One hundred and fifty STOAT's, packed with the best of the European Union troops, taken directly from the relief units reinforcing the African lines. The Russian-made, British-owned attack craft were set to be deployed as dropships, ready to launch key strikes on American targets. Awaiting a signal from the Admiral, uncertain what was going on, but knowing that there was about to be a major offensive.

A single squadron of F-90 fighters lurked around the House fleet, uncertain sentinels forming the Barrier Combat Air Patrol or BARCAP that ensured the fleet had some level of fighter cover. Like a naval aircraft carrier or big gunship the Excalibur sat at the heart of the fleet, a sentinel over Earth. A proud warrior about to do her duty one more time.

VonGrippen's stateroom was dark; he sat with his head against the headrest of the chair watching a single star in the darkness. It wasn't Geldan, however it was the first signpost of what had once been the Beacon Corridor home, a signpost that marked the end of a journey. All he had to do was take it and he could be with her once again.

He brooded over what he had to do, what it was that Markus was asking of him, of all of them. Turning Americans against Americans, pulling down a proud country so that it could evolve. Amalgamating it, binding it to something greater than any one nation. A single united Earth and its colonies... an Empire.

His hand slid into the pocket of his waistcoat, drawing out the silver pocket watch. He felt its weight, heard the steady ticking of the passage of time, and he could sense the history that went behind it. He was helping to create an Empire, a single dictatorship that would shape and mould the world.

It was the nature of all democracies to inevitably collapse. Sheep torn apart by opportunistic wolves.

The STOAT's floating in his field of vision had been repainted with the Queen's House markings. The House of Windsor had followed the VonGrippen lead, choosing a simple emblem to mark its forces. A black sword on a circle with its point down that denoted temperance.

Stacked upon the broad glass desk, the MI-6 reports of the events unfolding in China as well as strategic reports about the American distribution of forces. Thoughtfully dispatched by the Queen who had returned to Brussels.

It was the report not on the desk that concerned VonGrippen the most, he turned from the window and set the pocket watch down, "Commander?"

Commander Durnham materialized dutifully, "Admiral."

"You reported a disturbance at the European Union Headquarters?" VonGrippen asked, "may I see the data?"

Durnham nodded as the holographic projectors in the room sprang to life, resolving into images taken on their last pass over Europe. It showed what had once been the Headquarters, the shattered buildings, and debris resembled a missile attack.

VonGrippen leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, "it seems there is trouble in the House of Windsor."

"Excalibur registered no missile attacks from within the European Union," Durnham replied shaking his head as he pulled his glasses off and set to polishing them, "Also orbital telemetry places the Baltic forces too far away from Brussels to perpetrate an attack. My only logical conclusion is that it was a terrorist strike, or a retaliatory attack by loyal European forces against the British... I mean the House of Windsor."

VonGrippen shook his head, "no, this was an attack from within the Headquarters, note the blast patterns and the trail of destruction. Unless they have developed a weapon capable of entering a building and blasting its way out... selectively destroying targets along its exit path..." He stopped, chewing on his lower lip, "send Mister Walczak up here."

Durnham nodded and vanished.

VonGrippen settled into his chair, stroking his beard as he waited, his eyes creasing as they glanced up to the picture of her and Jason on a shelf. He found his thoughts dwelling increasingly on both of them, and yet he wouldn't allow himself anything more than those thoughts. He'd considered Ben's offer to write, and had composed several draft letters. But what did he have to say to a young child? His letters had read like battle reports, or log entries and he had ended up disposing of each.

Derek was customarily underdressed, his much loved baseball cap perched high on his head, tee shirt half un-tucked and jeans rumpled. But he still had a bright smile, despite being cooped up aboard the Excalibur for two years.

"Admiral," he greeted with a lopsided salute.

"You don't have to salute me onboard a starship," VonGrippen replied, "I wanted to ask you about San Francisco. Scuttlebutt is that you were involved in an altercation with a women there, just before your incarceration."

"I don't know her name," Derek said thoughtfully, "Overlord has more information on her, but he didn't share it with me at the time. Something about a GN or something..."

"GN-2?" VonGrippen inquired quietly.

"I think so and a Doctor Rikard who created these genetically enhanced super humans. He had a facility in Nevada..." Derek struggled to remember, "Aaside from what I saw, I don't know much more than that. It was all classified."

"Enarbrem," VonGrippen murmured, turning his chair to look back through the windows at the ships, "Nevada..." He looked back over his shoulder, "you are my current resident expert on the capabilities of a GN-2."

"I am?" Derek gaped.

VonGrippen nodded, "so far you are the only one onboard this ship who has witnessed one in action on a planet. I need to know if they are capable of that," he gestured to the holographic display.

"I... I'm not sure," Derek answered truthfully, trying to see what VonGrippen meant, all he saw was a series of photos showing devastation.

"Look at the image," VonGrippen said, rising painfully, and limping around the desk on his cane, "and work from the inside out. There is a hole in the roof..."

"It looks like it collapsed inwards," Derek said, glancing at VonGrippen for confirmation.

"Very good Mister Walczak," VonGrippen stated, "now given that the building collapsed after that on the south side?"

"They exited there?" Walczak asked.

"Why they?" VonGrippen asked, sounding like an instructor that already knew the answer to the question but was testing his pupil.

"Because the damage isn't linear," Derek pointed, "see, there are two impact zones, like there was a fire fight or something using debris... The stone and mortar from the building is in the parking lot, and one of the Landrovers ended up in the lobby."

"Good," VonGrippen said, "can a GN-2 hurl a car?"

"The one that attacked me threw a bus," Derek nodded.

"Then in your assessment, what happened here?" VonGrippen pressed.

"Two GN-2's had a throw down," Derek decided, "and one hell of a cat fight."

"Women?" VonGrippen asked, "why women?"

"Ever watch two women fight?" Derek asked, "vicious, everything's a weapon and they go right for one another. Men don't fight like that... look at the way stuff's been thrown around, they were angry with one another..."

"Ordinarily I would disagree with you," VonGrippen gestured, "but under these circumstances, I can see your point. Two GN-2 women fought, and then what?"

"Someone died, or got away." Derek observed, "look at the tanks and the field hospital. I think the soldiers got in the way, and someone had a spazz."

VonGrippen rubbed his beard, "thank you Mister Walczak, your assistance confirmed my suspicions."

He limped his way out onto the bridge, walking into the CIC and calling up a map of Nevada, "Overlord," he called, waiting while the system interfaced with the CIC situation tables.

"I am present Admiral," O replied through one of the overhead speakers.

"I wish to know about Enarbrem Sul'Rikard," VonGrippen ordered.

"I am afraid that information is classified..." O began.

"Declassify it," Commander Maguire ordered from the far side of the CIC, he looked worn, but determined.

"I am afraid that all materials surrounding Doctor Rikard are classified at the highest levels." O answered resolutely.

"Then tell me about the Thirteenth Army," VonGrippen demanded.

"Militia unit formed at the bequest of Acting-President Aquinas, the Thirteenth Army is currently under the command of a General Simin. And has been given the task of defending Mainland America from external attack. The Army is comprised of two hundred thousand volunteers from the Nevada region..."

"Stop," VonGrippen held up a hand, "give me information on General Simin..."

"No information present." O responded.

"You mean the information is classified," Maguire asked.

"No Captain," O said, "the information is not present. Aside from his command over the Thirteenth Army there is no further information on General Simin."

"And so a mysterious army was raised without the knowledge of the regular army, on US soil, under the command of a General who doesn't exist, and no one in US government thought to check?" VonGrippen rubbed the bridge of his nose, "that is unlikely, the chances are that they are fully aware of this anomaly, and are choosing to overlook it."

"They were probably too grateful that a new army had appeared to truly think about where it came from," Maguire offered.

"Overlord, please cross reference the Thirteenth Army with any mention of Doctor Rikard." VonGrippen played a hunch.

"That information is classified," O repeated per rote.

"But not non-existent," VonGrippen answered, "sometimes the answer lies in what is not said. The Thirteenth Army is currently in position to secure strategic positions across America, reinforcing and outnumbering the remaining National Guard units on everything from the defence of the Capital through to strategic reserves."

"And what are you going to do about it?" Maguire asked lowering his voice.

VonGrippen shook his head, "sit back and await the surrender," VonGrippen replied "we should monitor the situation and render assistance where it is needed. But America has already lost this civil war. The saddest part is, they weren't even aware they were fighting it."

Markus folded his hands at the small of his back as he stood staring out of the windows of the Oval office at the city of Washington. A privileged few had stood where he had stood as the President of arguably the most powerful nation of human history.

He knew, as he stood there, that the beginning of the end was nigh. And like the dark clouds that loomed over the Potomac River, dark clouds were gathering elsewhere, ready for the storm. A storm that he alone was master of.

The mighty would soon fall, and with them, a nation.

He looked skywards, towards the glistening stars of the Excalibur and her fleet. VonGrippen poised to strike down upon the United States upon a signal. A fire that would soon engulf every city in the Union, bright enough that anyone would see, and forever remember.

Markus reached out a hand to scoop up a phone, dialling Doctor Morvanor, airborne on Special Flight 400, rushing back from Canada as fast as he could. Of course the moment the firestorm began Morvanor would be redirected to the Cheyenne Mountain complex and the NORAD headquarters stationed there. An emergency fallback site that dated from the cold war, a place where the future Highlord Morvanor could forge his house out of the tattered remains Markus would leave behind.

"I wanted to wish you luck," Markus said walking back to his chair and sitting down in it.

"And so, this is the moment?" Morvanor inquired solemnly, "well, sir, I wish you luck as well, for I fear your task shall be far greater than mine."

"Perhaps," Markus admitted, "just remember your oaths, and where you stand once all that is to pass has come and gone. I will meet you in London, two years from now, when all will be born anew."

Morvanor took a long breath, "the Chinese year of the sheep. Appropriate."

Markus hung up the phone as he drew open his desk drawer, pulling out the plain black tie he exchanged his own for it. Tightening it in preparation as he pulled the black gloves on, adjusting his chair he sat down, hands resting on the arms of the chair as if it were his throne. Awaiting destiny that he could feel vibrating in the air around him.

"It has began," VonGrippen murmured watching the highlights of red begin to spill over Overlord as the American forces found their reinforcements turning on them, the visored men of the Thirteenth opening fire on American troops.

VonGrippen rested his hands upon the surface of the situation table; "order the STOAT's to begin their combat drops over Washington."

Around the Excalibur the STOAT's of the House of Windsor broke formation and dived down towards the atmosphere a wave of ships designed for the rapid deployment of troops, weaving their way through the clouds towards the American Eastern Seaboard. Broken up into wings, they separated from one another as they accelerated, curving downwards, as British Valkyrie fighters and Wraith tactical bombers lifting off of British aircraft carriers in the mid-Atlantic co-ordinated for what was set to be the largest aerial battle of the war.

VonGrippen's eyes flicked up to the plotting boards around his CIC as his Tactical Navigation and Communications officers updated the information, using the data supplied to them by Overlord to co-ordinate the attack. The Americans, although significantly undermanned, were far from defenceless. The key to winning an invasion of America was the Thirteenth's capacity to overwhelm the American missile defence and cruise missile batteries scattered across the Eastern coast. Allowing the British STOAT's time to land to take the Capital.

"I want an update on the Orbital Stations," VonGrippen ordered straightening up as he looked at the remaining stations that had been stationed over the Pacific under a screen of the remaining American frigates. They were receiving data from Overlord, Derek working on a lower tier to scatter false information through the TAC-net, making the American fleet believe that the invasion would happen over the Western Coast. So far the American commanders, trusting in the infallibility of Overlord, were arrayed to stop a fleet that was nowhere close to their position.

VonGrippen lifted his head to spare Ben a glance. His friend resting against one of the plotting boards, a ghastly shade of white, his eyes hollow. Resembling death animate, Ben stared back.

"You could just leave," Ben suggested quietly.

VonGrippen nodded, "I could, and maybe I should. But our choices this day will decide the pattern of the future." His eyes drifted back to the clock, noting that the Thirteenth Army would have less than twenty minutes to prove themselves. "And," VonGrippen continued, "while opportunities may present themselves in the future that will offer a temporary peace. There remains only one course that will offer a peace that will last."

"You don't forge a lasting peace out of betrayal, subjugation and war," Ben murmured as he coughed and swayed, "you remember who said that right?"

"My father," VonGrippen replied calmly, staring into his friends eyes, locked there, "and I am sure that, were he here, he would have another solution to this... mess. But this war killed him," VonGrippen nodded to the map, "and so I am all that is left. And the choice is mine to make."

"And so you will decide the fate of the entire world?" Ben challenged.

"Yes" VonGrippen countered resolutely. "At this moment, the decision is mine. And my choice is clear: allow a dictator to seize control of the world and gamble that the pacification through force he is offering will last. Or allow the world to descend further into this war, turn my back and allow them to destroy each other, and pray that it will never touch my home soil."

"You've made your choice," Ben nodded in satisfaction, all was as it was supposed to be, "the question now remains, can you live with that?"

VonGrippen looked back at the battlefield, "I must."

Vice-Chairmen Zheng stared at the reports flooding through his systems. Information of the space battle raging over their heads. Of the STOAT dropships screaming through the atmosphere to invade the continental Untied States.

It was a rare opportunity, one that General Chow would have been too cautious to size. And that was something Zheng could never abide. The endless planning, the careful manoeuvres that had every bet hedged. War was about risk, and when the odds were swinging in the favour of the Sino-Russian Alliance, then it was a sure bet.

"Signal the Russians that we will begin a full offensive the moment this battle is decided. I don't care who wins, be ready with our hidden fleet to destroy the winner." Zheng smiled tightly, his fist clenching, "I expect nothing but Chinese ships in space by the end of this night."

"Chairman," one of his party officials approached nervously, "what if the Russians demand to speak to General Chow?"

"Instruct them that the General is..." Zheng gritted his teeth, "inform our allies that the General is engaged in plotting the glorious campaign, and that he expects them to fulfil their part of our bargain. I will deal with the Russian Premier once this is over and we have our victory."

"Mister President," Secretary Morgan demanded from the doorway of the Oval Office. Outside military officers were rushing to set up equipment that had been hastily gathered from bases around Washington. A meagre defence considering that much of the equipment normally stationed for the defence of the Capital had been rushed northwards to quell the Canadian Crisis.

"Sit down Mister Morgan," Markus commanded, a gloved hand raising from behind the chair and motioning for Morgan to enter the room.

"Mister President, you are required in the Situation Room..." Morgan pressed sounding anxious.

"For what Mister Morgan?" Markus asked without turning, "my presence isn't needed to watch a defeat in progress. How much have we lost?"

Morgan swore as he entered the room, "the Thirteenth Army... they've turned on us... The bastards turned on us."

"The Amsus Army," Markus replied feigning a tired tone in his voice, "we were betrayed then?"

"They captured most of our missile batteries before we knew what hit them. Then the damn British dropships began their assault. General Waquim has mobilized what remains of the Air Force, but we've been unable to signal Admiral Cunnings and the Orbital Defence Fleet, without the ODF we're significantly outnumbered unless we can recall forces from Japan and Canada."

"In your assessment Mister Morgan," Markus turned in the dark room, the flicker of explosions off in the distance of Washington as the first of the British Bombers began their attack, "what course of action should we take in the event of a near catastrophic failure of our armed forces?"

"A nuclear solution," Morgan suggested, "launch a couple of tactical weapons into the thickest concentration of enemy dropships, and unleash the Strategic Inter- continental Ballistic Missiles at key European cities. The time to play nice is over, we need to fire and pray..."

Markus's eyes flashed in the darkness, "there are other options available to us, have you collected the Senate and Congress?"

"They are en-route to Cheyenne Mountain. The Secretary of State landed a few hours ago. I have Marine-One fuelled and ready to take you to Air-Force One, airborne we can at least evacuate you..."

"I will not run," Markus said calmly, "not from the British. I want you to contact the Speaker of the House and inform him that in the event of my capture and the fall of Washington, that he is to enact the Twenty-Fifth Amendment and immediately assume the capacity and duties of the Presidency."

"Sir, with respect, you have a duty to perform, we need to get you to safety..." Morgan began as explosions lit the city. The first of the STOAT's beginning their landings in the city of Washington. An anti-aircraft missile battery mounted upon the back of a truck sitting on the south lawn belched fire skywards and blew the second to pieces.

Markus smiled coldly, "we're too late Mister Morgan."

A troop of Secret Service Agent's rushed into the rooms, the detail leader issuing a string of instructions to his men, clothed in flak jackets and carrying assault rifles, as the Chief of Staff marched into the room.

"Mister President, we need to..." He began.

Markus shook his head again, "there is no time to evacuate, and if we retreat to the command bunker under the White House, it will only delay the inevitable..."

"Yes, but sir it will give us time to..."

"Bob," Markus said calmly folding his arms, "the Speaker of the House is still free, there is a chain of succession for a reason. We can't expect America, in this state of crisis, to be without a leader, what good can I do trapped in a hole with the enemy literally pounding on the door?"

"He has a point," Morgan agreed grudgingly, "but we can still buy time if we utilize the nuclear scenario..."

"No," Markus shook his head, "that is no longer my decision to make, let the Speaker make that choice."

A trio of fighters rushed Northwards, using American transponder codes, the modified Predator mk-I fighters barrelled their way up through the breadbasket, hugging the land line, maintaining an extremely low altitude to remain beneath the radar.

The flight commander maintained perfect formation, his pilots, specially bred for the purpose matched his lead. The Amsus juveniles were natural fliers, young males that had an intuitive understanding of flight. They had been born to the elite of their kind, the genetic modifications giving them the form to fly the vaccu-formed fighters that had been designed specifically constructed by South American facilities for just this mission. Each fighter mounted an impressive arsenal of missiles as well as a formidable pair of auto-cannons. The second generation Aero- space fighter would fly circles around an F-90 in both atmospheric and spacial combat.

They closed on their target, led directly to it through the classified TAC-net system. Overlord guiding the Amsus pilots for an attack bearing on the plane bearing the Speaker of the House and most of the Senate. They closed the final distance, firing as a triumvirate of death. Missiles streaking to strike down the F-90 escort for the heavy transport jet, while they realigned their attack vectors, switching to their secondary missiles and carving the jet to pieces in mid-flight with enough firepower to ensure there were no survivors.

Halfway across the country, a train that had conveyed the House of Congress towards Colorado burned, the collection of mainline battle tanks lining the tracks gunning down anything that emerged from the smouldering ruin.

Rikard sitting on top of the roof of his jeep, his binoculars trained over the scene, nodding in satisfaction at the performance of the Amsus.

"I am impressed General," he complimented looking at the fully grown insectoid creature that rested upon its legs, it's back legs scratching along its wing casing as it stared through multifaceted eyes over the massacre.

"There is nothing to be impressed about here, master," General Simin responded, "they were unprepared for our assault. The true battle will come with the dawn, when the Americans awake to this."

"We are prepared for them," Rikard replied, "kill any who wear uniforms, those that do not, have them hunted by the..." Rikard smiled, "Inquisition."

"The half-breeds?" Simin asked, looking towards the enhanced Amsus that shadowed their master acting as his personal guard.

"I feel they should be put to a good use. And order is maintained by the strong." He half smiled, "and an Inquisitor holds a certain malevolence to the title don't you agree?"

"I don't feel fear, master," Simin replied.

"Of course you don't," Rikard replied stretching as he slid down off of the roof and climbed back into his Jeep, "hunt down the remaining members of the Congress before you start rounding up the elected officials of the State legislatures. Overlord will give you all the information you require to locate them. Act fast and you should be able to get them all. Once they are dead, we will concentrate on the next task."

"Yes master," Simin replied.

"It's a total collapse," Maguire sounded cold.

VonGrippen nodded walking from his CIC and out onto the bridge of the Excalibur, "signal the Orbital Defence Fleet and demand their unconditional surrender."

"They aren't going to listen," Maguire prompted.

Commander Durnham materialize, "with respect, Lieutenants Octavius and Worth report that they have encircled the White House. Additional reports state that one of the airports have been secured, the European Union's main forces are being airlifted from Africa as we speak. By the time the American forces can return, there should be a significant number of European troops on American soil."

"Order Worth into the White House," VonGrippen replied taking a moment to wince in pain as he took the command chair, rubbing his injured leg as he set his cane aside, "and as for the Orbital Stations. Destroy the one with the least number of people aboard."

The Excalibur's bow descended, as it altered its orientation, sighting in upon Alpha Station, the main cannon of the mighty warship drawing upon the titanic forces of the Zero-Point Reactor. The alien crystal began to glow with an inner light, the channels cut along the Excalibur's prow began to flicker and flare as the weapon built up a massive charge. The beam of brilliant light lanced out from the Excalibur, a shaft of death that incinerated the American station, vaporising it utterly.

A silence descended over the bridge, as a clear demonstration that the Nuclear Age was at an end, and a new weapon had eclipsed it. The Zero-Point Bore had ushered in an uncertain future.

VonGrippen, his head bowed as he stood, like a forgotten knight that had witnessed the power of God firsthand, spoke first, it was somehow fitting that he did, with words that would be remembered for all time, "and so it begins. All that comes to pass will stem from the here and now."

Power gauges flickered and fluctuated across the Excalibur as deep in her engineering sections the primary power matrix flared and sparked, its core molten slag. The secondary capacitors took the strain, but an audible alarm resounded indicating that the main cannon wouldn't fire again until adequate repairs were made.

It no longer mattered, VonGrippen pointed to Commander Durnham, "signal the American fleet please, they should be more than adequately convinced that they no longer possess the capacity for further resistance."

"I am receiving a general surrender signal from the ODF commander," Durnham reported, shifting as he polished his glasses.

"Acknowledge, and dispatch prize crews," VonGrippen replied taking a seat and steepling his fingers, "and now the Chinese are going to strike, we should be ready for them."

"There is no indication..." Maguire began.

"Bring us hard over," VonGrippen rested a hand on the arm of his chair as the holographic displays sprang to life, he could feel the Excalibur beneath him, eager for more. His eyes narrowed as her sensors detected the rising threat of the Chinese fleet lifting off of the surface from the Naval shipyards. VonGrippen nodded, "intercept the new targets."