_Chapter 2: Trouble is a constant companion_
 
_ _
 
          Almost worse than the humiliation and dishonor caused by the defeat
was the interview that Ron had to sit through the next day.  He had promised
Melissa that he would make himself available after the battle, and he would
not go back on his word simply because he’d made an ass of himself.
 
          “So, General, what went wrong at yesterday’s battle?”
 
          “Well, basically, Melissa, I screwed up.  I was responsible for
yesterday’s battle plan.  I did not foresee some of the tactics that the
Russians would use against us.”
 
          “I see.”  She had to ask the next question, and she hated it,
because she had begun to like the man.  “How many lives did yesterday’s battle
cost you?”
 
          Ron’s face darkened as he fought the emotional content of that
question.  He managed to get it under control without much of an outward
display.  He shifted himself slightly in his chair as he said, “We lost two
hundred and seventy-seven brave people last night, Melissa.”
 
          “What are you going to tell their families?”
 
          “I’ve already spoken to their families.  I told them why the mission
was important.  I told them how their sons and daughters, spouses and parents,
fought bravely and died for their country.  I told them all of the same crap
that commanding officers have probably been telling families for hundreds of
years.”  That he had never expected to have to be the one to tell them was not
something he wanted to say on the air.
 
          Melissa was glad to have this phase of the interview over.  She
hadn’t really wanted to bring it up, but her producer would have had a fit if
she hadn’t.  “So, General, where do we go from here?”
 
          “Well, first thing is to learn from last night’s mistakes.  We’ll
study our battle plan, and see what went wrong, and what went right.  Then
we’ll work out new tactics to counter that.  It’s the way war is waged: you
make mistakes, you pick up the pieces, and you learn.  Unfortunately, in the
process of learning, some people are lost to those mistakes.  I have to live
with that now.”
 
          “Where do you think the Russians will strike next?”
 
          “We have some information about that, but I can’t reveal it here, as
that would compromise our sources.  No city is safe while these bastards are
running loose in our country.”
 
          Melissa continued her interview, moving from question to question,
glad to have the hard part over, and hoping Ron would understand the necessity
of having had to ask those questions.  She could not know that Ron had been
asking himself those questions all night long, and would continue to ask them
for some time to come.
 
          Kimberly, Lars and Karen watched the interview from behind the
camera, which was set up in the study of Ron’s house.  Lars watched
impassively, simply observing the process.  Karen was still shocked and
saddened by last night’s events.  Both of them took an interest in Kim’s
reaction to the interviewer’s questions.  When he was asked about casualty
numbers, and in essence blamed for them, Kim’s hands balled into fists so
tight that her knuckles were white.  Her mouth set in a distinctive frown, and
her eyes intensified to the point of almost glowing.
 
          *<Doesn’t she know that he couldn’t have helped this?>* Kim demanded
of the others.
 
          *<She’s only doing her job, Kim.  As Ron was doing his last night,
and is continuing to do it now, by answering her questions calmly.>* Lars
answered.
 
          *<But, dammit, it’s not fair!  Ron did everything he could,
and...>*  The other two could see she was close to tears on the matter.  Karen
reached over and placed a caring hand on her forearm.
 
          *<No, it’s not fair, Kim.  But this is how life is.  Ron understands
that.  He already blames himself for last night.  Anything that reporter might
say will add little to that.>*
 
          *<But it wasn’t his fault!>*  Kimberly nearly shouted in her
thoughts.  Lars and Karen shared a look, and a thought.
 
          *<No, Kimmy, it wasn’t his fault.  And it is *our* job to convince
him of that, and to help him through this.  Do you understand?>*
 
          Kimberly looked at him, thinking it through.  *How can I help him,
when I myself still have such doubts?  We all depended on his strength too
much.  We pushed him too hard.*
 
*          <This was *our* fault.>*  she told Lars and Karen.  They simply
nodded back at her.  There was enough blame to go around for this day.
 
 
 
          The day’s ugliness was not over simply because Melissa and Rick had
packed their gear.  Ron forced himself to visit the injured.  To stop and
speak, however briefly, to each and every last person that had fallen last
night.  He shook his head in disbelief as he looked down at Jeffrey, lying in
bed, bandaged.  He would heal, but it would take time.  Even Ron’s healing
energies couldn’t correct the myriad of problems around him in anything less
than several weeks.
 
          “Looks like you zigged when you should have zagged, Jeff,” Ron said,
trying to brighten his friend’s mood.  Jeff started to laugh, but the pain
that caused made him cough instead.
 
          “Oh, shit.  Yeah... well, I got my bag limit last night, I guess.”
 
          “How many?” Ron asked, knowing the man needed a chance to brag, just
a little.
 
          “I lost count after six, but I think it was around ten or twelve.”
 
          “Good work.  We figure they lost around two hundred twenty troops. 
Not quite as many as us, but we’ll do better next time.”
 
          “Hope I’m up for it, sir,” Jeffrey answered, trying to lie
straighter in the bed.
 
          “You just worry about getting healed, Jeff.  Take it easy.”  With
that, Ron moved on.  The hospital staff admired Ron for the effort.  Nothing
helped healing more than knowing that the person you fought for actually gave
a damn.  They could also see the pain that this visit caused their commander,
and they worried about that.  But it wasn’t their place to deal with it.
 
 
 
          It was three days later when the post-action scout arrived at PPA
headquarters.  He was exhausted, bedraggled, and tired, and Ron ordered him
off to be checked, and to rest.  The information could almost certainly wait
until the next day.
 
          When the man was fully rested, he reported to Ron’s office.  Kim,
Lars, Karen, and Shelley were present.  Cindy came in with refreshments for
everyone, and he motioned her to stay.  She stood behind him, right next to
Kim.  They both shared a look, and a brief smile, at their similarity of
position.
 
          “Okay, Tom.  Tell us what you saw,” Ron ordered.
 
          Sergeant Tom Crystal was twenty-two years old, just out of college
with a Computer Information Systems degree.  His longish blonde hair fell into
his eyes, and he flipped it back, trying to stand straight, but his injuries
and his weariness prevented him from doing a proper job.  Ron motioned him to
a chair, and he gratefully slumped into it.  His long legs stretched out in
front of him, and his hands folded in his lap.  Everyone in the room waited
patiently for him to speak.
 
          “Sir, the stuff they did... I’m not even sure if I can describe it
out loud.”
 
          Ron looked thoughtful for a moment.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to do
what he was thinking about, but it was the best, fastest, and most accurate
way to get the information.
 
          “Broadcast it to us, then.”
 
          “Yes, sir.”  And so the terror began...
 
 
 
          ... He was hiding amid the rubble, trying to keep as much to himself
as possible.  Two Russians had already presumed him dead, and passed him by,
so he figured his little trick of playing dead, lowering his heart rate and
stopping his breathing for long periods of time, worked.  It allowed him to
observe the aftermath, without being in too much danger.
 
          What he saw turned his blood cold.  They were rounding up the
remaining citizens of Philadelphia.  Most of the people had, intelligently,
left the city.  Many had not.  There were people of every age and race and
social status.  They were all being roughly moved to the waterfront.  Tom had
to assume this was simply because there was enough open space there.  There
were several thousand people left in the city.
 
          He had to follow, as that was where all of the Russians were moving,
as well.  He kept to the shadows, masking his psionic powers, not using them
at all, as he moved silently behind the last Russians, marching east towards
the Delaware River.  He watched as people who slowed too much were prodded,
and whipped by one psionic’s extension.  He was driving them like cattle
towards the slaughter, and Tom only hoped that wasn’t what he was about to
witness.
 
          Once all the people had been driven to the water’s edge, she
appeared.  Tom knew her only as Zinaida, as he was not aware of her history
with Ron.  She arrived from the sky, dressed in a black, tight-fitting
outfit.  Her auburn hair rested against her shoulders, and her eyes burned
like fire.  She walked up to the nearest man, a man of importance from the way
the crowd deferred to him.  She spoke to him softly, words that Tom could not
hear.  The man nodded to her politely, deferentially.  He sought no trouble
from her, he was giving her everything she wanted.  It mattered not at all.
 
          Zinaida’s hands flew over the man’s body, striking him in a dozen
places.  Even from his post two hundred yards away, Tom could hear the bones
snapping.  The man cried out in agony as he collapsed to the ground.  A woman,
standing next to the man, stood up to Zinaida in defiance.  *Probably his
wife,* Tom thought.   Zinaida stoically absorbed the woman’s tirade for about
ten seconds, then reached over and snapped the woman’s head around so that she
could see behind her, before she fell to the ground, dead.  Tom nearly gasped,
but caught himself.  There were three guards not ten yards from him, and he
would have absolutely no chance of escape at this juncture.
 
          “Bring it to me!” Zinaida bellowed, and four psionics, low on the
totem pole to be given such a menial job, carried out an object that Tom did
not immediately recognize.  When he finally realized what it was, his blood
boiled.  *Those bastards!*  The object in question was the Liberty Bell, taken
from its pavilion across the street from Independence Hall.
 
          Zinaida ran her hands over the metal of the bell, feeling its
texture, letting her hands trace the words.  She read the inscription on the
bell, and laughed.
 
          “This country will have no liberty!  We shall rule with an iron
fist!”  And with that, her energy poured into the bell, and it shattered into
dozens of pieces, the shrapnel flying into the crowd, killing eight people
instantly, so strong was the blast.
 
          Zinaida turned to her troops, and, in a very American way, said,
“Party time!”
 
          What followed turned Tom’s stomach.  The revelry and carousal that
followed sickened him.  The women and men of Philadelphia were being *used*,
as if they were nothing more than mere toys for the amusement of the Russian
soldiers.  *Soldiers?  These aren’t soldiers.  These are animals!*
 
          He saw one man who was using his extension to fuck three women – and
one man – all at the same time.  Others were doing depraved things to small
children.  Most of them were killing their victims when they had finished with
them.  Zinaida sat above it all, watching, but not participating.  She bore a
serene smile on her face, as if it was all a pleasure to her.
 
          Tom slipped away as quietly as he could...
 
 
 
 
 
          ... “And that’s what happened afterward, sir,” Tom said, shuddering
at the memory of it.  Cindy thought she was going to be sick.  Kimberly was
shocked at the depth of their depravity.  The rest were likewise upset.  Ron,
however, was pissed.
 
          Shelly managed to ask, “How did you get injured?  And what took you
three days to get back here?”
 
          “On the way back I ran into a small unit of Russians.  I managed to
dodge and hide until they gave up looking for me, but it was a hell of a
struggle.”
 
          As Ron sat subdued, Lars did something he should not have done.  He
knew it at the time, and did it anyway.  “You watched all that, and did
nothing to help those people?”
 
          “What would you have liked me to do, Colonel?  It was one on, oh,
about eight hundred or so!”
 
          Ron let that argument funnel into his consciousness, and his anger
grew.  “Please stop,” he said, almost in a whisper.  The only people who heard
him were Kim and Shelly.  The argument continued.  He repeated himself only
slightly louder, this time Cindy heard him, and Karen.  They all knew there
was trouble coming, but they couldn’t stop these two who had, for some
completely unknown reason, locked into a terminal battle of words.  Ron had
all he could take.
 
          “Shut the fuck up!” He bellowed.  Everyone in the room actually took
a step backwards as his rage surged over their bodies, actually tangible in
form.  The room was filled with silence, the two arguers ghostly white.  “I
don’t need this kind of goddamned bickering in the ranks!”  Ron’s fury was
evident, his eyes were wild.  “We have enough problems without being at each
other’s throats.  *Colonel*,” Ron said vehemently, using the title for a
reason, “You should fucking well know better!  That soldier did exactly as he
was trained to do.  *BY YOU!*  Now, because you don’t like the sights and
sounds of it, you’re going to chew him out for it?  I don’t think so!”  Tom
was not off the hook, however.  “And you, Sergeant, should know better than to
argue with a superior officer, even if he *is* acting like an ass!  All of
you, out of here, *now*!”
 
          As Ron slammed himself back into his seat, fuming, the people fairly
flew from the room, not wanting to be anywhere near that kind of anger. 
Especially when he happened to be right.  Tom and Lars spoke briefly to each
other, apologizing profusely.  When they were finished, Karen walked up to
Lars, her own anger brewing.
 
          *<<What in the hell did you think you were doing?>>*  she demanded.
 
          Lars looked at her with shame on his face.  *<<I really... don’t
know what came over me.  I’ve never done that to a trooper before.  Even
Hunters who’ve come back with stories like that... I’ve never berated them for
slipping away.  I guess... I’ve never had to *see* it before, Karen.>>*
 
*          <<Oh, great.  Do you have any idea what just *really* happened in
there?  Ron didn’t need this.  Are you out of your fucking mind?  Now he has
to worry about you, too!  Look, I love you, and nothing is going to change
that, but if you don’t get your goddamned head screwed on straight, I’ll kick
your fucking ass myself!>>*  As she stormed away, her fury radiating off in
all directions, he had no doubt she could do it.
 
 
 
          For the next three weeks, Ron and the PPA spent their time planning,
training, and healing.  Not all of their troops were yet up to the tasks
ahead, some were still in the hospital ward.  However, there had been several
Russian attacks since Philadelphia, and other, smaller psionic groups were
being wiped out.  Ron felt the PPA needed to do something.  He called together
his leaders.
 
          Looking around, he studied each one’s eyes.  There was Kim, his
self-appointed assistant, looking to him for courage.  Lars, his second in
command, looking to him for leadership.  Karen looked to him for strength. 
Maj. Robert Winters, acting in Jeffrey’s stead, looked to him for guidance. 
The only eyes he felt comfortable with were those of Lt. Shelly Saunders.  All
she sought from him were instructions.
 
          “Okay, our numbers are nearly at three thousand now, even after the
battle in Philadelphia.”  The pause in his speech before he said “battle” was
barely noticeable anymore.  “It’s time we spread out, start looking for the
Russians.  We know that they normally travel in smaller groups, and then seem
to come together for the really big attacks.  Philadelphia was one of those. 
Seattle was another, and we missed that one altogether.  We’ve got to have
better intel.”  Before the eyes could turn in Robert’s direction, Ron said,
“That’s not the fault of Major Winters.  His crew is doing what they can, but
we’ve got to be out *there*, not in here.  So, here is what I want to do.  We
are going to form up 30 teams, each of one hundred person strength.  One of
those teams will always be here at the house as a guard force.  The rest, I
want roaming the country, looking for those bastards.”
 
          No one questioned Ron’s plan so far.  Kim had a question, however. 
“Ron, how do we assign leaders?”
 
          “Go down the ranks.  Start with the majors.  If that’s not enough,
promote some captains to major rank.  The lieutenant colonels will stay here
with the headquarters unit, analyzing the information.  When a major battle is
coming up, we’ll send one or two out to lead the fight.  We can win this,
guys, but we’ve got to play it smart.  My first plan was downright stupid. 
This time, we do it right.”
 
          The discussion was interrupted by Cindy appearing at the door.  She
stood quietly until she was acknowledged.
 
          “What is it, Cindy?” Ron asked.
 
          “Sir... there are military vehicles pulling up out front.”
 
          “Let’s have a look.”
 
          They all went out the front door, to find a large number of troop
transport trucks lined up down the road.  The lead truck pulled in the gate,
and a military officer, a colonel from his insignia, walked up to Ron.  The
man had graying hair and stood a good four inches over Ron’s height, and yet
he saluted first.
 
          “Sir, the Psionic Corps reporting for duty, sir!”
 
          Ron returned the salute.  “At ease.  Then you can tell me what the
hell you’re talking about.”
 
          In response, the man just handed over his paperwork.  Ron read
through it quickly.  “Holy fucking shit,” he muttered under his breath.
 
          “What is it, sir?” Shelly asked, more familiar with all this than
anyone else.
 
          “We’ve been federalized.  Well, sort of.”  Ron handed the paperwork
to Shelly, who started to read through it more slowly, as Ron explained to the
others.  “As I understand those papers, and correct me if I’m wrong, Shelly,
the government has just chopped this entire group of soldiers to our command. 
We’re still not a congressionally sanctioned fighting force, but we are being
given provisional use of military personnel for the duration of the war.  Is
that about it, Lieutenant?” Ron added her title because of the soldier
standing there.
 
          “That looks to be it, General.  Looks like you did, and didn’t, get
your wish after all.”
 
          “Fuck.”  Ron turned to the colonel, who was obviously waiting for
orders.  “How many men in your detachment, colonel?”
 
          “Two thousand, six hundred and four, sir.  These are all of the
personnel in the Army and Coast Guard that were found to have the Ability,
sir.”
 
          “Does that include you, colonel?”  The man turned beet red.
 
          “Yes, sir.”
 
          “Your rating?”
 
          “Sir?”
 
          “Have you had any training in the psionic arts?”
 
          “No, sir.”
 
          “Shit.  All right, colonel.  Assemble your troops, and strip them of
their rank.  I will re-assign you PPA rank over the next few days.”
 
          The man blinked, but then snapped to attention.  “Yes sir!” he
responded, with a salute.  Ron returned it, and then watched the man return to
his truck.
 
          “Cindy, I’m going to need you, Megan, and Jill to log these people,
the same way you’ve been doing the others.  Do not list any kind of rank with
their name, I don’t want to know what they used to be.  We’ll assign them rank
according to their skills, not their connections.”
 
          “Yes, Master,” Cindy replied, and hurried off to do as she was
told.  Ron pulled up short when he realized just how nice it was for someone
to call him something, *anything*, other than ‘sir’.  He shook his head as he
moved out to what had become the parade ground.  In the last week, he had
purchased the properties all around him, giving the PPA a proper base to work
from.  Already, new buildings were being constructed to house troops.  They
were working at best possible speed, but it would still be a few weeks before
those buildings were finished.  The soldiers would have to sleep in tents
until then.  Ron figured that the Army guys would be used to it.  The Coasties
would just have to suffer through.
 
          The troops were filing through a line where they removed their rank
insignia and then filed onto the parade ground into formation.  As that
process was proceeding, the former colonel of the US Army approached Ron again.
 
          “The men are removing all their insignias.  How will you assign new
rank, sir?”
 
          *Well, back to ‘sir’.  At least Cindy knows I’m really a civilian.* 
Ron smirked at his thought before answering.  “By skills.  What’s your name?”
 
          “Mark Titus.”
 
          “Your job in the Army?”
 
          “Plans and Operations.”
 
          “You were a strategist?”
 
          “Yes, sir.  I have a degree from the War College in military
strategy.”
 
          “You can have your colonelcy back, then.  You’ll be working here at
headquarters with me.”
 
          “Yes, sir!” Col. Titus barked.
 
          “What about the Air Force, Navy, and Marine Corps psionics?”
 
          “Should be here within the week, sir.  I don’t have a count on them
for you.”
 
          “Very well.”  Just then, Ron’s three girls came out with clipboards
and pens.  They moved to start interviewing troops.  “Hold up, girls.”  The
three stopped immediately, and looked to him for guidance.  Ron pointed to the
three biggest guys he could see close at hand.  “You three, come here.”  When
they did, he continued, “Follow Kim into the house, and bring out three tables
and some chairs.  No point in these girls standing up all day.”
 
          “Yes, sir!” was the enthusiastic reply from all three of them, and
Kim led them off into the house.
 
          “Civilians, sir?  You have civilians working for you?” the colonel
asked.
 
          “They’re not civilians, they’re part of my family.  Keep in mind
this isn’t a US military reservation, this is my goddamned house.  This whole
thing is one big fucking mess.  Those girls... will do whatever I ask of
them.”  The colonel got the message from that.
 
          “Understood, sir.  None of my troops have anyone like that.  Is that
to be encouraged or discouraged?”
 
          “Until they can get back to their own housing, I’d discourage it. 
We will fully train these troops, Colonel.  They will be ready before I send
them into battle.”
 
          Just then, a group of psionics returned from a reconnaissance
mission.  Many of the soldiers looked up in awe as they flew down out of the
sky to land on the parade grounds, and walked over to Ron.
 
          Their leader snapped to attention, and saluted.  The colonel
returned the salute before Ron did, which amused both Ron and the returning
captain immensely.
 
          “Report, John,” Ron said.
 
          “Sir, Cheyenne, Wyoming, and the surrounding area is... sir, it’s
*gone.*  I don’t mean destroyed, sir.  They leveled it down to the ground. 
Except for the pavement, you’d be hard pressed to tell it was just a
collection of rocks.”
 
          “Fuck me!” the colonel blurted.  He turned red again.  “Begging your
pardon, General.”
 
          “Sounded about right to me, Colonel.  Colonel Mark Titus, this is
Captain John Billford.  He’s head of one of our recon teams.  John, I’m moving
you up to major.  See Lars for your new assignment.”
 
          “No more recon duty, sir?” he asked.
 
          “Fuck recon, John.  It’s time to start kicking ass.”
 
          “Yes, sir!  Thank you, sir!”  John saluted, and trotted off.
 
          “Some of the men are not going to be comfortable serving under these
civilians, sir.”  He didn’t need to say that he wasn’t comfortable taking
orders from someone who had just turned seventeen.
 
          “There are no civilians here, Colonel, and your troops are the ones
who are green.  Sure, some of them may have fought in war, but nothing like
what we’re facing now.  Any discomfort they feel will pass after their first
battle.”  *Unlike my own, which just keeps getting worse.*  Ron had not wanted
this job, he didn’t *like* this job.  He wasn’t a general, he was a
high-school student.  He wanted to go back to being a high-school student, but
he couldn’t make this nightmare go away.
 
          “Yes, sir,” the colonel replied.
 
          “Nikki!” Ron hollered, seeing her across the yard.  She rushed over
to him, but forewent the kiss that she normally would have given him, as he
had ‘official’ company.
 
          “What’s up?” she asked.
 
          “Could you do me a favor and go get these guys some uniforms out of
the supply shed?”
 
          “Sure thing... how many do I need?
 
          “About three thousand.”
 
          She just sort of stared at him for a minute.  “Ron, they come like,
what?  Ten or twelve to a box?”
 
          He smiled at her.  “What, you don’t want to spend all day lugging
boxes around?”  He laughed, his only light moment in days.  “Colonel?”
 
          The colonel quickly rounded up a detail to help the girl pick up the
uniforms.  Meanwhile, Ron discreetly gave her a hug and a quick kiss.  "Take
it easy, Nik.”
 
          “You got it, Big Brother.”  She hugged him back, in a more sisterly
fashion, and led the troops off to get their new uniforms.
 
          *<Don’t forget the rank insignia, Nikki.>* Ron thought to her. 
She’d grown so used to his thoughts entering her head that way, she didn’t
even slow down her pace.
 
 
 
          It took the rest of the day to get the new recruits settled into
position.  He had a whole new set of problems to deal with now, and a whole
new set of egos.  There were three colonels and one general in this bunch that
were extremely unhappy to be busted back to the rank of lieutenant, just
because their skills weren’t up to par.  He had four latent psionics to worry
about, and they were being handled by Lars and Karen in a most delicate manner
to try to provoke their Ability out into the open.
 
          The next day, Ron gave the orders to his experienced troops, who
headed off to their assigned duties. 2900 psionics departed the base.  Ron
wondered how many would live to return to it.  

          With the newly acquired military psionics, the base was anything but
empty.  And more troops arrived the following day, the men from the Air
Force.  Two days later the Navy and Marine Corps officers joined the PPA.
 
 
 
          “Commander Maxton, we meet again.”
 
          “Sir!” the man saluted, as did his assistant, Rita Connelly.
 
          “Commander, I’m afraid you won’t be commanding anything for a
while.  You need to learn to use your skills.  For now, you’re just about back
to midshipman.”
 
          “I understand, sir,” said the former officer.
 
          “As for you, Miss Connelly, you are afforded civilian status here at
the PPA base.  You may dress in whatever attire Mr. Maxton finds appropriate
for you.”
 
          “Aye, aye, General,” the lady replied, with some confusion.
 
          “You were the highest ranking officer in this collection, Mr.
Maxton?”
 
          “No, sir.  Admiral Hollows is.  He is there in the Hummer, sir.”
 
          “Any training with his Ability?”
 
          “I don’t know, sir.”
 
          It turned out that Admiral Hollows had not, in fact, had any
experience with his Ability.  Ron found it curious that so many people had
this thing, without playing with it.  He guessed he was just more curious...
or perhaps he was just hornier, he thought to himself, remembering the early
days of his Ability.  *Damn, to be living back in those days again.*
 
          Another two days had all of these troops settled, and their training
underway.  All told, there were over seven thousand military psionics, and Ron
had to plan for several more buildings.  The contractor he had hired was
pleased to be receiving so much work, at a premium price, but the downside was
that the timetable on the project was extremely tight.
 
 
 
          It was another two weeks before the call came in.  Several
skirmishes had happened between the PPA and what Ron now called FC soldiers. 
For the most part, it had come out a draw, but in a war of this kind, a draw
meant that the FC was winning.
 
          Then, Ron received notice from one of his groups.  Word on the
street was that people shouldn’t be in Los Angeles for the next few days.  Ron
was always amazed how people on the street could find these things out, but
somehow they managed it.
 
          He called together his planning team.  Now, he not only had himself
and Lars, but two Army colonels, an Air Force major, and a Navy captain to
help out.  They began to plot the defense of Los Angeles.
 
          After a marathon eight-hour session, they closed the books on their
planning.  It was now time to *do something*.
 
          The PPA’s next trial would be in the City of the Angels.  Ron hoped
he wouldn’t become one in the next few days.
 
 
 
          Twenty-two hundred soldiers from the Provisional Psionic Army took
up their posts around Los Angeles.  Ron was not to be distracted this time,
and he was there, beside his team.  Actually, it was Kim’s team of Hunters,
but since she always backed him up, it effectively became his team.  They
settled in to their positions to wait.
 
          Out of the blue, he said to her, “You know what doesn’t make sense
about all of this to me?”
 
          “What’s that?” Kim inquired.
 
          “There’s nobody left here.  Well, okay, yeah maybe as many as five
or six thousand people who are too stupid to run... But no one else is still
around.  What’s the point of attacking the city?”
 
          “Perhaps it’s not the people they’re after,” Kim suggested.
 
          “Then what?”
 
          “That... I don’t know.”  She shook her head, not having any answers
for her boss.  She was extremely nervous.  She had thought that the bad
memories of her last battle experience were forgotten.  She was wrong.  They
were coming flooding back to her now, and her fear was only intensifying.
 
          Ron saw it on her face.  He gently grabbed her hand and squeezed,
briefly, and then let go.  The look in his eyes told her, *You’ll do fine. 
Trust me.*  But she’d already decided that trusting him was the problem: they
all trusted him *too much*.  And yet...
 
          *And yet you can’t help yourself, can you Kimberly?*  The little
voice in her head that loved to punish her said.
 
          *I should not lean so heavily on him!* she raged to herself.
 
          *Then why don’t you stop?* the voice said with vicious mirth.
 
          *Because I... I...*  She couldn’t make herself say it.
 
          *You clung to him like a frightened child after the last battle,*
the voice reminded her.
 
          *Yes, I did.  But none of this can be.  He has no feelings for me,
anyway!*
 
          *Doesn’t he?  Why did he let you cling to him like that?  No one
else would have.*
 
*          Of course they would!* she snapped back, angry at her own mind for
tormenting her this way.
 
          *Would Lars?*
 
          *Well... no... but...*
 
_          _*But what?  But Lars is different?* the voice sneered.  *Yes, he
is.  You don’t love Lars.*
 
          *NO!* she snarled to herself, physically turning away from the
conversation in her head.  It didn’t stop the little voice from nagging at her
anyway, but she refused to be taunted by it.  Instead she focused on her job,
checking her surroundings for signs of trouble.
 
          Ron had observed her little interlude, watching her face, wondering
what was going on in the mind of his subordinate.  He wished she would confide
in him, but she showed no signs of ever doing so.  He also wished he knew some
way to make her forget Philadelphia.  *So, Chaffey old boy, what have you
screwed up this time?*  His own mind played its own game of torture with him. 
This time, however, he’d had real military planning done, and he was more
confident that the plan would work.  With over two thousand troops well placed
around the city, he felt they had a good handle on things.
 
 
 
 
 
          Over the next two days, the troops settled in to wait for the
attack.  Somehow, they had expected it to come as quickly as the last major
battle had.  Ron wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.  He and two of his
crew were driving around the city, checking in with other units.  They were
keeping psionic emissions to an absolute minimum, in the hopes that the
Russians would not know how many troops were here.
 
          As they drove along, they spotted a gang of looters.  That didn’t
bother Ron: it was only stuff, and that’s why stores had insurance.  What
caught his eye were the three women running from the store, being chased by
the gang members.
 
          “Pull over,” Ron said.
 
          “Sir, they’re just three-“ his lieutenant started to say.
 
          “Pull the fucking truck over!” Ron snarled.  The man did as ordered,
and Ron stepped from the Hummer.  The people were all still in range, and he
reached out a mental control, freezing all of them in their tracks.  He held
them in place as he walked over to them.  His boots thumped smartly against
the concrete as he marched, the stars on his shoulder glistening in the
afternoon sun.  Once in front of them, he released the women first.  At first,
they were afraid he was helping the gang, but then they saw that the gang was
still frozen.
 
          “Why are you ladies still in town?” Ron asked.
 
          “No way to get *out* of town,” replied one.
 
          “Go get in the truck,” Ron ordered softly.  The girls quickly
complied.  At that point, Ron released the gang members, who looked him over
once, and then advanced.
 
          “How moronic would it be to attack a psionic?” he asked.  They
slowed, but did not stop advancing.  He decided to make his point a little
clearer.  He lifted their leader up, high over their heads, and threw him
across the street, through another storefront window.  “Now, chances are, he’s
still alive.  The *next* guy, won’t be.  I repeat, do you really want to do
this?  Get the hell out of the city, while you still can.”
 
          The gang members looked from Ron to the store across the street, and
back to Ron.  One by one, they each turned and started running.  Gratified, he
returned to the truck.  He looked back at the girls, who were all huddled
together.  “I’ll have somebody take you girls out of here, just as soon as
we’re finished with our task.  Drive on, Lieutenant.”
 
          “Yes, sir,” replied the former colonel of the army.  The extra shove
he gave the gas pedal announced his displeasure with his current job of
driving this kid around town.
 
 
 
          Ron returned to his main post at nine that night.  He sent the girls
east in a sturdy vehicle, but with no escort.  He didn’t figure they’d be in
any danger, once they were clear of the city.  He’d done all he could for them.
 
          “I keep coming back to it,” he said out loud, but not actually to
anyone in particular.
 
          Kim asked, “Back to what?”
 
          “Why here?  Why now?  There’s nothing left to gain... this is a dead
place.  The only people here are us, and a few stragglers.”
 
          “Maybe it’s the city they want.”
 
          “But every city they’ve been too, they’ve...”  Ron’s thought trailed
off.  Kim was about to ask him what he was thinking, but then she saw the look
on his face.  It was a look of concentration, a look of thoughtfulness.  She
let him be.
 
 
 
          Ron was up the next morning with the sun.  He looked down at the
sleeping form of Kimberly, enjoyed how her hair flowed down her back, and was
flung over her shoulder as she slept.  Her face was peaceful, with even the
hint of a smile on her lips.  She looked like an angel.  *There are no angels,
Ron*, he said to himself.  *But she does look like a Guardian.*  He chuckled
lightly to himself at the thought, fondly remembering his friends from the
other realm.  Then he relieved the guard who was standing watch, so that he
could now get some rest.   Ron took a survey of the city around him, and his
thoughts started to come together.
 
          *What do they want from this place?  They can’t want to enslave, or
even kill, the people, because those have been driven off.  They can’t want
the materials, or the city itself, because every one of those they have been
to has been completely wiped out.  So, what do they want from Los Angeles?* 
His mind wasn’t yet ready to take the next step, and he was stymied.
 
          He didn’t have very long to dwell on it, as he heard the familiar
whooshing sound of psionics moving at high speed through the atmosphere.  The
sound was similar to that of a jet plane, but without the engine noises.  For
those who hadn’t heard it, he sent out a city-wide wakeup call.  He used a low
power, directed signal which he hoped the Russians wouldn’t detect.
 
          The sound grew louder, and then Ron could see them.  Kimberly was
just rising from her sleep, and he not-so-gently pushed her back down to the
ground as he crouched, keeping his eyes focused on his enemy.  They were
almost a small black cloud, blotting out a small portion of the sky.  There
was no way he could count them all.  The sense of a large number of troops was
there, but there were too many thought patterns to work them all out.
 
          “Stay down, all of you,” he ordered, not loudly, but in a normal
tone of voice.  “They probably haven’t seen us yet, and I’d like to keep it
that way.”  The people with him silently acknowledged what he was doing.
 
          Ron looked left and right, to see that other PPA soldiers were
crouching as well, hiding behind building parapets and other roof structures. 
He turned back to watch as the Russians came in.  They were coming slowly, and
now they started to fan out.  He had expected this part, and so the plan was
working as expected.
 
          “Kim, check six,” he said, slipping into the language of the books
he used to read, when he’d had time for such luxuries.
 
          “Huh?” she asked.
 
          “Watch our backs,” he explained patiently.
 
          “Yes.”
 
          The nearest Russian to Ron was now still over a mile away.  Ron’s
shields were not up yet, as that would highlight his position to anyone
monitoring psionic activity.  He saw a solid knot of people formed at the
center of the group, and he figured that was the command staff.  Although they
were much too far away for him to go after now, he would keep his eye on them.
 
 
 
 
 
          Lars and Karen tensed, down at street level.  They could see the
Russians approaching as they looked through an opening in-between buildings. 
Karen grabbed Lars’ hand and squeezed.  He looked over at her, and their eyes
said everything.
 
          *<<Be careful,>>* he said to her.
 
          *<<As always,>>* she responded.
 
          They split, to lead two different groups of people.  The advantage
for them was that their permanent link did not register as psionic activity,
and so they could communicate between the two groups without danger.  Karen
led her team off to the north.  Lars kept his team where it was.  Their part
of the plan was already in motion.
 
 
 
 
 
          Kara was fuming.  Once again, she was stuck with the damned news
crew.  She would have been even more furious if she’d known that they had
*requested* her.  

          *How in the hell am I supposed to get into the action, if I’ve got
to baby-sit these two all the time?*
 
          She could see the FC troops rolling in, a black cloud that began to
spread.  Kara was certain that Rick was getting all sorts of great footage off
of this.  *The black menace,* she thought humorlessly. *That’s what the media
will call them.*
 
 
 
 
 
          The PPA tensed, and the FC advanced.  They allowed the black-clad
troops to close to within five hundred yards of their frontline positions. 
Almost as one man, twenty PPA soldiers loosed a controlled burst at their
nearest targets.  Of those twenty targets, sixteen fell to the ground.  Ron’s
target never made it to the ground, as he evaporated and blew away in the wind.
 
          Now, the battle was on.  The FC soldiers immediately returned fire
for their fallen comrades, and the melee began.  Ron’s position was assaulted
by no less than ten FC troops, but Ron’s shields protected them all.  During a
lull in the firing, the PPA soldiers with Ron slipped off the rooftop, and
spread out.  Kimberly stayed at Ron’s side as they moved down onto the wide
city street in front of their building.  The FC troops shifted fire, and Ron
and Kim maneuvered around it.  Ron actually taunted them, saying things like,
“What, are you blind?”  and “We’re over here, dimwit!”  He was trying to goad
them into a chase, and he could see it was working.  They began to move slowly
down the road, and then picked up speed.
 
          Ron took the opportunity to look back, and saw that the FC men were,
indeed, following.  Ron and Kim took a separation, acting almost like
aircraft.  Kim remained slightly behind, and slightly below, Ron, watching out
for other enemies.  They focused their concentration on what was behind them
as they let their eyes watch what was in front of them.  They often had to
weave their flight path to avoid psionic fire from behind them, watching it
blast cars, vans, or the very roadway beneath them after it had missed its
intended target.  The soldiers behind them were keeping pace, but were wary
enough not to get too close.  That was bad.
 
          They were flying over a raised portion of the freeway, and so Ron
motioned to Kim, and they dove around and under the freeway.  They stopped
quickly, and they were very near a small unit of PPA troops.  Ron signaled for
them to join in, and they did, flying up and over the freeway.
 
          The Russians had already passed by Ron’s position, and so the PPA
soldiers got the drop on them.  Ron and Kim fired the first volleys, and these
FC barbarians were soon falling from the sky.
 
          “Good work, Captain,” Ron said, and he and Kim moved off, looking
for another group.
 
 
 
 
 
          Karen’s small band was in trouble, and Lars couldn’t get to her.  He
had his hands full with several dozen FC troops pinning his force down.  Karen
and her twenty men and women were flying down streets, ducking around
corners.  The FC forces behind them were blasting away at buildings, trying to
get at them, but they were managing to stay one step ahead of them.  She heard
a scream behind her, but didn’t dare to look; she didn’t dare slow down or
they were all just as dead.
 
          She mentally counted those still with her, and she found she was
down to twelve.  In such a short time, she had lost eight new friends.  The
thought hit her hard, and she almost stumbled in her flying.  She righted
herself quickly, and refocused on the task at hand: survival.  She dodged
around yet another corner.
 
 
 
 
 
          Lars’ men were holding their own, but it was a tough battle.  Once
again, he found himself outnumbered.  He felt the presence of a PPA group not
too far from him, and he called them for help.
 
          The FC troops were not expecting the second attack, and were caught
off guard by the first wave.  However, the second group was smaller than Lars’
group, and so it was still not an even fight.  The two PPA groups worked from
different directions, hoping to catch the Russians in the crossfire.  So far,
they seemed to be doing all right.
 
          It was then that Lars felt a searing pain across his arm.  It spun
him around so that he saw... *her* behind him.  It was Zinaida!  He fired
wildly back at her, but her minions blocked his attack.  His response was
automatic: with that kind of firepower, he had only one choice.
 
          *<Run!>* he shouted telepathically.  His troops scattered, and the
FC moved to cut them off.  Several of Lars’ men were cut down trying to
escape, but most made it out of the area.  Lars was chased by two men, but he
crushed one under a falling light pole, and the other he smashed through a
building.  Having cleared his own trail, he had something else to worry about.
 
          *<<Where are you, sweetheart?>>*
 
 
 
 
 
          *<<Damned if I know!>>* Karen responded.  She sent him a mental
picture of the area.  The FC troops were closing in on her, and she could feel
them surrounding the area.  She told her group to drop to the ground, to seek
out hiding places inside buildings or in dark corners, hoping to hold out
until help arrived.  The crew scattered.
 
          Karen picked a high post in a nearly destroyed office building,
watching for the Russians to sweep through the area.  She was not prepared for
how they would handle such a task.
 
          The Russian troopers began leveling buildings, one at a time.  Karen
stared in shock and dismay as she watched buildings she *knew* had friends in
them come toppling to the ground.  *This is insane!* she thought.  As the FC
moved closer, she scampered to the ground floor of this building, planning to
slip out of it as they knocked it down.  She watched them advance toward her,
and she nearly cried out in the frustration of it.  She was outnumbered, there
was no way to fight back.  The surgical strike they had planned came apart
when the Russians had failed to act as expected.
 
          The impacts came to her building.  She moved for the door... but the
door was no longer there.  She was trapped inside the building!  *Oh, God,
no.  Not this again.*  She blasted a hole through the side of the building. 
She saw one FC soldier on the street, perhaps waiting for someone to do just
what she was doing.  She fired a laser-like blast, severing his head neatly
from his body, and he fell to the ground.  She climbed out of the hole she had
made, and raced as fast as she could down the street, moving sideways relative
to the FC forces hunting her.  She wiped away tears for the friends who were
obviously dead.
 
          *<<Where are you, Lars?  I’m coming to you.>>*
 
          *<<Meet me at Parker Center.>>* he called back.  As the main police
headquarters, it was a building easily recognizable.  They met up there after
several minutes, and embraced.  Lars had managed to gather several dozen
troops together, realizing that only a larger force was going to be able to
stand against this enemy.
 
 
 
 
 
          Ron and Kim wove their way around the bigger groups of Russians. 
They would leave those to the bigger teams.  They found a small knot of twelve
or thirteen, and began their attack.  They took out two before the team
returned fire, and the chase was on again.  This tactic seemed to be working
for them.
 
          But this time it backfired.  They were met face to face with the
command staff of the FC.  Immediately they were under fire from two
directions.  They maneuvered frantically around the fire.
 
          It was then that Ron got his first eye-to-eye look at Zinaida
Dostoyeva.  *Bitch,* he thought.  *And to think that I once trusted you!*  He
sent a searing blast of energy at her, fast enough to catch her slightly off
balance.  He seared her arm, and the ball blasted straight through one of her
bodyguards.  He fell to the ground, screaming in agony, his heart having been
cut from his chest.
 
          Zinaida looked at him with ferocity in her eyes.  *<You will pay for
this, ‘General’!>* she mocked his title.
 
          Ron knew it was time for them to run.  He looked around, and spotted
a path much harder for a large group to take.  They dove for the MetroRail
entrance, and were soon underground.  He could hear the fire raining down on
the ground above them, but they flew as fast as they could down a train
tunnel, until they were in a different part of the city.  They emerged
cautiously from the tunnel, and found that they were back in the heart of Los
Angeles... or what was left of it.
 
 
 
 
 
          Kara, alone on her perch, watched in fury.  It was impossible for
her to tell who was winning this battle.  She could only see the battles close
around her.
 
          This also frustrated Mel and Rick.  “Can’t you get us in closer,
Kara?” Melissa whined.
 
          Kara, upset at the prospect of missing yet another battle, unwisely
agreed.  “Okay, let’s go,” she said, and, without warning, lifted them off the
roof and began to fly them into the middle of the war.
 
 
 
 
 
          Ron was about to find Lars and Karen, when suddenly he felt a
strange tug at his mind.  He looked to Kim, but she apparently felt nothing. 
The tug became a continuous pull: it was the feel of a person in dire danger. 
He could almost sense that this person was crying out for help.
 
          “Come on,” he said to Kim, grabbing her hand, and heading
southwest.  The troubled person was at the airport, and that was where Ron was
going.
 
          They flew at high speed towards Los Angeles International Airport,
and Ron could see that there was, indeed, a problem here.  He tensed for the
fight.
 
 
 
 
 
          Kara had moved the group towards the center of the fighting.  She
noticed a tall, familiar-looking building where several psionics were
standing.  It took a while to remember the building from the old Dragnet
episodes.  She set her charges down on a stable pile of rubble that used to be
an office building, and they hunkered down to keep an eye on things.  Rick had
his camera out and rolling, as usual.
 
 
 
 
 
          The FC formed up in a large group, and descended on the Parker
Center complex.  Lars called in the PPA soldiers, and it appeared as if this
would be a deciding battle.  Karen briefly wondered where Ron was.
 
 
 
 
 
          Ron was just then landing at the airport.  He and Kim moved
quickly.  The Russians had spread themselves very thin, destroying everything
in sight.  Airplanes were burning on the runways, which had been completely
torn from the ground.  Buildings were crumbling and wrecked.  Vehicles were
overturned, and dead bodies lay everywhere.  Kim gasped at the sight, and then
coughed from the smoke, and the smells.
 
          They moved quietly through the debris, killing any FC soldier they
could, and moving around knots of people too big to fight.  Ron was looking
for something, Kim knew, but he hadn’t bothered to tell her what.
 
          They moved around one more destroyed building, and there they found
what they had been looking for.
 
 
 
 
 
          Susan and her group had been running for days.  The Russians had
dogged their every move.  They were tired, they were bruised, and they were
losing.  She’d lost three people already.  She feared that they were following
her into death.  She had been looking for Ron Chaffey for months now, not even
really knowing where he lived.  The war had come as a rude surprise to her and
her group, and they had suffered mightily at the hands of the Russians, and
other unfriendly psionic groups.
 
          The Russians had chased her to the airport, and here they knew there
was no place to run.  The ocean to the west, a destroyed and burning city to
the east, soldiers all around them.  They cringed behind a destroyed shack,
and waited for the soldiers to come.
 
          The Russians attacked in force, twelve soldiers going after the five
remaining in Susan’s party.  Susan’s team fired back, but their fighting
skills were just not up to the task.  The Russians shooed the attacks away
like fireflies.  They were getting closer.  Susan looked around for a place to
escape, and saw nothing.  Tim was seated next to her, resting against the
wall.  He said, “Where’s the PPA when you need ‘em, huh?”
 
          Susan looked at him in irritation.  They’d heard of the PPA, of
course, through news broadcasts and the psionic community.  “I don’t want to
hear that kind of crap just now, okay?  We’ve got to find a way out of this!”
 
          The Russians were now only thirty feet away.  When the first one
fell, it shocked both sides.  When the next fell right beside him, the Russian
forces stopped their advance.  They were not prepared for strong resistance. 
When two PPA soldiers, dressed in their dark gray battle gear, came diving out
of the sun, they were completely unprepared for it.  Six more of them were
down, and the remaining troops scattered as leaves before a wind.
 
          The PPA soldiers circled round, and landed behind Susan and her
small group.  Tim looked up, astonished.  “You guys... you’re with the PPA!”
 
          “That’s right,” the man said.  “Someone call for help?”
 
          “I did,” replied Susan, “But I didn’t really expect an answer.  Who
the hell are you, anyway?”
 
          Ron reached down to help Susan to her feet.  “I’m General Ron
Chaffey, commanding officer of the PPA.”
 
          Susan was so relieved that she hugged him tightly.  Ron tolerated it
for a few seconds, and then extricated himself from her embrace.  “We’ve got
to get you out of here.”
 
 
 
 
 
          On their flight back toward Los Angeles proper, Kim thought over the
past few minutes.  *See?* the little voice cried,  *He didn’t let this Susan
cry on his shoulder!*
 
*          Shut up!* she told her mind.  But her thoughts continued to follow
this path, as if some force were pushing her, even though she knew it was only
her own... what?  Desire?  Need?  What *did* she feel for Ron?
 
 
 
 
 
          Ron led the small band he had rescued to a safe hiding place, near
the subway entrance.  He told them to remain there, and that he would return
for them.  He motioned Kim to follow, and he took off for the battle at Parker
Center.
 
 
 
 
 
          Lars had led a good fight.  The Russians had swarmed the place, and
the chaos that followed meant that no one knew who was winning.  Russians and
PPA troops were falling everywhere.  It was total pandemonium.  Lars flung one
Russian into a building, only to be singed by another Russian’s blast of
energy.  *Where the hell is Ron?*
 
 
 
 
 
          Ron was mere seconds from the battlefield.  He and Kim landed on the
outskirts of the battle, and waded in.  Ron was using physical attacks,
augmenting his strength with his extension.  He tackled one Russian, swinging
over him and snapping his neck.  Ron let go as the body fell, and flipped
himself upright, snapping a side kick to another FC soldier who wasn’t paying
enough attention.  That man went flying into a nearby car, implanting himself
in the metal framework.
 
          Kim, meanwhile, was using her extension to cause flashes in people’s
vision, distracting them and then lancing in with a mental attack, completely
blocking their ability to move.  She held them like that, and finished them
off with a martial arts move.  One, she broke the neck.  Another had his spine
fractured, and then she crushed the skull of a woman who had just killed a PPA
soldier.  Kim could feel her warrior instincts welling up inside her, and she
reveled in them, wading further into this battle.
 
          Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a Russian behind
Ron, about to blast him with a mental bolt.  She lashed her extension out at
him, using it like a whip, catching him around the throat and squeezing.  She
never heard the battle cry that rose out of her throat as the man’s head was
literally squeezed off of his neck, effectively ending his life.
 
          Ron, who *had* heard her cry, turned to look, and, realizing she had
just saved his ass, shot her a quick salute.  She bowed her head slightly in
response before returning to kill more soldiers.  *Soldiers?  No, these are
animals, not soldiers!*
 
 
 
 
 
          Lars and Karen fought side by side, taking down FC troops left and
right.  Lars saw the movement before Karen did, and he knew she could not get
out of the way in time.  He dove in front of her, raising his shields to the
maximum.  He absorbed the impact of the blast, felt it wash over him.  His
shields were not strong enough to stop the blast, and he felt it penetrate. 
His body was wracked with pain, and he fell to the ground, nearly unconscious.
 
          Karen knelt beside him momentarily.  She knew he was still alive,
and the rage within her boiled to the surface.  Her body fairly glowed with
the energy she felt, and she released it in a bolt of energy so intense it was
fully visible, lancing through their attacker.  He had no chance to escape her
vicious attack, and he was dead before his body parts ever hit the ground.
 
          Karen did not watch him die.  She found another Russian, and blasted
a hole in him so large it appeared as if he had been shot with a cannon.  She
found another, and another, venting her rage.  By the time she had calmed down
at all, a dozen FC troops lie on the ground from her attack.  She was drained,
and dizzy.  She again knelt at Lars’ side.
 
          “Remind me,” he said to her, almost in a whisper,  “Not to get on
your bad side ever again.”
 
          She laughed, and cried at the same time, hugging him to her.
 
 
 
 
 
          Ron and Kim met up again, having waded into the center of the
battle.  There they saw Karen and Lars.  They rushed over, and found Lars was
very weak, Karen exhausted.
 
          That’s when the ground started rumbling.
 
          Ron and Kim looked up.  The buildings all around were shaking. 
*Earthquake?* Ron thought.  *Now?*  

          But it wasn’t an earthquake.  Not a natural one, anyway.  The FC
soldiers had withdrawn quickly, as the buildings started to crumble.  The
Russians were once again knocking over buildings, in an attempt to crush the
PPA soldiers beneath the sheer weight of the stone and metal and glass.
 
          *<PPA!  Move out!>* Ron shouted in his mind.  He grabbed Lars, and
Kim grabbed Karen, and they flew out as fast as they possibly could.
 
 
 
 
 
          Kara was much too close to the battle, she knew, and so were her
charges.  She lifted them up to move them away, and in doing so was distracted
from the falling rubble around her.  She was hit on the shoulder by a large
chunk of flying debris.  She was tossed to the ground, and her shoulder was on
fire.  She did manage to put up a shield around herself and the news crew,
bringing them over to her.  They rested a moment, and then began to move out,
with the rest of the PPA.
 
 
 
 
 
          Ron and Kim returned to the place they had left Susan.  Ron set Lars
down, so that he could rest.  Karen was gaining her strength back, but was
still not ready to fly.
 
          Without being bidden, Susan looked Lars over.  She rested her hands
against his wound.  Karen kept a very close eye on the woman, worried for her
boyfriend.  Susan’s strength flowed through Lars, helping him to heal.  She
felt as though he were actually drawing power from her.  His eyes fluttered,
and he was waking... but the power drain continued, and it was as if she felt
herself getting weaker.  She quickly drew her hands away, as he sat up and
shook his head to clear the cobwebs.  He looked at her.  He had expected it to
be Karen, but he realized she was still too weak.
 
          “Sorry about that,” he said.  “You have to be careful around me...
sometimes I can draw the psionic strength right out of a person.  Don’t worry,
you’ll regain it in less than a day.  I didn’t mean to do it... it’s hard to
control when I’m not fully aware of it.”
 
          Susan nodded.  Ron had watched with mild interest, but he was more
curious about who his new guests were.  “Who are you, anyway?” he asked.
 
          “Susan Chandler.  I’ve been looking for you for months.  I was
hoping to get your help... but then this whole thing blew up in my face.  I
guess you don’t have time for a little problem like the one I was facing.”
 
          “Not really.  Can we take you back anyplace?  We’re heading home
now... this battle’s a bust, just like the last one.”  Kim saw the anger in
his face, and heard the hurt in his voice.
 
          “I don’t know what we’re going to do.  We can’t survive in this
environment.  Those Russians were hunting us.  If we go back out there, we’ll
be killed.”
 
          “What training have you had?” he asked.
 
          “No ‘formal’ training.  Some friends,” and she gestured to those
around her, “taught me how to heal people.  I know some simple physical moves,
but not much else.”
 
          “Okay.  We’ll take you back home then.  At least there you can be
trained.  After that, you decide what you want to do.”
 
          “Thank you.”
 
          “We need to get out of here.  The Russians will be looking for
stragglers.  You strong enough to fly out of here, Lars?”
 
          “Not yet, boss,” he responded, the discomfort clear in his voice.
 
          “All right, then.  Let’s not struggle too much, okay?”  Ron hefted
four of them, and Kim took the other three, and they flew east, away from the
city.  When they had reached the outskirts, they stopped and looked back. 
Ron’s face grew dark with anger as he saw the remains of Los Angeles.  It was
too sprawling a city to be totally wiped out, but the city proper was
completely unusable now.
 
          “My God,” Susan said.  “What’s the point of it all?”
 
          “I think we’re looking at it,” Kim answered.  “I think they just
want to destroy everything.”
 
          Ron kept his thoughts to himself.  He was beginning to understand
the truth, and Kim wasn’t quite right.  “Let’s go home,” he said, and they
turned and flew off, not sure whether this fight had been a loss or not. 
Either way, the city was left to the Filitov Council.
 
          *Another failure,* Ron thought.  *Even with military planning.  What
the hell are we doing wrong?*