DAY 3
Nelson and his command staff are stunned. Not one of his men speaks more than a dozen words in Latin. Nelson begins assembling a list of possible interpreters from his Spanish-speaking soldiers, and at the suggestion of a classically minded major he adds the dozen or so Marines fluent in German.
He pores over the inventories. His aviation fuel won't last longer than six months, the high-octane fuel necessary to run the Humvees maybe another year after that. He knows that he could technically rig machines to run on wood gas or even coal, but that seems highly impractical.
He has ammunition. He has fuel. He has food. He has medical supplies. But he doesn't have that much of any of these things. The 35th MEU was going to be dependent on a vast logistical pipeline from the first day of its deployment. He commanded one of the most powerful, terrifying forces in the world - especially in what appeared to be its new (old?) world - but it was one with a short half-life.
He calls in a few of his senior commanders. And Delacroix. A decision has to be made soon. The men are increasingly terrified and stunned by whispers of what the sequestered Sea Knight crews discovered. Soon, demands for information will come. After that would come the realization that any of these men had the power and knowledge to lead a kingdom in this world.
"We need a mission, and fast," Nelson says. "Or we're going to disintegrate and spread a civil war over this empire that'll leave it in such ruins the Mongols won't bother stopping here a thousand years from now."
Delacroix steps forward and says, "Colonel, I may have an idea."
As the conference progresses, a slight man is plucked from the swamp by two Marine sentries. His insistent declarations are in no language they recognize, although Private Hector Menendez finds something eerily familiar about it. What he wants is easy enough to understand, however - he wants to be taken to their leader.
And 50 miles to the east, the Praetorian Guard assembles at the head of a hastily assembled force of volunteers and grey-headed veterans recalled to the standard. A banner snaps in the wind. A horn blows, drums roll, and 10,000 men begin marching west.
Nelson and his command staff are stunned. Not one of his men speaks more than a dozen words in Latin. Nelson begins assembling a list of possible interpreters from his Spanish-speaking soldiers, and at the suggestion of a classically minded major he adds the dozen or so Marines fluent in German.
He pores over the inventories. His aviation fuel won't last longer than six months, the high-octane fuel necessary to run the Humvees maybe another year after that. He knows that he could technically rig machines to run on wood gas or even coal, but that seems highly impractical.
He has ammunition. He has fuel. He has food. He has medical supplies. But he doesn't have that much of any of these things. The 35th MEU was going to be dependent on a vast logistical pipeline from the first day of its deployment. He commanded one of the most powerful, terrifying forces in the world - especially in what appeared to be its new (old?) world - but it was one with a short half-life.
He calls in a few of his senior commanders. And Delacroix. A decision has to be made soon. The men are increasingly terrified and stunned by whispers of what the sequestered Sea Knight crews discovered. Soon, demands for information will come. After that would come the realization that any of these men had the power and knowledge to lead a kingdom in this world.
"We need a mission, and fast," Nelson says. "Or we're going to disintegrate and spread a civil war over this empire that'll leave it in such ruins the Mongols won't bother stopping here a thousand years from now."
Delacroix steps forward and says, "Colonel, I may have an idea."
As the conference progresses, a slight man is plucked from the swamp by two Marine sentries. His insistent declarations are in no language they recognize, although Private Hector Menendez finds something eerily familiar about it. What he wants is easy enough to understand, however - he wants to be taken to their leader.
And 50 miles to the east, the Praetorian Guard assembles at the head of a hastily assembled force of volunteers and grey-headed veterans recalled to the standard. A banner snaps in the wind. A horn blows, drums roll, and 10,000 men begin marching west.
Comment