Billy spied the three-sided structure on the far side of a group of featureless, rectangular buildings which, he knew from his briefings, had stood for decades. However, he also saw that The Cooperative had made some changes.

  A tower with dark-tinted windows and an array of sensors on top rose from the center of the compound. A pair of mushroom-shaped objects protruded from the sides of the tower. No one in the briefing knew their function.

  On the south side of the complex the Witiko had constructed a square, open-roofed building that intelligence labeled the 'pen' but that was all they shared on that subject.

  Next, Billy spotted three horizontal boxes atop short bases, what intelligence guessed to be anti-air batteries.

  To the north of the three main buildings sat a cluster of fuel tanks. Billy thought how confident the Witiko must be in their defenses to locate such explosive materials close to their facility. "I'm painting the target now," the female weapons officer aboard Dash Seven reported. Billy saw a flash, then another, from the base. Despite a clear scope, he understood. "INCOMING!" "One more second…" He saw-literally saw-the weld marks and bolts on the surface of an anti-air missile as it streaked by his cockpit.

  The three bombers stayed on course even as the missiles closed. The first two missed but the third hit Dasher Eight. The plane disintegrated into a cloud of fast-flying debris. Thrusting engines-no longer attached to an airframe-flew off aimlessly like rogue fireworks.

  Nonetheless, the remaining two Aardvarks dropped clusters of ordnance following laser beams toward the PAVE PAWS building.

  That's when the mushroom-shaped devices revealed their nature.

  Metal covers on each slid away revealing honeycombs. From those holes fired a veil of shells in a dense storm creating a bubble of safety overhead of the base, hitting and destroying the incoming payloads.

  Some of the laser-guided bombs exploded in the air, others smashed off-course and landed inside the chain link fence surrounding the Stealth generator, causing damage to secondary buildings.

  Another anti-air missile scored a hit, tearing apart Dash Seven and sending lifeless pieces-mechanical and otherwise-tumbling from the sky.

  With their strike thoroughly defeated and more missiles aiming their way, the remaining Aardvark and Billy's F-15 retreated as fast as their engines allowed.

  – Jon Brewer-the Brain of the Excalibur — darted his eyes from display to display. Voices and tones played through his earpiece. His right hand rolled a track ball fixed in a side rail that in turn moved a pointer on the Air Counter-Measures screen to the Heat-Defeat option.

  At the same time, on the right eyeglass of his goggles he saw the image of approaching F-16 jets. Beyond those goggles he could see-on another of the mounted screens-a radar image that offered no warning of the approaching threat. His left fingers found the buttons he wanted not by looking, but by training. The voices in his ear piece echoed his orders. "Sparrow tubes loaded and ready." "Securing flight deck; closing hangar doors." "Close Support Batteries ready to fire."

  He waited. The F-16s closed. Soon enough, The Cooperative's fighters would have to leave the safety of their Stealth Field if they wanted to engage the Excalibur.

  And when they did…

  First one, then three flashed on the radar.

  I see you now.

  Jon's fingers tapped a warning.

  "Incoming enemy fire. Brace for impact."

  Three more faster-moving blips painted on the radar screen. Missiles. His missiles.

  "Sparrows away."

  Rockets raced from the Excalibur and passed more rockets heading in for the massive ship, fired by the F-16s. A bank of radar-controlled Gatling guns on swiveling turrets along the bow of the Excalibur fired in tandem, managing to knock out the first of the inbound projectiles.

  The second missile skipped across the flight deck and exploded near the closed hangar bulkhead. The third flew over the flight deck and hit the superstructure square-on. A tremble vibrated across the bridge.

  Jon's eyepiece found the appropriate camera. His inspection of the damage saw it as superficial. It would take much more to penetrate the thick hide of a dreadnought.

  The cluster of six missiles he had rapid-fired from Sparrow tubes Bow 1 and Bow 2 chased after The Cooperative's F-16s. Those planes banked hard and flew fast for the safety of their Stealth Field.

  Jon watched on both radar and telescope.

  The missiles closed. The planes ran like antelope from lions.

  C'mon, c'mon…

  The three blips disappeared from radar. Then the six tracking blips of the Sparrows also disappeared. Through his view finder, Jon saw the F-16s slow and change altitude. Now inside the dead zone, the Sparrows lost their radar track and flew off without guidance.

  He announced for Trevor to hear, "Damn, they made it back to their side before the missiles hit. They got away. I think…wait a second…"

  From his position at the command station Jon monitored everything; a continual flow of information and images. One of those images came from a camera on the belly of the ship.

  He saw them two miles out moving through crevices between mountain peaks, hugging the ground nearly hidden from view while their self-generating Stealth Fields hid them from electronic surveillance.

  "INBOUND! Two Witiko Stingrays, starboard side contact in five seconds!"

  The weapons officer repeated an order that the Brain sent electronically: "Close support batteries to manual control. Gun crews, man your stations."

  With their stealth capability hiding the Stingrays from his scopes, Jon attempted to grab an infrared lock on the warships' rear thrusters.

  The black and silver attack craft swooped up from the mountains like frenzied sharks swimming for the kill. The speed and agility of the Stingrays stood in stark contrast to the stationery bulk of the Excalibur.

  High powered cannons fired in defense at the rate of thousands of rounds per minute, but without radar locks they could not do to the ships what they had done to the missiles.

  In contrast, the Stingrays could not fail to hit. They raced toward the undercarriage of the dreadnought, pushed by twin rockets.

  Once in the dreadnought's shadow, the attackers fired thick gold energy beams. As the ships moved so did their beams, cutting a path across the belly of the mechanical beast and penetrating the tough hide of Steel Plus. Sparks exploded from the slice, bursts of flames and smoke erupted from the lacerations carved in the hull.

  The Stingrays turned off their weapons momentarily, stayed in parallel formation, adjusted their flight, and swung up and around the stern of the Excalibur.

  They then flew sideways and cut two more slices into the rear of The Empire's flagship. This time the weapons pealed open the bulkhead on one of the Eagle landing pads and also tore a gash in an engine baffle.

  In response, a bank of aft-mounted turrets sprayed rapid rounds across the first Stingray's port side, rupturing the ship's skin and causing a small explosion. Flakes of its metal skeleton blew off and the attacker rocked side to side like a boxer taken by a surprise upper cut.

  The Stingrays nearly clipped the tower as they dove toward the flight deck. Their lasers blasted streaks in the runway causing smoke to rise from twin lines of seared steel.

  Jon finally found his infrared lock. The Witiko must have received warning, for the two cruisers rocketed away at full power, dipping toward the mountains just as two heat-seekers streaked away from launch tubes.

  One smacked into the rear of an enemy ship. An explosion tore away chunks of hull and knocked an engine off-line. The cruiser wobbled and, for a short moment, looked as if it might tumble from the sky. Instead, the Witiko craft righted itself and continued on, albeit at less velocity. The second heat seeker fell sucker to flares and exploded far away from its target as the Witiko attackers disappeared from sight. Around the bridge, alarm klaxons rung and technicians spoke in rushed voices as damage control parties and medics reported in. Jon-the Brain-re-opened the flight deck to gather his flock of wounded fighters. With the Air Boss in control of that operation, Jon removed his head set and turned to Trevor. "Thunder flight reports bombing run ineffective. They say the base is well-defended against air attack." Trevor kept his eyes staring forward. The first salvo in the war against California had ended in embarrassment.

  Jon questioned, "I suppose we should take in the dreadnoughts directly. Pound Beale with the boppers until they're nothing but dust."

  This time Stone did speak, first with a slow shake of his head then whispered words, "No. That's exactly what the Witiko would expect. It's what they want. Two of those Stingrays cut us up pretty good and were on us before we knew it. We go into their space while the Stealth Field is still up and they'll mob us with jet plans, SAMS, and cruisers."

  "So then what?"

  Trevor told Jon, "Plan B."

  5. Plan B

  Stonewall walked across Interstate 5, his eyes fixed on the trio of burning tanks. Black, oily smoke rose in plumes and intertwined as if dancing as they drifted into the overcast sky.

  Two of his bodyguards followed but they said nothing. The only sounds other than the crackling and popping blazes came from the soft jingle of the General's sword as it swayed on his belt, and the dull thud of his boots on the pavement.

  Garrett pulled off his hat and wiped a sleeve across his forehead but kept his eyes on the burning wrecks; funeral pyres for three tank crews courtesy of an enemy Super Cobra.

  These were not the only such crematoriums. In two days of fighting, the Second Mechanized Division of Virginia lost a dozen tanks-nearly half their compliment-and an equal number of trucks, Humvees, and armored cars not to mention more than seventy soldiers killed and twice that number injured.

  Of course, the optimists bragged that Stonewall's spearhead penetrated nearly forty miles into California, threatening The Cooperative's northern outpost at Weed. Not a lie, but not exactly the truth, either. Weed served as The Cooperative's only sizeable defensive line in the northern part of the state. In fact, McAllister had set up camp at Yreka-well inside California's northern border-days before hostilities began.

  Captain Benny Duda approached on horseback. He hurried a salute to his CO although the latter refused to look away from the dead armor.

  Stonewall spoke first, "I wonder if this adventure would proceed more favorably if we had Dustin's Cavalry Brigade," Garrett waved a hand toward the foothills on either side of the road. "He would travel through the wilderness, away from this open highway, like we did in the early days. When we followed my vision. Or was it a dream? Whatever the truth, we did not travel on the main roads, we stayed in cover."

  "Yes, General. Things were different then, sir."

  Garrett's eyes widened. "Oh yes. Much different. The times, as they say, have changed."

  "Dustin is still in Colorado, sir. He won't be joining us anytime soon."

  "Ah, yes, General Shepherd has use for Dustin there. Besides," Stonewall watched his tanks burn and repeated in an acidic tone what Intelligence told him before the attack, "we won't be needing him here."

  The first two days of fighting The Cooperative had been bad days. The advantages of California's Stealth Field generator out of Beale were easy to see on Interstate 5 that afternoon. They never knew the chopper approached until its missiles hit the armor.

  "I'm sorry, Benny, you came here to tell me something not listen to my rambling."

  "Oh, um, yes, General. We've been ordered to send a detachment over toward Callahan."

  "Pardon me, but did you say Callahan?"

  Stonewall knew the tiny gold-rush era town of Callahan rested approximately fifteen miles to the west on the rim of the Shasta National Forest and sat squarely in the middle of Route 3, a north to south thoroughfare paralleling Interstate 5.

  "Benjamin, you must be mistaken. Several thousand enemy infantry with gun ship support await us outside of Weed, a far more important target than a poorly armed garrison numbering less than two hundred."

  "No sir, that's the order. You need to confirm receipt with the courier who brought it."

  Ten minutes later, Stonewall stormed into his command tent at a rest stop along the Interstate. There, sitting in one of two chairs around a big map unfurled on a wooden table, waited a man with a bushy mustache and a shaved head wearing green camouflage but no rank on his collar. Stonewall's urgent steps stopped as he recognized his visitor.

  "Ah yes, Mister Gordon Knox. I should have guessed that an order to send my troops on a foolish errand could only come from Imperial Intelligence."

  Gordon stood and smiled. Stonewall, in contrast, found it difficult to smile after having watched so many of his tanks burn due to The Cooperative's Stealth Shield, a technology Intelligence thought would be 'unreliable.'

  Knox stood next to one of the hanging oil lamps lighting the tent and told McAllister, "I need you to occupy Callahan. That isn't too much to ask, is it?"

  "No, of course not. Just do me a favor and ask The Cooperative not to send any of their attack helicopters in our direction. You see, we're having a devil of a time spotting their approach. Why, before we even know what hits us, we lose two, three, sometimes more of our tanks and a fair number of troops. And veteran troops such as mine are so difficult to replace."

  "Oh, now never fear, General. We just need to tough this out a little while longer. Trust me, taking Callahan will be easy. The garrison will not only surrender to you, they will replace some of those valuable veteran troops you have lost."

  That captured General McAllister's attention.

  Knox continued, "You see, while The Cooperative's Stealth Field works rather well, it seems the rest of their little paradise isn't quite as wonderful for the rank and file."

  Stonewall could not help it. He matched Knox's smile.

  – The Eagle airships sat in the dark wedged between tall Ponderosa Pines. It had taken skill for the four ships to find landing zones in the dense hillside forest, but it had taken even more skill to fly low enough among the mountain crevices and gorges to avoid detection.

  Inside Eagle One, Trevor Stone opened a locker and pulled out a gray suit covered in a kind of wiry mesh. Other soldiers already wore the suits, including rubbery helmets and metallic faceplates with goggles. Rick Hauser walked from the cockpit to the passenger compartment. Trevor, slipping one leg then the other into the body suit, asked, "Time?" Hauser answered, "Thirty minutes. What if she's late?" Trevor slipped his left arm in one of the sleeves and said, "Then we're all dead."

  At first glance, the strange battle suits might be mistaken for padded scuba gear. In truth, the suits provided extra support, actually enhancing the wearer's endurance. Just as he reverse-engineered alien technology from the invading armies, Omar Nehru had reversed-engineered the suit Trevor brought home from the humans of an alternate universe.

  He fit the mask on and peered through the goggles. Hauser double-checked the mesh that covered the suit and Trevor's assault rifle, and ensured all the power cords were connected. The mesh had not come from that alternate Earth but, rather, came from the Chaktaw; another piece of alien technology adapted for humanity's use. Hauser asked, "Sir, are you sure you should be in the front lines on this one?" He placed a hand on Rick's shoulder. That served as answer enough. "Let's go." The lights in the cabin turned off. The side door slid open. Hauser watched the strike teams head off into the forest behind a line of K9s. — Sparkling stars covered the midnight sky above the buildings once home to the Seventh Space Warning Squadron. The fence-enclosed facility sat atop one of the many small, grassy hills west of the Sierra Nevada range and housed the PAVE PAWS antenna that resembled a three-sided 1970s era stereo speaker standing several stories tall.

  The Witiko enhancements-a tower, anti-air emplacements, a fuel depot, a box-like building known as 'the pen'-gave the compound a cluttered, messy look.

  That clutter provided cover for Nina Forest and Vince Caesar, the Dark Wolves charged with infiltrating the main building. At the same time, Carl Bly and Oliver Maddock lay in ghillie suits atop hills within sniping distance of the complex.

  Two days since the failed air strike, the Dark Wolves did what the F-111s failed to do; breach the facility's defenses. Unlike the planes, Nina's team received considerable help in the form of one disgruntled janitor (a former Cal-Berkley Professor) who hid the two commandos on a maintenance truck.

  Armed with a detailed layout of the complex, Nina and Vince made their way to the roof of the four-story building at the center of the base. There they knelt in the darkness, their black tactical suits blending with the night.

  Nina dribbled sizzling yellow goo from a small packet onto the iron bolts holding a metal grate above a ventilation shaft. Vince helped her pull the shield away after the bolts dissolved.

  With that obstruction cast aside, Vince Caesar assembled a tripod hoist from which dangled a stretch of nylon rope. Nina slipped the hook at the end of that rope around a latch on her body suit and then adjusted the small, but heavy, pack slung on her shoulders.

  As for armaments, she left behind her assault rifle and sword, planning to rely on stealth and speed as opposed to firepower.

  Nina swung her legs into the shaft…

  …A guard in black coveralls continued to walk his rounds between tan-painted walls. His boot steps echoed along the marble floor, announcing both his coming and going.

  Nina-hiding behind dusty old crates stacked in a dead-end corridor-allowed the guard to continue unmolested. Moments later, she moved from cover into the open, traversing the brightly-lit corridors.

  She had memorized the map provided by the janitor and walked fast for her objective. Of course, she knew she would be discovered eventually, she only hoped to complete her job on time. And while completing her job was always her primary goal, tonight's mission meant even more; she knew Trevor Stone led the assault on the base.

  Why he chose to fight in the front lines she did not know. Indeed, the more she thought about Trevor Stone the more he confused her. Ironically, as that confusion grew she found herself more and more intrigued by the man.