Chapter 12

December 6th, 1963

Dallas, Texas

7:00 PM

“Why not just send a proper invasion force first?”

“Clark, keep your questions to yourself. Not our job to ask.” Andrew sighed, making sure his H-suspenders were on properly as the rest of his gear waited patiently on the transport truck next to them.

“Look, all I’m saying, two weeks, no diplomats or people coming to negotiate or say, hey, sorry for killing your people unprovoked, please don’t invade us. That to me sounds like just cause for invasion.”

“Without proper recon, right?”

“Can’t be helped here, man. We don’t even know if this op is about reconnaissance or not.”

“Brass should consult you for these sorts of things, Clark.” Andrew muttered, grabbing his rucksack from the truck and turning away.

“I know, right?” Clark said, mirroring him.

Andrew Reagan kept his questions to himself, focusing instead on his protective gear, his gas mask hanging loosely by his side, and his M2 Carbine clinging to his back.

But there were still valid questions.

He could always assume what the answers could be, but he wouldn’t know.

Not yet at least.

Plus, his thoughts on the topic mattered little in the end.

He adjusted his helmet’s straps as they approached the command center, which was a green tent in the middle of the now-closed road. Tanks and APCs stood by on the nearby grass, light reflecting off their armor, the serial numbers slightly visible from where he stood. Crews walked briskly in the cool night air. He noted the slight variation in uniforms, some olive greens, some tiger striped like his, the occasional Duckhunter camo, and some were just men in civilian clothing. Turning his attention to the men in the command center, one, in particular, stood out.

Despite the sun having already set, the man still wore aviators.

He said nothing as his captain, The Legend, walked over. The man in aviators turned to him, and shook his hand.

“Captain Thorne, I’m Trent Colbert, Central Intelligence, pleasure to meet you.”

His captain only nodded slightly.

Agent Colbert cleared his throat, then turned to the table.

“Got these developed as priority. Know what these are?”

No one spoke. The question would be answered regardless. No need to waste time guessing. Though Andrew noticed the mountains looked eerily similar to the Alps in Italy.

“That’s the other side of that portal.”

Clark couldn’t keep his mouth shut at that.

“You guys sent a spy plane through?”

Trent said “No. We just used her.”

They glanced at the girl in a white robe, sitting in a wheelchair as she watched them from the tent's corner. She’d been studying several developed photographs on a table, some hanging above her on a chord. She stared at them now, smiling weakly.

Wolf-like ears perked up.

Again, unable to remain quiet, Clark said “Wait, is that... the animal girl?”

Trent only said “Yes, sir. Her skill has helped us begin mapping out a possible battle plan-”

“Primarily, we’re planning on opening diplomatic talks if possible.”

They turned to the other man in the tent.

Trent sighed, but nodded in apparent agreement, going back to organizing the photos on the table.

The other man approached and said “Jonathan Roberts. I work with the secretary of state.”

Trent said “Indeed he does. The current plan is that your guys will escort him and Father Aleksander, our interpreter, over there across this portal on those M113s. A platoon of M48s will escort you. No need to engage or even leave the vehicles if things get dicey. They set up a barricade of their own over on their side so they won’t be charging at you.”

He tapped a particular photo and Andrew leaned in to take a closer look along with the other berets.

It showed wooden barricades. Wooden pikes, buried into the ground, with poles supporting what appeared to be a fence of some kind. Certainly, something that would stop a charging mass of men, but not an armored personnel carrier, let alone a tank.

“Now, this is just an attempt at opening talks. If they agree to listen, which they probably will, then the job of keeping our guests safe falls to you.”

Mister Roberts added “This is an honest attempt, mister Colbert.” then, to Andrew’s captain, “We do not shoot first, understood? Even if we’re shot at, only engage if necessary. We’re not entirely certain what motivated these people to attack us, so for all we know it was an honest mistake.”

“It was not a mistake.”

They glanced at the girl.

Andrew was surprised she had spoken decent English, but it didn’t compare to seeing her clearly. By now she’d turned to look at them, her ears more noticeable and while Andrew wasn’t sure how it was for the others, to him, her appearance was uncanny. She was human, no question, but that one tidbit that shouldn’t be there made it so she almost didn’t seem real. Shouldn’t be real. Maybe if she was wearing fake ears it would all be explainable, rational.

Yet they all knew that her existence was anything but and coupled with the fact that she was, indeed, real, it was a source of uncertainty, questions, and speculations of the unknown factors of this other world.

The girl seemed to sense their discomfort and gave them a reassuring smile. Yet Andrew felt a coldness crawl up his spine at just how fake it appeared, as though a predator was trying to ease its prey into a sense of security before striking.

Roberts replied.

“Even if it wasn’t a mistake, we must verify. We slaughtered their force almost to the man, we can assume they wish to negotiate, that they’re afraid... we’d be terrified if an entire reconnaissance force was wiped out so easily.”

Well, if we had attacked first like they did, we’d deserve it...

Andrew kept the thought to himself.

The girl said nothing.

“We can assume a lot. But we won’t know for sure unless we verify. So, we’ve taken precautions. M113s have their fifties loaded if things get hot. Tanks will be carrying Beehive rounds. Should work wonders if they attempt an attack.”

“Only if they do.” Roberts emphasized loudly.

Trent nodded, though he seemed to be doing so reluctantly.

“I want to emphasize that we’re not pushing out. We’re not counter-attacking right now, not without the logistics in place. You have a platoon. You use it to keep these two men safe. You deliver this letter to whatever officer greets you. It was written by Father Aleksander in the local language, confirmed by the POWs, and it should help commence peace negotiations properly so we can... avoid... a full-scale war.”

His captain, The Legend, nodded, and Andrew wished he could hide his opinion in as stoic a matter as him. No opinions, no questions, no frowning, not even a smile.

Still, they had their orders.

They would just follow them.

But he couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrow at the idea now. Why did they have to send diplomats first? What exactly was the idea of “avoiding” a full-scale war? If they were a professional military working on orders from some organized state, then why hadn’t said state sent their own diplomats first? And if this was some rogue element, then the whole operation would be pointless.

Either the enemy planned the attack and wanted a war, or didn’t care, which suggested the entire operation was pointless!

Unless...

Unless this was an attempt to cover Uncle Sam’s tracks for the prying eyes of the international community. A way to say “we tried; they left us no choice but to fight them” perhaps.

He pushed the thoughts aside, checking his M2 again as he climbed into the M113 along with the people they would be escorting.

His captain told the gunner, “Man the fifty when we get there, not before.”

The man nodded.

He heard Roberts tell Father Aleksander “Begin announcing who we are and what our goals are over the speaker immediately, alright? We don’t want them thinking we’re there to attack them.”

Glancing at the .30 carbine round already in the chamber, light glinting off the brass briefly, Andrew could only chuckle to himself.

Yeah, not to “attack” certainly.

The door closed behind them and the M113s lurched forward.

Alpine Mountain Range

General Octavius felt his feet tap impatiently against the grass beneath him as he watched the stars above, his neck strained as he did so. They twinkled indifferently in the sky as a few dark clouds remained, moonlight reflecting off them.

There were no omens, good or evil.

Just silence.

Two of his colleagues were dead, one to receive a proper burial, the other lost to the enemy beyond that accursed doorway. Even if the loss of men and dragons had been negligible, even if they had only lost a hundred or so good men, no matter how worthless or undisciplined or backwater... they had still lost two generals.

And worse, they had not paid upon the enemy in kind!

Almost silently, he whispered “Gradivus... God of War... does this travesty not anger you?! Are you denying your people their chance to honor you?”

He had been so certain the abominable wolf-girl had been a sign. Too certain. Yet she had betrayed them no differently than any other wild beast. Stabbed them in the back like a scorpion! Were the gods not angry at this vile snake? Would they not get a chance to pay back this transgression?

No! Surely the opportunity would arrive soon! The enemy would likely try to attack, and despite its wide nature, that doorway was, in the end, a chokepoint they could exploit with ease. Even if he didn’t have the strongest legions in the empire, or their catapults, they could surely manage enough knowing the enemy would come.

Surely...

He stood there, watching, waiting.

No falling stars, no howling winds, only a soft breeze... no omen.

His jaw clenched in frustration.

Perhaps if he offered some sacrifices...

“General Octavius!”

What now?

He glanced at the Legate, the man quickly saluting before saying “A diplomatic envoy from across the doorway has arrived!”

Octavius stared at the officer in shock.

Diplomatic... envoy?

Suddenly he felt a new feeling replacing his concerns over a lack of omen.

No! They must not be allowed to start negotiations! Not before they get their due!

“General, they request to speak to the officer in charge. They say they have a message. That they wish for peace.”

Octavius nodded slowly.

Then, quietly, he said “Liars will often lie... Tend to your men, Legate! I will confront them.”

Titus... Darius... I will avenge you...

7:33 PM

What’s taking them so long?

Andrew kept his eyes on his watch, barely illuminated inside of the APC. The atmosphere was already tense in the coldness of the strange portal. Still, there was perfectly breathable air, cold as it was, and he could hear the muffled voice of the catholic priest repeating the same message calling for a peaceful exchange of words between the two militaries.

Normally this would be the time for small talk, trash-talking the higher-ups' attempts at peace with what they could all agree were essentially savages, but no one bothered. Too much to think about. The attack two weeks prior had effectively distracted from the exact nature of their situation, but this had been, for all intents and purposes, an alien invasion.

They came with dragons and swords instead of death rays and force fields, but still.

Another world, right within Dallas, Texas, USA. No rocket ships or astronauts required. And yet, in a way, perhaps it would have been better if they had sent astronauts instead of having to send soldiers.

No, it would've been very much better.

Less loss of life, presumably.

“H-hey, Captain Thorne! Mister Roberts! I... I think they’re willing to talk!”

Ripped from his thoughts, Andrew glanced up with a raised eyebrow, mirroring his captain. The older Green Beret got up and walked over to the priest, glancing out the driver’s window.

“Hmm... purple cape. Likely an officer...”

Andrew heard a voice from outside, muffled by the APC’s walls, but it sounded old and angry.

Father Aleksander immediately said “He’s... He’s a general! Says he’s in charge of the army here.”

Roberts got up, albeit awkwardly in the cramped APC, managed to adjust his tie, and said “Then that’s the man we want to talk to.”

“Hold on... tell them to lower their bows. See those guys? Right back there?”

“Ah... yes, yes, I see. One moment...”

Latin sounded strange to Andrew. Might as well have been an alien language, but it seemed to be working if his captain’s comments were anything to go by.

“Good... that’s good.”

“Can we move along, please?”

His captain, The Legend, walked over, placing his mask over his mouth, saying “You know my mission, so I won’t repeat it. Father, if you get any signs they have hostile intent you tell me. If I tell you I think they have hostile intent, I'll tell you, and the whole thing gets called off, understood?”

“Only if they shoot first.”

“Yeah, that’s an easy way to get yourself killed, sir. We won’t shoot first, but we sure as hell won’t let them shoot you first.”

Roberts nodded, and Captain Thorne then turned to face Andrew.

“Reagan, with me. Everyone else, behind the M113s, keep us covered.”

Andrew nodded, placed his mask on, and followed his captain outside, the grip on his carbine tightening just a little. The others mirrored him as the driver opened the M113’s door.

Outside of the APC, the temperature dropped. The ground a pitch black that went on seemingly forever, though he knew it wasn’t an infinite void. The light of their vehicles reflected faintly off flat walls and corners in the distance several yards away. It appeared almost like a large warehouse with fine corners and straight lines, yet it wasn’t something that appeared manmade, either. Like something had been broken up by accident, resulting in a straight cut with broken edges. Still, the vehicles fitting comfortably inside and the radio working fine meant they could carry on. Flanking one another, the soldiers began moving out of them to meet with the men from another world.

The exact nature of this portal was none of his concern as he adjusted his protective gear.

The civilians all wore simple cloth masks, made mostly to ensure no diseases passed to the locals or vice versa. God only knew how badly it had gone for the Indians four hundred years prior for similar reasons. The M113s kept their lights pointed at the men on the other side. The tanks ahead of them kept their main guns pointed right at the barricade. The men on the other side didn’t seem to mind having ninety-millimeter guns pointed directly at them, however. Even if they didn’t understand what they were facing, Andrew wondered if he would be as outwardly nonchalant if he was in their shoes.

He heard the general in charge laugh suddenly, yelling something out.

Roberts asked, “What did he say?”

“Uh... He’s asking about our masks.”

After a moment, Roberts said, “Tell him we don’t wish to anger them if they find our breath offensive.”

That got some laughs out of the men on the other end. Andrew could’ve laughed, but he didn’t. Even with the large wooden barricade in front of them, he could see well over a dozen soldiers, all glaring at them as though they’d offended them somehow, none laughing. And behind them... an impossible-to-count number of tents and campfires. He couldn’t even see any stars, the land beyond the portal shrouded in the night’s blackness that only the forests of the Rockies could replicate.

Still, he kept his carbine low, his finger off the trigger, and his posture straight.

The safety was kept off, of course.

The general spoke then, now in a more serious tone.

Father Aleksander translated.

“Uh... Rep Roberts, this is General Arminius Octavius. He’s in charge of the army here. He says he wishes to know what we’re here for.”

Roberts nodded, then revealed the letter, saying “Inform him we wish to open peaceful means of communication. We didn’t expect any attack and believe they didn’t intend to attack us, either. If he can deliver this letter to those he answers to, then perhaps we can avoid a war.”

Andrew could tell Father Aleksander was grinning as he took the letter and handed it over cautiously, explaining in Latin exactly what Roberts had said.

Andrew noticed one of the Romanesque soldiers eyeing him with what he assumed was suspicion.

So, he nodded slowly to him.

The man nodded back.

Hmm... maybe not so savage after all...

There was a sudden stammer, a stutter, the priest apparently stopping mid-translation. Both Andrew and the Legionnaire glanced at the men only to see the general rip the envelope open, pulling the letter out and looking it over.

No one spoke for a moment.

Then, the general scoffed.

He spoke at them in what came off as a sarcastic tone, as though the paper offended him.

Father Aleksander turned and translated; his expression almost ashamed.

“He... he says the Emperor does not simply accept a diplomatic letter like this.”

There was a moment of silence then, General Octavius eyeing them with a satisfied half smile. Glancing at the legionnaire on the opposite side of the fence, the man was also half smiling.

The soldier turned to Andrew and spoke.

“Barbar...” the man chortled.

Andrew didn’t reply.

Representative Roberts said, “Alright, how exactly should we address the letter?”

Father Aleksander translated.

There was a moment, General Octavius scoffed as if he were shocked, just completely befuddled by the idea that these men from another world didn’t know how to address their superiors. Then came a slew of words. It sounded a touch more respectful than the previous deluge of sarcastic utterances, but Andrew wasn’t entirely certain.

Father Aleksander’s eyes widened in the darkness.

As if expecting the man to try and lessen the blow, Roberts asked “What did he say exactly?”

“Um... he... says that after our people killed two of their generals that the way to request diplomatic relations is to send their emperor... um... an offering. Uh... he says, slaves would be preferable, less costly...”

“Slaves?”

“Y-yes.”

The general had noted the shock in Roberts’ tone, quickly adding several words in anger.

Again, Father Aleksander translated with uncertainty.

“He... he says the life of a general is worth much more than the life of a hundred of our... plebians... he says at least seven hundred slaves must be delivered as an offering before talks can begin. Reparations he calls them.”

“Reparations... So, he will not deliver the letter?”

“He says it won’t be accepted otherwise.”

As if to punctuate the translation, the general crumpled the paper up, muttering something as he tossed it onto one of the lit torches, the letter burning away to ash before anyone could object.

No one spoke for a moment.

Andrew’s grip on his M2 tightened further.

General Octavius spoke finally, half smiling.

Father Aleksander only said, “He says it’s customary...”

Roberts nodded, saying “Tell him we’ll deliver that message to our leaders. That he should expect to hear back from us.”

Andrew did his best not to roll his eyes.

They attacked them unprovoked. They had failed to send diplomats. Why should anyone except these cheap copies of the Roman Empire be forced to make any concessions?

Like a good soldier, he kept the thoughts to himself, though he could see his captain appeared somewhat frustrated even behind the mask, his gaze well focused on the soldiers behind the general and how they all seemed as ready to attack as they were.

The general said something then as if the request had brought a sense of indignation upon him.

Father Aleksander translated quickly, stuttering as the general appeared to grow hostile.

“He... he’s angry we haven’t brought any offerings after killing one of their generals.”

Roberts said, “Tell him we’ll be back with an offering soon.”

Translate.

The general spoke.

“He... he says to leave him some of our weapons. As a show of good faith.”

At this, Roberts put his foot down.

“No. Tell him we’ll be back when we get permission and that we are deeply sorry for the inconvenience.”

Father Aleksander translated as Roberts turned and began walking away.

Without a word, Andrew and his captain stepped between Aleksander and the wooden barricades as the general began yelling things, the mocking half-smile ever-present as they pressed the priest towards the M113s.

He eyed the men with bows, noting some were raising them again.

“Captain...” he said, his finger inching towards the M2’s trigger.

“Yeah, I see them. Inside. Now.”

The words had just left his mouth when Father Aleksander said “He’s telling them to prepare to shoot us!”

With a sense of urgency and without another word, Andrew and Thorne grabbed the priest and moved quickly to the M113 just as they heard the general yell something at the top of his lungs.

And then all hell broke loose.

***

Octavius glared as the cowards began to retreat.

No honor, no offerings for the emperor, just a silly parchment wrapped in more parchment with a seal that could barely emulate the greatness of an empire.

Fine.

Only one man was needed to deliver a message, no?

As the men in black tunics turned and their green bodyguards followed, he gave the order.

“Kill them.”

He saw his legionnaires lift their spears and his bowmen shoot their arrows into the doorway, where the men and their strange metal carriages were.

He didn’t quite see if anyone was hit, but he heard someone scream in agony.

Then the same enemy treachery that had taken Darius and Titus appeared. This time, horrifying thunderclaps that were followed by choking smoke blew past their palisade and straight into his men. Powerful wind knocked them all down, and he fell to the floor despite trying to hold his ground.

He heard a few brief screams that were drowned out by two more thunderous eruptions, these from further away as the cowards ran.

Then, silence.

He craned his neck to see.

The palisades still stood, albeit badly damaged now. He could see the silhouette of the guards he had there, their bodies were on the ground, unmoving. The torch lights had been torn apart, the fires extinguished, leaving the area in mostly darkness, the lights from the strange metal carriages of the enemy being the only source of illumination, dissipating as the enemy ran away.

In the distance, he heard his officers yelling orders, and calling out to him, searching.

He attempted to stand up but froze as his left leg refused to respond.

Glancing down at it, he saw why.

There were a dozen tiny metal rods protruding from it, and various trails of blood had begun to flow from them, branching out as crimson droplets fell to the dirt below. He only stared, partly waiting for his body to begin registering the pain, partly wondering how to explain what he had just done.

The one thing he knew.

He was alive.

Those that had been with him, were not.

December 7th, 1963

Aragon, Georgia

9:07 AM

Agatha Orville kept cleaning the plates as the radio behind her continued playing the news.

“Hopes for a peaceful solution to the unfolding situation in Dallas were dashed tonight after attempts at opening peaceful communications failed. US forces engaged the forces of the so-called Iberian Empire within the portal resulting in a single wounded infantryman and yet unknown casualties on the other side. Sources in the White House and Dallas have informed us that the talks seemed to have been going smoothly until a demand was made by the local officer. Americans were to be handed over as slaves. This undeniable aggression all but confirms that the attacks on the 22nd were not only premeditated, but the ones who orchestrated it appear to not be at all remorseful for their actions. Calls for direct intervention have skyrocketed even compared to the immediate aftermath of the attack. President Kennedy has vowed to do everything possible to bring the perpetrators to justice. The military presence in Dallas increased today to-”

She shut the radio off.

Agatha stopped, placing the dish down slowly into the sink.

She glanced at the framed picture on the wall.

Stephen Orville’s youthful smile stared back at her, whilst a tiny, barely awake Dennis looked away from the camera, down at the ground, more interested in... something else.

The memory made her want to smile, but she didn’t.

Right below the framed photo sat the American flag, folded 13 times to look almost like a cocked hat, the stars staring back at her.

Please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one’s honorable and faithful service.

Her head hung forward; her eyes half open as she turned back to the plate.

She placed it aside as her headache flared.