Disclaimer: I do not own Strike Witches, or anything else except for my OC's.

Warning: Death, Yuri, time travel.

Chapter one

New arrivals

Time. Time is something man has always marveled since the first person looked at the change in his environment, and realized he could never regain the time he had lost. As man evolved so to have the understanding of time. Man learned that time was not as solid as it once was believed to be, and was flimsy, bendable, and repairable. While unknown to man, time had a way of fixing itself, in order to protect the many rips in time it contained. For example, to fix a paradox, if something went backwards into time, something from that time period must arrive forward in time. But, that something had to be of equal value. Like the laws of old; an eye for an eye, a nose for a nose, a witch for a witch.

"What in God's green Earth was that!" a man with grey eyes and grey hair to match said aloud as he rose from his bed wrapped in a flannel pajamas as his house finally stopped shaking. Looking out from a window, he slanted his eyes at a strange glow in one of his fields. "Godamnit, I thought I told those Army punks my property was my property." He cursed, walking away from the window, and to his closet. Pushing aside hung clothes and boxes, the man came across what he was looking for; a gun safe. Turning the lock to its correct positions, the man swung the heavy door opened and retrieved a Model 25 shotgun.

"Experiment with my land, will ya." The man gritted his teeth, as he held the gun tightly and shoved shotgun shells into barrel. This man, Fredrick J. Hammon, Fred to his friends, was a cattle rancher. And despite not heeding the warning of his friends, the man bought a 100 acre piece of land, located not too far from a military base, which he knew only by the name of "Clarks".

"Thought we had an agreement, I stay off your land, you sure as hell stay off mine." He cursed, swinging open the screen door to his porch, where a Border Collie stood, barking at the now fading light. "I know 'ol boy. Those damn bastards think it's fun to mess with my land. We'll see who's laughing after I blow a hole in one of 'hem fancy hummers." He said, storming to his own parked vehicle, a blue 1993 Dodge Ram. Opening the door, he shoved the keys into the ignition and started the truck up with a roar to its engine. The Collie barked even more as his master drove by. "Don't ya worry bout me none. I'll take care of this, and I'll be back soon." And with that, Fred drove off to the direction of the light, which was only a convenient two minutes away.

Arriving at the spot, Fred put the truck in park, swung the door open, and with shotgun in hand made his way to a small crater with the shotgun raised to a firing position at all times. By this time, the light had seemed to vanish, allowing the farmer to have a look inside the mound of dirt. And he was surprised by what he saw.

"Now I'll be damned." He said.

General Harvard was not having a good day. Sure, there was the call home to his wife to hear the good news about his son's engagement, but the later events of the new day were outweighing the good.

"Two witches, along with John and his assistant. Damn." The elder man swore, as he poured himself some liquor into a small shot glass. While some would say it was too early for drinking, the General didn't care, and quickly downed the brown liquid as a Marine Private shuffled into the room, saluting as he did so. Harvard saluted him back, and poured himself another shot. "What can I do for you?"

"Sir, message from radar operations room. Apparently another rip has appeared." The Marine said. Harvard's ears perked at this.

"Where exactly?"

"Sir, about eighty miles west of here."

"Eighty miles west." Harvard cupped his chin. "Isn't there a ranch around that area?"

"Yes sir."

"I see." Harvard sighed, grabbing the small shot glass and downing the liquid. The Private twitched at that. "Send out a Humvee and two Marines to the ranch house. Ask the farmer there if he had seen anything."

"Sir, wouldn't…"

"Private, that is an order. That ranch is too close to civilization. If we send, Lord knows, a task force there, we might arouse suspicion. And that is something we do not want, isn't it?"

"N-No, sir." The Private looked down at his feet.

"Well, there you go." Harvard poured himself the third shot of the day. "Well, go on, that was an order."

"Sir!" the Marine saluted, Harvard waiting until he had left before downing the drink.

"Tim old boy, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" he asked, turning his chair around to look at an old photograph of him and a African-Liberion Marine, a date on the upper right-hand side of the photo identifying the date of the picture as January 24, 1974.

The Border Collie didn't understand what was going on. First, his master appeared grumpy and angry at the light in the distance. But now, the master was back with four other people, and a new attitude. Where he was once grumpy and mean, he was now worried and sad as he pulled the new people into the house. The dog lowered his head, wondering if there new people were going to get in the way of the master's love.

"I'm telling you man, something is up." A blonde-haired Marine with a shady complexion said to his comrade, whom was more focused on driving then listening to his friend. "First, there was that portal thing, and now Nick's gone. I mean, shit, we was talking to him this morning. And now they want us to drive to this ranch, I mean, something has gotta give. I wouldn't be surprised if we see ECHO's running about."

"Look, I don't know what's going on." The black-haired Marine with an oriental look replied with a sigh, still keeping a grip on the steering wheel. "All I know is if we question this guy, we can return to base, which I would like to do much more so then talk to some wacked-out rancher."

"Alright, fine." The other shrugged. This Marine's was Corporal Howard L. Dickinson, nicknamed "Dick" by friends. Raised in Los Angles, Dick had a way with storytelling. The other Marine was Staff Sergeant Leonardo Y. Hanmura, whom was the son of a Fuso refugee and a travelling salesman. Regarded as "stern" by peers, Leonardo, Leo to friends, was more centered on fact and truth then fantasy. This didn't mean Leo didn't enjoy the occasional story, or the chance to crack a joke.

"We're here." Leo said, as he gently tapped the brakes of the Humvee, the vehicle coming to a stop in front of the ranch. The two Marines, dressed in the usual MCCUU, quickly exited the parked vehicle and were greeted by the site of an old farmer in a red shirt and overalls sitting in a rocking chair, a dog lying by his side.

"Howdy boys." The farmer said, his body moving the chair back-and-forth. "What can I do for ya fine military folk?" he added, spitting out a wad of brown salvia onto the ground.

"Hello." Leo spoke. "Are you the owner of this land?"

"I reckon I am. Fredrick J. Hammon." The rancher rose from his seat to shake hands with the Marine, before sitting back down.

"Staff Sergeant Leonardo Y. Hanmura." Leo replied. "This here is Corporal Howard L. Dickinson." He jested towards Dick, whom held his hands behind his back. "Sir, we need to ask you a few questions."

"Go ahead." Fred replied, grabbing a wad of chewing tobacco and shoving it into his mouth.

"Last night, one of our drones had a malfunction and crashed. Did you see any lights or hear any strange sounds. We only ask this as the drone may have been radioactive." Leo lied, repeating what he was ordered to ask.

"Yup. Drove out there this morn and collected the parts. There in the shed over there." Fred calmly replied with a lie, pointing to a shed on the opposite side of the Humvee. Leo glanced over at Dick, and gave a nod. Dick nodded back, and walked to the shed quickly.

"Thank you for your corporation, sir. Any and all damages will be paid for on behalf of the military, and we would like to offer a sincere apology for this incident." Leo repeated what he was told to say.

"Am I gonna get any sort of radiation on me? I would love to have super-powers ya know." Fred laughed, as did Leo.

"No, the radiation is only harmful to the environment, and we would wish to clean it up before it causes any more contamination."

"I feel ya there. And the Fed's gonna pay me back and all?"

"Yes sir." Leo nodded, as Dick called out to his friend.

"Sir, you're gonna wanna see this." Dick motioned for Leo to witness what he was seeing.

"Pardon me."

"Go right ahead." Fred said, watching the Marine's run to the shed.

"Hey, Leo, check it out, the 'ol guy was packing." Dick said, pointing to a pile of machinery.

"No kidding. These are Strikers." Leo replied, kneeling down to take a better look at them. They were different looking than anything back at Clarks, and seemed to have Karlslandic markings on them, though Leo couldn't tell which Karlsland they belonged to.

"Man, this is what my grandma used to tell me about, these types. I think these are those old propeller types." Dick replied, as he himself looked at the eight Strikers. Leo looked at him, and then headed towards the Humvee, opening the door, and grabbing a radio.

"Come in Clarks, come in Clarks, over." Leo spoke into the radio, unaware that Fred was still watching.

"This is Clarks, over."

"Clarks, Staff Sergeant Hanmura reporting in, over."

"We copy you Staff Sergeant. What's the status, over."

"Clarks, we have talked to the Rancher, very compliant, I repeat very compliant, over."

"Alright. Anything else to report, over." The radio operator asked, as Leo wiped some sweat from under his helmet as he leaned against the side of the Humvee.

"Um, yeah. Bring a truck, over."

"I'm sorry. Could you repeat that, over?"

"Sir!" a new Marine busted into Harvard's office, saluting as he did so. "They found something." The Marine quickly said to the General, whom only looked at him, and then a phone on his desk. He sighed, and picked it up, waiting for a click.

"General Timothy Harvard." He said, eyeing the Marine as a new voice appeared over the radio. "Put me through to the Pentagon."

Fred began to question what was going on as two more Humvee's and a 7-Ton truck came rolling into his ranch, the place soon swarming with Marines, armed Marines for that matter. So, the old rancher decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Um, Staff Sergeant." Fred tapped Leo on the shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Sir, this is very important, and we request you stay inside." Leo said very sternly.

"Ya ain't gonna tell me?"

"Sir, what is happening is to never, ever be talked about with anyone, you understand?" Leo replied sternly and coldly. "Now, sir, I request you stay inside. If you don't I will be forced to put you under arrest. Am I making myself clear sir?"

"No, no, your good. Just run ya course, ya bastards." Fred said the last part in a near whisper as he walked back into his house, the dog following him as he did so. Leo watched him enter the house, and then turned to Dick, whom was staring at Leo with a questioning look.

"Was threatening him actually needed?" Dick asked, as a Marine armed with a M16A2 rifle squeezed by. Leo didn't reply, and only walked back to the Humvee. "You ain't gonna tell your best bud what's up?"

"I would if I knew. Now get in the Humvee, our job is done." And with that, the other Marine complied, and the Humvee drove off, soon followed by the other Humvee's and the truck, now loaded with Strikers.

(A/N: Now, before anyone get's over excited, this is not the sequel to PPC. Rather, this is a supplement story to PPC, which I intend to use to explain more about the PPC universe, reveal more about the characters, as you may have noticed about some of the old OC's seen in chaps 1 and 2 of PPC, and to just explain more things. Now, I should warn you that this being a supplement story, it will contain shorter chapters, and a smaller plot. But, that's what you get with a supplement story. Sorry for it being rough. That be all, enjoy.)