The Vaults of Heaven (AU)

[Poohbah]

Your video isn't appearing at all.

[Craiglxviii]

Your video isn't appearing at all.

I’ll go and check it out on my laptop shortly. Am on my phone right now.

[Craiglxviii]

FTFY

Doesn't seem to work for me in Google Chrome.

You're right, it doesn't work in Chrome. It does however in Firefox.

I will dig more.

[Admin]

Your video isn't appearing at all.

Doing some googling, it looks like the issue may be with your Chrome installation, version or option controls vs the PHPbb setup of the Board. There was a known issue with youtube scripts not working that was solved with an /embed command update; the script we're running contains that.

I can't find anything yet that suggests that the script we are running for YT embeds should have any issue with Chrome. However- that's just me looking, any help here is of course hugely appreciated as I want the Board to work for everyone. Maybe something to take into the Admin section.

[Admin]

Your video isn't appearing at all.

And, deciding to check the actual PHPbb scripts I found an updated one. THis now works in my Chrome. Try refreshing your browser (that's what I did- clicked in the URL line and hit Enter) and it should be fine now.

Ta-da!

[Craiglxviii]

Test

https://youtu.be/6jJkdRaa04g

[Poohbah]

Works now, tyvm!

[Craiglxviii]

Works now, tyvm!

Great!

I may put “PHPbb Engineer” on my resume now

[Poohbah]

12 April 1988
Tom's Sandwich Shop
Philadelphia, PA

Tom's was busy; it was a place where you picked up your food and went into Rittenhouse Square if the weather was good, which it was.

Mantell scanned the square as Kate led him to a bench near the center.

She spoke quietly. "Don't react. We're under surveillance."

Mantell didn't move. He murmured, "Guy in the blue suit to our west, another guy where we crossed into the square. Not sure if the guy in the beige suit with the newspaper is part of the team, but he's positioned wrong--the page is going to be in shadow, but the bench isn't."

"Damn. All right. I'm supposed to weigh and assess you. No substantial information yet. Just basic background."

"Got it."

Jensen then proceeded to ask basic biographical questions, and she did it so casually that Josh had to remind himself that this was work, not a relaxed lunch with a prospective MOH groupie. He kept his tone light, letting it go dark when it touched on his parents, and she backed off slightly. He loosened up when the conversation turned his brother, who was a submariner in the Pacific Fleet, and his sister, a supply officer in the 40th Mech.

He learned the basics of her cover; she was 31 years old, and had been working for the Office of Personnel Management as a Human Resources Specialist for ten years. She'd been down in Washington on Day One; she credited her coffee maker breaking down with saving her life (she'd been in the Dumfries AM/PM buying coffee when the DC strike hit), and that she wasn't seeing anyone at the moment.

After they finished lunch, he walked her back to her office. On the way, he said, "I had a lovely time. I know this is extremely short notice, but I have an invitation to a dining in at the Philadelphia City Cavalry Armory tomorrow night."

"A dining in?"

"A formal dinner for officers, spouses and sweethearts--hopefully nobody brings both at once--"

Jensen's laugh was utterly undignified, and Josh found himself liking her a bit more.

"They have a long history, going all the way back to the Revolution. Attire is formal--they're tailoring up a set of mess dress for me, but if you don't have a really formal outfit--"

"Oh, I do. I'd love to go."

They exchanged phone numbers to do any additional needed coordination, and Josh was on his way.

* * *

Terrapin, on the way back to the hotel from Philadelphia Military Academy, said, "By the way, the Air Force Headquarters running club wants to do the Rocky Run with you tomorrow morning at 0600. Start down at the Rocky house in Girard Estates, run to the Italian Market, then to Washington Square and through Independence Park, over to City Hall, then out to the Museum of Art and the Rocky Steps. The club president said something about running you into the dirt.

Mantell chuckled. "Do they have any idea what level of fitness an air commando has to achieve and maintain?"

Terrapin laughed. "No, they don't. You feel like schooling them?"

"Hell yes!"

* * *

Once he was back at the hotel, he headed up to 703 via the stairs and reported in.

Kathy listened to his report and nodded.

"All right. We're going to give you some chickenfeed, make them think you're willing to leak to an apparently loyal American some harmless fluff that isn't so harmless--except that Ivan really does need to know it. The bit about the warhead count. Don't mention the discrepancy between the inventory sheets and the actual count. Just give them the count. That should be a pretty brutal wakeup call."

"When do I deliver it?"

"Tomorrow night, after the dinner."

"Got it. So the script is that we give them chickenfeed until they've got enough to compromise me?"

"That's the idea. What we're trying to do is get visibility into their operations. There's another player in the game. Thing is, they use Soviet-style tradecraft--distinct markers signaling meets and drops, that sort of thing--but they're not WARPAC. Our source knows that they're not GRU or fraternal socialist allies. She's supposed to find them--but no hurry."

"That's weird. Someone up to no good in the capital? I'd want them found triple-quick so I could recruit them."

And then Mantell put it together.

"Damn. They've already been recruited. San Francisco."

"What?"

"My old unit was part of the initial response, so was Roberta's. You read the Inquirer this morning?"

Kathy shook her head. "I'm more of a USA Today gal. Not enough time to read a decent paper and all of the message traffic."

"Tim Weiner had a piece on ANVIL FIRE. He's got pretty impressive sources, I've seen his stuff before when UPI syndicated it. Hey, San Fran is almost secure as of today, but he describes a chaotic muddled response at the Joint Staff level that probably cost us most of a week. There was a concerted effort to get a quick response with the forces that were in place, plus SOCOM assets--I felt the heat from that at 23rd Air Force--but at the same time trying to slow-roll sending in three divisions' worth of leg infantry and an MP brigade. Now, people at the Joint Staff level ain't stupid. Dear God, they'd better not be stupid. The old GARDEN PLOT plans--"

Kathy asked, "How do you know about GARDEN PLOT?"

"I worked in the war plans shop at Wing HQ when I first reported in. Third Marine Air Wing was tasked to provide airlift and photo reconnaissance in support of 1st Marine Division and any other forces assigned to contain a civil uprising in the Southwestern United States. The thing is, GARDEN PLOT stressed putting a LOT of grunts and MPs into the area as fast as possible. Third MAW in general and the helo groups in particular were going to be the hardest-working SOBs in any response--lifting troops in, doing vertical envelopment to secure an airhead if necessary, et cetera. We were going to poach HMM-774 from MAG-46. Well, that got knocked in a cocked hat after Tri-County, but the principles we operated under were the same. Use numbers to swamp the adversary one stronghold at a time, use maneuver superiority to isolate and secure each area, and use MPs and checkpoints to kettle the remaining elements."

Kathy nodded. "Go on."

"Let's assume these people on the Joint Staff knew what they were doing, and that they weren't being idiots. Dismount strength in San Francisco would be about 1,600 to maybe 2,000 troops in total instead of nearly 40,000. We couldn't flood the zone like we did. We'd probably be slogging along, stomping one or two bad guys at a time, actually outnumbered at first, but with vastly superior firepower that we couldn't really use anyway. The fight would go until we wore their numbers down enough, and then they'd collapse. Say, most of a month. Maybe even a month and a half."

"Right. But what do they gain?"

"A month-plus of chaos on the West Coast. But that's just a distraction--and the distraction is wearing out fast. Phase 2 would be here in Philly. That's your covert network that just woke up. They're planning something. And they probably just moved up the timetable because the President just shot it to hell these past two weeks."

Kathy looked at the calendar. "What was their original go date?"

"My gut says the night of April 19th."

Kathy frowned. "Day before the ceremony?"

"Everyone's moving things into position at the last minute. People are out of place, there's always those who don't get the correct scoop, orders are getting changed via phone calls, and someone with relatively clean paper will sail right through because it's so much easier to just pass someone through than to ask questions about minor issues. That's when you pull a Bavarian Fire Drill."

There was a knock at the door. Kathy checked, and let Adam in.

"Hey, Josh. Just so you know, Roberta is aware of the situation. And, presumably, so is her wife."

"Got it. So, what news?"

"Well, it's a shit show."

Kathy said, "Master Sergeant Lodge, I need something more informative than that."

"Look, in Argentina, some kids in my school had that one German-speaking uncle who just kinda turned up sometime between 1945 and 1950 on a freshly issued Spanish passport."

Mantell looked at his friend. "I don't like where this is going."

Lodge opened his briefcase and held up a picture of a man in a US Army Colonel's uniform. "Colonel Kevin Horst, Joint Staff, one of the guys who puts together the deployment orders. Daddy arrived in the US in 1948, originally one Karl Horst of Vreden in North Rhine -Westphalia, a loud shout away from Holland, paybook from the Wehrmacht, assigned to Fremde Heere Ost after being wounded on the Eastern Front, we picked him up as part of Operation Paperclip, settled in the Hudson Valley. Alles in Ordnung."

Mantell said, "Like you said, alles in ordnung."

"Possibly. Except for this. I thought the guy looked familiar."

Lodge pulled out a book titled, Cold Case Malmedy: Justice Delayed by one Christina Varing. He flipped to the photo plates, and turned the pages until he found what he was looking for, then handed the book to Mantell.

"Top right picture."

It was a picture of the senior staff of Kampfgruppe Peiper holding what passed for a planning meeting in the snow. Mantell's eyes jumped to the second man from the right edge of the picture.

"Guy could be Kevin's twin brother."

"Or father. Meet Georg Vanderbeek. Born in Isselberg, Germany--right up on the Dutch frontier again, and he's ethnically Dutch--served with Kampfgruppe Peiper. Statements from Kampfgruppe Peiper personnel indicated that he was a very bloody-minded and enthusiastic participant in the Malmedy Massacre. Funny thing is, he just kind of disappeared from the rolls of the 1st SS Panzer Division and 6th SS Panzer Army on January 3rd, 1945. Varing had the muster reports. One day he's there, the next day he isn't. And there's no entry saying that Sturmbannfuerhrer Vanderbeek was transferred, or went UA, or went to hospital. By that point, being caught away from your unit was an automatic death sentence. They would have marked 'Sturmbannfuerhrer Vanderbeek dropped from rolls per transfer order such-and-such."

Kathy said, "But this guy did."

Josh Mantell remembered something his father had told him. "Is it just me, or do I smell sheep dip?"

Kathy and Adam exchanged a look.

Kathy finally said, "I smell something, it smells like decay, and I believe the wind is blowing from the state of Denmark."

Mantell said, "Thin."

Barzanian said, "Thinner than the toilet paper at DIA HQ."

Lodge nodded. "Thinner than a Ukrainian peasant in 1933."

Barzanian made a face. "Too soon."

"Funny thing is, almost everyone we're looking at is from the Hudson Valley. And you need to remember that the German-American Bund was very active--and the only documented case of industrial sabotage during World War II took place at Brewster Aviation right there. Hell, there's a choral group out that way known as the 'Arion Singers.' Three guesses as to what their name was before December 10th, 1941."

Mantell said, "So you're saying that this isn't neo-Nazis, but paleo-Nazis."

Lodge smiled thinly. "Original Gangsta Nazis, straight outta the Fatherland, waiting for one of the Boys from Brazil to show up."

* * *

After his part in the meeting ended, Mantell went downstairs to have dinner.

There was a grand piano in the lobby. As he was settling his bill, he heard a familiar tune begin.

He turned, and saw Roberta sitting at the piano.

She began singing, softly:

In the still of the night
I can follow the angels
To the vaults of heaven
By the glow of the light
As a million stars are shining
On the rim of the sky

Tear the curtains aside
And my eyes are burning brightly
Through the vaults of heaven
Lost to the world and alone
I’ll be soaring through an endless dream and free

Josh stepped over to the piano, and added his voice:

As the planets collide
I can ride upon the winds
Into the vaults of heaven
Where the spirits reside
I’ll be gliding on the currents
Of the breath of the gods

In the arms of all time
I can hear my heartbeat pounding
In the vaults of heaven
Lost to the world and alone
I’ll be soaring through an endless dream and free

Lost to the world and alone
I’ll be soaring through an endless dream and free

Roberta was still after the song ended, head bowed over the piano.

"Roberta . . . I was an insensitive, arrogant ass. I'm sorry."

She got out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. "No, Josh, you were just trying to meet all of your obligations in life, and I wasn't helping. I was a child in a woman's body. It took going to war for me to grow up. I don't recommend it."

"I had a lot of growing up to do, too." Josh sighed. "We all did."

Roberta sighed. "Josh . . . I still love you. I'll always love you. I just . . . I thought you were dead."

"Hell, even I thought I was dead, till I found out I was just in Oklahoma."

Roberta tried to laugh . . . and began crying again.

After a few minutes, she said, "Helen asked me to marry her."

"You're both extraordinarily lucky to have each other."

They shared a long silence.

"Josh . . . how can you just . . . accept it?"

"Roberta . . . I can accept it because I love you, because I'll always love you, and I want you to be happy."

They shared another long silence.

Finally, Roberta asked, "Did you ever . . . find anyone else?"

"Maybe."

Roberta looked at him. "C'mon, Josh, either you did or you didn't."

"I have to survive the war first."

Roberta put a hand on his shoulder. "Josh . . . sometimes, you need to make a leap of faith."

"All right. Yes, I think I found someone, and God willing, we'll get married after the war."

"Good for you." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Invite me to the wedding. And don't be a stranger."

* * *

Roberta entered the room she shared with Helen to find her wife lying on the bed wearing only a come-hither expression.

Roberta smiled and began doing a striptease.

Helen clapped. "Ooh-la-la, take it all off, girl!"

* * *

Afterwards, Helen snuggled against Roberta and said, "Tell me you talked to Josh."

"I talked to Josh. We cleared the air. He wishes us well. And he may have found someone to marry--assuming he survives the war."

Helen sighed. "That's good."

* * *

Kathy looked over the data and the blueprints. "All right, we've located exactly where the repeater is. That's the good news. The bad news is, all we have is the Sun Children Trust as the leaseholder on that office."

Miller nodded. "Ma'am, Sophie and I can get going on this gorup, but I'm going to need official authorization."

"For what?"

Miller considered her words carefully, then said, "For unofficial access to various databases."

"Do it on my authority, I will send record traffic to King of Prussia right now."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Voelker looked at the SITREP from the Joint Task Force commander in San Francisco, declaring San Francisco secured. His people on the staff hadn't been able to prevent or even slow the deployment of almost four divisions' worth of troops, and the uprising had been crushed in less than two weeks.

He looked at the timetable.

"Tell McVeigh and Nichols they're executing tomorrow night. And I want a diversionary device set off in the Italian Market tomorrow morning."

Schmidt saluted. "My honor is loyalty!"

[jemhouston]

Fat lady warming up.

Should I mention my Mother was from the Hudson Valley region. They were there well before 1920.

[Poohbah]

13 April 1988
Girard Estates
Philadelphia, PA

Cathy Gandolfo took her cue from her producer and said, "Good morning, Philadelphia. I'm here in Girard Estates with the Air Force Headquarters Running Club President, Lieutenant Colonel Greg Cosworth. Can you tell us what the day's event is, Colonel?"

Cosworth smiled. "Well, we invited Chief Warrant Officer Mantell to go on a Rocky Run. Basically up to Italian Market, then through Independence Park, and finishing with the Rocky Steps at the Museum of Art, a nice 10K. We're hoping he can give us a solid challenge--"

Cosworth paused, them said, "Well, it looks like he's handicapped himself, I guess he wanted to keep it fair." Cosworth pumped his fist up and down.

"And here he comes," Gandolfo said.

Mantell stepped up next to Cosworth. "Good morning, sir."

Cosworth nodded.

Gandolfo said, "Chief Mantell, Cathy Gandolfo, Channel 6 Morning News. I see you're wearing camouflage trousers and combat boots, while everyone else is in running shoes."

"Well, ma'am--"

"Please, it's Cathy."

"Cathy, in Special Tactics, we train the way we fight. When the enemy is chasing me--and they're probably going to be really angry at me because I just called in an air strike on them--well, it's not like I'm going to be able to put on my Adidas, so I'd better be able to run in boots and utes."

Cosworth laughed, and Gandolfo smiled.

"So, Chief, what are your thoughts about the Rocky Run?"

"Cathy, it's not just a solid run, it's also a trip that's become iconic in American culture. The route passes by major landmarks of American history, and I've always enjoyed studying history. Yes, I'm getting a serious workout in, but I'm also playing tourist, and I'm looking forward to that."

"Colonel Cosworth is hoping you'll give his club a challenge."

Mantell smiled. "We'll see, Cathy."

* * *

Mantell used the first mile to loosen up, then got into serious running mode.

Cosworth glanced over his shoulder and saw Mantell less than ten yards away--a big enough shock--and then realized he was gaining.

A couple minutes later, Mantell passed him.

* * *

Mantell was the first to the top of the Rocky Steps, and was accepting congratulations from the club when a low rumble came from the southeast.

Mantell jerked his head, but couldn't see anything. Far side of downtown.

13 April 1988
DIA Headquarters
King of Prussia, PA

Sophie and Alyssa looked at the computer screen in General Lodge's office.

General Lodge was sitting on the couch.

Miller said, "All right. We're just a title company in Chicago doing some due diligence on the Sun Children Trust, which is why we're wandering around a Swiss bank's mainframe. That's our story."

Sophie said, "Thin."

Lodge snorted. "Anorexic."

Sophie looked in one of the windows she had open. "Looks like a VAX VMS machine. Let's try toolkit 2."

"Toolkit 2" was a set of programs designed to attack known vulnerabilities in VAX systems; Sophie had built a few of the programs.

After about three hours of trying various entry and privilege escalation techniques, they'd finally gotten into the main files.

Sophie started printing documents.

"All right, Sun Children Trust is the American side of an entity known as Sonnenkinder Gemeinschaft."

Lodge stood up. "Just a minute."

He went to the safe and opened it, then grabbed the crypto key for the secure phone.

He dialed a line that Sophie recognized as going to the United Kingdom.

After a few brief conversations with gatekeepers, he put the call on speaker and said, "Alfred, I hate to bother you at this hour--"

"Your call is a welcome interlude, Sam. What do you have?"

"Way back when we both had more hair and the music was better, you told me about something called Sonnenkinder, and there's an outfit in Basel known as Sonnenkinder Gemeinschaft. They have an American affiliate, the Sun Children Trust."

"Sam, Her Majesty's Government, and His Majesty's Government before that, spent a fair amount of time and effort looking into those rumors and finding nary a thing. It would be most embarrassing to us if you've found something substantial."

"Similarity of name, and someone is trying to wrongfoot us. And there was a terrorist bombing this morning, made a mess of the Italian Market, that my gut says is connected. All of the suspected black hats are from the Hudson Valley with German surnames. Their families showed up in the late 1940s and early 1950s. One of my operators managed to find a link to Kampfgruppe Peiper, of all things. Could you refresh my memory?"

"It would fit." Alfred sighed. "The story goes like this: during the endgame of the war, Kaltenbrunner knew there was no way Germany was going to win. So he started having some hardcore people pulled out of the SS, here and there. These men were sheep-dipped into the Wehrmacht, given crash courses in various specialties, and sent here and there with some adverse entries in their paybooks, the sort of thing that would get favorable notice from the Allies--subversive remarks, that sort of thing. The legend says that favorite places to park them were in various headquarters, pushing paper."

Lodge said, "The Allies then roll in, and the clapped-out Wehrmacht guys get sent home, or join Paperclip if they had the right credentials, and these guys eventually leave Germany?"

"Exactly. Frequently, the story goes, they would disappear with a very pretty member of the League of German Maidens, and they'd be off to America, to start a family with their young brides."

"Looks like we found a few. But to what end did they come?"

"Well, the rumor was that Kaltenbrunner called this op 'V-4,' where the first three were the buzz bomb, Dornberger's rocket, and the cannon they were aiming at London. Simple revenge."

"And doing something spectacular here in Philly in the midst of an existential war would make for some spectacular vengeance."

Alfred sighed. "It's like I learned in Burma: some men just want to watch the world burn."

"How'd you handle that bandit, anyway?"

"We burned the forest down."

"I see."

Lodge hung up and said, "Back to the Doubletree, now. I want 100% coverage on Mantell. Don't let him see you, do everything through the rest of Team MONTANA. He thinks it's going down very soon, and I suspect he's right."

* * *

13 April 1988
Doubletree Hotel
Philadelphia, PA

Kate Jensen arrived via taxi, and Mantell was waiting in Mess Dress.

He smiled at her. "We're taking a limo over to the armory with the other guests of honor, when they get downstairs."

Suddenly, an Army green sedan with berries and cherries running pulled up, and two MPs got out. They headed into the lobby, their body language radiating tension. One name tag read BAUER, the other read ENZWEILER.

"Chief Warrant Officer Mantell?"

"Yes."

"Sir, we have orders from the Military District of Philadelphia to take you and one Ms. Kate Jensen into custody."

Just then, Helen and Roberta entered the lobby. Josh stared at Roberta.

Roberta took the hint and yanked Helen back to the elevator area.

"May I ask why?"

"Ms. Jensen is being arrested on suspicion of lurking in the vicinity of defense facilities for the purpose of espionage. You're wanted for questioning."

Kate said, "That's ridiculous."

Josh kept his posture relaxed and non-threatening. "I see."

* * *

The elevator dinged, and Roberta blinked in surprise as she saw Sophie Henrix in BDUs.

"GET IN!" Sophie whispered.

Roberta and Helen got into the elevator, and Sophie hit the button for the 7th floor.

* * *

The MPs led Mantell and Jensen to the car, and put them in.

They got in the front and drove off without making a radio call.

Mantell played dumb. OK, it's happening tonight.

He remembered the Litany Against Fear from Dune.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

* * *

In Room 703, Roberta saw Kathy Barzanian talking on the phone. "Sir, our team reports no VOX or data from the police car, it's heading northeast, they're tailing discreetly, they were able to put a bumper beeper on it. This wasn't a legitimate arrest. I believe the enemy is in motion."

Pause.

"Sir, we might need more firepower than that."

Roberta noticed Helen perking up.

"If we assume that Sun Child Trust is our target, they own a place up on the Delaware, the Glen Foerd Estate."

Pause.

"Sir, it's pretty big. We will need more troops--"

"Perhaps I can be of assistance, Major."

Kathy looked at Helen. "You got an idea, speak up."

* * *

Back in their hotel room, Helen began stripping out of her mess dress--and noticed Roberta doing the same.

"Roberta--"

"He's my friend, too, and you might need some combat engineer support." Roberta yanked her duffel open and dumped out a set of BDUs and boots. "Let's hustle!"

* * *

Voelker looked over the plan. It was sound.

"Hagmann, keep the prisoner calm. Give him a box lunch, and anything within reason."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

The sergeant's nametape read HAGMANN. "Sorry it's not prime rib and baked potato with all the trimmings, sir."

It was a box lunch with a hardboiled egg, a ham sandwich, an orange, and a box of fruit juice.

"Sergeant, could you be so kind as to get me some more mayonnaise, please?"

Hagmann nodded. "Of course, sir."

[Johnnie Lyle]

OOC: You’re going to steal my mayonnaise story.

[jemhouston]

The enemy has chosen poorly

[Wolfman]

The enemy has chosen poorly

Very poorly…

[Craiglxviii]

OOC: You’re going to steal my mayonnaise story.

All’s fair in love and war

[Poohbah]

13 April 1988
FIrst Troop
Philadelphia City Cavalry

Captain Adrian Shelmire looked at the young woman standing before him and made a decision. "Lieutenant Zangas, I want you to take charge of first tank platoon. We're down an officer--he got sent to join up with the 28th Infantry Division as a replacement in December, and Sergeant d'Alessandro is not as experienced as he should be as a platoon sergeant. You've got combat experience, you can steady the lads."

"Yes, sir."

"I noticed your-ah--wife--is turned out as well."

"She's a combat engineer, and she was an architecture major. If we need to breach, I'd recommend relying on her judgement."

Shelmire nodded. "Very well. She rides in the command track."

Fifteen minutes later, the bugler sounded "Boots and Saddles" and the troop mounted their vehicles.

* * *

13 April 1988
Glen Foerd Estate
Philadelphia, PA

Ekaterina Sidorova/Kate Jensen blinked in surprise as "Mark" walked into the room.

Her jaw dropped open when he began speaking Russian. "Ekaterina, you are helping the motherland achieve a great victory."

"What the hell? This is America, speak English."

"I see you're insisting on maintaining cover. It's not necessary any more." Mark smiled. "You never told me how in the hell you survived Day One."

Her stomach clenched.

"I was late for work."

"And you're going to be late again. Ironic."

"What are you babbling about?"

"My friends are about to decapitate the American government. They're going to place a truck bomb right by the Ritz-Carlton, right when the President is holding an evening meeting with the Vice President. Once it goes, I send a signal to Moscow, and our own people will move. Before the Americans can recover, we will perform a limited attack on key lines of communication, and paralyze the American Army. The new President will then be given an ultimatum."

She looked at Mark with a dull sense of horror. Borzhe moi, this lunatic is working with actual Nazis. Not the silly Americans who play at being Nazis, these are the genuine article, descendants of those who committed atrocities against us.

She'd stood guard before war memorials as a member of the Young Pioneers, honoring her father's generation and their fight against . . . genocide.

And he's working with them?

* * *

Mantell squeezed the mayonnaise onto his wrists and went to work.

It hurt like hell, but he got one wrist free in about fifteen minutes, and the other took another five. He flexed his arms a few times until he heard footsteps in the hallway, then tucked them behind his back.

The door opened, and two men came into the room. One grabbed his arm and hauled him up.

His eyes widened. "He's loo--"

Mantell crushed his trachea with one blow, then grabbed the other man and yanked him off-balance. He wrapped his left arm around the man's neck and grabbed his head with his right, then heaved. The man's head jerked to an unnatural angle, and he went limp.

Mantell quickly grabbed weapons and extra ammo, then looked out into the hallway. Seeing no one, he pulled the door closed behind him and made his way down the hall, checking each room as he went past.

* * *

"You seem a tad shocked, Ekaterina. The enemy of my enemy--"

"Is my enemy's enemy, nothing more. Cutting a deal with fascists isn't just evil, it's stupid. Remember what they did to us LAST time?"

"Ekaterina, I'm afraid you're becoming a liability and unable to see reason." He aimed his pistol at her.

Ekaterina saw Mantell step into the room and move behind Mark.

"Really, dear, you expect me to fall for that old tri--"

The butt of Mantell's MP5SD3 smashed into the back of Mark's skull, and he collapsed to the floor.

Ekaterina gasped with relief.

"Who is this guy?"

"My handler."

"Ah. Lucky dude."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because dead men tell no tales, but prisoners can be made downright talkative."

Mantell put his foot on the side of Mark's left leg, just above the kneecap, and yanked with both hands on the ankle. There was a sickening crunch as the knee came apart. He repeated the procedure on the right, then did the same with the arms, using leverage at the elbows.

"Was that strictly necessary?"

"I don't want him wandering off. All right, we make like shepherds and get the flock out of here."

They stepped back out into the hallway, and two more men came out of the stairway.

Mantell fired, taking one down and missing the other, who ducked back into the stairs and began shooting blindly with his M9.

"Come on, Kate!" Mantell dashed forward and pied the corner, catching the shooter unawares. Two shots to the head and he went down.

An alarm was sounding, and Mantell looked back to verify Kate was still there. She was moving as best she could in heels and an evening formal.

"Kick those shoes off."

Mantell headed down the stairs, realizing how incongruous he looked in Mess Dress and carrying a submachinegun.

Mantell tucked the butt of the MP5 into his shoulder and obtained a stock weld.

Two seconds later, someone looked around the corner. Mantell gave him a bullet through the eye for his trouble.

* * *

Mueller swore as he heard a suppressed shot from the stairwell. He ran back down the hallway and found Hagmann.

"He's loose! Didn't you cuff him after he ate?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Damn it! Get McVeigh and Nichols on the road now, then torch the carriage house and get in my staff car! I'm cutting the phone lines!"

"What about the rest of the men?"

"They need to try to stop Mantell, or at least hold him off long enough for us to get away! We can still win if he can't warn them or chase us!"

Hagmann nodded, and started yelling orders.

He ran to the carriage house. The panel van was ready to go.

"McVeigh! Start the truck! Get moving! I'll make sure they can't come after you. Just be cool with the papers, and you're in. Got it?"

"Yes, Sergeant! C'mon, Terry!"

McVeigh and Nichols climbed into the truck and started it. Hagmann started pouring gasoline over the cars, and smashed out the carriage house windows.

McVeigh drove the truck out of the carriage house and into the night.

Hagmann then saw a bottle of welding oxygen and smiled. He put it down sideways onto the floor and cracked the valve open. Oxygen began hissing out.

Hagmann then finished pouring gasoline all over the carriage house, ran back to the door, lit a match, and tossed it next to the oxygen bottle.

* * *

Mueller got back to his feet from where the explosion had thrown him, and stared at what was left of the carriage house.

Beats me what just happened.

He finished tearing out the phone line and cut out a yard or so, then threw it into the night.

Mueller then ran to the staff car and drove off.

* * *

Mantell swore as he tried the phone and couldn't get a dial tone.

Kate asked, "Something wrong?"

"They blew up the garage, and cut the phone line. We've no transport, and no way to warn anyone what's about to happen."

"Great. The houses here are all summer occupancy--in peacetime. No one's around here."

"All right."

Mantell looked around. "Where would they keep the linens?"

He poked around the first floor and found the linen closet, and grabbed everything he could.

"What are you doing?"

"Philly PD still flies choppers. So does the Coast Guard, and we're right on the Delaware."

He went out the front door, dumped his bundle on the ground, and began laying out bedsheets in an elongated letter K.

He heard a helicopter in the darkness.

* * *

"First Horse, this is Able Two-Four, I've got something, but I'm not sure what."

Shelmire keyed the radio. "Able Two-Four, go."

"It looks like someone's laying out sheets in a letter K shape."

Shelmire got onto Zangas' frequency. "One-One, this is Six, you know anything about a K ground marking?"

"It's a distress marking, aircrew down."

"One-One, hop to Tac 3 and liaison with Able Two-Four."

A few seconds later, he was on Tac 3.

"Able Two-Four, this is One-One, I'm in the lead Abrams. Where is the K?"

"About half a mile ahead on your right, I'll talk you in."

"Copy!"

* * *

"OK, you should see a gate."

"Got it, it's closed. Not for long, though."

* * *

Mantell smiled as an M1 Abrams bashed through the gate like it was tissue paper.

His smile broadened as he saw Helen. She climbed down, and he gave her a quick report. A medic and two scouts sprinted from an M3 Cavalry Fighting Vehicle and headed into the house to treat "Mark."

"Did you see an OD green step van go past you? He's headed to the Ritz Carlton, can't be more than ten minutes along."

"Negative, but he probably took I-95, we couldn't take the tanks over the bridges."

"Can't?"

"I suppose we could if it was an emergency--"

"They're going to blow up the hotel and the President."

"That's an emergency."

Two minutes later, the column was headed to I-95.

* * *

Mantell was hanging onto the exterior of Helen's tank as they raced back to Downtown Philly.

"Josh, we got another problem. EOD's out of pocket."

"What the hell for?"

"Someone left a suspicious van in a residential area. Ordinarily, it wouldn't be a problem, but chemical papers are turning color--"

"It's a diversion!"

"Exactly. But then someone jackknifed a truck on each of the bridges back over the Schuylkill."

"Helen . . . they probably have a force ready to shoot it out if there's an evac order, or a render safe."

"Yup. You got a plan, hotshot?"

Mantell sighed. "I'm working on it."

[Johnnie Lyle]

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why you never give a prisoner mayonnaise on their sandwich.

At least the PIO will have a lot more fun with this one.

OOC: True story.

[jemhouston]

In an unprecedented even, three F12 tornadoes are approaching the Philly Area. Please seek shelter ASAP. If you're in the path of the storm, make peace with your deity for their collection agents are coming for you.

Offshore is Super Storm King of Prussia.

[Poohbah]

13 April 1988
Ritz-Carlton Hotel
Philadelphia, PA

Helen D'Agustino called, "HARDEN UP ON TIMBERWOLF!"

Agents began moving to their designated positions.

She looked at the walls with a skeptical eye. The problem with using the Ritz-Carlton was that they couldn't shut down the entire center of Philly for security reasons, so their perimeter was far too compressed. 1600 might have survived a VBIED, because the closest they could get the vehicle was about a hundred yards away, and the building had been discreetly hardened over the years. Here, they'd probably parked the damn thing less than thirty feet away. And they had no idea what the bomber (or bombers) looked like.

Whoever thought that I'd be literally waiting for the cavalry to arrive?

* * *

McVeigh said, "We're here, in position! Let's arm the bomb and get clear!"

McVeigh and Nichols went to work, inserting blasting caps into the charges at designated points on the three big cylinders of C-4. They then connected det cord with color-coded tags to each cap to make sure that the charges went off as sequenced.

"All right, let's get out of here."

They stepped out of the truck--just as an M1 Abrams drifted around the corner and came to a stop. A woman was in the commander's hatch, manning the .50 cal--

Oh, hell. Zangas.

"Why, hello, Specialist McVeigh. Please don't give me a reason to start shooting, I'm in a foul enough mood as it is."

A man in, of all things, an Air Force dress uniform with a tan beret jumped off of the tank and ran to the driver-side door.

He went inside, then came out. "It's armed!" He ran back to one of the Bradleys that had come around the corner.

Zangas said into her headset, "Device is armed."

A woman came running from the command track with a backpack slung over her shoulder.

Four cavalry scouts followed, and they grabbed McVeigh and Nichols.

* * *

Mantell ran back to the panel truck carrying an M240 machine gun on a sling, and two extra boxes of ammunition.

He opened the rear doors and got a dirty look from Roberta, even as she cut another segment of det cord with her non-sparking knife.

"I don't need rescuing."

"No, but I need to keep you alive long enough to finish. We're weak on dismount--"

"Got it--"

Gunfire sounded, and bullets ricocheted in the street.

Mantell leaned out and opened fire from the shoulder, using short, precise bursts.

"Got hostile infantry in the street to the west."

Mantell glanced back. Roberta was carefully cutting det cord, disabling the charges as fast as she could.

He turned back to the front and fired another burst, and three men lay dead in the street.

"Josh . . . if I die tonight . . . "

"This ain't the Kobayashi Maru."

"Might happen. If I die . . . it's a privilege to die next to the one man I love, to protect the woman I love."

Mantell fired a burst. "I get it. Same here."

"Fuck, why'd they have so many detonation points?"

Mantell slid to the left, staying low.

"Probably EFPs. Aimed at the main pillars."

Mantell slipped out of the truck--and fired a long burst.

"Gotcha!"

He leaped back into the truck.

Suddenly, three Light Armored Vehicles turned onto the street.

"Oh, hell!"

The lead LAV's Bushmaster started firing.

* * *

The M3 Cavalry Fighting Vehicle to Helen's left front began smoking, and the crew bailed out.

Zangas called, "LOADER, LOAD SABOT!"

"SAY AGAIN LOAD SABOT!"

"LOAD SABOT, DAMN IT!"

In seconds, the breach slammed shut. "SILVER BULLET UP!"

"GUNNER, INDEX FOR SABOT, TARGET IS LAV-25! DRIVER, SLIDE US TO THE RIGHT!"

"INDEXED FOR SABOT, IDENTIFIED!"

The Abrams lurched forward, then turned.

Helen eyeballed the gun's lay.

Close enough.

"FIRE!"

"ON THE WAY!"

* * *

Mantell felt more than heard the concussion of a 105mm tank gun firing.

By the time he got his wits back, the three LAVs were burning.

How many shots? How long was I stunned?

Suddenly, gunfire came from the right flank.

* * *

Helen swiveled the Ma Deuce and sprayed down the windows on the Philadelphia City Hall.

And then the M3 behind her opened up with the Bushmaster, blowing chunks out of the walls.

That'll teach you Nazi assholes!

Mantell kept firing down the street, occasionally leaning out to spray City Hall.

"And that's it!"

Roberta tossed the firing block with its spider's web of severed det cord into the driver's footwell. Mantell grabbed her, laid down a long burst of fire, and leapt out of the van--

* * *

The step van jolted as if kicked, and the front windows and windshield blew out. Smoke came from the driver's side.

Helen's heart leaped into her throat.

Vehicles were burning on the street.

The firefight had ended as abruptly as it began. The only sound was the crackle of flames, and the moaning of the few injured-and-alive participants.

The minutes stretched out. The loader stuck his head out of his hatch. He stared at the burning LAVs.

"We only fired one round, ma'am."

"Sabot punched through all three in one go." She paused, then asked, "Status?"

"We're at battle carry sabot, ma'am."

"Understood. Once we get released, put the round back into stowage. Until then . . . we stay alert."

"Yes, ma'am."

Good kid. A little raw and green, just like I was at Casper.

Her thoughts turned to her wife.

Damn it, Roberta, why did you have to be so brave?

Why did you follow her so readily, Josh? Wasn't one charge into Hell enough?

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she willed them to stop. Not now. Grieve those you love when it's appropriate. Not now.

The dismounts were moving forward.

Suddenly, the loader pointed into the thickening smoke.

"Ma'am? Over there. Looks like a man and a woman."

Helen forced down the hope and looked.

Oh my God

"Yeah, you're damn right it is!"

* * *

Chief Warrant Officer Joshua Mantell, USAF, and First Lieutenant Roberta Kreider, California Army National Guard, Army of the United States, marched forward, in step, standing erect, ignoring the aches and bruises they'd both gotten when they'd landed on the sidewalk.

* * *

The concierge at the Ritz Carlton may have been wearing a slightly threadbare suit, but he wore it immaculately. His tie was perfectly knotted, and he stood erect behind the desk.

"Welcome to the Ritz-Carlton. How may I be of service?"

Mantell asked, "How good's your laundry?"

The concierge' sighed softly. "I'm sorry to say that no one's is that good."

Mantell said, "No, I thought not."

"May I suggest a drink, sir? Bourbon, perhaps?"

"That sounds perfect."

* * *

President Bush listened to the after-action report and said, "Who disarmed the bomb?"

General Lodge said, "Lieutenant Roberta Kreider, sir. She's the--spouse--of Lieutenant Helen Zangas."

Bush blinked, then said, "Well, as General LeMay would put it, times change, and we have to change with them."

"And Warrant Officer Mantell was covering her. And Lieutenant Zangas." Lodge sighed. "They all knew each other. Sir, now you know why I rely on personal connections so much. America or the Stars and Stripes? That's too . . . abstract . . . to die for, except maybe in retrospect, when you're trying to justify what you did to the guy in the mirror. But in the moment, sir? You live and die for the man or woman next to you, for your friends, for family. You do the impossible for someone you know. Look at 63rd Division at Phase Line PATRIOT, sir. Yes, that SOB short-circuited procedures and yes, I wanted to be on his firing squad--Patrick Henry was my nephew's high school, and Roberta and Josh were my nephew's friends--but when the chips were down, when their sister brigade broke and ran, those kids held the enemy--not for America, but for each other."

Bush reflected on his own experiences, and nodded. "Of course, General. He looked to Admiral Crowe. "Has the after-action been reviewed?"

"Yes, sir. Secretary Carlucci has signed off on it, and the citation is being fine-tuned. We should have it in time for next week." Crowe smiled. "It helps when the citation was written by the guy who'll be awarding it, even if he didn't know who he was going to be awarding it to."

[Matt Wiser]

Good one. Now, to tie up loose ends, and some folks need rolling up. While the bombers get tried for Treason.