Cold Fusion - A Sci-fi, Fantasy, and Fusion Short Story Anthology

The Winter War - Prologue

Author's note: This is the first part of #TeamSteampunk's overall arch story into @Ooorah's 'Epic Tales from Beautiful Minds' anthology, with contributions from @sigrist , @ashiqtnt , @TheOrangutan , and @xxButterflyKissesxx . I hope you enjoy.

It was always the same. The smell of smoke, the hiss and clank of distant war machines, the thud of exploding shells and the cries of the wounded and dying. He used to only experience them in his nightmares, the dark memories making him toss and turn like a beast caught in a trap.

Now, though ... now they were there every time he closed his eyes.

"Colonel Steele, sir?" a voice asked from beyond the shadows and swirling smoke and he let his eyes open to find the tousled head of his aide sticking in through his field tent's front flap.

"Are you alright?"

"Never better, major," Colonel Balthazar 'Balt' Steele, commander of the Fifth Regiment of Her Majesty's Steam Rifles, quickly replied with a weak smile. "What is it?"

"Word from your contact at the Agency, sir." The major held out a leather satchel stuffed full. "Their movements and encounters over the last six months, as per your request."

Nodding, Balt stood and waved the man in to take the satchel, flipping it open to look in at the thick rolls of reports.

"On the continent?" he asked as he pulled the first bundle free.

"And domestic, sir," his aide said, freezing the colonel's hand as he was about to undo the twine holding the bundle closed.

'Domestic??' Balt wondered wildly. 'What the devil were Agency assets doing at home??' Then he was quickly pulling at the knotted twine.

A quick scan of the top page told a grim tale. Several key installations supporting the war effort on the home front had experienced a number of strangely coincidental accidents over the last two months. Everything from breakdowns of vital equipment to important supplies getting routed to the wrong location, forcing shutdowns while they waited for the supplies to be retrieved.

The colonel felt his expression tighten as he continued to read. By most reports, these incidents were being labelled accidents by local officials. He, however, knew better. There were enemy agents at work here, sabotaging their efforts to supply, repair and re-arm Her Majesty's Royal Military as it fought to keep the Prussians contained on the continent. And, if he was reading the Agency's notes correctly, they had come to the same conclusion, frantically deploying agents across England in the hopes of hunting down the culprits.

Enemy efforts to sabotage their industrial base wasn't new. But this current level of activity was. If the Agency didn't get a handle on it soon, deployed units like his would be forced to scale back their efforts or even retreat back to England.

That thought alone made Balt's eyes narrow thoughtfully. Without the frontline units in place, their enemy could quickly expand from their positions in occupied territory to threaten coastal Europe. From there it was a quick jump across the Channel to strike at the heart of Her Majesty's empire, England.

The next bundle of reports confirmed it: the Prussians were launching a new offensive against their neighbors. Already cities burned in Poland and Hungary, destroyed by a powerful new weapon being wielded by an old enemy.

"Von Brandenburg," he hissed as the name scrolled across page after page as the force behind the aggression. "I was wondering how long you'd cower in your castle after your defeat at Antwerp."

His expression hardened even further after pulling out the Agency's report on the Defence Minister's reaction and disposition, which, in a nutshell, was tepid at best as he read how the minister had no plans to retaliate or react to the Prussian aggression at this time. If anything, that and the other reports affirmed the conclusion he had come to while perusing the first bundles.

It was time to act!

"Major Stewart" he barked, throwing the final report onto his field desk in disgust. A pox on all spineless politicians. "Bring me my dispatch kit."

"Yes, sir," Stewart immediately replied from where he had been patiently waiting for his commander's reaction to the reports. "Shall I order the supply zeppelin to hold and wait for your dispatch?"

"Yes," Balt replied with a determined frown. "I need these messages to reach London and our courier there as soon as possible."

"Not the military's messenger service?" the major asked even as he nodded his understanding of his superior's directives.

"Definitely not," the colonel quickly asserted. "Doves are flocking in London, leftenant, including our good Defense Minister. Willoughby would rather kiss Prussian ass than shoot at it." Balt stepped away from the desk to stare at a battered map of Western Europe that hung on the wall, hands clasped behind his back. "We need to act, and quickly, before von Brandenburg and his new weapon get the upper hand." He looked over his shoulder at his aide.

"To do that, we'll have to operate outside of officials paths. That includes the ministry."

"Yes, sir." Stewart hesitated slightly then asked. "May I ask what you are planning, colonel?"

Looking back at the map once more, Balt frowned.

"I'm not sure, major. At least, not yet. But, if we're going to successfully operate outside of official channels on this one, there are certain people I need to talk to. People that owe me favors. I need to call those favors in if we're to have a chance against our enemies, both foreign and domestic."

With a sigh, he abruptly turned away from the map and stepped to his footlocker. A tug on its cover opened it and he started pulling out civilian clothes.

"In the meantime, advise the zepp captain to hold space for me as well."

"You, sir?"

"Yes, major, me." He started stuffing clothes into a leather duffel. "Some of those favors I'll have to call in personally."