"We want no Caesars." – Jawaharlal Nehru, (1st Prime Minister of India)


TRINITY: New Mexico: 1946

The man was fiddling with something on the camera.  The picture wasn't turning out the way it should, and this historic moment needed to be recorded with precise detail.

"Shtop playink with that thing!"  An elderly voice with a German accent said.  The man at the camera didn't bother to look up.

"I've just gotta adjust this…"  His sentence trailed off as he finally got the picture he wanted.

"Give me the sequence calculations," the elderly man asked.  His aid did not move.  "Now!"  He snapped.  That got the man moving.  He walked over to the bench, and picked up a clipboard with some paper work attached to it.  The old man then sat down in the chair, directly in front of the camera.

"They're already done, Professor," he said, handing the old man the clipboard.  The man looked at the board, and then gestured for a pen.  The aid quickly produced one, and the elderly man signed his approval.  He handed back the pen, and the aid moved over to the control panel.

The elderly man checked his pocket watch.  "I vounder if it vill be ranink?"  He muttered, placing his arms on the armrest, as he braced himself.

The aid powered up the generator, and looked over at the old man.  "Stand by," he warned.  There was a loud hum, as electrical pulses sparked and flashed, bathing the old man in coat of blue energy.  Then, there was a loud bang, like a thunderclap, and the chair was empty.

MUNCHI: Germany: 1923

Arnold Schicklgruber walked down the deserted streets of the city.  Things were finally looking up for him.  The National Socialist German Workers Party he was spying on would be the perfect tool he could use to shape his vision of a new world order.  Although no one in the party knew him yet, he would rise from obscurity, and take control.  Then, he would lead a revolution that would unite all of the German speaking nations, under one government.

He ignored the sounds of the footsteps behind him, as he whistled a happy tune.  He paused on the street corner, to reflect on the life that he would lead.  As he looked about, he noticed the old man walking his way.  He had a sliver white hair that seemed to be all over the place, and a mustache to match.

He nodded to the old man, and then started across the street.

Mr. Hitler?  The old man called out to him.  He paused, then slowly turned about to face the old man.

Yes? he replied, totally confused.  That is my name, but I do not understand, how did you know?

The old man extended his own hand, as if to shake.  Yes, he replied, I don't understand.

Hitler could only stair at the outstretched hand.  Who was this strange man who'd appeared from nowhere, and known his name.  Was he a member of the party?  Hitler extended his own hand.

The theory of Time Travel is one yet to be explored by man, but the possibility of splitting the atoms of time, and ripping open a gateway in both Time and Space, can have chaotic effects.  The efforts needed to transports the complexed molecules of the human body through Time, and through Space, are so great, that when you arrive at your destination, you become an unstable dynamo of energy.

The human body can generate a small amount of electricity, not powerful enough to harm anybody, or even power a light bulb, but the electromagnetic force that is used to power the time machine can manipulate that electricity, and turn a person into a living, walking, black hole.  Anything of equal electric mass, such as another human body, will instantly be erased from Time and Space, if you come into contact.  To connect with another human being, the result is as such. 

That person for one split second, is everywhere in the universe at once, then, unfortunately, you become one with reality, like having your molecules spread like very fine jam, across the Time and Space. 

TRINITY: New Mexico: 1946

The aid paced nervously up and down, occasionally looking over at the empty chair.  Just then, there was a thunderclap like sound; a bright flash of energy, and the professor was sitting back in his chair.  The aid hesitated for a split second, before rushing over.

"Did you find him?"  He asked, trembling with excitement.  The old man sighed heavily.

"Hitler is… out of the vay."  The aid nearly shouted with joy.

"Congratulations, professor," he cried out, "With Hitler removed…"  The professor held up his hand to silence him.  He hated the idea of changing history, but it was the only way.  6 million innocent souls had been lost to that mad man, and it'd seemed like a good idea, but the effects of what he'd done where finally catching up with him.

What if he'd saved six million lives, or the 45 million who'd died trying to end his reign?  What if he'd prevented the most powerful weapon of all from being developed?  What if he'd set in motion the wheels of something much worse?

"Time vill tell."  He muttered.  The aid was confused.  Of cause he didn't get it, he was young, and inexperienced, but he was the only man he could trust.  If the US government ever found out what he'd developed, they'd mass-produce it faster than they were with the bomb.  He shivered in fear, wondering what he'd done to the future.  "Sooner or later, time vill tell."



By Lien

RUISSA: 1962

Moscow knew naked war again, the crack of assault rifles, the harsh, abrupt roar of howitzers, the screech and whine of incoming shells, the crash when they struck and the slow rumbling crumble of collapsing masonry afterward.  Almost, Alexi longed for the days when he was sealed up in the Gulag, when dying came slow rather than sudden.  Almost.

Harrier jets screamed overhead, almost low enough to touch but too fast for antiaircraft guns to hit.  Bombs fell, one after the other.  The explosions that followed were bigger than those the usual run of allied bombs produced unaided; the Allies must have set of some ammunition.  Another section of the Kremlin wall exploded in a shower of broken masonry. 

They had finally come.  He had been expecting them to come, although maybe not after this long.  Two months seemed to be a long time for them to reach the hart of the country, but then again, they had to fight the Black Guard off first.  When they got near, he could hear the artillery exploding, and the guns going off, casting a red glare over the city, partly from the flames of the fires along the countryside, and partly from the blood.  Yes, the blood.  It was rare now to go somewhere and not see a wall or street covered with that dried, red liquid. 

Alexi could hear them getting especially close, now being able to hear the reloading of the assault rifles and the loudly screamed almost barked commands.  He could hear the sounds of boots hitting the pavement in the intervals of drilled marching.  This made him realize that he was going to be taken by them, and that would mean the end of his family legacy.  He started to get as many matches to his volumes upon volumes of documents as possible.  As much as it pained him to destroy so much of his years of hard work, he wouldn't let it get into those bastards' hands.  He was so involved in the trashing of his adult life that he almost didn't hear the knocking on his door.

"Premier," The Colonel at the door said, "the Allies have breached the compound, it's not safe here anymore.

"Da," he snapped, "I know that, how many files have been destroyed?"

"89%, Premier," the man answered.

"I want it all destroyed," Alexi nearly shouted, "The Allies must find nothing when they get here, nothing!"


Machine-gun bullets whined less than a meter above Tanya's head.  She dove to the ground, firing blindly as she went.  She raised her head a coulpe of centimeters, just enough to peer out from the crumbling wall of the Kremlin, to see the Apocalypse tank.  It seemed sublimely indifferent to anything a mere foot soldier could hope to do to it.

One of the GI's who huddled with Tanya might have been reading her mind.  The fellow said, "Well, there it is, Major.  What the hell do we do about it?"

"For the time being, we wait," Tanya answered, "Unless you're really keen on dying right now, that is."  The tanks machine-gun stopped spitting flame.  It swung away from the walls, and started heading towards the gates, leading out into the streets.

Behind the tank, were two Flak trucks, they were intending to knock out the Harriers giving them cover.  From a position carefully camouflaged in the broken walls, a heavy machine-gun began to bark.  A couple of Russian soldiers fell.  Others started to run, while others still, wiser or more experienced, flattened out of the ground.

The glass blew out of a Flak trucks windshield when a round or two struck home; Tanya couldn't see what happened to the driver.  The commander of the Apocalypse tank needed longer to notice the machine gun had opened up than he should have.  The moron had his cupola opened up, too; Tanya would have demoted a man for a piece of stupidity like that.

When the tank finally deigned to pay some attention to the machine gun nest, he did just what Tanya had hoped he would; instead of standing off an annihilating it with a round or two from his cannon, he charged toward it, his own machine gun chattering.

Then, the tanks main armament did speak, a bellow that made Tanya's ears ring.  Motor fountain up from behind the machine gun nest.

Brave men there, Tanya thought to herself.

The muzzle of the cannon lowered a few inches, and the other cannon on the tank fired.  This time, the machine gun fell silent.  But Tanya was already dashing forward from the broken walls towards the Apocalypse tank.  Bullets spanged off the ground all around her, as she ran. 

The Apocalypse tank commander would have been looking straight through his forward cupola periscope, for he never saw the female commando pounding towards him from the flank and rear.  Snow flying from her boots as she ran, Tanya covered the couple of hundred meters out to the tank in time an Olympic sprinter might have envied.

The big machine started to move just as she came up to it.  She scrambled onto the rear deck, chucked a satchel charge under the overhang of the turret, and dove off headfirst.  The charge exploded.  The turret jerked as if kicked by a mule.  Blue flames spurted from the engine compartment.  An escape hatch in the front of the tank popped open.  A Russian sprang out, and started sprinting back to the Kremlin.

Tanya gazed out from behind the wreck of the tank.  No more armor.  Overhead, two Harriers screamed in low, then banked off in opposite directions as they released two missiles.  They slammed into the alien architecture that was a Tesla Coil that guarded the front entrance.  The base of the tower exploded in a shower of electricity, and like a tree, collapsed and shattered on the cemented courtyard.  The remaining Flak truck began to reverse back towards the Kremlin.  It's cannon lowered, and firing like a tank.

 Second later, the reason for this explained it's self, as a blast from a Prism tank caused the truck to erupt into a ball of fire.


Alexi was pacing back and forth in the small office of the Kremlin, and it was a miracle he didn't run into the other soldiers in the room.  Every report they got from the Kremlin walls had been encouraging, then, suddenly, the reports stopped coming.  The sounds of battle seemed to be getting closer as well.

"I don't like this, Premier," Skriabin, the NKVD colonel announced, puffing on his cigar.

"Me neither," Alexi muttered, still trying the glance out the boarded up window, "I wonder what's going on."

Skriabin stopped, and seemed to consider the situation.  He then went over to the gun cabinet, and took out his favourite gun, a long-nose revolver.  He loaded the gun, then turned back to Alexi, "I'm going go downstairs and stick my nose out to see what's going on," he told him.

"Skriabin, are you crazy?" Alexi became still, staring at the gun in the NKVD mans hands, "You can't go out there!  The Allies will be looking for me, and I don't want to be alone, not now!"

"This'll take care of them," Skriabin waived the gun, "Better load one up for yourself.  It could get ugly."

Alexi watched him exit the office, and then made his way over to his desk, sitting down in his favourite chair, and pulled out a bottle of Vodka.  He filled up the glass in front of him, and knocked it back, and filled it again.


Guards were streaming through the front entrance of the Kremlin, as Skriabin came down the main stairs.  Then, when they let in enough, they closed the doors, despite the fact that there were still men outside.  He could here then shouting, and pounding on the entrance door.

Down of to the right, Lieutenant Zofia manned a communications radio.  The voice that was blearing out on the other end was almost unrecognizable, but who ever it was, didn't sound encouraging.  "You must hold your positions at all costs, stop them!"  She shouted into the radio.  There was the start of an explosion, then cut off in hissing static.  "Hello!  Hello!"  She said into the radio mike.

"What sector was that?"  Skriabin dared to ask; as he approached the makeshift barricade that Zofia was seated behind.  She spun around, startled to see him there, but she still managed to smile.

"The west corner, down by the river.  The Allies are Chrono-warping their troops in all over the city.  Combat units are being diverted from the front line, but there is no guarantee on when they'll arrive."

"What's the situation outside?" he asked, motioning to the entrance door with the muzzle of his gun.

"The Black Guard has been routed," Zofia reported, "Prism Tanks are entering the courtyard as we speak."

"Where are the nearest available armor units?"  Zofia picked up a clipboard with sheets of graph paper stuck to it.

"The nearest armored units are re-grouping just to the south of here, they were originally part of the western flank, but were turned when we lost power to that sector, and the Harriers started bombing the area."

"What radio Frequency are they on?"  Zofia handed him the clipboard, and the radio mike.


Tanya waved the leading Prism tank over to her.  The man inside, popped the tanks Coupla and shouted down to her.

"What can I do for ya, Major?" 

Tanya pointed directly at the Kremlin entrance.  "I need a concentrated blast, right there."

The man nodded, diapering back into the tank.  Four other tanks rolled up to join him.  There was a bright glair, and a blinding flash of light, as the five Prism tanks opened up on the front entrance door.


Skriabin had just put down the mike and turned to Zofia when the front door exploded inward.  Bullets started flying, and the few soldiers in the main room of the Kremlin dove for cover.  Zofia tried to pull Skriabin behind the barricade, but he was trying to get his gun out.

"Skriabin, c'mon!" Zofia tugged harder.  Suddenly, she felt 's Skriabin body jerk in her grasp, and he gave a small cry.  With one last pull, Zofia managed to get Skriabin over the barricade and onto the floor below as the main thrust of Allied soldiers entered the room.

"Ow!" Skriabin protested.

Zofia turned to see the left shoulder of his shirt was red, "Skriabin, you've been hit!"

"You noticed," Skriabin snapped, "Sorry, dear.  It's just a flesh wound.  Some Allied dog with a .22 caliber mouthpiece.  I'll be fine," Skriabin shoved a Kremlin bathroom towel into the shoulder of his shirt.  He then looked up to find Zofia with a huge machine gun in her hands, "Where the hell did you get that?"

"It was a gift from my mother," Zofia replied, struggling with the large weapon.  Finally getting a shoulder under it, Zofia popped up from behind the barricade and took out the front line of commando's with it, managing to spray the whole room, and almost hitting her own troops, who were trying to exit the room, in the process.

"Bozhemoi!" Skriabin squeaked, astonishment on his face.

"Can you still shoot?" Zofia asked.

Dumbfounded, Skriabin nodded.

"Then com on!" Zofia let loose with another round as Skriabin took out his gun and joined her, leaning his good shoulder against the barricade and firing a bit more cautiously than her. Together, they managed to stand, and hobble off down the hallway towards the very bowls of the Kremlin, as the trickle of Allied troops entering the Kremlin quickly transformed into a flood.


For a brief nano-second, he couldn't recall where he was.  An inner voice, thick with spite, snickered quietly in his head.

'Embrace the moment.'  It whispered.  'Hang on to the amnesia, because this tiny moment of zero recall is the best thing that's going to happen to you for some considerable time.'

Naturally, he didn't care much for this inner voice, and was doing his best to ignore it.  But nothing could stop the inner voice when it had bad news to impart, news as bad as this bad news.

'Whatever you do,' it continued to bait him, 'don't access reality - you're not going to like it one little bit.'

He struggled into a sitting position and peered through the darkness that surrounded him.  He was in some sort of prison cell.  A huge metal rusty door, at one end, and a small, dimly lit light bulb in the centre of the roof.  He raised his handcuffed wrists and tried to massage a sensible expression onto his face with the balls of his palms.

Prison cell?

Why on earth would he be in a prison cell?  He'd done nothing wrong.  Well, nothing that he could remember anyway.  He looked down, to see that he was lying on some sort of prison bed, with an old grey mattress, and a thick brown blanket, with a very deflated pillow at one end.  He then spied a wash sink, with a mirror. 

Getting up, he walked over to it, and looked at the total stranger staring back at him.

It was a plump man with a seven-day growth and hollow checks.  A guy in a battle ship grey overalls and faded brown rubber soled shoes.  A guy with disappearing jet-black hair, and dark brown eyes.  He looked down at himself.  His hands were cuffed together, with chains that also connected to cuffs around his ankles.  The small length of chian that ran between his leg cuffs, was very short, and made it difficult to walk.

What had I done?

He turned around and headed back for his bunk, turning around, and sitting back down, staring at the door.  He was frightened.  He couldn't remember why, but he just knew.


Just then, he remembered everything.  It all came flooding back to him, with a vengeance.  He went whiter than a brand-new pair of trainers.

'Told you,' said the inner voice.  'Isn't this the worst situation you've ever been in, in your entire life?'  The inner voice was wrong, but not by much.

He gazed towards the security camera watching him from the top right hand corner of his cell.  Why?  Why him?  Was it bad luck?  Had he just never had the breaks?  Or was it simply that he'd been stupid enough to take that particular route in life?  One lousy thought made by his brain, and things could have worked out so differently.  He wouldn't have wound up here, stuck in the middle of hostile territory, on the other side of the world, thousands of miles away from the nice warm comfort of his motherland

Somewhere along the line, he'd made a really poor career choice.  He let his head fall into his hands, and began to wonder when it had all started to go wrong.