John Schettler: Grand Alliance

O’Connor had been steaming like dry ice where he waited with one of the command vehicles. The men posted with him were respectful, and followed full military protocols as per Brigadier Kinlan’s instructions. He did not want the man any more ruffled than he already was, and knew one question would quickly become three then five, then seven. So he assigned a staff adjutant to see to the General’s needs, serving tea and other refreshment, which O’Connor found most welcome. The Earl Grey went a long way towards soothing his temper, and he felt like a civilized man again for the first time in what seemed like many long weeks.

Then the weariness of the hour, the long desert trek and fatigue overcame him, and he drifted off to some much needed sleep on a cot set beside a large tracked vehicle. Some hours later he awoke, finding a Sergeant Major in attendance and ready with boiled eggs, muffins and jam, and more tea. It was very near dawn, or so he came to feel, his instincts well honed after months in the desert. He was grateful for the warm woolen blanket he found draped over him, as the mornings were quite cold before the sun was up to heat the day.

He seemed a bit groggy for a time, yet soon remembered where he was, blinking, bleary eyed. In spite of that, his mind was taking in everything he saw around him, with a mixed feeling of suspicion and wonderment. He had never seen a vehicle like this one behind him, let alone the Scimitar tanks he had encountered earlier. Kinlan had discretely ordered the two HQ Challengers to be moved during the night so, when O’Connor got up to stretch his legs, they were no longer there to be seen.

Now he was in a circle of odd looking new vehicles, two FV432s, and a pair of Sultan Armored Command Vehicles, which looked much like oversized light Mark VI tankettes. One had a large vertically displayed map next to a retractable side desk, where three men sat on a bench making notations on the map board, their heads and ears covered with headsets that were obviously for local area radio communications. There was other odd looking equipment about, which was actually a battery of the 16th Regiment, Royal Artillery, a Rapier air defense system protecting the headquarters.

“See here,” he said to the Sergeant Major standing by for security. “You chaps seem to have things well wired here. Has there been any word from Alexandria?”

“I haven’t been informed of anything sir, but I would be happy to check with the comm-shack.” Sergeant Dilling had been told to see to the General’s comfort, and by all means to keep him safely where he was, and out of trouble. He had no idea who this visitor was, or why he would be decked out in such an archaic uniform, but he did his best nonetheless-for the third time-returning a few minutes later to report that they had no recent communications of any note.

At this O’Connor exhaled, frustrated and eager to be up and about his business again. He needed to get to Alexandria, but this unit was quite a mystery to him.

“Just who do you say you are out here, Sergeant?”

“Sir?”

“What unit are you, man? Are you out from Siwa?”

“No sir,” said Dilling politely, answering the second question while ignoring the first. He had been told to say as little as possible about the business of the brigade, but he could see that this man was getting up a good head of steam and seemed restless to be up and about, which would be his problem. Thankfully he was reinforced by a Major from Brigadier Kinlan’s staff and was able to recede, off the hook for the moment.

“Ah, there you are General,” said Major Isaac. “I have been asked to inquire on your wellbeing, sir. I trust you managed to get a few hours sleep.”

“Quite so,” said O’Connor, “and a better breakfast than I’ve had for a good long while.”

“Splendid. Well, sir, if you would be so good as to accompany me, we’ve arranged for a local area reconnaissance. Brigadier Kinlan would be very pleased if you would come along.”

That sounded better. Reconnaissance was an art O’Connor strongly believed in, but he wondered what this was about, and asked as much.

“Well sir,” said Major Isaac, “that storm could have masked a host of unpleasantries out here, and it’s standard procedure to have a good look around before we move the column out. General Kinlan was most eager to have you along. Then we can see about getting you to Alexandria. Right this way, sir.”

At last, thought O’Connor. Things were starting to feel just a bit more normal now. For a moment there he had the distinct feeling that he was being treated like an outsider here, an interloper, and even came to feel he was being considered a prisoner! The questions that had succumbed to the weariness of the night were all with him again now. Who were these men? Why were they dressed so strangely, and by god, where did they get all these odd new vehicles? He had seen two tanks the other night, but they were gone now, and for a moment he doubted what he had seen. It must have been the bloody sand storm, a trick of light and shadow in the wind.

Yet what he saw next did little to still his mind. He was politely ushered aboard a vehicle, where two curious looking soldiers sat with unusual looking rifles, and the hatch was closed, obscuring everything from view. Yet O’Connor had a good pair of ears, and he knew the sounds of a military unit waking up in the desert, shaking off the cold, warming up and getting ready to move soon.

“You’ve obviously just come off the boat,” he said to the Major. “Yet I can’t imagine why, or even how you managed to get the ten or twenty odd vehicles you have here this far south, and it sounds like there’s a good deal more here. Just what are you up to out here, Major? A reinforcement sent to Fergusson at Siwa?”

Like Dillings, the Major had been told to divulge as little as possible and simply get the General into a secure vehicle, with no windows, and get him out to the Russian helicopter. So he fell back on the one thing that he knew might allow him a brief holding action here, and punted.

“Well sir, I haven’t been fully briefed on the situation. Brigadier Kinlan has simply asked me to convey his invitation, and stated he preferred to brief you in person.”

“Good enough, Major.” That made sense to O’Connor, and so he let the matter go, but one question after another was waking up in his head again and, when the vehicle finally stopped and he stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness, he got yet another surprise to be standing in the shadow of a massive mechanical beast, a huge metal locust, with long bladed wings.

Fedorov was there to greet him, along with Brigadier Kinlan, who saluted. The two men had conferred over how they would handle the matter with O’Connor. The only question now was whether they could pull it off.

“You can’t just come out with this cockamamie tale about time travel,” said Kinlan. “Yes, you’ve managed to drag my horse’s ass to the water, but it’s rather brackish and unpalatable. I at least had some understanding of what you tried to convey. I know what nuclear weapons are, and the strange effects they give rise to, but this man hasn’t even heard of something like radiation, let alone EMP or this fracturing of time you’re arguing. He has no framework whatsoever to understand any of this.”

There it was again, thought Popski. What in bloody hell was EMP? What was this talk of nuclear weapons? The two seemed right chummy on the subject, but I’ve no idea what they’re talking about.

“Tell him in the short run we’ll have to take things easy,” said Fedorov. It was a real dilemma, and he had to think what to do here. They could just spirit O’Connor away to Alexandria and get him out of the picture. That would be the safest bet, but it would only postpone the inevitable. One day he would have to see what was down there, massed on the desert floor in the fighting steel and Dorchester Chobham armor of the 7th Brigade, and one day he would have to know the truth. But yet he still felt that secrecy was best for the moment. The bear would wake up and get out of his den in due course.