Operation: Home Front - Counting Thunders Author: Will Keith Crickets sounded lazily in the heat of a Great Plains noon. The sun had briefly done battle with some clouds, which had quickly retreated elsewhere, and now ruled supreme over the sky. The land about was as devoid of features as the sky above, and it was only when Cecrops found truck ruts back from the nearest road, ending abruptly at a low hill, that they had located their target. Selene conferred with Will quietly. "They may not be sending anything out today." "I was thinking the same thing. If they haven't done so by six, we could signal the Lydia and try to -" A sound cracked over the empty plain. Sanford jerked awake, reaching for his communicator. The guy on watch quickly notified everyone else. Those who had drowsed in the heat and the wait shook it off and made ready. Before them, the hill shimmered and faded into the arch of a tunnel, a truck within it and a strong metal barricade across it. Sanford checked with Will, who nodded. He activated the communicator. "_Lydia_, come in." "We read you, Colonel," came the reply. "Begin." Lt. Forbes whipped out orders. "Helm, take us over the base, altitude 150 miles. Once you've got position, orientation zero-mark-minus-ninety. Gunnery, power weapons. Activate accuracy program and confirm compensation for atmosphere firing." "Position achieved. Orienting - achieved." "Sensors, sir, base has us on radar." "Acknowledged, Sensors." "Accuracy program operational, weapons locked to within two thousandths degree on largest paranatural phenomenon in area. Low-scatter frequency package confirmed. Weapons powered." "Melt 'em, Gunnery." "Firing." A pillar of white light seemed to support the sky for a moment, then another, and another, before the sound reached the small team. Thunders rolled, from the guns, from the base, whose illusion was shattering along with its front doors. Selene signaled. The Jihad team rose up and multiple assault weapons pummeled the Security guards and the truck driver. Burdoo switched her fire to the security cameras, and after a moment Thaleia and Will followed suit. "Let's hope they think it happened in the initial barrage," she said. When everything in sight was thoroughly toasted, Selene raised her fist, then swept it forward. The team broke cover and ran for the entrance. Rhyn sat in his command office, overlooking the balconies below. His attention was not truly on the workers mindlessly obeying complicated procedures to receive information and give orders and funnel him the essentials. Most men, face to face with Faide, would have either been admiring her looks - and getting a rude surprise when the misandrist neatly dismembered them with the sword at her side just as lovely and lethal as the woman herself - or would have been wisely preparing themselves to avoid this fate. Instead, he gave an impression of unconcern as she ranted at him, infuriating her even more. She was not so precise, so dangerous, when enraged. "That one Jihaddi has made it in is more than a little irritating, Rhyn, for where one comes, more can easily follow." "Still," said Kajj, "our intel files on the Jihad indicate that few have Private Merengue's teleportation power anywhere near as accurately as she does - she must have had the devil's own luck to come in safely at all." "Yeah, Faide." The speaker was behind him, but only Arill could have managed that nasal arrogance. From Faide's sudden stiffening, he was sure Arill had quite openly looked her up and down. A sight worth the taking, if you could survive it, but he knew Arill had done it to anger her further rather than enjoy the sight of the way her black, flower-patterned dress molded itself to her form. He wouldn't be a great loss, but Rhyn stepped into the breach anyway. "Stow it, you two. Such pieces of Radar and Intel as I control have been on the watch for anything like the major troop movement it would take to break into a base this size, but nothing is within a day of here." Yes, things were looking good. "If a Jihad army came over the horizon this minute, I am confident we could hold them off until the Generator activates at midnight tonight." In fact, he wished he could activate it now - it was hard to tell how many of his Array Elements had been neutralized - but a good fraction of his units had had instructions to hide deep, and hold off until the last minute to place Elements. A reserve, if you would, in case something just like this happened. The reserve would probably be more than sufficient, although that would depend on - Radar waved to him from their post. He punched the button that opened the window. "Hey, sir, there's a ship really way high up there. It's one of those that's got mean old Jihads in it, but it's so far away we can't shoot it down. What should we do?" "Send the picture to my desk." "Yes, sir!" He took a look. 150 miles up, extreme weapons range for - what class ship was that anyway? Arill looked over his shoulder. "Legion of Doom, I believe." He was not so enamored of conflict that he didn't know his job. "From the profile, it's possible that she has atmospheric weapons, but more likely will attempt to compensate space-to-space weapons for air. We can scramble fighters or missiles to the area quickly enough that she won't do any serious damage. She couldn't penetrate this deep anyway." "Then why is she there?" Faide demanded. "Jihaddi are stupid enough to be on the wrong side, but not stupid enough to do something obviously pointless." Kajj's quiet voice spoke. "Perhaps they have developed a more capable weapon. I would think it best, Rhyn, if you -" The ship pivoted downward. Rhyn leaned over to a com station to contact an anti-space ground station and order a counterassault, just as the base rumbled repeatedly and alarms rang out. "Southern Plains anti-space base, sir." "There's a Jihad ship attacking us. Launch missiles - " he looked at the radar, and saw the ship moving off. "Cancel missiles. Scramble fighters and pursue." "Aye, sir." He hung up, then went to the balcony. "Damage report," he shouted down. A Maintenance station tech stood up and gave the report. "Our front doors are just gee-golly-gone, sir. Like a puff of smoke! And there are broken pipes and walls in a few places, and the Security stations have gone out at the front and at -" "Yes, yes. Repair everything except the front doors immediately. Defense - send two squads to the front entrance. Have them stake out holding positions." To the "Aye, sir"s, he turned away. "You're not going to have them clearing debris?" Kajj asked. Rhyn snorted. "We won't need to. Not until I welcome Lord Barney back to this world and make a gift of it to him. We're going to WIN, people... cheer up!" Kajj snorted in turn. "I'll believe we've won when I'm ruling Northern Europe." Rhyn grinned. "So that's where you want. I'll be taking America, myself. National pride. You, Faide?" She sniffed. "The Mediterranean." "Europe, Asia Minor, Africa?" "All of them." "You have taste. You, Arill?" A low chuckle. "I have no desire to rule, especially a bunch of morons. Keep your countries. I intend to retire to a mansion in the country - maybe several - and live a life of pure and uninterrupted hedonism. Anyway, shouldn't you be watching for a proper assault?" A voice called up from below. "Excuse me, sir," it brightly chirped. "Yes?" he called back. "Rules say I'm supposed to tell you when people are shooting at us, sir." "I already know we've been shot at." Sponges. "Oh. Okay. So are we supposed to let them in, then?" Are we - "What?" "The Jihads at the front door, sir." Rhyn didn't have to ask for the picture to be sent to his office. The sight of energy weapons fire - hand-held weapons - was on a monitor clearly visible from where he stood. "Defense! Deploy all non-essential squads to the front entrance to repel incursion!" Kajj laughed, the first time Rhyn could remember hearing him do so. "You boast that you could defeat a Jihad army that came that minute, Rhyn, and lo! one appears on your doorstep. It is a punishment for hubris, but behold, defeat the punishment and you become like a god yourself. Be defeated by it, and you die. Such are the risks we take." He clapped Rhyn on the shoulder. The man was in better humor than he'd ever seen! Was he mad? "Come! Let us see what we can do about our apotheosis." He strode off to command his own forces. Rhyn shook his head and continued ordering the repulsion. ---------------------------- Turbo looked over the additional troops walking up the ramp into the transport plane. Not sponges. Troops. Mercenaries, to be exact. A surly looking lot, but obviously already paid. The big one, who hadn't shaved since last year apparently, and had last bathed shortly thereafter, said to him: "We were told you'd brief us." Funny - Turbo hadn't been told to brief them. Of course, this might have something to do with the fact that Turbo was taking the place of the Wyrm-Minion who was supposed to be commanding this squad, and the forces being added to it as they stopped at sundry small airstrips for the B'harnese Army, locations which Turbo obligingly noted for later intelligence use. He waved a hand vaguely. "Simple, I should think. Kill anybody shooting at you or not wearing these uniforms." The Lyran, hood up so as not to overly disturb the new arrivals(like he cared, but they'd fight better), added, "Some people wearing these uniforms may be shooting at you. Kill them as well." The big man swallowed at the lights from within the hood, but nodded. "Anything else we should know?" Turbo and the Lyran made - well, not exactly eye contact, but a glance in each other's general direction, and replied in unison, "No." The big guy nodded. "You're the bosses." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Who we taking orders from? Which one of you's in charge?" Again they spoke in unison. "Me." The Lyran whirled to face Turbo, who took on a defensive air. Turbo spoke quickly. "Last I checked, this was my detachment... " he trailed off, not knowing the thing's name. "Last *I* checked, as you so quaintly put it, this was a mission *we* sent you on. If you wish to challenge my power, I suggest you try now and get it out of your system." Turbo knew it wouldn't be a contest. "I was only referring to the actual source of orders. I was planning to be the one giving them. Of course, if you give an order it will supersede my own." The Lyran nodded. This was right and proper. It was a much easier acquiescence than he had expected from the Wyrm-Minion, though, as in his experience they tended to be more jealous of their prerogatives. Nevertheless, he put it away for further study when he had time. The mercenary captain spoke up. "So the guy in the robe is the boss. Fine. Let us know when it's time." He turned away and rounded up his group in a corner of the plane. After a moment, the Lyran turned away as well, to greet a new arrival. Another robed figure, but barely three feet tall and stick-thin, even for its height, but Turbo noted with interest that the Lyran made a gesture to it, which was returned by a claw-like appendage which flashed briefly from the robe, and then returned to it just as quickly. The Lyran followed the short thing to the front of the plane, where a nest of sorts had been set up, of blankets on the deck. The figure folded itself up into an approximation of a sitting position and waited with all the apparent patience of a stone. Turbo addressed the Lyran as it came back by him. "Who's that?" "No one you need concern yourself with." "If I'm going to be commanding it -" The Lyran barked a short laugh. "This is not something you command. He has deigned to allow us his aid and has consented to be transported with mere mercenaries and sponges, and will not be in the best of moods when we arrive at the Southern Plains Regional Command." SPRC, Turbo had learned, was the official name of the Sumner base they were going to attack. "You will allow him to leave and perform his duties without interference, as will I." The plane closed up and took off. So, another one of these strange creatures, seemingly of considerable power. At a previous stop, a team of laborers had pushed a megalith - just a big chunk of rock - onto a cargo plane flying with them. His Lyran associate had greeted it with utmost respect, and left the laborers in the plane. At the next stop, he had been pleased to find them all dead and the megalith standing against a wall. A lot of effort was going into capturing one traitor, it seemed. Rhyn must have co-opted a large amount of resources to his defense. Turbo was more and more getting the feeling that even his own sponges were somewhat more than usual. Their noise level was quieter than he'd feared it would be, and they were usually engaged in checking weapons and equipment, or humming to themselves, or repeating their painfully-clear instructions to themselves and nodding in satisfaction at getting them right. More intelligent than your basic sponge, then. It might be a problem if he expected to be able to break out and inform the Jihad troops... His reverie was broken by a change in the sound of the engines. They were landing. A sponge came up to him with several papers, and the Lyran stepped up to examine them as well. Turbo scanned the first one. "Satellite info indicates - " *Yes!* he thought. "- there is a Jihad attack already underway. A force is at the front gate, apparently having destroyed it with siege weaponry. If they're willing to take heavy losses, they'll be able to get inside, and once inside..." "Yes. This will interfere with our own mission. Rhyn will have closed off all other entrances to the base, and they are blocking this attack." "Why don't we just let them do their job? If they succeed, we won't even have to fight." "Fool. Doubly fool! We cannot let the Jihaddi take control of a Regional command. But more importantly, we cannot let the traitor Rhyn escape unpunished! By our OWN HAND! OURS!!" Turbo had never seen a Lyran enraged before. Without thinking of the possible consequences, he put hand to his stolen blade and backed off a pace. The Lyran continued raving. "It is no punishment to die at the hands of your enemy! The betrayer must be punished, not allowed to die in battle! Our Minions must know that it is WE who have taken their lives and deaths into our hands!" The Lyran visibly took control of itself. "If the Jihaddi kill Rhyn despite our efforts, it is sufficient. But they may also destroy whatever plan Rhyn has set up. That, we wish to succeed." "Of course. You're right. We will attack the Jihaddi." "From behind, I think. Their attention will be focused on the assault in front of them." "They'll have the choice of being caught between two enemies, retreating to the side, or entering without securing the main entrance, which would be suicide." "I expect they will retreat. Jihaddi have sense enough to do that when faced with overwhelming opposition." "But then when we enter we'll be in that same position, won't we? At least if /we/ then attack." The Lyran looked at him, doubtless unhappy at admitting a human was right. "And therefore you propose...?" Think fast - what was the weakest attack that had some kind of advantage he could play up? "Attack the Jihaddi from both sides, in a V formation whose apex is the base entrance. Force them to retreat away from the base." Usually, the V would then follow, harassing the Jihaddi further. But he knew that wasn't the goal of the attack. "Then we slip each line into the base, and break off once we're well back. If we're lucky, we won't have to fire a shot at one of our own unless our cover is blown." Pause. Come on, you Lyran scumbag, admit it's better than your plan! "Very well. Inform your troops of this strategy." He swept forward to speak quietly with the short one as Turbo divided his forces roughly in half, with the mercenaries stiffening each line. The planes landed. The troop transports disgorged their loads, arraying themselves in two bunches ready for march. Sumner lay three miles south, and an hour would see Turbo trying desperately to foil an assault on his own side, which he was pretending to be leading. But how? The cargo transport that had held the monolith was empty. Somehow, that made him even more nervous. Captain Mitchell watched the Jihad forces. Every now and then, he would give an order to make a push forward slightly, then fall back under the increased fire, maintaining the illusion that his was the real assault. And all the while he kept an eye on the defense being put up, looking for a possible weakness that meant he really *could* lead the Jihad force into the base. Of course, it would mean that casualties would jump from minimal to heavy, but it might be worth it if it turned out that Team 2 had failed. Surely he would have gotten notice, but then again, you never knew. He wasn't exactly bored with the situation - when you could be hit by a stray shot any second now, bored was something few people were - but the protracted stalemate was becoming less gripping to look at. He knew that if Rhyn was capable of sending out forces another way, he would have, but nevertheless he scanned the horizon around. It saved lives. "'Ware flanking attack! Mid-block squads, angle fire 45 degrees left and right! Rear guard, watch for surrounding maneuver!" As the disciplined Jihaddi quickly adapted their attack formation, he wondered how in the hell they had managed to get so much force out of the base without the scouts knowing it. They incoming troops were easily as many as they had thought inhabited the base, more than the number of Jihaddi attacking. As the battle quite suddenly heated up, his immediate concern turned more toward the casualties being experienced. They couldn't possibly keep this up for much longer. What were the options? An aide ran up and saluted sketchily. "Rear guard reports no troops in back, sir." Thank Grimace. He hesitated for a moment over the order he was about to give, then realized it might draw Rhyn's attention even further away from the base. He acknowledged the aide's information and ordered his 'bugler,' the com officer. "Sound 'withdraw.' Signal it back this way." "Aye, sir." Slowly, the Jihaddi crept back, maintaining their formation as the new line of troops pressed forward, a vice intent on pushing them away from the base. Firing back, making every inch count with another casualty in purple, the Jihaddi gave that ground. The vice reached the base entrance, splitting in the middle - and stopped. Mitchell realized that the new troops were heading back into the base. What the hell for? To stiffen its defenses? Could they have been on the verge of breaking in? A surge of confidence rushed through him. That had to be it. He signaled the bugler. "As soon as they're all in there, sound 'forward' again. And don't automatically sound 'hold position' when we get to the line, either. Only if I say so. Got it?" "Aye, SIR!" Turbo winced as the Jihaddi were exposed to the new fire he had brought in. 'His' lines pushed forward, threatening to close in on the Jihad troops. Finally, they broke backward, maintaining fire the entire time. He had lost track of the Lyran and the more unusual troops, concentrating on readying his troops to back into the base at the earliest possible time and not screaming to drown out the sound of the Sponge Minions' War Chant despite the Wyrm-Minion's handy earplugs. Finally, the time arrived. "Troops! Orderly retreat into the base!" Oh, rats... the sponges were giving him confused looks. He tried the first-grader approach. "Form single file lines and walk into the building. Keep shooting until you're inside." The troops promptly formed up and walked in, at a leisurely pace that made him grind his teeth. The Jihad troops halted their retreat, then followed at a cautious advance, no doubt wondering why they weren't being pushed further back. Speaking of which... Turbo had been near the center of the lines, though well back in the bunch, as any good field commander would be. As he made it into the base, he gave curt orders to hold position and wait for instructions from the Lyran, then walked further in, looking around. With luck.... With luck, what? He slowed. He was in the base, armed, wearing a Wyrm-Minion uniform, and had not the faintest clue what to do next. *Think it through,* he told himself. *The Wyrm-Minion you came as was supposed to stop Rhyn. The Jihaddi you are would love to stop Rhyn. Therefore, you have a whole troop full of sponges ready to perform a Jihad mission.* He grinned and turned back. The troop was still organized in single file lines. The Lyran had moved to the front and was giving orders. It turned. "Where were you?" "Looking around to see what I could see," was the best he could come up with on short notice. "That's your scouts' job, fool." Turbo ignored it. "Have you finished giving them their orders?" "You are perfectly aware they already had their orders. I am merely activating them. It is the mercenaries you must instruct." He turned back to the troops. "Code 1-special. Find. Kill." As one, the sponges saluted and broke up into little bunches, muttering in low-volume whines and hums. Turbo addressed the Mercenaries. "All right. There's this guy, named Rhyn. He's -" "No, you idiot!" The Lyran rushed over. "What do you think you are doing? That is not their purpose!" It was hard to tell, with the shadows and the mask, but Turbo had the sudden impression that the Lyran's eyes narrowed. "Wait. You can not be -" Turbo didn't wait a second longer. Living up to his name, he drew his sidearm and fired at the Lyran fast enough to do an Old West gunman proud. Even though the shot bounced off of something bright the Lyran threw up quickly, he turned and ran hard for the nearest side passage, off to his left as he faced the doors. Even in the face of this obvious attack, sponges grinned and saluted as he went by. Behind him, the cry was raised. "Infiltrator! Spy! MindLock Unit 1, send men after him, quickly!" He settled into a lope, concentrating on the urgent task of losing his pursuers in the corridors. TBC in "Finding the Way"