Chapter 18

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Washington D.C, United States of America

February 21st, 1964

9:00 AM

"Rob, this isn't a retreat."

"It sure as hell feels like one, mister president, I don't plan on lying about it." The secretary of defense said in a sort of silent fury that characterized so many military men who disagreed with their superiors.

"And we appreciate you for it, but is now really the time?" the vice president added.

"I've said my piece. That is all."

"Good… that's good… so let's begin! We can leave the election stuff for later, the main deal right now, gentlemen, is that thing in Dallas!"

"It's not going away..." the vice president said.

"And destroying it isn't an option…" the secretary of state added.

"Mayor and governor both said they were on board with our decisions. If we want, we could still try bombing it.”

"Didn't that animal girl say it doesn’t work like that? What if destroying it here means it will open elsewhere? What if it does? Do we just let the Russians have a go at it should it show up in the middle of Siberia? What if it appears in some NVA-controlled part of-?"

"Rob, we aren't going to destroy it… not with that risk of it opening elsewhere. And Bobby, let's not bring up Nam right now, alright… I don't like giving the communists the possibility of having the country, but you read the same reports I did. If we want to contain communism then we should focus on making sure it doesn't get out of Indo-China. After that coup, waging a larger war in Vietnam would only work against us."

The Secretary of Defense simply nodded once more.

"So… Bobby, how are things on your end?"

The Attorney General closed the portfolio he was reading and simply said "Since the midterms gave us several supporters in Congress, across party lines even, we have no reason to doubt continuous support, especially after the breakdown in communications. Since we’ve also been focusing on easing relations with the reds after last year, not so much giving up ground on the current fight against communism…" he emphasized, "...just trying not to escalate, I say we’re in a good position to start taking military action against this so-called Empire of Iberia."

The president nodded.

"…that said, there’s still a possibility that invading the land beyond this portal may prove unpopular, especially given the scale we’re considering. It's been almost three months, and we've been too busy with the fallout to keep the public too enthusiastic. Sure, this Iberian Empire has failed to communicate properly and is technically in a state of war with the United States… We've been patient, we've tried talking, but no attempt at communication has been made on their part, and… well… knowing their end of the portal is now fortified and barricaded doesn’t bode well for peace talks anytime soon."

The president looked at his cabinet members.

"Britain and France were at war with Germany for many months before actual fighting started in World War Two… I say we've waited long enough. They appeared on our doorstep, killed our people, tried to enslave some of them… by God, if not for that bystander saving them, we would have had to send in an invasion force immediately to rescue our people! It would be a disorganized mess!"

"Speaking of…"

All eyes turned to the Secretary of State.

The man laid back on his seat before reading from the paper.

"Our allies back us… for the most part. Vested interest in the land beyond this portal aside, the British and French don't have the money for another war. They are willing to support our decisions going forward, however. Australia and South Korea on the other hand have been very open about sending troops to assist us anyway they can. Here and in Vietnam."

"South Korea?" The Attorney General asked.

"Oh, they wish to help us in protecting capitalist interest in South Vietnam… they certainly have their interests as well, and with us already pulling some troops out of there… it’s possible they’re a good hedge in stabilizing things over there."

"Huh… they could help strengthen our forces that remain in Vietnam. Peacekeepers, maybe. And we know what the Aussies can do."

The president smiled slightly.

"So, Congress backs us, our allies are backing us, our enemies are appeased for the moment but not victorious… all that is left is the invasion plan itself. Rob?"

"Well, after shutting down parts of Dallas…"

"Voters may not be too happy about that."

"...we have several battalions of M48 Patton tanks, Army and Marines, ready as of today, and several of our boys have been learning the language and trained to act as translators aside from the ones we're training. Our strange ally has helped us draw up a map which…"

“Marines? Why not just the Army?” the Vice President asked.

“A force of readiness. Same for the Navy and Air Force assets that will follow through.”

The president said “It’s all hands on deck here.

“Now...”

An assistant of the secretary of defense placed a small map on the table.

The president and his cabinet stared at it.

"The portal opens up on a field surrounded by a vast mountain range… if our enemy is smart, they would have this whole area heavily fortified and defended. Booby-trapped. They were smart about where they opened this thing because if it were a conventional medieval army, moving through those mountains would be a mess. The portal itself is a chokepoint despite its width, no getting around that, so all we can do is send in armored battalions and break their lines immediately… then flood in men and materiel in order to quickly establish a base of operations."

"Aerial supremacy has to be established quick, too. Those dragons can't spit fire but they still killed our people without a second thought." The president muttered.

"We have many options for anti-air defenses. We can attach Brownings to the M113s, and our M42s are fairly armored. Our boys will likely not even have to step out of their transports until the enemy is dealt with, but if they do, and more dragons show up, there are heavier guns we could already pack up and send in."

"Could they get swarmed?" the president suggested.

"Given NATO doctrine? Unlikely, but in that case, all they need to do is radio for reinforcements and stay buttoned up. Swords or not, you can't just claw your way into a tank. Even the old Pershing tanks were essentially bunkers on caterpillar tracks."

“Could their so-called magic be an issue?” he asked, the fact he had to bring up the topic of “magic” no longer alien.

“According to Miss Domitia, maybe not. The Empire uses what she calls ‘elemental magicians’, and they’re few and far between given that individuals who can learn it are rare. She warned about potential fire mages which could cause issues, but we won’t know for sure until we see them. The same doctrine remains. Stay buttoned up, wait for reinforcements.”

The president only responded with an affirmative nod.

"Once the main base of operations is established, we will begin pushing outward, blasting our way through the mountains if need be. Our first target should be this city, right here." The secretary pointed to a drawing of a square in the map.

"Vicenzo?" the president asked.

"Allegedly. It’s the center of a county that’s surrounded by farmland. If what Miss Domitia and the prisoners say is accurate, there are plenty of large fields and flat lands. If we can entice the lord or governor in charge to hand some land over, we can build an airfield which will be useful given the distance we intend to travel.” Then, moving the map slightly as if picturing the plan in his head, “We do that, we have the jumping-off point to the main show…"

The capital was symbolized by a larger circle, red ink marking small X-shaped crosses on a few key areas within the large circle.

The president asked "Bombing campaign?"

"Preferably limited. Preferably they surrender once we go through and wipe out what force they have in these hills. Preferably they don't make us kill them all. Preferably they use their mumbo jumbo knowledge of the dark arts to go back in time and never attack us to begin with."

"Preferably…" the president sighed, rubbing the throbbing vein on his forehead.

"It is worth mentioning that the urban combat we saw in Dallas demonstrated that the enemy is formidable. Our boys had to resort to room-to-room fighting at one point. It would be best to avoid that quagmire and just bomb them into submission once we get the air wings through."

"Maybe… or maybe we can find supporters along the way. I’m sure some civilians would be happier helping us end the war than the alternative."

"Certainly, mister president. This plan was drafted on the presumption they are all hostile and out to fight to the death, similar to Hirohito, only more archaic. Preferably, some would side with us, help us win people’s hearts and minds, and end the war.”

“Preferably.”

“Indeed, which is why Special Forces are going to become vital to this main push."

"How are the interpreters working out?" the president asked.

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The Secretary of Defense pursed his lips before simply saying "Our guys are picking up their language pretty well… we have one or two captured soldiers that are speaking English to a… an acceptable degree. That said, we're probably going to have to be doing most of the interpreting. The Special Forces we’re training are picking it up much better."

The president frowned.

"I don't want any dead civilians because one of our boys thought they were threatening him…"

"That's another reason we're sending long-ranged Special Forces out first. Even with this map, we have very little idea of what awaits us in the lands between Vicenzo and the capital… hell, even the details on the land between the portal and Vicenzo aren't very clear… a lot of the men mentioned there are demi-human villages in this area, uh… highways to the north that may be worth taking." he said, waving an arm around the mountainous zone simply labeled "unknown".

“Until we get a U2 in there, SF will be carrying out reconnaissance in force, finding out what they can about the enemy, possible allies, and then we’ll adapt accordingly.”

"If there are any of these... demi-humans, they may be of help, right?"

“According to Miss Domitia, yes. The few prisoners we have do appear to have some disdain for these... hybrids. But this is still impossible to verify, sir. We just won’t know until we meet them.”

The president nodded, appearing almost absentminded before adding “This is why we need all hands on deck. It’s going to be an unprecedented undertaking, so we can't have interservice feuds right now. Marines, Navy, Air Force... their specialists will be needed.”

“It may embolden the Reds, sir. The troops we’re pouring in here is... it’s a lot.”

“Then we adapt accordingly. But right now, we focus on here as needed because like it or not, our overseas enemies haven’t slaughtered Americans, not like this. Not yet at least. And we need to demonstrate that such an attack cannot be tolerated! We will bring those who planned this to justice first and foremost. Then we can begin focusing on exploration and the science behind this other world, but until justice is carried out, this is war.”

No one spoke for a moment.

Finally, the president said "So! How’s our timetable?"

February 22nd, 1964

Georgia, United States of America

7:12 AM

Dennis stared at himself in the mirror before soaking his face with cold water. The dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced now. His hair, well over what regulation deemed acceptable now, was unkempt. He didn’t bother combing or fixing it when he would first need a haircut. He looked paler, but that could have been a trick of the light. He closed the faucet, frowning as it began to leak tiny droplets into the stained porcelain at uneven intervals. He checked underneath and twisted the valve below, the droplets ceasing after a second.

Dennis eyed the faucet for a silent moment, then he glanced at the mirror again.

He looked no better.

Silently, he exited the bathroom and went to change clothes, his footsteps sounded heavier. The house was emptier now, colder. The paint and wallpapers seemed faded, grayer. The floorboards creaked in protest ever louder with every step. The birds singing outside felt unbearable and painfully indifferent.

Dennis simply changed clothes, tying his too-shiny and polished black United States Army-issued boots before buttoning up his still spotless olive greens. He passed a hand through his hair before standing back up and turning to the hall.

He ignored the framed photograph of his father and walked downstairs, grabbing a single framed picture as he did so.

There were no plates left to clean. There were no customers to serve. No mouths to feed. No parents to return to.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, he went into the area where his mother had served so many meals just one month prior. He noted that a small, almost imperceptible layer of dust had materialized on the counter.

He ignored it and stared at the framed photograph of his father before glancing down at the folded American flag resting beneath it. Dennis felt the corners of his mouth briefly twitch, as if he were about to say something, but no sound came.

Instead, he wordlessly walked over to the photo and placed the frame he’d carried from downstairs, adjusting it so it didn’t fall or disturb the folded flag.

He took a step back and stared at the two photographs of his parents. Both young and smiling in the black-and-white photos that didn’t entirely capture who they’d been. His father in his Army uniform, his mother, wearing casual clothes with an apron.

He lowered his gaze then, head hung low as if in shame.

But he said nothing, the smallest hint of a sorrowful smile forming as his eyes widened before shutting tightly, as if he was trying to speak. Instead, he let out a shaky breath, then straightened. The hints of a smile vanished; his eyes half closed.

Dennis Orville did not cry.

He swallowed the knot in his throat, then made an about-face and walked on.

He made sure all the lights were off as he got to the front door, his rucksack having not moved from where he’d dropped it. He picked it up, then grabbed the keys to the front door. He had already double-checked the backdoors and windows, but he gave one more look around.

All clear.

No one there now.

Maybe never again.

He slowly opened the door, its old hinges protesting as he did so, then stepped outside, his eyes took one last glance at the only family picture in the home, his father in his Army uniform, his mother holding him as a baby and waving to the camera… his dumb look as he stared at something away form the camera. He frowned, turning away. Looking at the interior of his home and the hung pictures inside once last time, he closed the door and locked it, knowing it would remain that way.

Locked.

At least… locked until he came back.

If…

Dennis placed the key under the steps to his home when footsteps behind him caught his attention.

"Dennis."

Dennis shut his eyes tightly for a moment, sucking in a breath, before opening them again.

"Mister Jones, can I help you?" he spoke calmly, turning around to face the man.

The old miner furrowed his brow, before saying "She was a good woman, I'm sure she wanted you to be happy, and… and the whole town is here for you. Like always."

Dennis said nothing, nodding slowly.

He knew what was coming and he was too tired to really fight it.

"Look… our boys are heading out, too… looks like… looks like it's... you kids' turn to fight a war… same as us, same as your grandparents… same as always."

Dennis didn’t reply, taking note of the resentful tone in the man's voice, as if only common courtesy kept the real feelings from bubbling up. Annoyingly, common courtesy wasn’t enough to keep him from talking.

"I…uh… I tried to convince them to stay… to just say no. Even if their number came up, we could hide them or figure something out… Don't know what the school’s teaching y’all to make kids so... willing. I don’t suppose you’re planning on asking for more leave? Sit the war out to keep your ma’s legacy alive?"

Dennis knew he didn't have to answer a question so obvious, more concerned with the tone the man was taking with him. The words were almost that of a concerned parent, as if he would put his arm around his shoulder and explain why it’s important to treat people with respect or some other parental life lesson to teach the young ones.

And yet…

In response to the silent glare from the 18-year-old, Jones continued.

"Listen… Dennis… when your uncle signed up at 16 to fight the Nazis he was... he was actually fighting for his country, but this…”

Jones looked away for a moment, then in anger, said “This is just Korea all over again! Son, we are not fighting for our country, we are fighting for the interests of politicians! Do you really think your mother would want you to- to just throw everything she’s done for you, everything, just... throw it all away for that?"

"You actually believe that, Mister Jones?" Dennis breathed, too tired to really argue.

"I only believe it 'cause it's true!"

Dennis stepped off the porch and walked over to the older man who spoke again, now the "concerned parent" look vanished and he seemed to be genuinely, desperately, trying to convince the young man of something.

"Look… This ain't World War 2. You're just… fighting a bunch of people for their land and resources. No different than what they tried to do to us! You’re Agatha’s kid, Stephen’s kid... you’re going to throw it all away for this?"

Dennis had no real answers to give.

Sure, there was a lot he could say. He could justify the invasion as retaliation for the massacre of American civilians in Dallas. He could say they were fighting savages. Point out America did not keep slaves anymore. That this was a war worth fighting. That it was the right thing to do. He could even say the fantastical foe they were about to fight owed them whatever land they wanted.

But what would that change about the argument?

Instead, he spoke slowly, in an uncaring tone, not worried if his thoughts hurt the man or not.

"Mister Jones, I haven't seen any real combat yet. Some of the guys coming from Nam have, sure, random skirmishes last I heard, but we're pulling out of there for the most part. Got a couple of vets in my platoon, my captain fought in Korea. Heard there're still some vets from World War 2 in the Army somewhere… I don't know. Haven't met 'em, but… none of them… talk like you."

Now Mister Jones said nothing, the obviously fake look of confusion managed to rile up some degree of fury from the 18-year-old.

Dennis, after a moment of biting his tongue, simply said, "My pa didn't die so that I could turn tail between my legs when I get told that it's my turn to pick up a gun and go pursue our enemies."

He wanted to say so much more, let the anger out, and point out that they had been attacked without provocation, they had been the ones to lose whole families to teeth and blades not of this earth, they had been the ones wronged, not the other way around! And who the hell was this coward telling him what combat was like when the old man hadn't seen any combat?! What the hell did he know?! What did he have to gain from telling him to stay?!

Dennis didn't say any of that, simply pushing the anger down with all his grief as best he could.

Not good enough.

Perhaps noting the anger in his eyes, Jones softly said "Your pa died so that you wouldn't have to go out and follow in his place! Son, your pa paid the ultimate price, you don't have to go and do the same!"

Still, the man had replied with just a hint of anger in his voice… only a hint.

Dennis eyed him.

There really wasn't much to say.

His mind was made up, and that was that.

"The job isn't done… I hope my kids don't have to do this, but if the need arises, I hope they pick up the gun, same as me… I'm not abandoning the guys in the 52nd."

A part of him genuinely hoped the old man understood, that there could be some solidarity between them as he left to fight.

Instead, the man quickly said, "Oh, but you abandoned your mother just fine."

The poison behind the words actually struck the young man harder than a shot to the chest; cutting deeper than the insults of a drill sergeant.

"What the hell did you say?" He spoke quietly.

"You heard me, boy. I don't know why you're turning your back on everyone, I-I won't pretend to understand, but you put your country over your own mother and look what happened! You saw how everyone here misses her, how she sacrificed so much for you, and yet you still want to throw everything she did away!”

Dennis said nothing, his hands balled into fist, his nails digging into the palms of his hands, almost drawing blood.

Jones continued.

“Trust me when I tell you that you will only lose more out there. Even if we accomplish whatever the goal here is. You ever wake up in the middle of the night screaming, with the same feeling you get when you're about to die? Out here you don't hear them, sure… but go and stay in a hotel in Atlanta or Savannah and you'll hear them. Night terrors, Japs, krouts, Reds coming to get you in the night… the boys that went out and their bodies came back but they didn't… not truly… their minds stay there and yours will too! You think your mother wanted that for you?! Your father?!"

Dennis clenched his teeth and in a low tone said "Coward like you probably would know a lot about that, huh?"

Jones didn’t seem to care.

"Telling you, boy… you'll lose it all and gain nothing, and out here… no one will hear you screaming for help if you come back. Is that what you want to do with all your parents did for you? Is this how you repay them?!"

Dennis wanted to argue.

Really, he wanted to sock the guy in the neck and let him suffocate on his own shattered throat. He wanted to scream every unprintable obscenity he’d heard the guys in E Company spout and direct them at the old man who had turned as vicious as his sergeant in such a short time.

Instead, Dennis swallowed the anger, sidestepped around him, and quietly said "Good day, Mister Jones."

He didn't bother to look back as he walked to the bus stop, though the words continued ringing in his ears.

You’ll lose it all and gain nothing...

Dennis turned his attention to the weight of his rucksack on his back, slightly seeing his home behind him as he walked on.

He looked away without another thought.