*Editing magic performed by Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*

*Can the scorpion ever stop being a scorpion?*

{8:30 am, Monday, September 8th ~ Last day}

[A ROOM FULL OF ASSISTANTS]

Well ... there it was ... the office of the Executive Director to the President ... and not 'Executive Assistant' ... because this was Katrina's final 'fuck you - no - just her final 'fuck you' before the Great Hunt got underway. I shouldn't assume things, dang it!

Anyway, according to the gray-haired matron running gatekeeper to the Office of the President, this was where I was supposed to show up. I shot Juanita a worried look. She glanced my way and shrugged, momentarily willing to not give me shit about the past 24 hours because where I was situated would determine how easily she could do her job.

In we went. In the suite were three desks - the 'big' desk situated at the far end of the office space and two far more modest ones on either side of the entryway. The room expanded beyond the chokepoint formed by the two closest desks into a cluttered area. The walls were cluttered with inset bookshelves and portraits of women. Facing one another were a loveseat on my left with bookend plush chairs in an 'L' facing and a full sofa on the right. There were end tables at the ends of the sofa and the corners between the loveseat and each chair.

As the door opened ~ I hadn't knock as this was my office, or so it seemed ~ the occupants, who had all been sitting in quiet conversation in the central section, began reacting. Oh look ~ Constanza! I nearly had a heart attack before I realized there were three other Amazons also in the room. Sadly, none were behind the 'big desk', so I couldn't tell who was in charge. Two of the other three choices weren't too much better. First off ...

"Ishara," Marilynn St. John stood to greet me. I'd last seen her when I'd dedicated her grandmother's (Hayden's) spirit to the halls of my ancestors, not hers ... after forcing the political crisis leading to Hayden's suicide ~ her taking herself to the cliffs and in doing so, destroying the Amazon Cult of Blood Purity. Marilynne was clearly still bitter with me. Ummm ... I could still incite passion in women I hadn't slept with ... yet ... woot?

"Cáel," the senior-most and only friendly face in the room spoke next. Thank goodness it was Beyoncé Vincennes, Head of House Hanwasuit and House Ishara ally.

"Cáel Ishara," the third individual was deferential which I wasn't sure how to take as the last time I'd encountered her ... yeah, things hadn't gone well either.

"Beyoncé," I started off with a smile. From there, I had to figure out ... ah, Beyoncé's eyes flickered to Constanza then Sabia. I knew Marilynn, with her young age, had the least seniority, "Constanza - Sabia - Marilynn. How's tricks?"

Glum faces by everyone except Beyoncé. I didn't ask about Sabia's particular well-being. It had been months since I'd beaten her into the mats of the Full-blooded gym. She'd attacked Yasmin, the Brazilian Hottie and my Brazilian Jujutsu sparring buddy, and I'd retaliated by ambushed her when she turned her back on us. Besides, she'd been giving me shit before I even could see straight.

Constanza was minus her left eye because of her dire insult to me. If she wasn't capable of working, she wouldn't be here. If she appreciated my 'mercy' in sparing her life ~ her insult was worthy of her death ~ Constanza hid it well. I hadn't spared her expecting a change of heart. I hadn't felt words alone warranted anyone's death. I was a big boy and could take a few insults. House Ishara, as represented by me, could care less. These days ... my sisters would be less understanding despite them knowing my heart.

"Constanza Landau of House Jaya and Marilynn St. John of House Anahit are Assistants to President Shawnee French," Beyoncé eased things along, "so will be working closely with us - at least for the short term. Sabia Noel of House Guabancex, who I now think you know as well, has joined you as the other 'Assistant' to the 'Executive Director to the President' ... [that would make me an AE~D~P ... an 'adept' ... but adept at what?] ... and since two of the three Regents are unfamiliar with the workings of Havenstone proper, Shawnee has asked me to perform in that role."

Beyoncé was, or had been, Havenstone HQ's CFO [Chief Financial Officer]. From what I was quickly piecing together, she would essentially be making all the day-to-day decisions concerning the running of Havenstone (how the Host made the majority of its money) until the Regents got up to speed.

Only Buffy had actual experience with the New York office and, from what she had told me, solely within Executive Services. While ES knew 'who' did what inside Havenstone, they weren't aware precisely how those Amazons got their jobs done. That would have been an impossible task. Katrina could do it, but she knew it was beyond the ability of most of us 'mere mortals'. Since we were currently at war, the Host needed Katrina completely focused on her duties as Chief Spy-mistress, not baby-sitting the adults.

Shawnee indeed had much gravitas among the other House Heads. Not only had she risen up to lead a First House, she had performed heroically during the final days of the last Secret War. Afterwards she had moved into the realm of Amazon jurisprudence and mediation. Until yesterday, she had lived in a House Arinniti freehold in Minnesota's Great Lakes region thus her desire for the 'Training Wheels' period.

The Regency would not rule through telecommunication (the upper echelons feared being eavesdropped upon beyond the standard Amazon [read: paranoid] levels) and Havenstone: New York was the center best situated for the current war-fighting operations, so here she lived. I was sure a team from Executive Services was buying, outfitting/spy-proofing and fortifying a dwelling suitable for the President of a Fortune 500 company. Hayden's home would remain the domicile of Sydney thus Marilynn.

The same rigmarole would be done for Rhada and Buffy (though I imaged Buffy would bitch endlessly). Publically, they were VP's of a company worth hundreds of billions of dollars and they had to present the public trappings of such leaders.

Why did the Amazons do this ~ unmask their leadership to public exposure? Legal-simple: they could request and expect all levels of public and private security for their executives who happened to also be important officials of the Host. Certainly not all executives at Havenstone were officeholders, House Heads, or House Apprentices, but the high level of competence which permitted one often led to the other.

[BEYONCÉ]

As an example: Beyoncé wasn't the most 'bad-ass' lethal chick in House Hanwasuit. As she was preparing to be casted, her intelligence, creativity and diligence at her future craft - finances - was noted by the Host and the members of her House. In due time her name was circulated as Apprentice and the elders approved. When her elder cousin, the prior House Head, took herself to the cliffs, Beyoncé assumed the top spot. Beyoncé wasn't even one of that woman's three daughters.

Mirroring her advancement in her House was her advancement in Havenstone's Accounting, Acquisitions and Banking Divisions until she was appointed CFO Havenstone HQ ~ the supreme financial authority inside Havenstone, though the individual regional branches had a greater degree of autonomy than you might normally expect from a 21st century conglomerate, or a Bronze Age autocracy.

[...]

I had to constantly remind myself, despite the near-constant feuding, Amazons exhibited a phenomenally higher level of trust than I'd ever found in any other society I'd ever witnessed, or read about, before. Though technically Beyoncé could have gone to President Hayden to enforce her decisions ~ or now the Regency ~ she was far more diplomatic in her approach in dealing with the other 'continental' CEO's and CFO's.

That meant she had to wrangle the aspirations and resources from:

North America (including Latin America, the 'Canadian Arctic' and the North Pacific Ocean),

South America (includes both the South Atlantic and South Pacific as far as Samoa),

Europe (mostly Central Europe these days plus Antarctica, the 'Russian' Arctic and the North Atlantic),

Africa (mostly West-central Africa),

India (the subcontinent plus the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean) and ...

Southeast Asia (which includes Australia)

All of which suggested Havenstone hadn't redrawn the Amazons' geographic demarcations since the late 19th century. As an example, an East African venture - say in Tanzania - was as likely to be under the purview of Havenstone: India (due to its control over the Indian Ocean) as Havenstone: Africa (which traditionally had no East Coast holdings due to their constant struggles versus the Arabic slave trade).

[...]

Returning to Beyoncé: initially she had held the proper 'conservative' (aka man-hating) mindset. My behavior during that first Board Meeting began to change her opinion of me and the New Directive. After the Archery Range incident, Beyoncé became a vocal proponent of the New Directive and faced challenges within her ranks. House Heads do not have to accept challenges and Beyoncé didn't, reasoning with her detractors they had no alternatives save the 'Old Ways' which spelled doom for the Amazon Race.

Bing-bang-boom ~ I became the Head of a resurrected House Ishara by the Will of the Ancestors and Beyoncé was vindicated. Not necessarily in the New Directive, but in her support of me thus the rebirth of a sister First House. The purge following High Priestess' Hayden's death was her ultimate absolution. The Ancestors and Destiny had spoken and shown Beyoncé had been piloting House Hanwasuit along the proper course all along.

[BACK TO MY CURRENT CIRCUMSTANCES]

Oh, why was I Assistant to the Executive Director to the President? It gave me direct access to the finances of Havenstone which was a critical leg of the war-fighting stool ~ people, morale, money and equipment. As Chief Diplomat, I helped with all four of those in varying degrees - allied troops, allied victories, allied bank accounts and allied armaments.

The Great Khan, my spiritual 'Blood-Brother', was ramping up his logistic support for my Amazons in Africa, Asia and the Americas. We were 'Allies in the Struggle' and he wasn't going to wait for the Condottieri to begin coordinating with the Seven Pillars to declare them to be his enemies. They were already fighting the Amazons and 9 Clans - his allies - so their fates were sealed.

In Japan, my Amazons provided small yet highly effective strike groups which the Ninja families furnished all the support services for. Everything from food to bullets to medical attention as needed. Without reservation, we shared their death-grapple with the Seven Pillars.

From the dispatches I was getting back from my family members and envoys in Japan, we were making serious diplomatic inroads with the Ninja. Once again, it was the Amazons shocking capacity for violence as well as their fanaticism, professionalism and proficiency which all impressed our hosts and terrified our enemies ... and this from people of a philosophical mindset which had them historically battling samurai.

The Black Lotus were running around like rhesus monkeys on crack cocaine unleashed in a China Shop and given RPG's. While the Amazons couldn't help them in China, Indochina & Thailand ~ the Khanate could and was. The Amazons were of more help in the Philippines, Malaysia and Indonesia, where the Black Lotus and Amazons were going everywhere on the offensive against the Seven Pillars while the normal tight cohesion and iron-clad confidence - traits which made the 7P's so dangerous ~ were shaken by their horrendous losses in the 'Homeland' aka Mainland China.

Less we forget, the 'military intelligence' wing of their organization had been decimated by the Khanate's Anthrax attack due to members of the Earth & Sky sacrificing themselves by being injected with the toxin then allowing themselves to be captured ... which always ended in torture and death.

Furthermore, the People's Republic of China, while having a scary 18% of the population either captured, imprisoned, dead, or displaced due to the Khanate invasion, that had come with the loss of 63% of their landmass (they had lost all of Nei Mongol, Ningxia & Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Regions, Qinghai and Gansu as well as 90% of Yunnan, 80% of Sichuan and 20% of Shaanxi provinces) to the Khanate and the 'abomination' that was a free Tibet.

Then came the Russian 'stab in the back' which entailed the loss of another 10% of their people falling under foreign dominion as well as losing 8% of their most industrialized territory - Manchuria (Heilongjiang, Jilin and Liaoning provinces ~ the Nei Mongol portion of 'Manchuria' was in the Khanate's greedy clutches ... from the viewpoint of a Seven P's warrior).

Don't get me wrong - they weren't about to throw in the towel. If anything, they were becoming more dedicated to trying harder, digging deep into their knowledge of every atrocity, inhumanity and perversion now deemed necessary to re-chart history back onto its 'correct' path. It was this willingness to act in an even greater sociopathic manner which was being used against them. After all, the 7P's had plenty of proxy allies ... who were starting to get really nervous about what their paymasters were now asking them to do ...

We Amazons were getting some extra special help too. The Booth-gan (DO NOT call them Thuggee ~ the confederate 9 Clan member based out of India though long since ensconced within various Hindi enclaves across the Globe) had created an all-female group of ultra-fanatical Kali-devotees ~ a gift for the upcoming battle fomented by the Will of the Goddess herself.

While Aya was our Queen and the Regency would rule until she wished to assume command of the Amazon People, the nuts-and-bolts of the Host's activities were handled by St. Marie as Golden Mare (our Minister of War) [technically she held the top spot due to our State of War, though no Golden Mare had ever exercised such authority over a Queen (and she definitely believed Aya was our Queen)], Katrina (as Minister of Intelligence and Security), Beyoncé (as Havenstone [the multinational corporation] ~ our Treasurer/Economic Tsarina) and me (our Foreign Minister).

St. Marie had decided to forgo a public face in order to better facilitate her moving around to various battle fronts and holding clandestine meetings with her junior regional commanders. Her Havenstone corporate title was 'Chief of Security Training and Certification'. As an extra level of deception, the head of Security Services wasn't even a Director-level position, instead being folded into the duties of the Office of the President.

To my current circumstances ~ I had been given Constanza's house name which could only mean she wasn't currently assigned to the Security Detail; a fact that couldn't have made her bad attitude any better. Marilynn had completely lost her way as an Amazon when I first met her, burying her pain and confusion in endless partying and intoxicants. I believed only her grandmother's status as High Priestess kept her from the severest of reprimands, or death. I didn't even know what Marilynn's caste was. Sabia ...

"While I'm sure you are both far more qualified than I, precisely how did you two get these jobs?" I had to ask my two non-coworkers. Constanza glowered. Marilynn flinched.

"I have an in depth knowledge of Havenstone security procedures and resources," Constanza replied.

"Shawnee requested me," was Marilynn's comeback. "I also have intimate knowledge of the City of New York and its environs."

"Actually, Buffy Ishara recommended you both to Shawnee," Beyoncé corrected their misconceptions. I knew the score. I'd be working intimately with the tight community around the President (Shawnee) and Vice Presidents (Buffy & Rhada). Buffy wanted me to be surrounded by women who hated my guts ... so I wouldn't end up boinking them. It rarely worked that way. All too often ladies who hated my still-beating heart ended up punishing me with sex. I wasn't sure why that happened, but it did.

"Beyoncé, didn't the Chief Diplomat of the Host have her own office? I'm pretty sure Troika had one before her unfortunate collision with St. Marie," I felt entitled to inquire.

"Do you feel you've earned that office space?" she riposted.

"Oh, fuck no!" I waved my hands one over the other to accentuate my denial. "I was just wondering where I could stick Juanita while I'm hanging around ... here."

"She has the desk right outside the door, Cáel," Beyoncé smiled knowingly. "So there is no way you can sneak past her."

"Oh," I grunted. "Buffy again?"

"No. Pamela Pile put in that particular request."

"Oh, Sweet Mother of God ... now she is conspiring against me too?"

"Yes. Some of us realize the greatest hazard to your health is yourself, Ishara," Beyoncé chided me. "We'd like to keep you around, so we listen to those charged with that nigh impossible task."

"Is she going to be hanging around the office often?" Constanza asked ... either myself, Juanita, or Beyoncé ~ I wasn't sure. She = Pamela.

"Please, Constanza," I attempted to intervene, "don't make Pamela kill you. It will upset Mona." Constanza's scowl was accentuated by the eyepatch covering her ruined left socket - the one Pamela had carved out when Constanza had insulted me and House Ishara on our first day of rebirth. I didn't tell Juanita this ... because Juanita might just shoot Constanza over the insult before Pamela got a chance to finish the job.

The tension was palatable.

"Mona and I have talked ... about Romania ... and other things," Constanza grudgingly allowed. It took me a second to realize there was a hidden meaning to what she said. Mona was part of my personal Security Detail bodyguard unit. If she felt Constanza, the woman who had raised her after her birth-mother had died, was a threat to me ... she'd feel duty-bound to snuff Constanza first. Amazons were hard-ass bitches alright and I think Mona had made that clear.

"I hope things can improve between us," I offered to Constanza. "Beyoncé, I just stopped in to say 'hey'. I'm off to JIKIT and I've got three of the Pope's people waiting on me in the garage so ..."

"Vice President Varma requested a moment of your time," Beyoncé smirked. "She is in 2604."

"Who?"

"Vice President Rhada Varma ... a moment of your time ... alone?" she clarified.

"Sure thing," I backed out of the office. Once I had some space, I turned to Juanita. "Give me three minutes then bust in and say ... I don't know ... a tsunami is about to overwhelm the city, or something. Otherwise, I won't get out for at least an hour and I think I've put the Bishop and his people through enough delays as it is."

"Are you actually asking me to stop you from having an in-office liaison?" she studied me intently as we walked in the direction of Rhada's office.

"Yes. It's not likely to happen often, believe me."

"Oh ... I do ... in that you won't ask me to do it often," she grumbled. I'd deal with Juanita's morale problem later. Right now, I had to gird my loins so they wouldn't do anything else with Rhada. I had work to do, damn it!

[~]

Rhada was sitting at her desk, working on something, stylus raised up so she could chew on the end. Her hair was pulled back in a half-ponytail - the type that captured the rear half of the hair in a ponytail while leaving the front and bangs free to flow down. Rhada's blouse was white & billowy and, as I was soon to discover, her pants were ultra-tight and contour hugging.

"Mr. Nyilas," she greeted me. "I would like a moment of your time," she relayed what I already knew. She was more than a tad nervous to boot.

"Vice President Varma ...," I started off.

"When in private you may call me Rhada," she interrupted.

"Rhada, you look more ravishing than ever."

That got up her and coming around her desk ... which revealed her ultra-tight pants with no sign of her wearing underwear. Yikes! My dick was preparing to do what a dick was meant to do and I just didn't have the time - REALLY!!

"Do you have any time?" she let her bosom heave.

"Not today ... ugh," I groaned. See, Rhada took the stylus and dragged it down her chin, throat and in between her bountiful mounds.

All of which exposed the top of her black bra.

"Are you sure ... Master?" she enticed me by turning around and then leaning over her desk, point that ass in my direction. My mouth began salivating and my groin ached. I found myself quick-stepping to her and giving those buttocks two firm slaps - one on each cheek.

"No, damn it, though I'm going to make you pay for this when I get back," I rumbled.

"Master will make me wait?" she taunted me.

"That will cost you even more," I growled. "I have business which simply won't wait and here is my captive teasing me with the treasures of her flesh. Bad, war captive," I spanked her yet again - hard. "Bad!" and I spanked her a fourth time. With each beating, Rhada gasped in pain and then exhaled in pleasure.

"If I've been bad, Master must be extra harsh with me when he returns in triumph from the Great Hunt," she gloated. Rhada had gotten what she wanted, which was another affirmation of my lust for her and our 'game'. I could provide her the release she so desperately craved while allowing her the safety of remaining in the Amazon fold. It was a perfect pairing ... for her.

I had other problems ... such as all the OTHER baby mamas in my life plus the extra-marital affairs I was contemplating. I still took the moments we had to snuggle with Rhada, her grinding that tushy into my rod while I held both her arms tightly to her side while raining kisses down onto her neck and head.

"Sir! A giant tsunami is approaching the city!" Juanita exploded through the door.

"What?" I coughed. I had a face full of hair.

"Huh?" Rhada pushed up and away from me. I let her go.

"Right now," Juanita insisted. She really needed to stop taking me so seriously when I gave her such advice.

"Really?" from Rhada. She shot me a curious look so I shrugged. What else was I supposed to do with such a flimsy lie forcing our separation? At least I got out of there on time?

{9:50 am, Monday, September 8th ~ Last day}

[JKIT HQ]

"Is this a common occurrence?" Sister Rafaela Sophia whispered to the closest woman, who happened to be Wiesława, the Polish Amazon. Since she hadn't arrived with us from Havenstone, the nun might have assumed she was with the 'Americans', or British.

"What?" Wiesława responded evenly.

"Weapons combat - they look real," the nun clarified.

"They are real. We always practice with real weapons."

"Really?"

"Of course," Wiesława smiled at her. "We believe a few cuts and scrapes now will save lives when the true tests come."

"Oh ... you are with ... Havenstone?" Rafaela clued in.

"Yes. I am Wiesława of House Živa. I am currently assigned to Unit L - Cáel's unit within JIKIT," she offered her hand to shake. Despite being a full-blooded Amazon from a freehold, her 'human' skills were progressing nicely. The nun shook it.

"I am Sister Rafaela Sophia of the Handmaids of the Sacred Heart of Jesus - that is a Roman Catholic Religious Order." Pause. "Do you hate Catholics too?"

"Yes. We have lived beside your people for many centuries and found your clergy to be much more dangerous than your pagan predecessors. Still, Cáel thinks you can be relied on and he's proven we can trust outsider women, which I was raised to believe was unlikely, and outsider men, which was basically anathema, so I'm willing to set aside my prejudices and judge you as an individual," the Pole imparted.

"Outsider men?" Rafaela mumbled.

"Well, yes," Wiesława smirked. "You are a nun, right?"

"Yes."

"So you set aside the World of Men to live mostly among women, right?"

"Not entirely," the nun chose her words carefully. "We still rely on priests for religious rights and of course obey the life teachings of Christ and follow the leadership of his Holiness, the Pope - a man."

"No one is perfect," the Amazon bantered back.

"Do you know the teachings of our Lord, Jesus Christ?" Rafaela ventured into dangerous waters.

"Yes. He was the semi-historical Son of your supposed One True God. We are not monotheists. We are Polytheists. Živa is my House's matron Goddess. It is also the name of the first woman to lead the House, her birth name surrendered to Destiny so all the daughters who came afterwards would be equals."

"Oh ... is Mr. Nyilas also pagan?" she inquired.

"I am unsure. From what I have been told, he has commended the spirit of his fallen father to your Jesus in a sacred ceremony then, in the presence of your Trinity and the Goddess Ishara, brought in new members to his House. I suspect he may be both," Wiesława reasoned. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Because he's fighting for his life?" Rafaela looked my way.

See, the entire time their discussion had been going on, I had been sparring in a spare room at JIKIT HQ with Estere Abed, the Hashashin assassin (rather redundant ~ like saying the Sahara Desert). I had two tomahawks while she had a scimitar and curved dagger. While we sparred using the furniture as obstacles, Agent-86 was briefing me on various World events to get my input.

Addison Stuart (CIA) and Lady Fathom Worthington-Burke (MI-6) were having a chat with Bishop Nicoló de Santis, verifying for themselves he was worth adding to the team. Juanita was having a similar discussion with Rikki Martin (US State Department) concerning my earlier encounter with the Papal team. Nicoló's buddy, Wachtmeister Mathias Bosshart of the Swiss Guard, was getting acquainted with the other security personnel.

In comparison, those two had it easy. Both men were in their elements. Nicoló was a spook who pretended to be a diplomat for the Pope and was well acquainted with terms like 'deniable assets', 'plausible deniability' and your direct superior referring to requests concerning your identity/diplomatic status by saying 'I never heard of him and if I had, I have no idea what he was doing when you caught him doing what I don't know what he was doing', or something like that.

Mathias was in the company of military-security specialists - brother professionals who were introducing him to his 'sister' professionals. Our Homeland Security gang were almost entirely former military by now. They got along with our JSOC folks and both had gained a limited acceptance with the Amazon security contingent.

They bonded over the fact they were forced to work with really shady characters ~ the 9 Clans menagerie ~ who didn't always appreciate JIKIT operational security. Without going into particulars, the Wachtmeister was given the impression the abnormal was the norm and if you didn't think there was a 'down-side' to being able to carry your personally favorite bang-bang (the SG 552-2P Commando in his case) with some serious attachments (read: grenade launcher) around in downtown Manhattan, you probably didn't belong on this team.

Back in the room,

"He's not fighting for his life," Estere laughed. "He is fighting for mine."

"Right," I responded sarcastically. We went through a flurry of exchanges, ending up with me kicking a chair at her. Estere stepped over it, colliding with me.

I blocked her dagger, disarmed her scimitar and ...

"You are dead," she panted down at me, smiling. I was on my back, her straddling me. She had a belt-knife to my throat. I hadn't see her draw it. The scimitar 'disarm' had been a distraction.

"Woot!" I exhaled.

"But you're dead," Sister Rafaela misunderstood my good humor.

"He survived a minute and thirty-four seconds more today than his previous record," Estere responded. She slithered off of me, doing my arousal NO GOOD whatsoever then offered me a hand up.

"And that's better?"

"He's a rank amateur with a few months on the job. I've been training to kill people for nearly two decades," Estere smiled. "Care to have a go?"

"With him, or you?"

"Either," Estere offered.

"I don't have a knife ... or any hand weapons," she stated.

"We'll need to remedy that," Wiesława stated. "You should at least carry a knife."

"Really? Why?"

"It is a nearly universal tool," I verbally stepped up. "Even if you are disarmed, you should be able to find one relatively easily, people are less likely to miss a stolen knife than a purloined gun, and a concealed blade could come in handy."

"Do you train in knife-work?" Rafaela eye-balled me.

"Absolutely. It is part of my culture," I grinned.

"Okay. Can we spar - hand-to-hand?"

"Sure," I nodded. I put my tomahawks in their harnesses then put my harnesses aside. Estere gave me a wink before giving us the fighting space.

"So," Rafaela began to circle, "are you Christian?"

"By your definition, or mine?"

"By the definition of the Catholic Church."

Oh cool, she went for a Savate stance. This was going to get ugly.

My "no," was followed by her kick and my block, lunge and grapple. She wasn't nearly as good as Felix. I had her down and in a choke hold within fifteen seconds.

Perhaps she thought I'd take it easy on her. She tapped out. I released her, retreated and flowed back to my boxing stance. It took her a moment to realize this was 'practice', not 'an interview'. She hadn't failed in anyone's eyes. We were both doing this to get better.

"See, I really, truly believe I have talked to supernatural entities ~ some who are considered divinities," I continued. This time she was more careful, trading jabs and blocks with me. "They don't claim to be the One True God. I believe in such a thing, but I also believe having been given the Message, Humanity has been left to muddle things out for ourselves."

Whoops, she popped me one.

"The Woman-Thing this morning?"

"Yep," I evaded another flurry. She got cocky and I landed three blows, dropping her to the ground. I didn't help her up. Instead, I withdrew and let her get back up on her own before deciding if she wanted to continue. She did.

"I believe I've seen dragons and ghosts. I have felt legions of my ancestors give me quiet encouragement when I needed it. I know the dead have been brought back to life," I came at her. This time we both went for body blows - knees, elbows and fists. She was not SD-caliber and she needed to be. I grappled and she was forced to tap out again. After she regained her feet, she held up a hand for a pause.

"Do you believe any of that?" she addressed Estere.

"I am an adherent of Ismaili Islam yet nothing Cáel has encountered is contrary to my belief system. The Universe is a complex place and the Divine Light is often seen through a fractured lenses," she counseled the nun.

"Among the escapees were lawyer Francisco Luemba, Catholic Priest Raul Tati, economist Belchior Lanso Tati and former policeman Benjamin Fuca who are serving jail sentences of between three and six years each for supposed links to the rebel group FLEC (Frente para a Libertação do Enclave de Cabinda), which carried out the attack on the Togolese football team at the start of the Africa Cup of Nations in January, 2010," Agent-86 read off yet another bit of global minutia.

"We need to get to them," I half turned. Sister Rafaela punched me in the gut and I folded up.

"Oh!" she gasped. "I'm sorry."

"Okay ..." I mumbled. I had to keep with the plan. "Those men. We need to contact our Coils people in Kinshasa and the Warden of the Mountain Ways ['she' was the Amazon Host's leader of Africa ~ in the ancient times, the mountain ways had been the routes of southern vulnerability for the Amazon tribe thus the name]."

"Okay," both Agent-86 and Estere answered.

"Why?" 86 added.

"The Coils and the Host have had a serious problem with no nation in Africa giving them even back room recognition so we are going to take over our own country - Cabinda. It's been struggling to be free of Angola since 1975 and, by latest estimates, we've got strike elements of over 2,000 Amazons ready and waiting next door in Cameroon, Gabon and the Republic of Congo."

"So you are going to go to war with Angola?" Estere frowned. "Don't we have enough enemies?"

"Au contraire," I grinned wickedly. "The resistance movement is genuine," I ticked off my points, "they have tons of offshore oil, and after we set off some spectacular explosions in the two main Angolan ports which are just down the coast, we allow global panic to bully the UN into intervening before the Angolan military launch an effective counter-offensive ~ considering the Angolan Armed Forces (I'd been reading up on a ton of CIA & MI-6 briefings) will most likely involve attrition warfare since they can't beat us in a stand-up fight."

"They - the Angolans - have no overland access - they are separated by 60 kilometers of territory belonging to the Democratic Republic of Congo over some sad ass roads PLUS the Congo River itself which is freaking huge by the time it gets that close to the Atlantic - Cabinda rests on the Atlantic Ocean by the way. No bridges. The Angolan Navy is anemic. Let me think."

I began pacing.

"Hmmm ... they have no paratroopers though they have some Special Forces - we will need to hit as many of them in the barracks as we can. Their last invasion was from the north - overland - from the Republic of the Congo - in 1975 - not likely to happen this time ... though I may have my 'Brother' weasel up a battalion of Indian paratroopers to act as convincing peacekeepers after the initial take over."

"Perhaps we can recruit some Vietnamese. I'm sure they'll love fighting in someone else's jungle for a change. We'll need some of 'our' guys to seize the port of Soyo - it is on the wrong side of the river, but has the major refinery the Cabindans will need. Since the entire surrounding province are the same ethnic make-up as the Cabindans, we'll have to take that too."

"Man-o-man, I bet by the time this is over they'll really wish they'd given little Cabinda independence back in 1975. As for their other refinery ... it is in their capital - Luanda - a few big explosions there too will get the markets jittery. Check that ~ the complete and utter destruction of their major petroleum facility will create a stampede for Peace," I continued. I walked over as our resident computer intelligence genius worked his magic.

"Blowing things up ... you mean killing people," the nun blanched.

"Yes. This is what I do," I spared her a sympathetic glance. "I've got a madman roaming around in my head who provides me truly epic military advice which normally, but not always, means blowing shit up and killing folks. Welcome to the team," then as the data appeared, "Holy Shit! Did they build their oil refinery in the midst of their ghetto?" I was staggered. The refinery in Soyo was isolated from the town so it could be easily (and safely) seized. It was the one in Luanda which was the 'HOLY SHIT' site/sight.

"It looks that way," Agent-86 agreed nonplussed. "Hmmm ... yeah, here is the port facility then your neighborhood of shoddily constructed one- and two-story dwellings between the refinery and the inland storage tanks ... the perimeter barrier appears to be a chain link fence. I'd hate to be their Chief of Security."

"Oh yeah," I choked. Estere slipped around to get a look.

"Whoops," she snorted.

"What are these people thinking?" I continued. "The whole shebang is exposed to the northern quarter of the city. The storage tanks have residential dwellings on all four sides with numerous side streets. Two teams with RPGs and four rounds apiece ... Holy Crap. Sorry Sister."

"But I want to save lives," she sputtered.

"Limiting the collateral damage could be pretty tough," Estere frowned. She toggled throw a series of maps to multiple pictures.

"Oh, look (dripping sarcasm); they light up the refinery at night. You can sit off the coast in a speed boat under cover of darkness and attack from there," she noted.

"Damn. Those are a lot of lights," Agent-86 agreed.

"24-7 operation," I suspected.

"We will need some experts ..." the government agent nodded.

"Or we are going to kill a fuck-load of innocent people. Not just the workers, but can you imagine a fire spreading to those neighborhoods? Shit," I muttered.

"You can't seriously be contemplating doing something like this," the nun sputtered. "It is inhumane. Think of the families ... the children."

"Lady, yes I am. Do you have any idea what the Human Rights record of the Angolan Army in Cabinda is? It is truly horrific and in case you missed it, one of the guys in dire need of rescuing by me - due to him being a huge rebel leader who has managed to escape ... is also a Catholic priest. He's going to be part of the new government we are going to install once we kill a few hundred Angolans ~ mostly soldiers (more like well over a thousand)."

"We are going to kill a few hundred so a few hundred thousand can live free, democratic lives without worrying about the local police and political establishment torturing and murdering them. It is all part of the plan."

"I think I need to talk with the Bishop."

"Hang on. Let me finish," I forestalled her. "He'll get briefed along with everyone else. After all, it is a majority Roman Catholic country as is Angola, so I'm sure your guy can be of immense help."

"The people you are putting at risk don't deserve this," she protested.

"They never do," I nodded in agreement with her. "It rarely stops terrible crap from happening to them though."

I felt sorry for the Sister. She thought the Bishop was going to put a stop to this. Poor girl; he was going to do the exact opposite. See, the two competing forces at play here were a communistic kleptocracy (currently ruling Angola) and Catholic liberation theology united with a Cabindan national identity dating back to 1885. At stake was 900,000 barrels a day of petroleum. That was a bunch of funding for somebody. Last I checked, the state run energy conglomerate had misplaced $32 BILLION ... in just three years.

Mind you, the Coils of the Serpent and the Amazon Host didn't want to help the People of Cabinda out of the goodness of their hearts either. They wanted cover for the importation of weapons and other war-fighting material so they could kill the Condottieri in Africa. If the rebel leaders-turned-legitimate government didn't play ball well ... the Coils were in the 'assassinating people' business and somewhere along the line the survivors would figure out keeping 'us' happy kept them alive. Problem solved.

It was Bishop Nicoló de Santis' job to facilitate that understanding. If certain people with Vatican credentials explained the 'facts of life' to the new regime a lot more lives could be saved - Catholic lives. In turn, he could work to make sure the new group in power wasn't nearly as corrupt as the gang we were tossing out. Better education and quality of life, improved infrastructure & security and a nice shiny cathedral, or two.

We, as in JIKIT and our component members, didn't want to rule the country and dominate the people's lives. We needed the ports and the airfields with a blind eye turned to our skullduggery. Sure, there would be future considerations. Amazons and Coil members would be fighting and dying for these people's freedom ~ public recognition definitely NOT required. No; the Amazons wanted to be left alone in their deep jungle homes which was an isolation they basically already had. This was a future chit which said 'don't come looking'.

The Coils? Let's just say in the future Cabinda would have embassies around the globe and if occasionally they wanted someone to slip through under diplomatic cover ~ they were good for it. And if the Cabindans ever needed help in the future they knew they had friends in dark places who were now invested in Cabinda's survival. It was a win-win-win ... unless you were an Angolan big-wig, or one of their foot-soldier currently serving in Cabinda. Amazons weren't big on taking prisoners, or even giving the opposition the option of giving up.

For me, it wasn't lunch yet and here I was plotting to overthrow yet another government in yet another country ~ though in only two, small provinces this time. Thank the Goddess I had the rest of the week off. I wasn't sure the Globe could survive me working another four damn days.

"Wait," I back-tracked. "What was that you said about Moldavia?" and I had spoken too soon. Off I went, pushing things one more step toward Ragnarök-and-Roll ... again.

[A QUICK HISTORICAL ASIDE]

If you are still thinking Amazons and visualizing any of a number of representations by DC Comics, you are way off base ~ especially concerning the Amazons of Africa. They had been historically genetically homogenous for most of their earlier history being Hittite with a continuing admixtures of Indo-European folks. Around 500 C.E. things began to change in a serious way.

The Western Roman Empire was succumbing to Germanic invasions and civil disorder. Just as bad from the Amazon point of view, it was becoming Christian. The 4th, 5th and 6th century Christians were an internally violent lot - witness the 'Christian' destruction of the 'pagan' Library of Alexandria - one of the greatest collections of lore and writings of the Ancient World destroyed by a mindless, frothing, religiously intolerant mob.

So, when the Amazon Diaspora began, they weren't just fleeing the barbarian Germans, they were fleeing Roman orthodoxy which was grinding down all pagan beliefs within the 'safe' zones of the Empire. It was Christianity which drove the Amazons who departed for Egypt down the Nile past the southern Roman frontier and farther still. The squabbling successor states to the Kingdom Monroe were unhealthy yet the Bantu expansion eastward provided opportunities in their wake.

Departing the White Nile, those six houses crossed over into the Chari River Basin and its Sao Civilization. By the 6th century CE, the Sao were quit old and established. In some ways similar to the Slavic folks of Eastern Europe, they were loosely organized ~ more a cultural union than a monolithic empire, so the Amazons scooted around to the south of these people (to the north was the Sahel) and set up shop. They wanted to live in isolation, not in the middle of nowhere. They appreciated civilization as much as the next guy, or gal.

The Bantu-speaking folks already had a tradition of the 'Twa' ~ Forest People. Normally the Twa were social inferiors and Pygmies (though we don't call them that anymore). Traditionally the Twa provided meat via hunting for the agrarian Bantu farmers. The Twa were also were rather 'put upon' and treated as 'less than' by their 'civilized neighbors. The Amazons gave the true Twa 'teeth', becoming hybridized-female Forest Demon leopardesses ... prides of leopardesses who brooked no intruders, or mistreatment of themselves and their unobtrusive cohabitants.

The Amazons provided meat, furs and other animal products for goods they needed - things like iron ingots because the Amazons always retained their weapon-crafting and armorer skills. Disease did kill off a good number of the original Amazons and wiped out their entire Asiatic horse stock. It would be five hundred years before the African sisters would remount on steeds introduced by traders and conquerors spreading the World's newest monotheistic religion - Islam.

The important thing was that after five generations if you bumped into a troupe of Amazons on a trail, or on a boat on a river, outside of an odd eye color, or perhaps a mildly lighter skin complexion, you - the African native - were looking at someone who could be from the next village over, or perhaps the tribe over the mountain, or upriver. You still might find five, or six, armed women without male company odd, but their melanin level wasn't going to be a problem.

{TILL TOUCH DOWN BRINGS ME 'ROUND AGAIN TO FIND I'M NOT THE MAN THEY THINK I AM AT HOME ~

SIR ELTON HERCULES JOHN}

{7:31 pm, Monday, September 8th ~ Last day}

{The Roof of Havenstone HQ; New York City}

I pushed the ritual hood aside - the one I used to gather the smoke up from the embers to add my tears to those contributed by my Isharan Sisters. I was inducting five more new, flesh & blood warriors into our ranks and calling upon our Ancestors to escort twenty-one to the Halls of Paradise which awaited those loyal to the Goddess and her dictates. Eighteen had been the unheralded ghosts of now former-Runners from the Amazons' past. The other three ...

Dead in Japan. There had been an ambush yesterday. Those three gave their lives so the rest of their party - ninjas mostly - could escape a trap set by proxies of the Seven Pillars. It was the price they paid for my promises ... yet three more were already champing at the bit to get on a plane and replace them. They were our first War Dead in sixteen hundred years and I wanted to make sure our Ancestors would be ready for them.

I read off the last name ~ Maribel Custer Ishara ... 31 ... my Sister. I burned the script with her name upon it, mixed the ashes with our blood and tears and commended her name and deeds to those who waited for us beyond this life and to our Goddess ~ Dot Ishara. I finished pulling back the cloth, letting it fall to my shoulder and then stood. To my right was Buffy, to my left was Helena ... and across the brazier from me was Hayden.

I choked, nearly stumbling forward into the embers.

"Hayden?"

"Yes, Cáel," she smiled. "I have come to tell you 'we are with you'."

"With me?" I mumbled. I caught Buffy's worried look. Of course, Hayden was a ghost so none of the assembly could see her, or hear her.

"You have our support in what you are doing ... what is known, and what is not so well known," she gave me a prescient look.

"Even if ..." I left the threat to reality hanging there.

"Yes. That is why they sent me. The fabric of the Weave has started to unravel and the Goddesses do not wish to confront this growing danger. They have grown overly cautious by necessity yet we ~ the Ancestors ~ have voted and decided bolder action is needed," she counselled.

Voted? Thousands upon thousands of those who had proceeded us were so concerned about the fates of their living descendants and those yet to be born they had felt compelled to gather and ... vote ... but for what precisely? And why tell me and not the augurs?

...

Because ...

Krasimira wasn't the firebrand, I was.

Krasimira wasn't on the Council, I was.

I was the one romantically and sexually involved with two of the three members of the Regency, not her.

Finally, when I relayed this conversation to Aya, she wouldn't have a single doubt about my motivations plus the Ancestors couldn't communicate with Aya. The Ancestors could find ways to chat with me because of what Alal had done to me ~ turning his weapon against the Host to their own use. How appropriate.

Still ... shit ... didn't I have enough on my plate already?

...

Apparently not and Hayden hadn't come all the way back from Death to watch me mentally dawdle. Of all Amazons now deceased, she had the clearest experience witnessing my dedication to OUR Race no matter what the cost to myself, to my morality, and the spiritual and emotional penalties I'd have to pay. I had to keep forging ahead.

"Will there be any help on your end?" I inquired.

"Yes, but we must be careful. You are a subject of concern for several of the Goddesses," she warned me. She was also letting me know the Ancestors, within some nebulous limitations, were wishing to risk their matron deities' ire to do something about this looming crisis.

"Craptastic," I muttered darkly.

"You saw how ... perturbed Istustaya and Papaya where when you noticed their appearance as Tadêfi made her most recent predictions?"

"Yes."

"Cáel?" Buffy touched my shoulder.

"I'm okay," I addressed her while keeping eye contact with Hayden's specter. I was afraid if I looked away she might vanish. "Hayden has returned to give me counsel."

The mortal hush around me was truly telling. For the assembly, Hayden was the only High Priestess they had ever known - their Absolute Authority. I had killed her. No one had disguised that. My confrontation had led her to some personal crisis, to her decree which led to the death of the worst of the Runner-hating, hardcore Traditionalists leadership ... and to her own trip to the cliffs.

Before her demise, she had shorn her hair and renounced her membership in House Anahit thus dying Houseless ~ like virtually every other Runner. At the hour of her passing, I had defied even the Goddess Ishara herself to bring her into our House ... so now Hayden was one of our Honored Dead - an Isharan. The true reason Dot Ishara allowed Hayden in wasn't something I had shared with many others. Sharing it with everyone wouldn't have helped anyone - even me.

"Yes," I related to Hayden. "How did you know this?"

"The fate of our children is of great concern to us," she gave her pantheress' smile. "For many of my Sisters it has been a long term concern."

"Oh ... I can understand that. I noticed."

"What can we do?" the deceased High Priestess offered.

"Do? Aren't you in your designated reward?"

"Yes, but we are alive, just not here ~ in this reality."

I had a blasphemous brainstorm.

"Can you gather a party of our best hunters and send them into the Endless Black Sands?" I blurted out. I regretted doing so immediately. These were my Honored Dead I was talking about. Each had already given their all for my House and my Host in their lifespan.

"Yes ... it is possible," Hayden frowned ... in concentration ... as if she was in communication with others beyond my own supernatural perceptions.

"Can you find Artimpasa of Anahit?"

"Who is she?"

"The twin sister of Sērkuēn of Anahit, also known as Shammuramat, Queen of Assyria and currently called Sakuniyas. Sērkuēn killed her sister ... in a bad way and I suspect she has been denied her place in the Halls of Anat for her actions."

"By what thread would the Daughters of Ishara find her? After so many centuries, are you sure she has somehow survived?"

Hate carried Ajax and his warriors. Hate carried Shammy. Could ... love do any less? If you believed love was as strong as, if not stronger than, hate then I had to hope the love for her sister and worry Artimpasa had for her exiled twin might have kept her going all this time. How to find her though? Then I felt stupid for asking.

"Could an augur transition an object, or objects, from this World across the Weave to the Ancestors?" I inquired of Hayden.

"I would have to ask," she nodded grimly. "What do you have in mind?"

"Saku's gear comes from the other side - from the Black Sands. She will gift you/us with some arrows."

"We will find a way to chat again when you come back from the Great Hunt. Oh, and Cáel?"

"Yes?"

"Please tell Katrina 'my love for you has never been stronger' ~ those precise words and ..."

"And?"

"Don't embarrass us," she chided me. The Great Hunt. Gee, thanks ladies.

"Wasn't planning on it. I've got a strategy all figured out - something they'll never see coming."

The ghost rolled her eyes. As she turned away, her form faded into the night sky and I was left with thirty-seven of my very mortal sisters who had been gifted with only my side of our conversation. Oh joy.

[NOW BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED STORY]

{10:30 pm [CDT], Monday, September 8th ~ Last day}

I was staring at the screen of my laptop. After the death of my Father and the litany of my oncoming offspring, this was probably the most traumatic event of my life. Okay, I should tack on the whole 'bringing the Cosmic Dragon back from the dead' and my own possible immortality to the list, but this was ... bad.

"Ishara?" Juanita caught wind of my worry. We were on a Havenstone jet winging our way to Chicago. Tomorrow I had to clean up some of my Father's affairs before heading off to wherever House Epona had stashed Felix.

"What's wrong?"

"I ... ah ..."

She came across the aisle and looked from my pale features to the screen.

"What is that?"

"Quarterly Earnings Reports," I responded.

"We made that much? Seems good," she put a hand on my shoulder.

"No. That is House Ishara's share of Havenstone's projected 3rd Quarter Earnings. It just hit my corporate bank account."

"Oh ..."

"Yeah."

"What are you going to ... do with it?"

"It is forty-three million dollars?" I grunted. "What the fuck ... well, I guess I should purchase House Ishara a freehold, or two for starters." Actually it was $43,285,825.

"What's that?" she pointed to another stream of figures.

"Oh, that's our net worth," I informed her. "House Ishara. Havenstone has $732.3 billion in assets and a net worth of $308 billion. 'We' are only worth 0.9259% of that so $2,851,772,000."

"Oh."

"That's a few bills under $18 million per Isharan. Congrats, you are a multi-millionaire," I teased her. "Technically $272,000 of the money warming my bank account is yours too."

"oh," she repeated in a really small voice. "I don't actually get paid," she gave me a funny stare. "I have an expense account."

Of course she didn't get paid. None of them did. They were part of a fanatic, insular cult. I was an oddity due to my maleness and 'New Directive' hire status.

[... AND NOW BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED DIVERSION]

For the first time in my life I sent definite word to my 'Brother', the Great Khan. My Spirit and Mind were joined on the liberation of Cabinda ~ I wanted this done. I absolutely knew I was sending forces in motion which would lead to untold human suffering and I felt ABSOLUTELY sure doing nothing was the worst choice.

Screw it all, after sitting through the British briefing from 'suppressed' sources inside the Portuguese government, I wanted to free all 23 million Angolans, but that wasn't going to happen, so I was going to save the roughly 600,000 Cabindans and 500,000 Bakongo in Zaire if I had to go see to it in person and make sure the 400,000 living in exile could return home.

In response, my Brother began calling people ~ starting with the Prime Minister of India, Narendra Damodardas Modi, and General Secretary of the Communist Party of Vietnam, Nguyễn Phú Trọng - personally. Those calls cascaded. The PM of India, after head-butting with some cabinet members, called his counter-part in ... Brazil.

Brazil was the leading power in the Lusosphere (Portuguese-speaking countries), she was right across the Atlantic from Cabinda/Angola and her proximity would become a huge factor if Angola became pugnacious. The Brazilian Navy was sizeable and her Air Force capable. If Brazil decided to oppose this territorial usurpation things could get nasty quickly, so Brazil had to be convinced to sit on the sidelines ... at least temporarily.

Vietnam's GS Trọng, after some brief consultations, began making his own diplomatic overtures. Why? Imagine for a second being any small, poor country in the United Nations who wasn't a Permanent Member of the Security Council and didn't have veto-power.

And you have lived with this 'inequality' for 70 years.

And you woke up a month ago and suddenly you WERE a PERMANENT COUNCIL MEMBER of a New Global Body which valued your input and opinions.

The Great Khan couldn't tell the General Secretary precisely what was going on, but he promised to have a team fly down to him within 48 hours to explain everything in person because unwelcome people were 'listening in' which was the damn truth. So, GS Trọng began reaching out to every Marxist, Communist and Socialist in Europe, Africa and South America who would listen. The top country on his list? Cuba.

No, he wasn't asking for Cuba to become involved in Angola again as the Soviets had done back in the 1970's. That would be ... awkward. Instead, GS Trọng was asking his "Old Buddy", Raúl Castro, President and 1st Secretary of the Communist Party of Cuba to put in his good offices with ...

[GOOD MORNING, HAVANA]

Raúl: "Comrade Nguyễn, long time, no see. (In fact, I can't ever recall seeing you) Precisely why are you calling me at ... 3 a.m. your time? The current retrograde revisionist direction of our inevitable victory got you down?"

Nguyễn: "Quite the contrary, Comrade Raúl. In fact, an opportunity has arisen to strike a blow against the Old World Order, Comrade. Can I count on you?"

Raúl: "Oh ... ummmm ... if you take into account I've heard this ugly rumor you are about to kick our fellow 'Brothers in the Struggle' [the People's Republic of China] in the testes in collusion with these jumped-up autocratic, religious fundamentalist fanatic Reactionaries from Central Asia and the always doctrinally-dicey Indians ... what do you have in mind?"

Nguyễn: "All I need you to do is lend the gravitas of your leadership to a bit of backroom diplomacy, Comrade. I understand you are on speaking terms with those presently in charge of Brazil, despite their questionable adherence to Marxist-Leninist purity."

Raúl: "Hmmm ... beyond the linguistic reality Spanish and Brazilian Portuguese are not mutually intelligible ... something could be arranged. Please continue."

Nguyễn: "I need you to contact the President of Brazil and request her agreement for diplomatic and logistic intervention to a freedom-fighting victory we are about to experience on the African continent."

Raúl: "A victory? Really? Where?"

Nguyễn: "Sorry. We both know the USA's CIA and the NSA are crawling all over your communications networks like the smoke wafting off of one of your Havana's Finest."

Raúl: "Ain't that the damn truth. Still, what do you want me to ask her for?"

Nguyễn: "Just to be prepared to back India's play, no matter how bizarre it might appear at first. Also, let her know we've got her back militarily if it comes to a confrontation with the forces of Global Imperialism and post-colonial aggression."

Raúl: "Wow ... that sounds ... ugly. What's in it for us?"

Nguyễn: {pause} "WORKERS OF THE WORLD UNITE!"

Raúl: {looks at his phone suspiciously} "No really - what's going on?"

Nguyễn: "I already said I can't tell you the details right now. I guarantee this will help advance the struggle of World Communism."

Raúl: "Nice to know. And?"

Nguyễn: "Has your fervor for the Cause dampened, Comrade?"

Raúl: "I know for a fact you get your suits from Brookes Brothers, Comrade. I just found out my nephew's yacht needs an extensive engine overhaul and the Venezuelan outfit which used to do the work closed up shop last month ..."

Nguyễn: "Ah ... we'll, given two years my economic experts have informed me we, as in the hard-working people of Vietnam ..."

Raúl: "Get on with it."

Nguyễn: "Upwards of ten MILLION Central Asians A YEAR will start visiting our burgeoning tourist industry ..."

Raúl: "Been there - done that during the Cold War."

Nguyễn: "NO! These people will have MONEY! The Reactionary Khanate will be paying their workers Free Market salaries! We are talking real currency too - not those crappy, Soviet-era rubbles you couldn't wipe your ass with."

Raúl: "Great Lenin's Ghost! You had better not be lying to me, Comrade Nguyễn. If you could send five ..."

Nguyễn: "Two!"

Raúl: "Three!" (I just DOUBLED my tourism industry!!)

Nguyễn: "Fine {grumble} three million, but you had better not leave me looking like Leon Trotsky in desperate need of a raincoat in Mexico City when all of this comes out."

Raúl: "Perish the thought. If this works out ~ positively ~ I won't forget this."

Nguyễn: "You will be advancing goodwill toward the Cuban people in the corridors of power ..."

Raúl: "I'll take the hard, cold currency, thank you very much."

Nguyễn: "How the struggle has been ... transformed."

Raúl: "Such is life. I'll get right on this."

Nguyễn: "I appreciate it. I really do."

Raúl: "Well ..."

Nguyễn: {uh oh}

Raúl: "Are your violently reactionary allies in Central Asia ... sending any ... economic aid your way? Things you might not need?"

Nguyễn: "Like?"

Raúl: "Like ... anything. Have you seen the state of my economy and military? We've been hurting over here."

Nguyễn: "Comrade Raúl, you get the President of Brazil in a cooperative mood so that this blossoms into a victory for the Freedom-Loving Peoples of the World and I'll hand your Wish List to the Great Khan personally."

Raúl: "And if it is ... a partial victory ... for the Freedom-Loving Peoples of the World?"

Nguyễn: "Eh ... it won't be my people dying ... nor yours. I'll let my allies know you did your best and let New Delhi and Astana figure out how they wish to respond."

Raúl: "Oh well ... it isn't like President Obama is going to get a 3rd term. What do I have to lose at this point?"

Nguyễn: "On the bright side, the Great Khan has ... what's the term you Latin American's use?"

Raúl: "Machismo?"

Nguyễn: "That sounds about right. "Machismo to face down the Americans and just about everyone else. As one valiant member of the proletariat to another - I've met him face-to-face - he kind of scares the shit out of me."

Raúl: "Really?"

Nguyễn: "Yes ... he has the eyes of ... those old-timers - the ones who ordered human wave after human wave of soldiers to clear the minefields and throw their bodies over the barbed wire so the next wave could rush over the corpses as well as the mangled and dying so they could finally grapple with the enemy ... and would do it all over again in a heartbeat."

Raúl: "And this is the man you chose to ally with?"

Nguyễn: "I'd rather sell my granddaughters to a Jakarta brothel than help the Chinese after the way they've treated us the past 50 years. Besides, he went to Tibet and left then went to Thailand and left. He is the best kind of ally there is - the one who remembers to go home when the war is done."

Raúl: "Good point (I hope for your sake) ... best of luck with that. I have some calls to make. I will be in touch."

Nguyễn: "You do that. Good luck, Comrade."

Raúl: "Comrade."

[AND BACK AGAIN]

So, when the President of Brazil began to field phone calls from the Prime Minister of India, the Prime Minister of Portugal (via the Vatican) and the President of Cuba within two hours, she began to get truly concerned ... about what? No one could definitely tell her, except it had to do with a Portuguese-speaking country which bordered the South Atlantic (and, including Brazil, there were only three of those).

And just when you thought you might know what's going on ... there was Brazilian Lieutenant general Carlos Alberto dos Santos Cruz, commander of the United Nations Organization Stabilization Mission in the Democratic Republic of the Congo (MONUSCO). That's right - the DRC which bordered Cabinda. Christmas had come early and it got better.

The Indians needed to move troops 'through' the Congo, but that was 'okay' because they already had over 3,700 men 'in country' as part of said UN mission, so all it had to look like was they were reshuffling some guys around, with the added bonus the Khanate and the Indians both flew the same transport aircraft - the Il-76 (though the Indians were getting new American-built Boeing C-17 GlobeMaster III's too). Suddenly the ability for the Khanate (and the Indians) to funnel the necessary equipment to the Cabindan rebels became a whole lot easier ... for once.

My Brother didn't skimp at this juncture either. He couldn't send his best troops, but he could open up his War Chest. What equipment he couldn't afford to send, he purchased and manned. Western and Central Europe may have vacated the killing business, but they were still willing to sell the Weapons of War to the willing and able (to pay that is). His allies were contributing too. Ships and planes from Europe and Asia were converging on the ports along the Congo River.

Technically this was in the Democratic Republic of Congo, but the regimes Secret Policemen were looking for people out to overthrow the current President-for-Life, not some insanely over-armed folks merely passing through. Those officials took their bribes, went home and slept like babies. This wasn't their war after all.

[BACK TO CABINDA]

[A three and a half page diversion from the life of Cáel]

Back in Cabinda all sorts 'fun' was about to break out. I was to blame. Strangers and people I only barely knew where going into harm's way, bleeding and dying.

[OPPOSING FORCES]

In the past 1400 years, those six African houses prospered so well they founded five more of their own plus sponsored the movement to South America of one of their own ~ House Yemonja ~ plus two from Europe. In today's numbers, this equated to the Host being able to muster 125 Security Detail plus roughly 1,900 House Amazons and 1,200 Runners for combat operations in Central Africa which took into account the House Amazons left behind defending key assets and the Runners keeping Havenstone-Africa functional.

In comparison, the Angolan Army had over 90,000 men. Countering their numerical superiority were numerous handicaps. For starters, they were men and the Amazons had no problem at all killing men. The Angolans didn't have much compunction about shooting women either, but this time the women could and would shoot back, which would be a surprise.

The Angolan Army's primary combat experience was in combating a poorly-equipped, home-grown guerilla force. Its heyday was fighting the long-running Angolan Civil War that was over a decade ago and most of their conscript soldiers were using Cold War-issue gear.

This time around their enemies were highly motivated, well-financed and expertly trained in both conventional and unconventional warfare. On this battlefield, the Host would be engaging in a 'stand-up' fight - more on that later. With the British and US being able to provide useful signal and satellite intelligence and the Coils inflicting political turmoil judiciously, it was likely the Amazons would counter-punch the Angolans first reaction and the International Community would intervene before they could gather up a credible threat.

It turned out the Indian government was rather taken with the idea of providing a peace-keeping force for Cabinda as well. The 'why' was simple enough. Her greatest competitor in Asia (in her mind), China - the People's Republic of China - was in serious trouble, India had already pulled off a flawless intervention in Thailand and as a Nation-state, she was feeling her oats.

Suddenly, for the pro-Khanate faction it was what can't we do? 99% of the India's Lok Sabha (House of the People ~ lower house of Parliament) had no idea where Cabinda was yet they felt India's Armed Forces could do this and their new allies wouldn't leave them hanging if things got tough.

Of course, being up against a military power of Angola's caliber didn't hurt either. Angola didn't have a host of allies (with the PRC being their biggest), no navy to speak of and life in Cabinda was hellish, if off the media's beaten path. Saying the province of Zaire was ... 'neglected' was putting it politely. And, less we forget ... oil, oil, oil! The most oil in Sub-Saharan Africa!

The third prong of the offensive (the Amazon/Coils actual combat actions being the first and India championing Cabinda's cause being the second) was a bit of Vatican global diplomacy. Up front, Angola was a Catholic country and Cabinda was a Catholic province struggling for historical (1885) independence, so the Pope's voice carried weight. In the back channels was a matter of impassioned egos and a glaring historical imbalance.

[CAN YOU SAY 'SEGWAY'?]

For starters, Cabinda was only part of Angola because of it being gobbled up as the European powers were dividing up Africa. As groups in Berlin and London were tidying up the map for people who they had never seen and had never seen them, the Portuguese ended up with both regions.

Cabinda and Angola were inhabited by culturally similar peoples yet were politically different entities when they ended up under Lisbon's colonial administration. It was simply easier to govern small Cabinda from the vastly larger Angola, so that's what they, the Europeans, did. Cabinda never considered itself part of any internal Angolan political-tribal entity because they weren't.

Dial up an episode called the Carnation Revolution in 1974. If you are Portuguese, or speak Portuguese, this is probably well known to you. Otherwise, probably not. Anyway, after a long-reigning totalitarian regime, the people of Portugal overthrew their unelected leadership for some of the elected kind. Having been dragging along a series of rather long and unpopular colonial wars of independence, the new people in charge in Lisbon (Portugal's capital), rapidly set their colonial possessions free.

That was rather nice of them ... unless you were in Cabinda. See, the natives of Cabinda already knew they had MASSIVE deposits of oil sitting right off the coast of their tiny province and they had no real desire to share that wealth with the rest of Angola ... because they didn't see themselves as Angolans. They had never been Angolans in their minds, so why start now?

For Angola, the answer was easy - because you have OIL! On top of all this mess, plenty of African nations at the time were heavily experimenting with Marxism with the added bonus of this being the middle of the Cold War ~ the Soviet Union + Warsaw Pact vs. the USA + NATO vs. France (who always followed their own foreign policy goals despite being part of NATO). Then there was the fact the ole Soviets had already invested in those anti-colonial movements which were now taking over those former Portuguese patches of earth.

Cabinda said 'We are Free!' and then Angola, with the help of the Republic of Congo (Marxist back then), said 'No, you are not!' and shot most of the Cabindans who insisted on disagreeing. The Angolans then spent the next 25 years in a civil war with their fellow Angolans. Though the war had ended and the country had migrated away from a Marxist-Leninist One-Party Rule toward democracy in 2010, the President remained the same guy since ... 1979 ... (cough, cough)

... and the average Angolan got by on $2 a day ... despite Angola pumping out more oil than Nigeria, having the 3rd largest diamond mines in Africa, a collapsed iron mining operation worth $220 million [in today's $] and a cornucopia of other valuable natural resources ... and the President's daughter being the richest WOMAN in Africa (having absolutely nothing to do with her Daddy's influence of ... well everything in Angola).

The only hitch in all of this was - stunningly - the oil. See, petroleum production was 45% of Angola's economy and 90% of her exports. To say the Angolan government owed a shitload of money to just about EVERYBODY was putting paid to the word 'shitload'.

Mind you, things like 'torture, rape, summary executions, arbitrary detention, and the disappearances of environmental, political and human rights activists kept coming up over and over again as the Standard Operating Procedures for the Angolan government and their various stooges - so exactly who was going to be sympathetic to their plight ... who we cared about?

Beyond my fevered dream of making a difference there was a pinch of reality. See, the Cabindans and the people of Zaire were both ethnic Bakongo and the Bakongo of Zaire had also once had their own, independent (until 1914) kingdom which was now part of Angola. The Bakongo were major factions in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) -

(formerly for a short time known as the nation of Zaire, from here on out to be referred to as the DRC and in the running for the MOST FUCKED UP PLACE on the planet Earth ... more on that later)

- and Congo (the nation) yet a minority in Angola. Having an independent nation united along ethnic and linguistic lines made sense and could expect support from their confederates across international boundaries.

[THE LIBERATION AIR FORCE]

The Earth & Sky operated under one constant dilemma ~ when would Temujin make his return? Since they didn't know and it was their job to be prepared for the eventuality if it happened tomorrow, or a century down the line, they 'stockpiled' ... and 'stockpiled' and 'stockpiled'.

That was why they maintained large horse herds and preserved the ancient arts of Asian bowyers, armoring and weapons-craft. That was why they created secret armories, and sulfur and saltpeter sites when musketry and cannons became the new ways of warfare. They secured sources of phosphates and petroleum when they became the new thing ... and so on.

All of this boiled over to me being shown yet again I worked with clever, creative and under-handed people. The Khanate came up with a plan for a 'Union' Air Force {Union? More on that later} within 24 hours ... and it barely touched any of their existing resources. How did they accomplish this miracle? They had stockpiled and maintained earlier generation aircraft because they didn't know when Temujin would make his re-appearance.

They'd also trained pilots and ground crews for those aircraft. As you might imagine, those people grew old just as their equipment did. In time, they went into the Earth & Sky's Inactive Reserves ~ the rank & file over the age of 45. You never were 'too old' to serve in some capacity though most combat-support related work ended at 67.

When Temujin made his return and the E&S transformed into the Khanate, those people went to work bringing their lovingly cared for, aging equipment up to combat-alert readiness. If the frontline units were decimated, they would have to serve, despite the grim odds of their survival. It was the terrible acceptance the Chinese would simply possess so much more war-making material than they did.

Well, the Khanate kicked the PRC's ass in a titanic ass-whooping no one (else) had seen coming, or would soon forget. Factory production and replacement of worn machines was in stride to have the Khanate's Air Force ready for the next round of warfare when the Cease-fire ended and the Reunification War resumed.

Always a lower priority, the Khanate military leadership was considering deactivating dozens of these reserve unit when suddenly the [Mongolian] Ikh khaany khairt akh düü (me) had this hare-brained scheme about helping rebels in Africa ... West Africa ... along the Gulf of Guinea coast/Atlantic Ocean ... far, far away ... and it couldn't look like the Khanate was directly involved.

They barely knew where Angola was. They had to look up Cabinda to figure out precisely where that was. They brought in some of their 'reservist' air staff to this briefing and one of them, a woman (roughly a third of the E&S 'fighting'/non-frontline forces were female), knew what was going on. Why?

She had studied the combat records and performance of the types of aircraft she'd have to utilize... back in the 1980's and 90's and Angola had been a war zone rife with Soviet (aka Khanate) material back then. Since she was both on the ball, bright and knew the score, the War Council put her in overall command. She knew what was expected of her and off she went, new staff in hand. She was 64 years old, yet as ready and willing to serve as any 20 year old believer in the Cause.

Subtlety, scarcity and audacity were the watchwords of the day. The Khanate couldn't afford any of their front-line aircraft for this 'expedition'. They really couldn't afford any of their second-rate stuff either. Fortunately, they had some updated third-rate war-fighting gear still capable of putting up an impressive show in combat ~ providing they weren't going up against a top tier opponents.

For the 'volunteers' of the Union Air Force, this could very likely to be a one-way trip. They all needed crash courses (not a word any air force loves, I know) in Portuguese though hastily provided iPhones with 'apps' to act as translators were deemed to be an adequate stop-gap measure. Besides, they were advised to avoid getting captured at all cost. The E&S couldn't afford the exposure. Given the opportunity ~ this assignment really was going above and beyond ~ not one of these forty-six to sixty-seven year olds backed out.

No, they rolled out fifty of their antiquated aircraft - designs dating back to the 1950's through the mid-70's - and prepared them for the over 10,000 km journey to where they were 'needed most'. 118 pilots would go (72 active plus 46 replacements) along with 400 ground crew and an equally aged air defense battalion (so their air bases didn't get blown up). Security would be provided by 'outsiders' ~ allies already on the ground and whatever rebels could be scrounged up. After the initial insertion, the Indian Air Force would fly in supplies at night into the Cabinda City and Soyo Airports.

The composition ...

14 Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-21 jet fighters ~ though she entered service in 1959, these planes' electronics were late 20th century and she was a renowned dogfighter. 12 were the Mig-21-97 modernized variant and the other two were Mig-21 UM two-seater trainer variants which could double as reconnaissance fighters if needed.

14 Sukhoi Su-22 jet fighter-bombers ~ the original design, called the Su-17, came out in 1970, the first 12 were variants with the 22M4 upgrade were an early-80's package. The other 2 were Su-22U two-seat trainers which, like their Mig-21 comrades, doubled as reconnaissance fighters. The Su-22M4's would be doing the majority of the ground attack missions for the Cabindans, though they could defend themselves in aerial combat if necessary.

6 Sukhoi Su-24M2 supersonic attack aircraft ~ the first model rolled off the production lines in the Soviet Union back in 1974. By far the heaviest planes in the Cabindan Air Force, the Su-24M2's would act as their 'bomber force' as well as anti-ship deterrence.

8 Mil Mi-24 VM combat helicopters ~ introduced in 1972 was still a lethal combat machine today. Unlike the NATO helicopter force, the Mi-24's did double duty as both attack helicopter and assault transports at the same time.

4 Mil Mi-8 utility helicopters, first produced in 1967. Three would act as troop/cargo transports (Mi-8 TP) while the fourth was configured as a mobile hospital (the MI-17 1VA).

4 Antonov An-26 turboprop aircraft - two to be used as tactical transports to bring in supplies by day and two specializing in electronic intelligence aka listening to what the enemy was up to. Though it entered production in 1969, many still remained flying today.

2 Antonov An-71M AEW&C twin-jet engine aircraft. These were an old, abandoned Soviet design the Earth & Sky had continued working on primarily because the current (1970's) Russian Airborne Early Warning and Control bird had been both huge and rather ineffective ~ it couldn't easily identify low-flying planes in the ground clutter so it was mainly only good at sea. Since the E&S planned to mostly fight over the land ...

They kept working on the An-71 which was basically 1977's popular An-72 with some pertinent design modifications (placing the engines below the wings instead of above them as on the -72 being a big one). To solve their radar problem, they stole some from the Swedish tech firm Ericsson ... which hadn't been foreseen to be a problem before now.

See, the Russians in the post-Soviet era created a decent AEW&C craft the E&S gladly stole and copied the shit out of for their front line units and it was working quite nicely ~ the Beriev A-50, and WOW were the boys in the Kremlin pissed off about that these days. Whoops ... or was that woot?

Now, the Khanate was shipping two An-71's down to Cabinda and somewhere along the line someone just might get a 'feel' for the style of radar and jamming the Cabindans were using aka the Swedish stuff in those An-71's. The Erieye radar system could pick out individual planes at 280 miles. The over-all system could track 60 targets and plot out 10 intercepts simultaneously. NATO - they were not, but in sub-Saharan Africa, there were none better.

Anyway, so why was any of this important?

[**]

Why the old folks with their ancient machines? As revealed, since the Earth & Sky had no idea when Temüjin would return, they were constantly squirreling away equipment. World War II gave them unequaled access to Soviet military technology and training.

Afterwards, under Josef Stalin's direction, thousands of Russian and German engineers and scientists were exiled to Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan who were then snatched up (reportedly died in the gulags/trying to escape) and the E&S began building mirror factories modeled on the 'then current' Soviet production lines.

So, by the early 1950's, the E&S was building, flying and maintaining Soviet-style Antonov, Beriev, Ilyushin, Myasishchev, Mikoyan-Gurevich, Sukhoi, Tupolev and Yakovlev airplanes. First in small numbers because their pool of pilots and specialists was so small.

The E&S remedied this by creating both their own 'private' flight academies and technical schools. They protected their activities with the judicious use of bribes (they were REMARKABLY successful with their economic endeavors on both side of the Iron Curtain) and murders (including the use of the Ghost Tigers).

By 1960, the proto-Khanate had an air force. Through the next two decades they refined and altered their doctrine ~ moving away from the Soviet doctrine to a more pure combined-arms approach [the Soviets divided their air power into four separate arms ~ ADD (Long Range Aviation), FA (Front Aviation), MTA (Military Transport Aviation) and the V-PVO (Soviet Air Defenses ~ which controlled air interceptors).].

It wasn't until the collapse of the Soviet Union and the independence of the various former SSR's that the E&S program really began to hit its stride. Still, while Russia faltered, China's PLAAF (Peoples' Liberation Army Air Force) began to take off. Since the Chinese could produce so much more, the E&S felt it had to keep those older planes and crews up to combat readiness. The younger field crews and pilots flew the newer models as they rolled off the secret production lines.

Then the Unification War appeared suddenly, the E&S-turned Khanate Air Force skunked their PLAAF rivals due to two factors - a surprise attack on a strategic level and the fatal poisoning of their pilots and ground crews before they even got into the fight. For those Chinese craft not destroyed on the ground, the effects of Anthrax eroded their fighting edge. Comparable technology gave the Khanate their critical victory and Air Supremacy over the most important battlefields.

What did this meant for those out-of-date air crews and pilots who had been training to a razor's edge for a month now? Their assignment had been to face down the Russians if they invaded. They would take their planes up into the fight even though this most likely would mean their deaths, but they had to try.

When Operation Fun House put Russia in a position where she wasn't likely to jump on the Khanate, this mission's importance faded. The Russian Air Force was far more stretched than the Khanate's between her agitations in the Baltic and her commitments in the Manchurian, Ukrainian, Chechen and Georgian theaters.

With more new planes rolling off the production lines, these reservist units began dropping down the fuel priority list, which meant lowering their flight times thus readiness. Only my hare-brained scheme had short-circuited their timely retirement. Had I realized I was getting people's grandparents killed ... I would have probably made the same call anyway. We needed them.

[THE KHANATE]

The Khanate's #1 air superiority dogfighter was the Mig-35F. The #2 was the Mig-29. No one was openly discussing the Khanate's super-stealthy "Su-50" ... if that was what it was ... because its existence 'might' suggest the Khanate ALSO stole technology from the Indian defense industry ... along with their laundry list of thefts from South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, the PRC, Russia and half of NATO.

Her top multi-role fighters were the Su-47, Su-35S and Su-30SM. The Su-30 'Flanker-C/MK2/MKI were their 2nd team with plenty of 3rd team Su-27M's still flying combat missions as well.

Strike fighters? There weren't enough Su-34's to go around yet, so the Su-25MS remained the Khanate's dedicated Close Air Assault model.

Medium transport aircraft? The An-32RE and An-38. They had small, large and gargantuan transports as well.

Bombers? The rather ancient jet-powered Tu-160M2's and Tu-22M2's as well as the even older yet still worthwhile turboprops ~ from 1956's ~ the Tu-95M S16.

Helicopters? While they still flew updated variants of the Mil Mi-8/17 as military transports, the more optimized Kamov Ka-52 and Mil Mi-28 had replaced them in the assault role.

Bizarrely, the Khanate had overrun several Chinese production lines of the aircraft frames and components ~ enough to complete fairly modern PLAAF (Peoples Liberation Army Air Force) FC-1 and J-10 (both are small multi-role fighter remarkably similar to the US F-16 with the FC-1 being the more advanced model, using shared Chinese-Pakistani technology and was designed for export ...).

They did have nearly two dozen to send, but they didn't have the pilots and ground crews trained to work with them, plus the FC-1 cost roughly $32 million which wasn't fundage any legitimate Cabindan rebels could get their hands on, much less $768 million (and that would just be for the planes, not the weeks' worth of fuel, parts and munitions necessary for what was forthcoming).

Meanwhile, except for the An-26, which you could get for under $700,000 and the An-71, which were only rendered valuable via 'black market tech', none of the turboprop and jet aircraft the Khanate was sending were what any sane military would normally want. The helicopters were expensive ~ the 'new' models Mi-24's cost $32 million while the Mi-17's set you back $17 million. The one's heading to Cabinda didn't look 'new'.

[THE OPPOSITION]

In contrast, the Angolan Air Force appeared far larger and more modern. Appearances can be deceptive ... and they were. Sure, the models of Russian and Soviet-made aircraft they had in their inventory had the higher numbers ~ the Su-25, -27 and -30 ~ plus they had Mig-21bis's, Mig-23's and Su-22's, but things like training and up-keep didn't appear to be priorities for the Angolans.

When you took into account the rampant corruption infecting all levels of Angolan government, the conscript nature of their military, the weakness of their technical educational system, the complexity of any modern combat aircraft and the reality that poor sods forced into being Air Force ground crewmen hardly made the most inspired technicians, or most diligent care-takers of their 'valuable' stockpiles (which their officers all too often sold on the black market anyway), things didn't just look bleak for the Angolan Air Force - they were a tsunami of cumulative factors heading them for an epic disaster.

It wasn't only their enemies who derided their Air Force's lack of readiness. Their allies constantly scolded them about it too. Instead of trying to fix their current inventory, the Angolans kept shopping around for new stuff. Since 'new'-new aircraft was beyond what they wanted to spend (aka put too much of a dent in the money they were siphoning off to their private off-shore accounts), they bought 'used' gear from former Soviet states ~ Belarus, Russia and Ukraine ~ who sold them stuff they had left abandoned in revetments (open to the elements to slowly rot) on the cheap.

To add to the insanity, the Angolans failed to keep up their maintenance agreements so their newly fixed high-tech machines often either couldn't fly, or flew without critical systems - like radar, avionics and even radios. Maybe that wasn't for the worst because after spending millions on these occasionally-mobile paperweights, the Angolans bought the LEAST technologically advanced missile, gun and rocket systems they could get to put on these flying misfortunes.

On the spread sheets, Angola had 18 Su-30K's, 18 Su-27, 12 Su-25's, 14 Su-22's, 22 Mig-23's, 23 Mig-21bis's and 6 Embraer EMB 314 Super Tucano (a turboprop aircraft tailor-made for counter-insurgency operations), 105 helicopters with some combative ability and 21 planes with some airlift capacity. That equated to 81 either air superiority, or multi-role jet fighters versus the 12 Union Air Force (actually the Bakongo União de Cabinda e Zaire - Forças Armadas de Libertação - Força Aérea ~ Liberation Armed Forces - Air Force [BUCZ-FAL-FA]) Mig-21-97's.

It would seem lopsided except for the thousands of hours of flight experience the 'Unionists' enjoyed over their Angolan rivals. You also needed to take into account the long training and fanatic dedication of their ground crews to their pilots and their craft. Then you needed to take into account every Unionist aircraft, while an older airframe design, had updated (usually to the year 2000) technology lovingly cared for ... as if the survival of their People demanded it.

A second and even more critical factor was the element of surprise. At least the PRC and the PLAAF had contingencies for attacks from their neighbors in the forefront of their strategic planning. The Angolans? The only country with ANY air force in the vicinity was the Republic of South Africa (RSA) and they had ceased being a threat with the end of Apartheid and the rise of majority Black rule in that country nearly two decades earlier.

In the pre-dawn hours of 'Union Independence Day', the FAL-FA was going to smash every Angolan Air base and air defense facility within 375 miles of Cabinda (the city). Every three hours after that, they would be hitting another target within their designated 'Exclusion Zone'. Yes, this 'Exclusion Zone' included a 'tiny' bit of DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) territory. The DRC didn't have an air force to challenge them though ... so ...

Inside this 'Exclusion Zone', anything moving by sea, river, road, rail, or air without Unionist governmental approval was subject to attack ... which would require neutral parties to acknowledge some semblance of a free and independent BUCZ. Worse for Angola, this 'Zone' included Angola's capital and its largest port, Luanda, plus four more of their ten largest urban centers. This could be an economic, military and humanitarian catastrophe if mishandled.

The Angolan Army did not have significant anti-aircraft assets. Why would they? Remember, no one around them had much of an air force to worry about. The FAL-FA in turn could hit military convoys with TV-guided munitions 'beyond line of sight', rendering what they did have useless. It got worse for the Army after dark. The FAL-FA could and would fly at night whereas the average Angolan formation had Zip-Zero-Nadda night fighting capacity.

Then geography added its own mountain of woes. As far as Cabinda was concerned, there was no direct land line to their border from Angola. Their coastal road only went as far as the port of Soyo where the Congo River hit the South Atlantic Ocean. Across that massive gap was the DRC where the road was not picked back up. Far up the coast was the DRC town of Muanda (with an airport) and though they did have a road which went north, it did not continue to the Cabindan border.

Nope. To get at Cabinda from the south meant a long, torturous travel through northeastern Angola, into the heart of the DRC then entailed hooking west to some point 'close' to the Cabindan frontier before finally hoofing it overland through partially cleared farmland and jungle. Mind you, the DRC didn't have a native air force capable of protecting the Angolans in their territory so ...

In fact the only 'road' to Cabinda came from the Republic of Congo (Congo) to the north and even that was a twisted route along some really bad, swampy terrain. This had been the pathway of conquest the Angolans took 39 years earlier. The difference being the tiny bands of pro-independence Cabindan guerillas back then couldn't hold a candle to the Amazons fighting to free Cabinda this time around in numbers, zeal, training and up-to-date equipment.

Next option ~ to come by sea. They would face a few, stiff problems ... such as the FAL-FA having ship-killer missiles, the Angolan Navy not being able to defend them and the Unionists having no compunction to NOT strike Pointe-Noire in the 'not so neutral' Republic of the Congo if they somehow began unloading Angolan troops. It seemed the Republic of the Congo didn't have much of an Air Force either.

Before you think the FAL-FA was biting off more than they could chew, Cabinda, the province, was shaped somewhat like the US State of Delaware, was half the size of Connecticut (Cabinda was 2,810 sq. mi. to Conn.'s 5,543 sq. mi.) and only the western 20% was relatively open countryside where the Angolan Army's only advantage ~ they possessed armed fighting vehicles while the 'Unionists' did not (at this stage of planning) ~ could hopefully come into play.

Centered at their capital, Cabinda (City), jets could reach any point along their border within eight minutes. Helicopters could make it in fifteen. To be safe, some of the FAL-FA would base at the town of Belize which was in the northern upcountry and much tougher to get at with the added advantage the Angolans wouldn't be expecting the FAL-FA to be using the abandoned airfield there - at least initially.

Where they afraid attacking Angolan troops in the DRC would invite war with the DRC? Sure, but letting the Angolans reach the border unscathed was worse. Besides, the DRC was in such a mess it needed TWENT-THREE THOUSAND UN Peacekeepers within her borders just to keep the country from falling apart. Barring outside - read European - intervention, did "Democratically-elected since 2001" President (for Life) Joseph Kabila want the FAL-FA to start dropping bombs on his capital, Kinshasa - which was well within reach of all their aircraft?

Congo (the country), to the north, wasn't being propped up by the UN, or anything else except ill intentions. In reality, it hardly had much of a military at all. Its officer corps was chosen for political reliability, not merit, or capability. Their technology was old Cold War stuff with little effort to update anything and, if you suspected corruption might be a problem across all spectrums of life, you would 'probably' be right about that too.

If you suspected the current President had been in charge for a while, you would be correct again (1979-1992 then 2001- and the 'whoops' was when he accidently let his country experiment with democracy which led to two civil wars). If you suspected he was a life-long Communist (along with the Presidents of the DRC and Angola), you'd be right about that as well. Somehow their shared Marxist-Leninist-Communist ideology hadn't quite translated over to alleviating the grinding poverty in any of those countries despite their vast mineral wealth ...

At this point in the region's history, little Cabinda had everything to gain by striving for independence and the vast majority of 'warriors' who could possibly be sent against her had terribly little to gain fighting and dying trying to stop them from achieving her goal. After all, their lives weren't going to get any better and with the Amazons ability ~ nay willingness ~ to commit battlefield atrocities, those leaders were going to find it hard going to keep sending their men off to die.

And then ... it got even worse.

See, what I had pointed out was there were two oil refineries in Angola ... and neither was in Cabinda. Cabinda would need a refinery to start making good on their oil wealth ~ aka economically bribe off the Western economies already shaken over the Khanate's first round of aggressions.

But WAIT! There was an oil refinery just across the Congo River from Cabinda ~ which meant it was attached to mainland Angola. That had to be a passel of impossible news, right?

Nope. As I said earlier, it seemed the people of northern Angola were the same racial group as the Cabindans AND majority Catholic while the ruling clique wasn't part of their ethnic confederacy plus the farther south and east into Angola you went, the less Catholic it became.

But it got better. This province was historically its own little independent kingdom (called the Kingdom of Kongo) to boot! It had been abolished by Portugal back in 1914.

The 'good' news didn't end there. Now, it wasn't as if the leadership of Angola was spreading the wealth around to the People much anyway, but these northerners had been particularly left out of this Marxist version of 'Trickle Down' economics.

How bad was this? This northwestern province ~ called Zaire ~ didn't have any railroads, or paved roads, linking it to the rest of the freaking country. The 'coastal road' entered the province, but about a third of the way up ran into this river ... which they'd failed to bridge [you had to use a single track bridge farther to the northeast, if you can believe it]. It wasn't even a big river. It was still an obstacle though.

How did the Angolan government and military planned to get around? Why by air and sea, of course. Well, actually by air. Angola didn't have much of a merchant marine, or Navy, to make sealift a serious consideration. Within hours of the 'Union Declaration of Independence' anything flying anywhere north of the Luanda, the capital of Angola, would essentially be asking to be blown out of the sky.

Along the border between Zaire province and the rest of Angola were precisely two chokepoints. By 'chokepoints', I meant places where a squad (10 trained, modernly-equipped troopers) could either see everything for MILES AND MILES over pretty much empty space along a river valley and the only bridge separating Zaire province from the south, or overlook a ravine which the only road had to pass through because of otherwise bad-ass, broken terrain.

Two.

Zaire Province had roughly the same population as Cabinda ~ 600,000. Unlike Cabinda, which consisted of Cabinda City plus a few tiny towns and rugged jungles, Zaire had two cities ~ Soyo, with her seventy thousand souls plus the refinery at the mouth of the Congo River, and M'banza-Kongo, the historical capital of the Kingdom of Kongo, spiritual center of the Bakongo People (who included the Cabindans) and set up in the highlands strategically very reminiscent of Điện Biên Phủ.

Of Zaire's provincial towns, the only other strategic one was N'Zeto with her crappy Atlantic port facility and 2,230 meter grass airport. The town was the northern terminus of the National Road 100 ~ the Coastal Road. It terminated because of the Mebridege River. There wasn't a bridge at N'Zeto though there was a small one several miles upstream. N'Zeto was also where the road from provinces east of Zaire ended up, so you had to have N'Zeto ~ and that tiny bridge ~ to move troops overland anywhere else in Zaire Province.

So you would think it would be easy for the Angolan Army to defend then ... except of how the Amazons planned to operate. They would infiltrate the area first then 'rise up in rebellion'. Their problem was the scope of the operation had magnified in risk of exposure, duration and forces necessary for success.

The serious issue before St. Marie and the Host in Africa were the first two. They could actually move Amazons from Brazil and North America to bolster their numbers for the upcoming offensive. Even in the short-short term, equipment wouldn't be a serious problem. What the Amazons dreaded was being left in a protracted slugfest with the Angolan Army which the Condottieri could jump in on. The Amazons exceedingly preferred to strike first then vanish.

There was reason to believe a tiny number could have stayed behind in Cabinda to help the locals prepare their military until they could defend themselves. They would need more than a hundred Amazons if Cabinda wanted to incorporate Zaire. The answer was to call back their newfound buddy, the Great Khan. While he didn't have much else he could spare (the Khanate was ramping up for their invasion of the Middle East after all - the Kurds needed the help), he had other allies he could call on.

India couldn't help initially since they were supposed to supply the 'Peace-keepers' once a cease-fire had been arranged. That left Temujin with his solid ally, Vietnam, and his far shakier allies, the Republic of China and Japan.

First off ~ Japan COULD NOT HELP ... which meant they couldn't supply troops who might very well end up dead, or far worse, CAPTURED. What they did have was a surplus of older equipment the ROC troops were familiar with, so while the ROC was gearing up for their own invasion of mainland China in February, they were willing to help the Chinese kill Angolans ... off the books, of course.

The ROC was sending fifteen hundred troops the Khanate's way to help in this West African adventure with the understanding they'd be coming home by year's end. With Vietnam adding over eight hundred of her own Special Forces, the Amazons had the tiny 'allied' army they could leave shielding Cabinda/Zaire once the first round of blood-letting was over.

To be 'fair', the Republic of China and Vietnam asked for 'volunteers'. It wasn't like either country was going to declare war on Angola directly. Nearly a thousand members of Vietnam's elite 126th Regiment of the 5th Brigade [Đặc công bộ] took early retirement then misplaced their equipment as they went to update their visas and inoculations before heading out for the DRC (some would be slipping over the DRC/Cabindan border).

On Taiwan, it was the men and women of the 602nd Air Cavalry Brigade, 871st Special Operations Group and 101st Amphibious Reconnaissance Battalion who felt the sudden desire to 'seek enlightenment elsewhere ... preferably on another continent'.

They too were off to the Democratic Republic of Congo ... man that country was a mess and their border security wasn't worth writing home about, that's for damn sure ... via multiple Southeast Asian nations. Besides, they were being issued fraudulently visas which showed them to be from the People's Republic of China, not the ROC/Taiwan. If they were captured, they were to pretend to "be working for a Communist Revolution inside Angola and thus to be setting all of Africa on fire!" aka be Mainland Chinese.

There, in the DRC, these Chinese stumbled across ... some Japanese. These folks hadn't retired. Noooo. They were on an extended assignment for the UN's mission in ... the DRC. OH! And look! They'd brought tons of surplus, outdated Japanese Self Defense Forces' equipment with them ... and there just so happened to be some Taiwanese who had experience in using such equipment (both used US-style gear).

And here was Colonel Yoshihiro Isami of the Chūō Sokuō Shūdan (Japan's Central Readiness Force) wondering why he and his hastily assembled team had just unloaded ...

18 Fuji/Bell AH-1S Cobra Attack helicopters,

6 Kawasaki OH-6D Loach Scout helicopters,

12 Fuji-Bell 204-B-2 Hiyodori Utility helicopters,

6 Kawasaki/Boeing CH-47JA Chinook Transport helicopters and

4 Mitsubishi MU-2L-1 Photo Reconnaissance Aircraft.

Yep! 46 more aircraft for the FAL-FA!

Oh, and if this wasn't 'bad enough', the Chinese hadn't come alone. They'd brought some old aircraft from their homes to aid in the upcoming struggle. Once more, these things were relics of the Cold War yet both capable fighting machines and, given the sorry state of the opposition, definitely quite deadly. A dozen F-5E Tiger 2000 configured primarily for air superiority plus two RF-5E Tigergazer for reconnaissance ... pilots plus ground crews, of course.

Thus, on the eve of battle, the FAL-FA had become a true threat. Sure, all of its planes (and half of its pilots) were pretty old, but they were combat-tested and in numbers and experience no other Sub-Saharan African nation could match.

[THE LIBERATION GROUND FORCES]

But wait ... there was still the niggling little problem of what all those fellas were going to fight with once they were on the ground. Assault/Battle rifles, carbines, rifles, pistols, PDW, SMGs as bullets, grenades and RPG's were all terrifyingly easy to obtain. The coast of West Africa was hardly the Port of London as far as customs security went. They were going to need some bigger toys and their host nations were going to need all their native hardware for their upcoming battles at home.

And it wasn't like you could advertise for used IFV (Infantry Fighting Vehicles), APCs (armored personnel carriers) and tanks on e-Bay, Amazon.com, or Twitter. If something modern US, or NATO, was captured rolling around the beautiful Angolan countryside ... shooting up hostile Angolans, all kinds of head would roll in all kinds of countries ... unless the country ...

A) had an Executive Branch and Judiciary who wouldn't ask (or be answering) too many uncomfortable questions,

B) wasn't all that vulnerable to international pressure,

C) really needed the money and ...

D) didn't give a fuck their toys would soon be seen on BBC/CNN/Al Jazeera blowing the ever-living crap out of a ton of Africans aka doing what they were advertised to do and doing it very well in the hands of capable professionals.

And politics was kind enough to hand the freedom-loving people of Cabinda & Zaire a winner ... and it wasn't even from strangers, or at least people all that strange to their part of the Globe. If you would have no idea who to look for, you wouldn't be alone.

That was the magic of the choice. See, the last three decades had seen the entire Globe take a colossal dump on them as a Nation and a People. They were highly unpopular for all sorts of things ... such as Crimes Against Humanity and 'no', we were not talking about the Khanate.

We would be talking about Република Србија / Republika Srbija aka Serbia aka the former Yugoslavia who had watched all their satellite minions (Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Montenegro, Kosovo and Macedonia) slip away. Despite being reduced to a tiny fraction of their former selves thus fighting two incredibly brutal and bloody World Wars for NOTHING, Serbia insisted on maintaining a robust armaments industry.

Mind you, they didn't make the very best stuff on the planet. That didn't stop them from trying though. Of equal importance was their geographic location and the above mentioned desire for some hard currency without asking too many questions. The geography was simple - you could move even heavy gear unnoticed from central Serbia to the Montenegrin port of Bar by rail and load them up on freighters and off to the Congo you went.

The Serbians produced an APC called the BVP M-80A's which weren't blowing anyone's minds away when they started rolling off the production lines back in 1982 ... plus some over-eager types on the Serbian Army's payroll sweetened the deal by offering 'the rebels' some BVP M-80 KC's and a KB as well.

Then they slathered on the sugary-sweet Maple syrup by upgrading a few of the M-80A's to BVP M-98A's. Why would they be so generous? The KC's and KB were the Command & Control variants ... so that made sense [C = company & B = battalion commander]. The -98A had never been tested in the field before and they were kind of curious how the new turrets (which was the major difference) would behave. 'Our' procurement agents didn't quibble. We needed the gear.

Besides, these Slavic entrepreneurs gave them an inside track on some 'disarmed/mothballed' Czech [introduced in 1963] armored mobile ambulances and Polish BWP-1 [first rolled out in 1966] APC's which were either in, or could be quickly configured into, the support variants those ground-fighters would need. The 'disarmed' part was 'fixable', thanks to both the Serbians and Finland. The 'missing' basic weaponry was something the Serbians could replace with virtually identical equipment.

It just kept getting better. Unknown to me at the time, the Finnish firm, Patria Hägglunds, had sold twenty-two of their 'most excellent' AMOS turrets ~ they are a twin 120 mm mortar system ~ then the deal fell through. Whoops! Should have guarded that warehouse better. Those bitches were on a cargo plane bound for Albania inside of six hours.

The ammunition for them was rather unique. Thankfully, it was uniquely sold by the Swiss ... who had no trouble selling it to Serbia - thank you very much! Twenty-two BWP-1's became mobile artillery for the Unionist freedom fighters ... though I understood the ship ride with the Serbian and Chinese technicians was loads of fun as they struggled to figured out how to attach those state-of-the-art death-dealing turrets to those ancient contraptions.

To compensate, the Serbians added (aka as long as our money was good) two Nora B-52 155 mm/52-calibre mobile artillery pieces and one battery of Orkan CER MLRS (Multiple Launch Rocket System) for long-range artillery, two batteries of their Oganj 2000 ER MRLS for medium range carnage and six batteries of their M-94 MRLS for 'close support' as well. More field-testing new gear for the "freedom fighters". We also managed to 'purchase' ten M-84AS Main Battle tanks plus an M-84A1 armor recovery vehicle. It should have been twelve tanks, but two had 'loading issues'.

Not to be deterred, our busy little procurement-beavers discovered four tanks no one was using ... in neighboring Croatia. Why wasn't anyone immediately keen on their placement? They were two sets of prototypes - Croatia's improvements on the M-84; the M-95 Degman which was a 'failed redesign' and the M-84D, which was a vast up-grade for the M-84 line which had been sidelined by the 2008 Global economic collapse ~ after which the project stagnated.

It seemed they were all in working order because late one night 'my people' exited a Croatian Army base with them ... never to be seen again ... until two weeks later when an intrepid news crew caught the distinctive form of the M-95 sending some sweet 125 mm loving the Angolan Army's way. Whoops yet again! At least they hit what they were aiming at and destroyed what they hit, right?

By then, millions of other people would be going 'what the fuck?' right along with them as Cabinda's camouflage- and mask-wearing rebel army was laying the smack-down on the Angolans. That was okay; over a million 'free Cabindan Unionists' were in the same boat. Over a thousand Asians with their mostly-female militant translators were right there to prop up their 'Unionist Allies', but then they were the ones with the tanks, armored vehicles, planes and guns, so they were less worried than most.

To pilot these tanks, APC, IFV and man this artillery, they had to go back to the Khanate. Sure enough, they had some old tankers used to crewing the T-72 from which the M-84's and -95 Degman were derived. They'd also need drivers for those BVP M-80A's and Polish BWP-1's and OT-64 SKOT's... who were, again, derived from old Soviet tech (just much better). The Serbian artillery was similar enough to Soviet stuff, but with enough new tech to make it 'more fun' for the reservists to 'figure out' how to use.

More volunteers for the Liberation Armed Forces! More Apple sales - great apps and voice modulation software so that the vehicle commanders would be heard communicating in Portuguese if someone was eavesdropping. As a final offering the Turkish Navy spontaneously developed some plans to test their long range capabilities by going to ... the South Atlantic.

On the final leg they would have six frigates and two submarines, enough to give any navy in the region - which wasn't Brazil - something to think about. This was a show of force - not an actual threat though. If anyone called their bluff, the Khanate-Turkish forces would have to pull back. These were not assets my Brother, the Great Khan, could afford to gamble and lose.

If someone didn't call that bluff ... he was also sending two smaller, older corvettes and three even smaller, but newer, fast attack boats - a "gift" to the Unionists ASAP. The frigates would then race home - they had 'other' issues to deal with while the submarines would hang around for a bit. The naval gift was necessitated by the reality the Unionists would have to press their claim to their off-shore riches and that required a naval force Angola couldn't hope to counter.

As things were developing, it was reckoned since a build-up of such momentous land and air power couldn't be disguised, it had to happen in a matter of days ~ four was decided to be the minimum amount of time. More than that and the government of the Democratic Republic might start asking far too many questions our hefty bribes and dubious paperwork couldn't cover. Less than that would leave the task forces launching operations with too little a chance of success.

Our biggest advantage was audacity. The buildup would happen 100 km up the Congo River from Soyo - the primary target of the Southern Invasion - in the DRC's second largest port city - Boma. Though across the river was Angolan territory, there was nothing there. The city of roughly 160,000 would provide adequate cover for the initial stage of the invasion.

There they grouped their vehicles & Khanate drivers with Amazon and Vietnamese combat teams. The Japanese were doing the same for their 'Chinese' counterparts for their helicopter-borne forces. Getting all their equipment in working order in the short time left was critical as was creating some level of unit dynamic. Things were chaotic. No one was happy. They were all going in anyway.

[WHAT HAD GONE ... WRONG?]

While most children her age were texting their schoolmates, or tackling their homework, Aya Ruger ~ the alias of Nasusara Assiyaišhamai ~ was getting briefings of her global, secret empire worth hundreds of billions and those of her equally nefarious compatriots. She received a very abbreviated version of what the Regents received, delivered by a member of Shawnee Arinniti's staff.

When Aya hopped off her chair unexpectedly, everyone tensed. Her bodyguards' hands went to their sidearms and Lorraine (her sister by blood), also in the room on this occasion, stood and prepared to tackle her 'former' sibling to the ground if the situation escalated into an assassination attempt. No such attack was generated, so the security ratcheted down and the attendant returned her focus to her Queen. Aya paced four steps, turned and retraced her way then repeated the action three more times.

"How many people live in the combined areas?" she asked.

"The combined areas? Of Cabinda and Zaire?"

"Yes."

"I ..." the woman referenced her material, "roughly 1.1 million."

"What is the yearly value of the offshore oil and natural gas production?"

"Forty-nine billion, eighty hundred and sixty-seven million by our best estimates at this time ..."

"How many live in Soyo City proper?"

"Roughly 70,000."

"We take Soyo," she spoke in a small yet deliberate voice. "We take and hold Soyo as an independent city-state within the Cabindan-Zaire Union. From the maps it appears Soyo is a series of islands. It has a port and airport. It has an open border to an ocean with weaker neighbors all around."

"What of the ... Zairians?"

"Bakongo. As a people they are called the Bakongo," Aya looked up at the briefer. "We relocate those who need to work in Soyo into a new city, built at our expense, beyond the southernmost water barrier. The rest we pay to relocate elsewhere in Zaire, or Cabinda."

By the looks of those around her, Aya realized she needed to further explain her decisions.

"This is more than some concrete home base for our People," she began patiently. "In the same way it gives our enemies a clearly delineated target to attack us, it is a statement to our allies we won't cut and run if things go truly bad."

"In the same way it will provide us with diplomatic recognition beyond what tenuous handouts we are getting from Cáel Wakko Ishara's efforts through JIKIT. Also, it is a reminder we are not like the other Secret Societies in one fundamental way - we are not a business concern, or a religion. We are a People and people deserve some sort of homeland. We have gone for so long without."

"But Soyo?" the aide protested. "We have no ties to it ... and it backs up to ... nothing."

"Northern Turkey and southern Slovakia mean nothing to us now as well," Aya debated. "No place on Earth is any more precious than another. As for backing up to nothing - no. You are incorrect. It backs into a promise from our allies in the Earth & Sky that if we need support, they know where to park their planes and ships."

Aya was surrounded with unhappy, disbelieving looks.

"The Great Khan is my mamētu mešeda," she reminded them, "and I have every reason to believe he completely grasps the concept's benefits and obligations."

The looks confirmed 'but he's a man' to the tiny Queen.

"Aya ... are you sure about this?" Lorraine was the first to break decorum.

"Absolutely. Do you know what he sent me when he was informed of my ... ascension to the Queendom?"

"No," Lorraine admitted.

"We must go horse-riding sometime soon, Daughter of Cáel - Queen of the Amazons."

More uncertain and unconvinced looks.

"He didn't congratulate me, or send any gifts. He could have and you would think he would have - but he didn't. He knew the hearts of me & my Atta and we weren't in the celebratory mood. No. The Great Khan sent one sentence which offered solace and quiet ... atop a horse on a windswept bit of steppe."

Nothing.

Sigh. "I know this sounds Cáel-ish," Aya admitted, "but I strongly believe this is what we should do. We are giving the Cabindans and Bakongo in Zaire independence and the promise of a much better life than what they now face. We will be putting thousands of our sisters' lives on the line to accomplish this feat and well over two hundred million dollars."

"What about governance of the city ~ Soyo?" the aide forged ahead.

"Amazon law," Aya didn't hesitate. "We will make allowances for the security forces of visiting dignitaries and specific allied personnel, but otherwise it will be one massive Amazon urban freehold."

"I cannot imagine the Golden Mare, or the Regents, will be pleased," the attendant bowed her head.

"It is a matter of interconnectivity," Aya walked up and touched the woman's cheek with the back of her small hand. "We could liberate then abandon Cabinda with the hope a small band could help them keep their independence. Except we need the refinery at Soyo so the people of Cabinda can truly support that liberty."

"So, we must keep Soyo and to keep Soyo, we must keep Zaire province. There is no other lesser border which makes strategic sense ~ a river - highlands - a massive river - an ocean ~ those are sustainable frontiers. You can't simply keep Soyo and not expect the enemy to strike and destroy that refinery ... thus we must take Zaire province."

"But the Bakongo of Zaire cannot defend themselves and will not be able to do so for at least a year, if not longer. That means we must do so ... and for doing so, they will give us Soyo and we will be honest stewards of their oil wealth. We cannot expect any other power to defend this new Union and if we don't have a land stake we will be portrayed as mercenaries and expelled by hostile international forces."

"So, for this project to have any chance of success, we must stay, fight and have an acknowledged presence ... and if you can think of an alternative, please let me know," she exhaled.

"What if the Cabindans and Bakongo resist?"

"It is 'us', or the Angolans and they know how horrible the Angolans can be. Didn't you say the average person their lives on just $2 a day?"

"Yes."

"We can do better than that," Aya insisted.

"How?" the aide persisted. "I mean, 'how in a way which will be quickly evident and meaningful?'"

"Oh ..." Aya's tiny brow furrowed. Her nose twitched as she rummaged through the vast storehouse of her brain.

"Get me in touch with William A. Miller, Director of the U.S. Diplomatic Security Service. He should be able to help me navigate the pathways toward getting aid and advisors into those two provinces ASAP."

"I'll let Katrina know ..." the attendant made the notation on her pad.

"No. Contact him directly," Aya intervened. "We established a ... rapport when we met. I think he might responded positively to a chance to mentor me in foreign relations."

"Really?" Lorraine's brows arched.

"Yes," Aya chirped.

"Are you sure, Nasusara?" the attendant stared. She used 'Nasusara' whenever she thought Aya had a 'horrible' idea instead of a merely a 'bad' one.

"Yes. He owes me. Last time we met I didn't shoot him."

"Didn't?" the woman twitched.

"Yes. I drew down on him with my captured Chinese QSW-06. I didn't want to kill him, but I felt I was about to have to kill Deputy National Security Advisor Blinken and he was the only other person in the room both armed and capable of stopping me."

"Why is he still alive?"

"Cáel Ishara saw through my distraction and then took my gun from me ... asked for it actually," she shyly confessed.

"Would you have shot him?" the aide inquired.

"What do you think?" Aya smiled.

[AND THEN ...]

So ... given the extended scope of the operation by both a second province and the Queen's demands ... which necessitated the increased time table by an extra two weeks, the Amazons, Coils of the Serpent and Cult of the Jaguar were forced to bring in extra people. For the Amazons, the primary additions were Security Detail from North and South America and every available runner and House Amazons they could risk removing from Brazil.

For the Coils, it was the advantage of sending three Cult 'cells' after their hardest targets - the two Provincial Governors and the Head of the Northern Military Region (aka Cabinda) plus their staffs. The Coils spent their resources subverting a few MPLA (the ruling party of Angola) members into enticing other key members to gather as the coup d'état was going down so they could all be swept up quickly. Such was the arrogance of the ruling elite that a roundup was possible.

They were also able to recruit non-aligned yet sympathetic Portuguese-speakers, so once the takeover was successful they would be able to translate the transition over to the actual Cabindan revolutionaries ... who weren't being informed because they weren't really trusted.

Finally, the Coils also made use of the extra time to plot out their own desperate inter-clan operation which they would hope give them some 'personal leverage' which would turn their temporary battlefield successes into a cease-fire which, in turn, would result in the lasting peace the Angolan government wasn't expecting. Indeed, theirs was a different battlefield all together.

[AND NOW BACK TO CÁEL]

{12:30 am [CDT], Tuesday, September 9th ~ Three days before the Great Hunt}

I doubted my home would ever look the same. A firefight had happened here and no amount of cleaning and patching up of the bullet holes would change that. The police had taken away the heavy floor lamp Dad had used in those last minutes of his life to strike at those trying to kidnap him ... even if he had battled on the correct side by accident.

There was also the damage caused by the two grenades used on the property - one outside at the southeastern corner and the other inside. Grenades. I couldn't imagine any house built to withstand such blasts ... though I'm sure the Amazons built them ... somewhere ... for some contingency. Bless their paranoid little hearts.

I began crying again. A delayed soliloquy for my departed patriarch. I had so much else to do in my life since his death ... no, his murder ... that I hadn't really had a good cry in a while to mourn him with the sympathy he deserved. I wondered how he'd feel finally realizing Mom was still alive ... out there and reunited with her Son.

Knowing Dad it would be something like, "Don't blame her, Cáel. She had to go and you and I had to stay ... so we picked up the pieces of our lives and carried on. Now that she's back, embrace the time you do have."

I never saw him stay angry with my Mom about anything, such was his love for her. Now he was gone and I had her back.

Most kids couldn't imagine how lucky I was to have two parents so dedicated to their offspring they would surrender their own happiness for that child's life. In that moment I realized I was indeed a lucky man. I had a titan of a Father who cared for me deeply and allowed me to be the best me I could be. And I had a Mother ... who was a genetically engineered super-spy. What was not to love?

"Ishara," Juanita called out softly. I thought she was respecting my sorrow. "Ishara, a car has pulled up in front of the domicile." Or, maybe not.

I walked over to take a look out the front window to see who it might be. One sports sedan wasn't what I thought a hit squad would come in. The driver got out and looked my way. It was Cameron Sanders.

"I know her," I related. "We went to High School together," was added because I knew a whole host of scurrilous women who could kill me if the mood took them.

A second woman got out - this time from the passenger side. It took me a moment through the darkness to make her out under the light of the street lamp. It was Cameron's BFF in High School, Tiffany Christiansen. While not as volcanically hot as Cameron, she was definitely stroke worthy.

I had to wonder why they were here ... not really. The last time I'd seen Cameron, she had this wistful smile on her face and a freshly-fucked glow ~ smile and glow courtesy of yours truly. I had then gone off to get my ass kicked by some 9 Clans hotties, one of whom was now carrying two of my offspring - Miyako. Those two local girls were walking up the walkway toward my front door.

I noticed Juanita had her Glock drawn.

"I think they are here to offer their condolences, not kill me," I reminded Juanita. Well, maybe they planned to kill me with sex, but they clearly had no clue who they were dealing with if that was the case.

"The death of your father was months ago," my bodyguard countered.

"Yes, but not everyone I went to high school with has had the chance to express their condolences over his passing," I volleyed. I also stepped up and opened the door before they could ring the bell.

"Cameron and Tiffany - long time - no see," I greeted them.

"Cáel, you look as good as ever," Cameron responded.

"I'm surprised you remember who I am," Tiffany smiled. "Cameron tells me you have so many women around you these days." She wasn't too surprised.

"Come in. Come in," I stepped aside. "The woman with me tonight is my bodyguard, Juanita Leya Antonio Garza."

"Oh," Tiffany's mouth gaped and her breath caught. "You need a bodyguard now?"

"Yes. I'm reckless. I need to be protected from myself ... most often."

"Ain't that the truth," Juanita muttered.

"Juanita, this is Cameron Sanders and Tiffany Christiansen," I made the introductions. "So ladies, what brings you two to darken my doorway tonight?"

"I ... I'm embarrassed to say," Cameron blushed. "I paid one of your neighbors to give me a call when you stopped by ... and she did ... so here we are."

"We?"

"Yes. Tiffany and I were on a girl's night out when the call came and she recalled me talking about our last encounter and wanted to see you ... too," Cameron explained.

"I'm just surprised you are already the director of a Fortune 500 company," Tiffany added.

"Dad was full of surprises," I sighed. "I inherited the position from his family tree. My Mother's family came with other gifts."

"Like your Irish diplomatic position, or was that your Khanate patent of nobility?" Tiffany guessed.

"Actually, I earned my position in the Khanate - I did a friend a favor - but you are right about the Irish side being my Mother's doing," I allowed.

"So Tiffany, what have you been up to?" I tacked on.

"I'm a loan officer at Wells Fargo.

"So ... you are a bastion of the Establishment," I teased.

"Yes ... yes, I am. I'm crushing the hopes and dreams of the Work Class on a daily basis," she snickered. "What about you?"

"I'm nobody," I snorted.

"A director of a fortune 500 Company is hardly a 'nobody'," she countered. "Besides, aren't you engaged to a billionaire heiress?"

"That's all just window-dressing for my otherwise dull life," I insisted.

"Weren't you kidnapped several weeks ago only to be rescued by some US Marines in the middle of the Pacific?" Cameron piled on.

"I also don't remember you being this fun in High School," Tiffany added.

"We ran in different crowds ... which is to say you ran with the Elite Clique while I ran in a circle of one. Even my D&D buddies didn't want to be seen with me during school hours," I joked.

"That's harsh. Well, you are definitely somebody now. In fact you may be our most distinguished alum," Tiffany pointed out.

"You aren't ashamed to be seen with us now, are you?" Cameron moved close to a cuddling contact.

"No, but let me take care of something," I disengaged and hot footed it over to Juanita.

"Just so you know, I will l-e-a-v-e your ass here until I come back from the Great Hunt," I whispered to her, "if you so much as make one crass, or uncalled for comment. Before you decide to test me, that will mean you will have to explain to Buffy why I drove myself half way through Chicago a-l-o-n-e. Clear?"

"As Crystal, Ishara," she grumbled.

"Thank you," I patted her on the shoulder.

"Grrr...," she growled. I turned and rejoined the two ladies who were here for 'me' - Mr. Sexy Stud-muffin, not 'me' - Wakko Ishara.

"Care to take a tour of my home away from home?" I suggested.

"Yes."

"Sure."

"How about we start upstairs and work our way down?" I offered.

"Great," Cameron exhaled very erotically.

"I'm all for that," Tiffany agreed and off we went.

Since I knew the layout, I went last. That this gave me a view of their shapely legs and perfect asses never entered my mind ... yeah, right. Cameron was in the lead so I had to give her directions. We went to my Father's room first - I had to get this emotional hurdle out of the way. I could almost hear him say, "You had company upstairs? Was your room clean?"

'Why, yes it was, Dad' I answered his phantasm.

The bathroom came next and was quickly brushed over. My room - the amalgam of two much smaller bedrooms, came last of all.

"This is a nice space," Cameron glowed as she moved over to my bed and flounced down upon it, facing us at the door.

"Are those for real?" Tiffany pointed at my weight set - a Christmas gift from my Dad from four ~ almost five ~ years gone by.

"Very."

Tiffany tried to lift my arm curl weights with little success.

"Here, let me help," I told her.

I then walked over to her, wrapped my arms around her from behind then lifted the forty-two and a half pound weight.

"You're strong," she noted. She also pushed her tushy into my much neglected hard-on.

"My roommate in New York is even stronger," I murmured into her ear.

"Is he currently seeing somebody?"

"No ... but I'm not sure you are his type," I challenged her.

"Why don't you let me decide that," she looked over her shoulder. Now our faces were only inches apart.

"He's gay," I grinned.

"Oh ... damn it," she punished me with her ass grinding against my crotch.

"What are you two talking about?" Cameron was feeling neglected.

"My roommate in New York City," I looked Cameron's way. "He's a famous tattoo artist ... and gay. He and my best gal-pal are currently seeing to it I get a more palatial pad once I return from this excursion."

"What's your current place like?" Tiffany wasn't willing to allow Cameron to steal my attention away from her quite yet.

"It is the same place I inhabited when I was a mere intern. Nice and cozy with the external feel of a low-intensity war zone."

"In NYC?" Cameron appeared worried. "I thought it had been cleaned up ... of crime and stuff."

"Some of the local wildlife didn't get the message," I shrugged then put the weights down. I also wrapped Tiffany up in my arms on the rebound.

"You are very ... muscly," she noted.

"I live a demanding life," I told her. She turned around in my arms. We made meaningful eye contact ... and then began kissing.

"Wow ... you are easy," Tiffany panted once we came up for air. I noted Cameron coming off the bed, coming my way and snuggling up behind me. She wanted some attention too. I have been told I get sex effortlessly. I found that ridiculous. I lifted weights religiously, cycled like my life dependent on it, and ate the right kinds of food so I could put forward a most pleasing physique and façade which girls found attractive.

That and a persona which was equal parts masculine and playful put women around me at ease. All it took then was a bit of initiative and there you have it. I was also lucky to run across women who were looking for sex - which I admit. Being lucky enough into run across a Cameron and Tiffany two-way ... okay, that happens to me way too often to be anything except exceptional lucky ... but I would be remiss in ignoring them, now wouldn't I?

I shifted so I had hands around both Tiffany and Cameron's waists. Kissing Cameron came next.

"I've missed you," Cameron sighed happily. "I was a little hurt to learn you ran off and became engaged to that other woman."

"It is an arranged marriage, Cameron," I half-lied. "It helps me with my contacts in the Khanate plus I was able to repay a debt to her family by doing so."

"I figured it was something like that," she wiggled against my hip.

"Did you really think I could forget our night together, Cameron? That shower?" I taunted her.

"No ... not really," she looked away while smiling wistfully.

"Well, I haven't," I assured her.

"I'm sure you haven't been ... lonely," she teased right back. She was also implying I was a bit of a man-whore ... which was the truth.

"Cameron, you and I shared something special. Yes, there have been other women, but none of them shared our common history, or expressed our desires with such symmetry." Yes, I was bull-shitting like a champ.

Sex with Cameron had been special for many reasons - even those beyond her being my personal demon. Not only was she Brooke-hot, our sex had actually been quite pleasant ... say Odette on a good night (but not a great night).

"We did, didn't we?" Cameron was happy to assert her position as the dominant woman tonight, if not in my life as a whole.

"What about me?" Tiffany wasn't willing to concede the race to the top spot quite yet.

"I don't know you as well right now," I allowed. Even as I said those words, I pulled Cameron to me tighter.

"Here, let me become more familiar," Tiffany purred ... and she did.

Fast forward two minutes and we had most of our clothes off and were on my double bed - real cozy. Cameron was on her back, head on my pillow and legs spread wide. Tiffany was above her - standing - with her beige stocking-clad legs spread even wider so that she was barely on the bed. Her black garters made a nice contrast with her pale flesh. Her palms were against my wall above my headboard.

Me? I was behind Tiffany and between Cameron's legs. I had my right hand hovering beside her love box, penetrating it with two fingers while rubbing circles around her clitoris with my thumb. Higher up, my left hand was alternating between petting Tiffany's kitty and sphincter. I was also performing anilingus on her because it turned out she really loved anal play.

Tiffany was clearly getting into the attention I was giving her, but I felt I needed to take care of Cameron first. After all, she had been nice enough to bring Tiffany along plus she was still my personal demon.

"Don't go anywhere," I told Tiffany after playfully nipping at her ass. She looked back at me with feverish eyes.

"Have I been neglecting you, Cameron," I looked down at the sweaty babe.

"Just a little," she hiccupped. I had been really riling her up with my fingers - that was for sure.

"How about I take care of you right now?" I gave her a fierce look. She nodded. While I was kissing her on the back of her knees, I palmed two condoms from my sneakily placed wallet.

I still had to be somewhat worried Pamela had sabotaged them - if Dot Ishara was sabotaging my prophylactic efforts I was plainly screwed - but I'd been keeping an eye on my wallet when she was around ... which wasn't terribly comforting anyway. On one went as my kisses and licks trailed down toward her twat.

"Fuck me," she gasped. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"

Hey, who was I to ignore a woman asking me to do what I wanted to do? I serpentined beneath Tiffany and worked my way up Cameron's body rapidly so that my penetration caught Cameron somewhat off-guard. I was inside her with barely a 'yip'. After the initial penetration, I began rocking us back and forth, up and down, incrementally allowing my cock to delve deeper into her vagina.

At the entrance to her uterus, I slowed down and turned this into a slow, romantic screw. Our eyes met and our gazes locked. Cameron's and my worlds collapsed down to just the two of us ... allowing Cameron to ignore her jealous Bestie staring down at us from just a foot away. At the point Cameron surrendered her resistance to her orgasm, I began to turn her over to the doggy style position.

This pressed my head against Tiffany's bosom. Yeah, I had boobs on either side of my ears. More importantly, my rocking motion as I slammed into Cameron's posh posterior were being transmitted through my body into Tiffany's. I didn't have to look up to tell she was getting into it - me fucking her friend with her getting all the pushback she could ever want.

Cameron coughed up her climax in a series of shuddering gasps. I reached down, found her clit and strummed it to create an extra level of carnal violation to the orgasmic explosion going off in her brain. When she collapsed forward, I knew I'd stunned her for the next few minutes. That would be all the time I needed to jump onto Tiffany.

And that is what I did. I removed one condom and put another one on as I slithered off Cameron then stood up behind Tiffany.

"You've been very good, Tiffany, but ..." I began.

"But?" she looked back at me with her hair draped over her eyes.

"But I'm going to own this ass right now."

"Oh ... I like the sound of that," she rocked that ass back and forth, taunting me. Fortunately for me and my time table, I had already loosened her up for the upcoming assault. Still, I worked two fingers into her prepped bunghole while my cock penetrated her vagina, getting it covered in her elixirs. No sense being cruel and I didn't have any lotion handy.

"Huh ... huh, huh, huh," she gasped as I began driving my cock up her rectum. Her sphincter gave way immediately thanks to my earlier efforts. In I went. God, she was tight and could really work those muscles to make this a pleasurable ride into the darkness. Like my early adventure with Cameron, I wasn't out to slam my meat deep within her. I took it nice and slow.

This allowed Tiffany to show me what a naughty slut she was. She could really work her anal muscles.

"Do this much?" I leaned down onto her back and whispered into her ear.

"Oh yes," she hissed. "My first ... first boyfriend ... in college ... showed me how much ... fun this could ... be."

"Thank him for me," I grunted.

"No way," she giggled. "He was a ... real asshole and ... cheated on me ... with my roommate." Oh, the 'me' of boyfriends.

"Let me guess," I nibbled the top of that ear, "You find it difficult to ask ... other guys to do this for you."

"Yes," she gasped. "How did ... you know?"

"I'm a bit of a bastard of a boyfriend. A girl who forgave me told me the same thing."

"You," she huffed. She was really sweating it now, "bad, bad boy."

"I'm never going to forget this ass," I pledged.

"Why don't ... you ... move to ... Chicago?" she panted. By the feel of those tremors working their way through her thighs, she was on the cusp.

"Work has me constantly moving around, but I could try to make Chicago a constant layover," I proposed.

"Works ... for ME!" she squealed. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Her orgasm shook through her like a tidal wave of lust. She trembled there for several seconds before she began to slide down. I was able to surround her waist with my arms as we collapsed back. As I began to hit my own climax, my legs started to give way as well. We collapsed back with my hard rod shooting off deep within her ass - deeper than I had ever gone before. Thankfully the condom held because I came a bucket-full.

"You two okay?" Cameron sat up on her elbows, causing her bare breasts to bounce suggestively. My cock was gearing up for round two alright.

"Just fine," I responded. Tiffany was still coming down from Cloud Nine. "How about we grab something to drink then start on round two?"

"Oh ... my ass," Tiffany moaned.

"Okay ... umm, I'm up for another round," Cameron smiled both over her own freedom to get more sex from me as well as her friend's discomfort - no doubt.

"Sorry, Mr. Nyilas," Juanita knocked on the open door and looked in, "but you have to get ready for your flight out of town ... like right now."

"Noooo!" I howled up at the ceiling.

"Well, can't you rescheduled your flight?" Cameron asked hopefully.

Since my itinerary had been set by Krasimira, no it couldn't.

"I'm terribly sorry ladies, but this trip ... I can't put off any longer. How about we exchange numbers so we can get together the next time I come through?"

"Okay," from Cameron.

Wiggle, wiggle and then another wiggle - from Tiffany. "Are you sure?"

"Believe me both of you, I don't want to leave, but I gave my word I'd be at this meeting and a good friend will be in a world of hate if I'm late, or don't show up," I explained and lied. Felix wasn't a good friend after all.

We exchanged numbers then got dressed (under Juanita's watchful gaze) with the occasional bodies rubbing against one another and wistful glances. After I bundled the girls out, with the resulting French kisses, I locked up and go into the car with Juanita.

"You did better this time," I congratulated her.

"What do you mean?" she eyed me suspiciously.

"This was much better done than your tsunami lie back with Rhada."

"Oh ... well don't think I'm not going to make sure Buffy Ishara knows about this bizarre liaison," she threatened.

"Oh, come on," I pleaded. "No lives were in danger."

"Hmmm ... I think your life was in danger," she griped.

"From you?"

"Yes."

"Well, we are improving our relationship," I acknowledged.

"How so?"

"A week ago you wouldn't have confessed to me you wanted to hurt me for stepping out on House Ishara."

"Oh ... you have got a point there. I need to be more duplicitous," she decided.

"You don't need to. You could simply lie to Buffy."

"Not happening. I like to dream about all the pain she is going to put you through once you two are alone. Then my job will be complete."

Great - my bodyguard was getting perverse pleasure knowing the First of my House was going to scar me like her personal scratching post. Honestly, I couldn't wait to get back up with Rachel and out in the field where only the opposing side wanted to cause me personal harm. Then I could fight back with a good conscience. As it was, I was off to the Great Hunt ... which would require me to arrive 24 hours to get to ... according to Krasimira.

[PREVIEW OF THE GREAT HUNT]

{10:15 pm [CDT], Wednesday, September 10th ~ Two days before the Great Hunt}

We were at the Send-Off dinner. It was festive. Felix and I were introduced to the thirty Amazons who would be hunting us down. In reality, it was the first chance for the thirty to meet one another - Felix and I were window dressing - their prizes. That was their set up anyway. I had other plans and had already laid the groundwork. Step one was easy. All I had to do was get Felix to trust me - implicitly.

"Excuse me," I called out from the 'head' of the table. It was a symbolic placement. They might as well placed glazed apples in the men's mouths for all our situation meant. A few quieted. I tapped my water glass with my fork. "Excuse me." I had maybe twelve of their attention. "Sisters! Shut your yaps!" I shouted. That got most of them. The few holds out were being purposely rude. No problem.

"Felix," I motioned for him to stand. When he did so, I drew my 'honor blade' and handed it to him. "Felix, I am trusting you with the honor of all Isharans - Brother to Brother. I know you will not let me down." His artfully crafted right eyebrow arched slightly then he took it.

"I won't let you down, Cáel," he clasped my other hand palm to palm and gave it two good shakes.

I hadn't told him what I planned to do because, being a smart guy, he might have figured out what I had planned, decided I was insane and refused to participate. Mainly because what I was about to ask him to do WAS insane.

"Sisters, all of you have blades. Will none of you offer me your honor to make this a fair contest of arms? We all know each of you have more experience than both of us," I motioned to Felix and I, "combined many times over. Who can I count on?"

No one did anything though I saw Rachel and Elsa eye me suspiciously. What I was asking for was both out of the ordinary and I 'knew better'.

"Oh, come on now," I faux-pleaded. "With all your advantages, none wish to give me a fair chance?"

"You gave your blade up," Tamarin of House Farānak noted with a sneer. "If you really thought you would need one, you shouldn't have been so hasty. I heard you were smarter than this."

I nodded then gave the assembly one last scan then sat back down.

"I am," I grinned. "I was giving the thirty of you a chance to make this a fair contest and none of you chose to do so. Now I'm going to beat you like little bitches. See, I have three Goddess on call, a series of other supernatural allies and the ability to access my ancestors. I was offering to NOT do any of that and all of you declined," I kept smiling.

"You would cheat?" Tormé of House Maeve darkened. That would be Katrina's #1 assassin.

"Cheat? I am doing nothing more than what you consider the value of an Honor Blade ... which all of you possess. I, as your prey, was under no obligation to explain myself. You thirty, with EVERY OTHER ADVANTAGE, chose to allow me to use these abilities."

"So ... you can talk with your ancestors," Parul of House Nammu shrugged. "Big deal."

"By all means, tell that to Ajax and his War band," Elsa's words dripped with sarcasm. "Oh. You are not an augur, so you can't. Ajax the Unconquered, who no Amazon, or Trojan, could touch, traded blows with Wakko Ishara and now his few survivors will be burying him among his kinsmen on Salamis."

[LATER THAT NIGHT]

"What they would not allow by ego, you permit by reason," Felix verbally congratulated me. What he meant was I had ensured the Amazons would come at me first. My worry was Felix wouldn't get a chance to shine with the added concern I could recover far faster than him so encouraging the Amazons to strike at me first increased our mutual chance of survival.

"If you think it is bad now, wait until I start praying," I told him.

"And you are sure you want me to knock you out for this to work?" Felix was perplexed.

"It is how this has to work. I wish it wasn't, trust me," I confirmed.

Together we walked out of the Hapantali Freehold's main building and looked up at the Moon.

We were in the southern half of Argentina, closer to Patagonia than I ever thought I'd get though not so far south I actually got to see any penguins. No, we were in the Southern Hemisphere's version of the Northern Hemisphere's Great Plains ... though at the southern extreme of said feature. It was bone-numbing cold this far south that was for sure. It wasn't spring here yet on this side of the globe.

"Is your stamina going to be up for this cold?" Felix inquired.

"It had better be. I know we are only getting a light coat and light sleeping bag for our journey."

"And this is all going to be on horseback," Felix frowned. He had only gotten two weeks training with the Epona on horsemanship having no previous lore.

"It wouldn't be Amazon if they weren't staking the odds in their favor," I bumped him. "That is something you have to get used to around here. They play to win."

"Thus them inside choosing up sides," he scoffed.

"They are not just choosing up sides to capture us, but to fend off the others should they be the first to capture us," I reminded him.

"I'm already trying to figure out where to hide your nifty little knife so they don't take it off me when I get bound," Felix surprised me ... by insinuating he could be captured.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I figure I'll get captured trying to rescue your ass, Nyilas ... then have to save both of us."

"Asshole," I snorted.

"Realist," he replied.

"Let's go to sleep. It is going to be a tough three days."

"That's the damn truth," Felix conceded. "Come on." And off we went.