the leadership locals so Rika and Gargon could eliminate the head of the human race. It was even more helpful in identifying the human warrior bases, and her Elvin tribe took full advantage of the information.

Once she eliminated these Minneapolis dwellings, she planned to take some slaves and start tilling the lands. She would reward her little lordling and let it be the head beggar of the human varmint.

Senator Ash was once again happy with his position. The Mother was pleased with the information he shared and this afforded him more luxuries within the Elvin camp. Even Rika and Gargon stopped beating him.

The Mother told him she would start taking slaves once Minneapolis fell, and Ash could not wait to see Americans again. Once she made him the ruler of the human slaves, Ash was confident he could start building a census caucus to help him with his election platform. Slaves had a tendency not to support the leaders who proved instrumental in their enslavement, and D'Manna's actions would definitely count as failed leadership in the slave's eye. If he played his cards right, the people would grow to adore him, and this would play very well with all other Americans. After all, once others saw the admiration in their downtrodden peers, human nature would suggest that they could love him too.

Politicians have turned human manipulation into an art form, and they use it regularly to influence the weak minds of America's citizens. Politicians are taught how to speak, to act, what to say and do; even their little side trips had a purpose. When they held a child, the nation ahh'd, when they held an elderly persons hand, the people ooh'd, and when they pretended to show emotion during disastrous events, the population cried along.

Ash had never met a child, elderly person, or tragic event that did not afford him personal gain within the public eye. He and most of his colleagues were masters at making people think they actually cared. The mass public wanted to hear certain words so they would be comforted, and politicians spent a lot of money and hired only the best to find the right words that worked. He remembered a quote of Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln said, "You can fool some of the people all the time, and even all the people some of the time - but you cannot fool all the people, all the time." Modern day politicians have since added the creed, "You only need to fool enough of the people, enough of the time." This is how you win elections.

If the people really knew what America's extremely rich politicians thought of them, there would have been another revolution eons ago. Ash relished being a politician, and he was one of the nation's best. There is no profession as lucrative as that of a high-ranking public official, and if the people really stopped to think, they would ask why someone would spend millions of dollars for a position that pays a mere pittance. It always amazed him at how easy it was to fool the simple minds of the common person.

Therefore, Ash traveled and planned, improvised, and calculated. Someday, he would once again rise to the top, and the foolish slaves would be his beginning.

# Chapter 43 McJeeves

They made it all the way to Milwaukee before the warmth in their bodies totally dissipated. Thirty days and thirty nights of warm bliss, and now, although not as cold as the North, their bodies once again had to fight to retain heat.

As it was all along the way, people ignored their warnings, and hid their goods. It was almost impossible to find anything extra to eat, as looting seemed to take every community along their route. Luckily, they shaved plenty of bear meat from the dead animals, and along with the warmth, they had full bellies.

Unfortunately, they grew bored of the same meat every night and hoped to find different foods, or trade some of their bear meat, but nobody was interested in what they had; at least until they reached Wisconsin's largest city.

They found a store just off the expressway feeder ramp, and started picking over what little remained. As they exited out the broken windows, bandits were running down the road with their sled. All the dogs huddled under a nearby tree, still wearing their severed harnesses.

Captain Johnson walked up to Sprinkles, who had his tail between its legs, shaking his rear-end, "Why didn't you stop them, Sprinkles, what's wrong with you?"

Sprinkles gave a little whimper, but failed to explain the reasons.

"Bad doggie!" the Captain said.

"Leave him alone, Johnson, that pup has saved our hides numerous times. We're only about a days ride out of Chicago, so let's cut them free and be on our way."

"We're going to freeze without our blankets, McJeeves. This is bad."

"There's nothing we can do about..." he stumbled for words as a mass of humanity appeared just down the road from where they stood. He pointed, and Johnson looked.

"What do you think they want?"

McJeeves looked around at the dogs and the horses, "I'm presuming they want some dinner. Cut the dogs loose, Captain, it's time for us to leave."

They stood just off the Eight Ninety-Four Expressway feeder ramp that would lead toward Ninety-Four, and Chicago. Both men hurriedly cut the dogs loose and remounted their horses. The race was on. As the bedraggled people noticed what they were up to, they started sprinting to cutoff their escape. The event turned into no contest as the horses and dogs easily outpaced the bi-peddled animals.

Jason McJeeves and Captain Johnson could not think of these fellow men as anything but animals now. The misfortunes hitting the area turned people against one another, and took them back to primitive mans main goal; survival at any cost. Both men vowed to be more careful as they approached the heavily populated Chicago land area.

# Chapter 44 Avera

After their nightmare journey through Gary Indiana, their moods swung to new heights as they neared the King. Jimmy explained Chicago to her, its history, and spoke of the many dwellings the humans built. It was a clear day, and they saw two distinct buildings in the distance. Avera thought the tips punctured the sky.

"How could man build such places?" a brother asked in stunned amazement.

Avera, riding close-by, responded, "If you rely on dwellings to survive, I would assume as time progressed, the dwellings would become more extravagant."

Avera was pleased with the area they currently passed. Here, as with everywhere else they have ventured, thick burning tree smells hung in the air, but there were no signs of humans stalking other humans. No deceased humans littered the earth, and the humans moved their wagons from the center of the paths'. Most of what their human guide called stores were empty, but unlike the other places they traveled, these portals remained intact. This entire area, and every other section they passed, was clean and well maintained.

The Kings presence pulled her toward the very tall human dwellings, and as they progressed closer in proximity, they started seeing other humans here and there. It gladdened her heart to see these humans apparently helping others. After agreeing with her brothers to leave the humans if things did not progress for the better, she regretted it. Nevertheless, if it still came to it, she would not go back on her word. Her brothers would not leave her, and she would not risk their lives for any human who did not care. If the King proved to be undeserving, she will leave it to its fate.

"Sister, we are being shadowed."

"I know, Brother, I have felt their presence. Let us remain vigilant, but I do not sense any danger coming from them."

The brother nodded his head, continuing his ride.

"That area," Jimmy pointed for her, "is the old Union Stock Yards."

Avera nodded, "What path are we traversing, Jimmy?" she asked.

"They call this the Dan Ryan Expressway. It should take us to the downtown area."

Again, Avera nodded. The human has explained this to her numerous times, but she wanted to get a feel for this area. She knew the King was close, and she would find its location well before nightfall. She just wanted to keep hope alive that the King kept these humans organized. If it turned out to be another, it would be nearly impossible to persuade her brothers to help.

Avera sat back and enjoyed the ride. The Lake of Life showed brilliantly to her east, and although she only caught glimpses through the tall human dwellings, it was enough to keep her spirits high. When they reached the Eisenhower Expressway, Avera pointed eastward, and her little company soon began traversing the inner streets of Downtown Chicago. Jimmy had been here a few times in his life, and without cars, trucks, bicyclists, and numerous people, it somehow did not seem as vibrant.

Their progress was unimpeded in this area as the residents moved most cars off to the side. When they reached Michigan Avenue, Avera pointed north. They followed this road past the river, and the Water Tower. It was at this point Avera started getting unsure of the location. Although she sensed a general feeling of strength to let her know how close she was, and the correct direction to follow, the magic never pointed to the exact spot. The King was close, but many human dwellings filled the area, and this confused her senses.

"Keep taking us north, Jimmy, let me get my bearings."

Jimmy saluted.

Once they passed what the human called Chicago Avenue, Avera became thoroughly confused. The magic's strength stopped growing in intensity, and it no longer provided a direction.

"I have lost the sense, Brothers. We may have to spread out and go from dwelling to dwelling."

"Why not ask one of them?" a brother pointed in a northerly direction, and when she and the others looked, a large mass of humans stood on the path directly in front of them.

Avera was so intent upon locating the King, she forgot all about the humans that shadowed them.

As she and her brothers slowly approached, Jimmy maneuvered his horse close to Avera's fine stallion, "Do you want me to do the talking?" he asked.

Avera shook her head, "I can manage, Jimmy McNiff."

Jimmy hung his head in worry, "Just don't call them humans, okay?"

Avera watched as one human stepped forward from the pack, "May I help you folks?" it asked.

Avera looked it over before answering, "We have come seeking the King. Does anyone perchance know where we may find it?"

Jimmy cringed as she just called the King an "it."

"And, who may you be?" the human asked.

Avera felt her heartbeat quicken. The human did not deny knowledge, and just maybe her quest is at its end, "I am AveraNeclas, and these are my brothers."

Many of the humans chuckled.

"We have come to warn and serve," Avera stated.

The human speaker ignored the chuckles behind him, "I'm sorry to disappoint you ma'am, but we don't have Kings in this country. You may be looking in the wrong part of the world."

She stared at the speaker long and hard before responding, "It is here, human; I can sense its presence."

Jimmy cringed again, noticing the speaker frown at Avera's words.

"Well, Lady, I do not know what an "it" is, and I cannot help you find "it" unless you are more specific in "its" description."

Jimmy heard the tension in the speaker's voice, and when Avera hesitated, he stepped his horse to the forefront, "Excuse me sir, my name is Jimmy McNiff, are you in charge around here?"

The speaker looked him over, "Are you in charge of your little group?"

Jimmy shook his head.

"I didn't think so." Jack looked past the scrawny Irishman and addressed the beautiful Woman, "I believe you're lost, ma'am. If you'd be so kind and turn your group around, I'd be much obliged."

# Chapter 45 The King

Once it became clear this large group headed in the hotels direction, D'Manna had Jack round up some of the guys and contact Fred Mitchell, and his mounted police. Fifty men blocked the road, many with pipes hidden in their coats, and ninety-nine mounted police with Billy Clubs stood at the ready. There would have been one hundred, but Firecracker would not let any police officer mount up, and insisted D'Manna ride him.

As the tension rose between the mounted visitors and Jack's men blocking the road, D'Manna motioned to the hidden police and they started maneuvering their horses into position. As the police officers advanced, D'Manna rode Firecracker around the corner slowly walking him up behind Jack's men. The exotically beautiful woman stared at his approach.

"Sister, we are being surrounded," a Brother stated.

"That's the American President," Jimmy whispered to her under his breath.

Avera looked around, seeing the trap spring into place. Although unconcerned with any potential danger, she nonetheless became flabbergasted they had taken her group by surprise. Avera once again turned her vision upon the mounted human and its stunning mount. As she looked closer at the beast, she noticed the linkage.

Her eyes shot to the face of the human rider, "Are you the King?" she asked.

It smiled at her, "No, I'm just a man riding a horse."

She frowned at its words, "Your mount is linked, human. Only Elvin blood can achieve that feat."

Jimmy again cringed at her use of words, and the Presidents men started to look around, whispering.

The gorgeous woman's words confused D'Manna, "What're you talking about, lady?" he asked.

The woman dismounted, walking towards him, "Let her through, Jack," he said, and the men moved aside.

As she approached, D'Manna noted her very pointed ears. She reached up, stroked Firecrackers neck, then closed her eyes. D'Manna sat in wonder.

When her eyes snapped open, it appeared as if she looked into his soul, "Your mount has chosen you. You have the life force of my father within your being. All who worship the Father now follow the King,"

D'Manna sat dumbfounded, and from the looks of it, so were all the men.

"BROTHERS!" the lady shouted. D'Manna jumped from the sudden loudness in the woman's voice, and Firecracker pranced, "The KING has been found."

All the visitors dismounted from their horses, bending a knee to the ground in his direction, "We serve you, King of humans. Our life-force is yours to command."

D'Manna did not know how to respond. He looked at Jack, but the man just shrugged his shoulders. The police Commander and the rest of his guys were all mumbling, staring, and blowing into frozen hands. His mind went blank for words, and when he realized the visitors were waiting for his response before they moved, he knew he had to say something.

"Ma'am, I'm honored by your words, but..."

All the kneeling visitors rose up, remounting their horses. The woman again looked through him to his soul, "We follow your lead, King."

D'Manna scanned the faces of his men once again, and all had their mouths open in stunned disbelief. He felt the same. He looked at the woman and again it seemed like she waited for him to speak. The silence was stifling. D'Manna was too cold to try to argue out in the street.

"Fine," he said, "Let's go back to the hotel so we can iron this issue out."

The people in the lobby watched as two hundred horses rode up, with another fifty men following on foot. Laura and Lisa stood with them, and many in the lobby ooh'd and aah'd.

The President had all twenty of his agents surrounding his magnificent horse. Just behind him, both Laura and Lisa noticed the very attractive woman on a brown horse, dressed in medieval armor and weapons, "She's gorgeous," Lisa, commented, and Laura could not disagree.

"So are the men," said someone else, and again, both women nodded heads.

Laura watched as her husband dismounted his horse, followed by everyone else. The entire group came towards the hotel door and the people inside scrambled out of the way. As they entered the lobby, her husband walked in her direction while Jack spoke to Frankie. The rest of the agents formed a line across the lobby and as the remaining people entered, the agents directed them toward the now open conference room door. Apparently, they asked everyone to remove their weapons.

"Hi baby," her husband greeted, kissing her cheek.

"Who the hell are they?" Lisa Rutz chimed-in.

"Those are Elves," he responded, and gave both women a huge toothy smile.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Laura asked.

"That's what I hope to find out, dear. I asked them here so we could talk without freezing our asses off."

Jack escorted Avera to D'Manna and his wife.

D'Manna gave the stunning Elf woman a smile, "Avera Neclas, I would like to introduce my wife, Laura."

Laura extended her hand, but the Avera woman instead bowed deeply toward her. She looked at her husband, but he just shrugged his shoulders. It seems there would be a lot of that going around.

When Avera rose back up, he introduced her to Lisa Rutz. This time the Elf woman just bowed her head, and Lisa returned the gesture.

"Jack, have the men make our visitors comfortable, then join us in the lounge. Bring Jeffy with you when you come."

"Yes sir, Mr. President," Jack responded.

"Ladies," D'Manna said, "Would you please be so kind as to come with me?"

Laura took his arm, and he led the small group up the steps to the Presidential lounge. When they entered the room, the children were having a good 'ol time. Little Lisa ran up to him and hugged his leg, then ran off screaming to rejoin the others.

Avera had a smile on her face.

D'Manna led them to the back area, and the parents of the children realized a meeting would soon begin. They asked the kids if they would like to run around the lobby, and all of them started screaming "YEAH!"

Laura mouthed a thank you to the parents as they left the room, and the elderly couples that remained, mouthed a thank you to Laura; his wife chuckled.

They all sat at a table, and shortly after, Jack entered with Jeffy, Fred Mitchell, and the Irishman.

D'Manna looked over the group, "Avera filled me in on most of this story as we road back toward the hotel, and although it's mind boggling to say the least, I ask that you listen with openness." He then turned his attention to the Elf, "Lady Avera, would you be so-kind as to enlighten us about your journey?"

She smiled at him, and it was a stunning sight, "First, I would like to offer you this," Avera pulled a wrapped bundle from under her cloak, placing it on the table in front of him.

The Elf woman did not mention this during the ride back and D'Manna did not know how to respond. "Thank you," he said awkwardly.

"Please, King, open it."

"It's gonna go to his head if you keep calling him that, Avera."

D'Manna smiled at his wife's comment, then opened the package. Everyone in the area gasped at the weapon. It had to be worth a fortune, D'Manna thought.

"I cannot accept..."

"Please," Avera interrupted, "It is my fathers' sword." D'Manna heard the crack in her voice, "He sacrificed much in order for the human King to triumph. This sword is now yours."

"Avera," he started, "I'm not a King. I'm afraid you have the wrong guy."

"Please," she responded again, and indicated he should pickup the weapon.

D'Manna let out a sigh, looking at all the deathly quiet faces lining the table. He looked back at Avera Neclas, and the woman smiled as a tear rolled down her cheek, and nodded for him to proceed.

He grabbed the sword hilt, pulling the weapon free. More gasps emanated from the surrounding people, but D'Manna did not hear it. His vision filled with images both frightening and beautiful. An ancient civilization and world, filled with Elves he should have known, and foes more terrible than he could imagine, flashed through his mind. He was an Elf, yet still man, and the population followed him, loved him, and admired him. He viewed a man that nearly resembled his own father, riding a horse and leading a charge. He saw children and grandchildren, and more. Some lived to be great, others just lived, and through every generation, he felt the link of the Elvin magic pass. He now felt it in him, and it was an exhilarating sensation.

Then he saw the land as it is today, as if he flew over the earth looking down on its civilizations. China, Russia, Poland, and Europe; the earth was frozen and people struggled to survive. The same scene unfolded everywhere he flew, and human death was prominent across the lands.

He saw the Middle East and the wars currently raking the land. Men died by the thousands, and he cried. Then America flashed under his flight, and the scene grew gruesome. Humanity was failing, people were starving, and children cried. Mexico panicked as terrifying creatures stalked its borders.

Then he heard screams coming from the North, and saw the land coated in red. Millions dead and another race bathed within its blood. The red spread toward the Northern States, and some already consumed the northernmost people. The red was stretching toward the Great Lakes and Chicago in particular. He saw the invaders, and screamed at the top of his lungs. They were Elves, his own cousins, spreading death and destruction before them. It tore at his heart as his own people dealt death with little compassion. Humans were the targets, and none escaped death as it consumed their world.

His love of his cousins and his love of his people tore at the fabric of his soul. His people were dying and he could not let it continue. War would once again be his mantra. The King lives, whoa to his foes.

The people around the table panicked as the President fell into violent convulsions, but Avera held them back with the power of her words. The wife wailed at the pain of the husband, but Avera would not let her approach. Laura watched as her man swung the sword at imaginary foes, and cried when he cried. She could not help. Jack tried to intervene, but Avera kept telling him and everyone else, to trust her, that the King would not be harmed.

Jeffy was about to knock the Elf woman over the head when his cousin finally stopped withering on the floor. His breathing, though still heavy, calmed. Then he opened his eyes.

D'Manna sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow. He looked over the group, then at Avera. His daughter looked as if she never aged, but then he realized she was not. His human half slowly regained control of the Elvin magic he knew flowed through his body. He is Brock D'Manna, son of Nick D'Manna, Grandson of Vito D'Manna, and descendant of the first King, Morcollias of Agylla. It is time for his race to go to war.

Everyone stared at him as he slowly pulled himself to his feet, and he looked over the pale faces that watched his every move. His voice was hoarse as he spoke.

"America has been invaded. We must rally the people for war."

Avera smiled, but the others all started shouting for answers. He ignored them, looking at his Elvin relation, and gave her a smile in return. She embraced him in a hug, and it nearly cracked his ribs. The others slowly quieted down, and D'Manna disengaged from Avera's bone crunching hug, placing his arm around her shoulders.

"Sit," he said, "and we will explain."

He motioned to Avera, and this is the story she told:

"In the centuries after the behemoths and before human significance, the Fae race ruled the lands. Every race was represented upon the earth, and each co-existed for generations before evil intentions by a few, caused rifts across the earth.

A female forever ruled our Western cousins, and our Eastern tribes chose males. The Mother of the West and the Father of the East, have always joined in matrimony so that the Elvin race remained strong and vibrant throughout time. The last generation of the West changed all things known, and death and destruction followed upon its train. The reigning Mother perished of mysterious origins, and the immature daughter took leadership of the tribe. The new Mother was stunningly beautiful, and the Western Tribes accepted her, worshiping the ground she strode. When the Father approached for matrimonial consent, the Mother sent him away from her lands, saying she was too young to follow old thoughts. The Father still had many centuries of life force remaining, and persuaded the Tribes of the East to let the Mother mature before he would once again broach matrimony. The opportunity never rose again." Avera paused as she wiped stray tears from her eyes.

"Elvin sorcerers have always been able to utilize the earth's outer shell to cast spells of significant benefit," she began again. "The young Mother of the West became the first Elf ever conceived that drew her magic directly from the earth's inner shell. Although this event shocked both Elvin nations, the Elvin sorcerers of the East thought it a benign skill, which would never match their superior outer shell magic. Therefore, they let the Mother play and grow, and hoped she would mature into the next worthy Queen of the lands."

"However, during her numerous testing initiatives, the Mother learned the true strength of the earth's inner shell, and realized it could be many times more potent than her Eastern Cousins. Now, from a hierarchy standpoint, the Eastern Elves are the more refined of the two tribes, and this sowed the seed of resentment for generations. The new Mother convinced her nation it was time to change this perception, and the key was located on her own lands. The Bear Clan, the Mother learned, maintained the balance of magic between both the upper and inner shells. She deduced if she could eliminate the Clan, she could sever links to the upper, and she alone would have access to the lower. This action would make her the lone sorceress on the earth, and virtually unstoppable." Avera paused to make certain she was not losing her audience.

"When my Eastern tribesmen learned of the Mothers treachery, they formed an alliance with the human King, Morcollias of Agylla, and launched an invasion of the West. Mighty battles raged and many of the Elvin race perished in its wake. Morcollias became instrumental in uniting the Horse Lords of the West with his warriors from the east, and without their aid, the earth would surely be a different place today."

D'Manna watched the people around the table as Avera spun the tale, and each person remained thoroughly engrossed. Their acceptance of the story so far, relaxed his fears.

"LinaLias was merely defeated," Avera continued, "but her adversaries, my Eastern brethren, were utterly destroyed. Hundreds of the Neclas tribe's mightiest sorcerers fell against the Mothers power, and the armies of both tribes launched massive battles. Only linked could the Eastern sorcerers affect her, and this action opened my tribesmen's defenses against the more natural affects of battle. The Lias tribe of the West swept my brothers and sisters from every contested battlefield, until a trap was cleverly set."

"Although the linked Neclas sorcerers slowly pushed LinaLias north, they were perishing in the process and feared she would eventually prevail. The sorcerers ordered an all out assault against the Lias tribe, and joined forces with the human tribes of Morcollias. A vicious battle ensued, and the human race proved extremely beneficial to my Neclas tribesmen. Once the full force of the humans joined the battle, the Lias tribe was pushed and pursued all over the Northern Tundra, perishing by the thousands against a combined force of highly skilled warriors." Avera paused again, this time to clear her throat.

"Unfortunately, the tide turned against my Neclas tribe when our most powerful sorcerer fell. Mandarin anchored the center link in the chain of sorcerers, and when he perished, the Neclas chain remained forever broken. The remaining Neclas sorcerers had a finite amount of time before LinaLias struck with devastating force. In a desperate attempt to overcome the Mother, the Neclas sorcerers tore into the fabric surrounding the earth, using its power to lock away the Lias tribe within the Wormwood. However, they underestimated the power they unleashed, for the mighty spell also entrapped every descendant of the Fae race within its web, including my own Neclas tribesmen. Once LinaLias realized what transpired, she launched a counter strike that destroyed all but one of the remaining sorcerers of the Eastern tribe; the lone Eastern sorcerer lay sprawled upon the earth, mortally wounded from the Mothers ferocious power, and would not draw breath much longer. My father, though his body lay torn and shredded, realized the Neclas mistake at the very end," Avera paused, sipping from a cup of water Frankie provided. D'Manna watched as everyone sat forward.

"LinaLias," she began again, "Connected to the earth in ways my Neclas tribesmen did not comprehend, but during his last breaths, my father understood. He realized LinaLias twisted the Eastern sorcerers spell to allow it to only suspend her existence, but not trap her forever. If my father did not act quickly, LinaLias, the Mother of the West, would someday break free from the trap and reign unopposed from Eastern sorcery," she took another sip, and D'Manna noticed more wetness filling her eyes.

"My father was perishing, and had only two actions available at the time; his first was to link a small fraction of the Neclas tribe of the East, to the Lias tribe of the West. Once the Mother broke the Wormwood trap, returning to the earth, so would a small unit of my Eastern tribesmen," Avera smiled at her audience. "That is my brothers and I."

D'Manna watched all the faces smile back.

"If my father were as powerful as Mandarin, he would have been able to link many more of my Tribe, but he could only tap the strength that remained. Then, as the human King, Morcollias of Agylla, knelt beside my fathers broken body, my father empowered the human leader with the strength of his perishing magic so that a piece of the Neclas sorcerers would always remain upon the earth. My father's magic link has been passed through the first King's descendants for centuries until it once again became needed," she intently scanned all the human faces around the table. "It is needed once again."

The people waited for her to continue more of the story, and when they realized the beautiful Elf was finished, they looked at him.

D'Manna felt the warmth in his body from the reawakened magic, "America is under attack, folks. Canada has already fallen, and the northern United States is invaded," he held up his hands to stop everyone from talking simultaneously. "One at a time, please," he said, and once everyone nodded agreement, D'Manna pointed at Jack.

"How do you know?" Jack asked.

"I've seen it with my own eyes. The sword," D'Manna held up the amazing weapon for everyone to see, "belonged to the Father, and it has shown me the world."

"Did it show you Iraq?" Laura asked quickly before anyone else spoke up.

He gave his wife a serious look, "Yes dear," he sighed. "The entire Middle East is fighting a brutal war."

Laura ran from the table and into their little sleeping area. D'Manna did not try to stop her.

Fred Mitchell spoke, "Mr. President, this is a little extraordinary to believe with magic and what-not, what's this upper and inner shell?"

Avera started to speak, but D'Manna touched her arm, "Allow me, Sister," she smiled at him. "With the knowledge I've just gained," he told her, "I believe I can tie both our worlds together."

He scanned all the faces, "The earth is balanced on two forces, the molten core, and the upper atmosphere. Both are crucial for life to exist, and although the Mother sought to destroy one, she would have effectively destroyed all. The Neclas sorcerers of the East understood this, and declared war to save all life."

"So by upper atmosphere, do you mean the ozone layer?" Fred followed-up.

D'Manna nodded in the affirmative, "Apparently, the hole in the layer was the Mother slowly tearing her way back to the earth. Somehow, when our devious Congressional members set off the test, it helped the Mother tear through all the way. The cold weather is the earth repairing the ozone."

"But the scientists said it was emissions and..." he did not finish his statement.

"The scientists were apparently wrong, sir," D'Manna interjected.

"What about the power?" Lisa asked.

D'Manna shrugged, "That I don't understand. Somehow the Mothers link to the earth's inner core is disrupting the energy fields, but I don't understand how."

"So," Jack chimed in, "if we kill this Mother Elf, we'll get power back?"

"I don't know, Jack, but it's a logical assumption."

Avera responded, "Killing the Mother without sorcerers will be nearly impossible. She is very powerful."

"But also possible," D'Manna said. "I believe the Father has given me the means to succeed. The trick is to get me close enough to strike."

"What about our bullets?" Jack asked.

D'Manna just shrugged.

Avera excused herself, entering into his wife's sleeping quarters.

"What happened to Canada?" one of the elderly asked.

D'Manna looked from face to face, "Unfortunately, people have been trying to survive. When you have an army walking down the road, and you have no army to oppose it, you'd become very easy prey. People have been hiding in their homes from the cold, and this has made them easy targets."

"Why isn't the cold affecting the invaders?" someone asked.

D'Manna began to answer, but Avera's voice interjected, "Because Elves draw energy from the earth. We do not become frigid, or heated. Our body temperature regulates evenly."

"So," Fred started, "while we're freezing in our homes, the invaders are just going house to house, and slaughtering people. Is that it?"

D'Manna nodded. When he looked back to the bedroom, Avera touched his arm, "The Queen sleeps, King. Let her rest."

He winced at her words, "All right, let's get something straight before things get too out of hand." He took Avera's hand in his own, "Avera, I am not a King, and you cannot go around saying that," he quieted her response by placing his index finger against her lips. "Democracies rule people in today's world, and I believe in them with all my heart."

She cocked her head at the word as if trying to understand.

D'Manna ran a hand over his face, "Sit," he told her, and he grabbed a piece of paper and pen. He diagrammed his words as he explained.

"My nation, the United States of America, is founded on a principle that people are free to follow their dreams, and we have a government system in place that is elected by the people, to represent all the people. There's the Senate," he drew a circle, "the House, and the Executive Branch. All are in place to balance power so no one person may ever use their power to abuse the citizens of the nation."

"You have a council system," Avera stated.

"Exactly!" D'Manna was happy she understood.

"How many generations have you had this system?" she asked.

"Many, we're the oldest democracy on the earth," he responded proudly.

She cocked her head at him again, "Is it free from corruption?"

D'Manna sat speechless.

"She got you there, cuz," Jeff chimed in.

"Are the humans blinded by the council? Does the council use the humans for its own gain? Does the council believe it to be better than the humans who they are supposed to represent? Does the council pass edicts they themselves do not follow? Does the council nurture the children? The elderly? Do they not steal from the whole?"

D'Manna held up his hands in defeat.

"We Elves have attempted such systems, but it attracts those that wish to rise above others. A few had good intentions, but they were outnumbered and their voices remained small within council sessions."

"I don't deny what you say," D'Manna was shocked by Avera's words as he continued, "However, I want to make it perfectly clear to you, I believe in this system - for one reason and one reason only. An Elvin King can reign for thousands of years. We humans may only do so effectively for a much shorter period. I may be a good King, and maybe my children after, but somewhere down the line, corruption will find my descendants and the people will suffer. One bad King can ruin a nation. With a Democracy," he held up a hand to stop her interruption, "a nation can remain strong for centuries, but only if those in power serve the people admirably."

"Yeah, but what about the ones that don't?" Jeffy asked.

"I don't deny Avera's words. Corruption encases our public officials, at every level. The issue stems from lack of controls and accountability. If you have limited controls, or controls that have no teeth, abuse will continue. We need to hold our council members and community boards accountable to the people, and if they abuse the trust, we need to incarcerate them. That's the key, folks."

"You'll need to build bigger prisons, Mr. President," Jack commented.

D'Manna chuckled and nodded. He looked at all their faces, and saw approving nods. Avera still had a look of doubt on her features.

"So," he took Avera's hand again, "I'd be honored to be your brother and friend, but I'm not a King and I'd ask that you don't refer to me as such. We're all in this together, as family," he smiled at her, and she nodded her agreement.

Jeffy spoke-up, "What do you need us to do, Cuz?"

D'Manna looked around at the faces, "This army is huge, and unfortunately, we don't have any military in the area that can match it."

He rose from his seat, retrieving the map of Downtown Chicago. He spread it out on the table in front of everyone, and circled the downtown area.

"When I studied this earlier, I kept thinking of the river. It forms a perfect barrier around the loop perimeter. The only opening is the South, but we can have that barricaded. If we raise all the bridges, knock down any hard structures, barricade all other possible tunnels and walkways, and block this section here," he traced his finger down Eighteenth Street from the river to the lake, "we can concentrate our defenses and buy some time to counter the Mothers army."

"You want to move into the downtown area?" Jack asked.

D'Manna nodded, "Not just me, Jack, I want to get as many people as possible down here. We need to build defenses and we'll need people to fight. We have to build an army out of the citizenship. If we stay here, or anywhere outside the river boundary, we'll be easy prey and indefensible against her forces."

"What about food?" Lisa asked.

"This is where I need you and the Pecholi's, Jeff. I need you-guys to spread the word and start herding people to the downtown area," Jeffy nodded.

"We should be able to house millions within this barrier, and from them we'll take the best and build an army to counter the Mother's." D'Manna made sure he had his cousin's attention, "We'll need food, supplies, cattle, and any other livestock you-guys can get your hands on. I want horses, Jeff, even if you have to go out farther from the city, do it. McHenry has lots of 'em, and you need to drive them here. I want to build a Cavalry."

"What else?" his cousin asked.

"Tell the Pecholi's we need to raid every sporting goods store you can find. I want everything; fishing poles and gear, tents, knives, air guns and propane, and especially bows and arrows - as many as we can get our hands on. We need it all, Jeff, do you understand?"

Jeffy nodded, "How long do we have, cuz?"

D'Manna looked them all in the eyes once more, "A month, maybe two at the most."

Everyone gasped.

"We need to move fast, folks, and Jeff, make sure someone goes to the naval academy up North. We need those boys down here. Also, tell medical professionals to make their way to the Northwestern Medical Academy, here," he pointed at the map. "It's outside the rivers protection, but we should be able to cut it off from the land. We'll supply them by boat from the Chicago Harbor."

Jeff nodded again.

"There's going to be much to do in a very short period of time, folks. We can do this, but we'll have to move very quickly." He looked to Fred Mitchell, "Can you have your mounted police officers escort Jeff?"

Mitchell nodded.

D'Manna gave everyone a confident smile, "Let's Rock 'n Roll."

They all made their way back down to the lobby and noticed the Elvin males that traveled with Avera, causing quite a stir, especially with the children. D'Manna scanned the room, watching as the people and the Elves conversed and laughed. Frankie looked very stunned at the front desk; he probably wondered how he was going to feed all the new mouths. One Elvin male held little Lisa, and when the little girl tugged on his ear, she laughed hysterically as the Elf responded in feigned pain. When the people in the lobby noticed his entrance, they all turned in his direction. The Elvin males dropped to a knee, bowing their heads, and many of the humans did likewise. D'Manna winced.

"Does this mean I'm royalty too?" Jeffy mumbled next to him.

D'Manna gave him a scowl, "Yeah, you can be the court jester."

This concludes Book 1, Revelation Prophecy Fulfilled. I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. The exciting conclusion, Book 2, The King, is available now wherever fine books are sold.

# Cast

Brock D'Manna – 44th President of the United States of America

How many more catastrophes can one President encounter? War, hurricanes, earthquakes, oil spills, financial crash, skyrocketing unemployment, invasion of an ancient foe, and a crippled country teetering on the edge of total annihilation. He does the only thing possible; find the most defensible location available and try to resist the conquerors.

Laura D'Manna - First Lady

Nicholas D'Manna – Commander of the U.S. Special Forces

Thrust into the leadership of the elite fighting force after the Iraq battles, Nick races back to America to help against the invasion.

Bradden D'Manna – U.S. Special Forces

Brother to Nick, Brad assumes the right hand man role and helps organize the U.S. Special Forces as they race back to U.S. soil.

AveraNeclas - Sorceress of the Eastern Tribe

Once their Western Tribe cousins escape the clutches of Wormwood, Avera and her Eastern Tribe brethren escape also. Not as numerous as her cousins, Avera's only hope is to help Humans defend themselves from the onslaught.

AlgarNeclas – Eastern Tribe Warrior

Brother to Avera, Algar is tasked with finding the Kings Vassals and returning them to their western lands.

Pecholi Brothers – Procurement and Distribution

Relations with the President help secure their role as procurers for the Chicago populace.

Lisa Rutz – Reporter

Stranded field reporter now working directly with the President.

Ayatollah Al Mushamadeed – Iraqi Holy Man

His friendship with the American President included aiding the D'Manna children to escape from the Iraq massacre.

Vicki White – Irish Captain

Co-Leader of the Irish Drakkars tasked with returning the American Special Forces to America.

Firecracker – The Kings Horse

Senator Jefferson Ash – U.S. Speaker of the House

Captured in Alaska by the invasion force. Now aiding the invaders as they rampage through northern America.

Sprinkles – Lead Sled Dog

# About the Author:

V.A. Pesce currently lives in Illinois with his wife, Laura, and two sons, Nick and Brad. Nick obtained a first-degree black belt at the age of 13, and Brad earned his temporary black at age 11.

Mr. Pesce has managed numerous businesses for over twenty-eight years, most recently as President of the United Citizens of America, a Not-for Profit organization fighting to implement a new structured tax system for the country.

"It's time to clean-up this mess of a government we have," he says.

# Characters & Terms Used

A

AldinaNeclas \- The Great Father, Sire of Algier, Bequeathed his sword to the humans

AlgierNeclas \- The Father, Sire of Avera and Algar, Died in first battle against the mother

Brock D'Manna \- 44th President of the United States of America

AnnonNeclas \- The Great Uncle, Brother of Aldina, Bequeathed his sword to the humans

AveraNeclas \- Sorceress Descended from the Father

Ayatollah Al-Mushamadeed \- Iraq Holy Man Tribal Leader

B

Bob \- Secretary of State

Brad D'Manna \- Special Forces, D'Manna's Son

BrakoLias \- Offspring of Lina. Leading the invasion of the East Coast

C

Chester Carter \- Canadian Woodsman

Chupacabra \- Little Creatures Stalking the Mexican Border

Crull \- Pack Mate to Grok, Sasquatch

D

Dak \- Sasquatch

Dimondon \- Diamond Laced Copper Alloy

Dr. Frankel \- Scientist of the Pulse, Killed in Alaska

DraconLias \- Offspring of Lina. Leading the invasion of the West Coast

Drakkars \- Large Viking Warships

E

Earl Stacks \- Chief Electrical Engineer with the power company

Earth Cycles \- Elvin Term for Year

F

Firecracker \- D'Manna's Horse

Frankie Little \- Hotel Manager

Fred Mitchell \- Commander District One Chicago Police Force

G

GargonLias \- Eldest Offspring of Lina. Leading the invasion of the Mid-West

George Foreman \- Chief Engineer with the city's Sanitation District

General Gordon \- Disposed Iraqi General out for Recognition, Killed in Alaska

General Patrick \- Commander of American Forces in Iraq

General Slovich \- Alaskan Base General, Killed in Alaska

Grok \- Leader of the Sasquatch Pack

Gutch \- Captured Sasquatch

H

Henry \- Large Marine Leader of the Marine Unit

J

Jack Wallace \- Secret Service Agent guarding the President

Jason McJeeves \- Secret Service Agent in Alaska

James McKartel \- Commander Special Forces, Killed during the Iraq conflict

Jeffy \- D'Manna's Cousin

Jesse Johnson \- Alaskan Base Captain Aiding Jason McJeeves

Jimmy McNiff – Irish Grandson of Jimmy Sr. from Dublin, Avera's guide

K

Karl \- Secretary of Defense

L

Laura D'Manna \- The First Lady

LinaLias \- The Mother

Lindsey Bones \- Descendant of Ivarr the Boneless, son of Ragnarr Lodbrok

Lisa Rutz \- Reporter

Little Lisa \- Two-Year-Old Little Girl

M

Mandarin \- Ancient Eastern Sorcerer

Mary \- D'Manna's Secretary

Mayor Weekly \- Mayor of Chicago

Michael D'Manna \- Brother to the President

Moons \- Elvin Term for Month

Morcollias of Agylla \- First King of Humanity

N

Nick D'Manna – Leader of the U.S. Special Forces

Northmen \- Vikings from Dublin Ireland

P

Pecholi Brothers \- Organized Appropriations and Distribution

R

Ralph \- The coat Guy in the Hotel

Ray Hammond \- Mechanical Engineer

Rich Deport \- Vice President of the United States of America

RikaLias \- Offspring of LinaLias

RunkoLias \- Second Eldest Offspring of Lina. Leading invasion of the West Coast

S

Sally \- Sally's Diner

SanonLias \- Youngest Offspring of LinaLias. Leading the invasion of far North America

Senator Jefferson Ash \- Republican Majority Leader – Speaker of the House

Sprinkles \- Lead Sled Dog

T

Ted Hammerstock \- FAA Contact

Timmy Johnson \- Special Forces

V

Vicki White \- Descendant of Olaf inn Hviti, or Olaf the White

Wormwood \- The gray abyss where the elves were trapped.

# E-Book 2 Excerpt

 The King

Available Now

## Legends

Thirty thousand answered the call, and they came streaming to the valley floor. They wore black, brown, tan, white, and every color between. Some stood taller than others did, while others had thicker legs, and all had their winter coats to ward off the frigid air.

The Clan viewed the gathering from a ledge not far away, and they watched as the air filled with their combined smoky breath. They called to the flock from high up on the ledge, and the leader of the group jumped up and waved in response.

Once rested and ready, the Clan led their friends from land to land, calling upon the Elders to declare their best. The Elders knew what was required, and thirty thousand more joined the call.

The two became one marching across the plains, and their passing awed the people who glanced.

Jonathan Blackclaw, replete in his headdress of gold eagle feathers, led the nation. He looked ancient by human standards, but his mind remained young and his reflexes still quick as a cat.

They traveled north and east, and came from the west and south, and they followed the Clan that has been here from the start.

And, through it all, they spread the tale of evils current route.

They have prepared for this day, training hard for the part. They hoped their best was good from the start.

People watched as they galloped the plains; the Horse Lords were back and eager to fight for the King.

## McJeeves

Jason McJeeves, Captain Jesse Johnson, the horses, Sprinkles and the rest of the Sled Dogs, spent the night in Antioch Illinois once they made good on their escape from the hungry people in Milwaukee. Since the Milwaukeeans stole their sleigh, blankets, food, and everything else they had in their possession, and because they no longer have the warmth from the Big Foots infusing their bodies, the night turned out to be grueling as the frigid air once again seeped into their bones. The dogs provided some warmth as they lay their bodies together within an old abandoned building. McJeeves found some dry wood to burn, and although he and Johnson harboured fear that it may bring more attention than they cared to have, the men had no choice. They could find no food anywhere as every store was picked clean, but they had water and could tough it out another day. Luckily, the night passed without incident, and after spending two and a half months hurrying to Chicago, they were eager to get back on the road.

As McJeeves and Johnson approached Waukegan Illinois, they saw quite a bit of activity amongst the population. To McJeeves, it looked like an evacuation, and Captain Johnson confirmed the feeling. He and the Captain cautiously approached a family trying to trudge along through the snowy roads with all their worldy possessions. The family, bundled from head to toe in layered clothing, eyed them warily as their horses approached.

"Hi folks," McJeeves greeted. "What's going on here?"

The tallest of the men, whom McJeeves took to be the father, looked them over before answering, "There's an army coming, and the King ordered everyone to the city." The man then looked more closely at the Captains army jacket, "Word is he's looking for any military in the area."

"King?" Captain Johnson asked perplexed.

The man nodded his head, "That's what the Elves call him. The King wants everyone to get downtown so we can use the river for protection."

"Elves?" McJeeves asked.

The man smiled while nodding, "Didn't believe it myself 'til I saw one with my own eyes. It's some strange times happening."

McJeeves nodded. He scanned over the man's meagor belongings. The children looked old enough to care for themselves, so he and Captain Johnson waved their goodbyes and watched as the family kept walking down the snow covered road.

"Elves, McJeeves?" Captain Johnson asked.

"Hey Jess, after fighting little freaks with sticks, and getting kissed by a talking Big Foot, I'm not surprised in the least."

Johnson nodded in agreement, "What do you think he meant by, King?"

McJeeves shrugged his shoulders, kicking the horse to go. If lucky, they would make downtown Chicago before dark.

The closer they came to the city, the more people they passed on the roads, and the more traffic they encountered. It was not your ordinary traffic of cars and trucks, but horses, cows, donkeys, some steer, and anything else capable, pulling makeshift wagons full of all kinds of interesting stuff. They saw some chickens in crates, pigs tied to the backs of wagons, ducks, you name it and they saw it. It was an amazing sight for modern times America.

Most of the people they passed gave them odd looks. After all, two people with four horses and fifteen dogs were not normal around these parts, even under current circumstances. They approached one wagon pulled by a couple of cows. Two uniformed police officers helped to keep the cows moving through the snow. The Policemen eyed them as they approached.

"Officers," McJeeves said, nodding his head in greeting.

The uniformed men looked them over without answering.

McJeeves asked, "Can you tell us what's happening?"

"There's a war coming," one officer replied. "Everyone's been called to the city. Where you from?"

"Alaska," McJeeves responded, and that brought a surprised look onto the officer's face.

The officer glanced up at Captain Johnson, "The President has ordered all military to report ASAP. From what we hear, the invaders aren't far away."

"President?" McJeeves asked, "What's with all the talk about a King?"

The officer smiled, "That's just what the Elves call him, and now most of the people have picked-up on it," he scratched his face in thought, "The President is the King and vise-versa; he's downtown near Buckingham Fountain. They're segregating the population and training people to fight."

"Thanks, officers," McJeeves responded. He and Captain Johnson guided their horse's reigns to turn. When the officer called to them, McJeeves spun his horse back around.

"If you gentleman don't mind, we could really use the extra horses."

Both he and the Captain nodded, and gave over the reins.

"Much obliged, gentlemen," the officer said. "Just make a note of this with the Procurement and Appropriations Committee, and when this whole mess is done with, you'll be compensated for your contributions."

"What?" Johnson asked perplexed.

The officer looked at them very seriously, "The president has ordered that meticulous records be kept of what is taken, from where and whom, and how much. He wants everything accounted for so compensation can flow to the affected people and businesses. Otherwise, it would all be stealing, and that's against the law, gentlemen."

McJeeves cautiously smiled at the seriousness of the officer, "Consider it a gift, officer, our gift to humanity."

"Suit yourself, buddy, it's up to you."

McJeeves and the Captain waved, and with their two remaining horses and fifteen dogs, road-off toward the city.

McJeeves had the unfortunate experience of driving during Chicago's infamous rush hour traffic, but that was a walk in the park compared to this. People, animals, makeshift wagons, and God knows what else, clogged the roads and every space between. It was an unbelievably frustrating experience, and their only consolation was that people finally heeded the alarms of danger. He and the Captain just spent over two months warning people that would not listen, and even with how frustrated they were with the slow progress they made, they were happy. His only concern was how the President planned to keep all these people safe in downtown Chicago. Granted, he might be able to make some semblance of an army out of them, but McJeeves knew the size of the invading force, and it would sweep this mass of humanity away within weeks.

Once they exited the Kennedy expressway onto Jackson, the flow of people picked-up, as did everyone's spirit. They made steady progress past Jefferson, Clinton, and Canal, and as they approached the river, the Presidents plan came into focus for them. The bridges toward the North all stood in their upright position along the river, and as they looked to the south, the Van Buren Street Bridge slowly rose into the air. He and the Captain were shocked to see three Elephants with harnesses, pulling the mechanical bridge upright.

"He's going to use the river as a moat, McJeeves."

"Yes he is," Jason responded, "Look up there!" McJeeves pointed toward the gigantic black building.

Captain Johnson strained his neck to look upward. He had never been to Chicago before and this was his first glimpse of the Willis Tower in person. "There're people up there, Jason."

"Yeah, they're using it as a look-out tower. This could actually work, Captain."

"God, I hope so. It'll at least buy us time," Johnson replied.

"There're some men over there on horses," Mcjeeves pointed to the other side of the river. "Let's ask them if they can point us toward the President."

Due to the metal grid surface on the bridge, they had to maneuver the horses and dogs toward the sidewalks. Since most of the animal traffic concentrated in this area, it once again forced them to a crawl. They walked behind a large cart pulled by a team of donkeys, and the men steering it had a hard time getting the animals to keep moving. Apparently, the donkeys were a little unsettled by the river and the height of the bridge. Workers from the other side of the river came over, and after they placed bags over the animal's head, they were able to guide them the rest of the way. This event afforded McJeeves an opportunity to make-out all the fencing material loaded on the wagon. Once they reached the opposite end of the bridge, a team of people inspected the wagon, and documented the items; they gave the drivers directions, and told them to take their wares to the Eighteenth Street wall project.

Captain Johnson scanned the area and again thought the plan could work. Numerous people were in place helping the newly arrived, directing them to parts of the city. It looked to him like a very well organized operation, and very few people walked around confused. He heard a woman screaming hysterically, and when he finally located the source, he understood why. Army personnel escorted her two teenage boys toward a different part of the city. Obviously, they are segregating men and women of fighting age, and although he understood the mother's pain, he knew it was the right choice. As it now stood, the invaders drastically outnumbered this city population, and everyone would have to contribute if they had any hope of survival.

"You two look like military," one of the bridge coordinators commented.

"Yes Ma'am," Captain Johnson answered.

The coordinators looked over their horses and dogs, and again documented their findings. "Proceed to Soldier Field, gentlemen. Here's a map," it was crudely drawn on a piece of paper, but legible, "there're officers in place who'll direct you once you get there."

McJeeves began to say something else, but the coordinators already moved past them to the next wagon. McJeeves waved for the Captain to follow, and he rode up to the horsemen he observed earlier. As he approached, McJeeves called to the three men on horseback. When they turned to face him, both McJeeves and the Captain nearly fell from their mounts in surprise.

"So, that's what an Elf looks like," the Captain mumbled to McJeeves.

McJeeves just nodded his head. One of the the elves spoke, and the thick British accent caught McJeeves off guard. The Elf repeated itself, "Warriors report to the Soldier Field."

McJeeves was stunned, "Wher...where can we find the President?"

They watched as the Elf thing cocked its head to the side. The guy was gorgeous, McJeeves thought.

"The King," and McJeeves noted how the Elf emphasized the word, "is at the human dwelling of art. Are you acquainted?" the Elf asked.

McJeeves nodded, "I'm his personal servant from Alaska."

The Elf looked him and the Captain up and down, then looked over the dogs. He then stared at McJeeves for what seemed like hours, but in reality, took only a minute or two, "Follow and I shall lead."

McJeeves started to respond, but the Elf already turned around and started his horse at a canter. He and the Captain did likewise, and they made quick time through the city. As they traveled down Jackson Drive, he and the Captain noted how organized the inner city was. People were being ushered into buildings here and there, materials from wagons were being unloaded and loaded, and everyone, although cold, seemed to be lending a hand with everything. The coordination and cooperation were stunning in its efficiency.

"Well, I'm impressed," McJeeves stated as he turned, smiling at the Captain.

Johnson smiled back, "Very. With all these buildings, millions can be housed," he replied.

The Elf stopped his horse at the Chicago Art Institute, dismounted, and motioned for them to wait.

"Whom shall I say requests an audience?" the Elf asked.

McJeeves and the Captain dismounted, and both marveled at the Lions that stood in their watchful pose, "Please tell him, General Jason McJeeves."

The Elf spun on his heals and marched up the stairs. McJeeves and the Captain took a seat on the worn steps, and waited. The dogs gathered around them in protective stances. They must have made quite a sight as numerous people stopped to stare.

V. A. Pesce

Lake In The Hills, IL 60156

Twitter @VAPesce

Facebook VA Pesce

www.revelationprophecyfulfilled.com

