Good thing they held their collective breaths first. Leap! Plunge.

White. 

Black. 

Brown.

War paint.

Benny takes a chance. After all, he's wearing the insect helmet, so why not chance opening his eyes? Brown swirls go on forever, cut off by intermittent motions, passing white waves, wisps of human hair. The space he occupies spins up and left as one. He feels Milkman tugging away from him, the straps on the seat pulling him back. No, sucking him down. His uniform is a sack of bricks on clammy skin.

Underwater.

Air!

He panics as it sets in. He can't hold it in any longer and seizes control of his machine. Stick is sluggish. Go. Go! He doesn't know which way is up. Below is an abyss. Above, more of the same. He opts for up. Death either way maybe. Death for certain if he stays put. Objects ram against the plane, hard forms that bang, soft forms that usher in quizzical rumblings. The water is filthy, a muck of primordial swamp pulled up from the earliest days of the riverbed's formation, coffee waterspouts of petroleum in the mix.

Big metal arms arc up and down. The propeller is jammed. Come on, baby! Sputter. Something rocks her back and forth. The inside of the helmet fills with nasty water. Ice cold. Hypothermia. Can't breathe. His damaged leg seizes up with the mother of all cramps. Nothing's working. Nothing--

"I got you!" Water recedes in waterfalls. Air filters in, sweet, glorious, reeking of gas. Metal bangs on metal. Benny sees, but not with clarity. He hears better. "Traveler Haskins!"

"Parks!" Benny spits out more grit than liquid. "Thank God you made it! You saved my--" Waves pound both fighters, eliminating communication. Benny thinks they made it. Hard to tell. Impossible, really. A storm is over their heads. White lightning strikes again and again. Like a lit trumpet player doing a solo set in the Grand Canyon, power unleashed in syncopation. Benny is truly scared straight. He can sort of see it in Parks as well, even through the blinding rain, the pounding waves. They're in the midst of a river, the worst storm they'd ever seen, and in metal tubs sinking as much as they're treading water.

"I can't hold both of us up! We gotta move!" He has his propeller running to a slightly better degree, enough for forward momentum. Benny is splashed over and over with gas tainted liquid. He's shivering. He feels like his toes are missing.

"Hey!" He swallows water and chokes. "Can you see anyone else?"

Heck, he barely sees Parks right in front of him. Lightning strikes something nearby. A building, stone by the heavy crash into the water, topples. "Fort Delaware?"

"Can't say! Look!" Parks waves behind Benny. Someone, some people, take hold of Milkman. It's two of the black-and-whites. They wash up with dead perch by the dozen on the plane's riveted shoreline.

"You two see anyone?"

They shake their heads. The lightning strikes, and they come close to jumping off of the plane. Waves increase, battering the machines. 

"I think...I think we're close to shore!" Benny feels the drag of Milkman's feet on what he prays is sand.

"Crank! Crank!"

"Thurman! Goldman! Fuse!"

They yell into the maelstrom, hoping that, after all they've endured, they'll find their allies on a beach, alive. They cry out. No one cries back but the lightning.

A light shines on them. An unsteady, but luminous, beam of hope. "Haskins and Parks!"

Benny can't believe his ears. "Traveler Gray!"

A second light hits them. The black-and-whites cower. An object bangs against Jack. 

"Hey!"

"A hook! Attach it to the plane!"

Parks unbuckles and moves fast. If he isn't making Jack tread, he and Milkman go under. He fumbles for the hook and its attached steel cable. The waves strike, pummeling blows to his body, as if the river craves man's defeat. In the blinding light, he secures it around the arm of his plane at the shoulder joint. "Pull, pull, pull!"

Five minutes of work put the fighters up to their necks in the frigid broth before the dull grind of a winch motor does its duty. "Hold on!" Gray yells again and again. "Zafra, keep reeling them in!"

Water drains once more. Benny can't feel his feet or his fingers. Lungs are muddy. He can only watch the world of light and shadow, the lightning that plays a blitzkrieg melody along the ruined building, explosion upon explosion. He sees the ship. X! bobbing up and down in the chaos stream, a refuge from the nightmare.

Before he passes out, a forked bolt of heavenly fury illuminates the land. They are back, back on Earth, familiar territory. So is the devilish black hand tower of Motherville. Up, remaining tall.

Still there...

                                                                                          ***

"Wh-wh-who's there?" Blurry vision clarifies into the soft, luxuriant features of Frederica Musa. A light bulb behind her head makes her angelic. Her face is marked by gauze pads, face paler than the norm even for her with bluish rings under the eyes. She's in Navy blues, too big for her. Benny takes it in, his brain yet to put things together.

"Oh, Vecchio!" She hugs the life out of him. He takes it, but winces the entire time. Every square inch is in a brutal state. Muscles spasm, refuse to obey him, the leg is in a cast. Just picking his head off of a pillow is murder. Crank recoils from him, smiles, hugs him again. He can't take much more.

"Okay, kid, okay!" He hears his voice, scratchy and tepid from a sandpaper throat. "What gives? Where are we?"

"On the ship. You know, the one you got out of Wilmington?" She rubs his big hand along her subtle chin.

"Great. So then, we made it?"

"We did." She breaks down before him. Not in the usual, girl crying kind of way. The shoulders dropping, head fallen, chest caved in flavor of defeatism. A hard mood for what should be victory. Right?

"Kid?" He wells up inside. Please, not after everything...

She grips his fingers tight, bites her lip. "We, um, never found Turner. Or um..." The tears come down. He wants to wipe them, but he's weak. A hand goes up to catch them but falls back down. "Thurman. They found him. But um, he was drowned, um..." Crank collapses onto her guy, curls up over him. 

Work, you stupid arm! He finds the strength to get the flimsy sheet around her, rubs her back.

Gulp. His eyes moisten. "Uh, a-anything else?"

"Not now, Vecchio. Not now. Later."

In the sterile chamber, he holds her close until sleep takes them both.

                                                                                                 ***

The deck of the X is spotless. The sun, high as a kite, bright like hope. Benjamin Haskins, the Brown Bear, stands before the boxes sporting a new cane and a worsened outlook. Coffins of the plainest sort, four of them, waiting to be picked up by family. He stares into the gorgeous Down Jersey skyline, taking in the view but never forgetting the names of men he never had the time to get to know well enough. 

Private Thurman Willis, the brave and the bold. Cause of death: drowning. He cut the Beast, but did not live to tell the tale to his children, or even his buddies. If only we could be as valiant as he...was.

Private Jacob (Jake) Goldman. Cause of death: blunt force trauma. Right after they all plunged through the wall, Goldman lost his way. Sucked up in one of many whirlpools made by the storm, he struck his head against an object. A salvage team found him at the bottom of the Delaware. Don't think he wanted war, like I begged for it. But he gave as good as he got. Wish I'd gotten to talk to you. Wish.

Corporal Carson Wilkes. One of Motherville's captives, the man who dared to speak first. His name was Quentin. Quentin from Liverpool, 1888. Apparently his injuries were internal and unnoticed on Pea Patch Island, for he was never transported with the others to Motherville. Once the weather calmed, they found him, face down on a crescent sand bar, the remains of Pea Patch, right next to a singed and blackened La Donna. Brother. I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for you, but you end up with the one-way ticket. You and Skinny both remind me of the fellas from the Great War. I had to part with them too. Not fair. It's not right.

I failed. Benny salutes, does the whole shebang military ordeal as officers from the Canadian government come for Wilkes. He keeps it up as Willis' defeated mother and sister, Goldman's large Chicago clan come to mourn and claim bodies. Country folk. Passive men in yarmulkes. A parade of women in black veils and men in Navy white uniforms pass by to offer condolences.

Ordeal. That's what it feels like. Not an honor or a duty. Not even a success because the war is over. The whole planet is in jubilation because the terror which swept the Nazis, the Fascists and the Japanese under the rug, not to mention almost the Allied Forces, is dead. The days he spent resting, despite himself and the others continuing to be weak from the innumerable problems of flesh breaking dimensional boundaries, contained naught on the radio but those joyous outcries from persons around the world.

But brothers-in-arms are dead. So to Benny, it doesn't matter. Some one, in this case some thing, came in to take lives all for selfish gain. Why? It happens every so many years and never ends but why? My job was to complete the mission and bring home the boys. I can't ascertain completion. I didn't even bring back half.

How can I be thinking of how gorgeous today is when my guys are...maybe it's because a day like this shouldn't have to be ruined by...stop it. Nothing you could have done. Can't change history. I mean, if there'd been no Motherville, how much longer would we have fought the Axis? No. Too deep. Save it for another time. I met the girl of my dreams because of Motherville. Ouch! There's a swift kick to the heart.

Let it go, Benny.

Hands are shaken to the point of monotony. Benny wishes this day would die. La Donna rests at the ship's aft under a tarp beside Milkman and Jack. What remains of the M2 tank and even the remains of the Beast. they'll come back. Machines do that with proper maintenance, the good ones...and the bad ones.

What remains...

Then there's Crank. Cheesy, happy, sunny Crank. Kisses every visitor, salutes with a grin without fail. Scamps around in her oversized black work boots, hair blown everywhere in the wind, making lives better. She lets out her grief in the dark, but in the sun, she radiates. He wishes he had some of that now. Roy Fuse is in a wheelchair. Thank God it's not a permanent residence. Inhaled a load of petrol water and will be bedridden for months. Good news is, he gets a golden ticket to Seabrook and family time. Sick? yes. But a temporary happy ending beats none at all.

Ceremonies come to an end. The boys are gone. The sun sets lovingly enough to make a grown man cry. X begins to sail back to the City of Salem. En route, she takes on surprise visitors.

Special Technologies drifts in on the Yorktown, anchored farther out in the Delaware Bay. Chief Fish and an assortment of nameless lugs reach X by means of two R-4 Sikorsky helicopters. They travel in the newest toys. Benny finds them silly, the wobbling R-4's, and the men. Chief is surely not how Benny pictured him. This leader who hopscotched the country playing a game of survival is just over five feet tall, moves like a tortoise. Fish finger points everything jostling about in his sagging black ST garb and matching fedora. he points some more. To the lugs to shake hands. To Traveler Gray to back away. To Benny and Crank to follow him inside.

They enter the door and wander the halls until Fish is satisfied, evidenced by him pointing at a door to the galley. Fish takes the first seat. Benny pulls one out for Crank before meandering down to the other end. Crank is exuberant, weak from the dimensional shift, but hopes are high. The last thing Benny needs or wants is a meeting.

"Traveler Haskins. Mechanic Musa."

That's that for a long time. Crank sits waiting anxiously. Benny wonders how ancient Fish is. Eighty? Ninety? The wrinkles are so deep and the eyes so yellowed and gray. How does he get around? Do they make ST exoskeletons for centenarians?

Quiet.

Men have died and we haven't had time yet to catch a break. Get on with it!

"This, situation, has placed a considerable strain on the nation, on men. And women." He taps Crank on the back of her hand. She brims. "But now, a hush has fallen over the land. President Roosevelt has spoken with me at great length. Special Technologies is determined to rebuild the Hangar in Salem. Bigger. Better. Our robotic agents will be expanded upon greatly in that town, the epicenter of our Anti-Motherville task force." he raps his fingers on the table.

"That's it?"  Benny has a gruff demeanor. "That's all the news that's fit to print, Gramps?"

Crank is shocked. "Benny! This is the Chief."

"I know good and well who he is, Crank. And you know what? Big deal. Like we didn't know this area would become the biggest fortress in the United States. Motherville is sleeping, right? I was at the debriefing. That's the closest approximation the lab boys can give us, right Chief?"

Chief gets a tad humbled. "Er, yes. Yes. That is the assessment. The signals emanating from the black tower have reduced by around eighty-eight percent since the storm subsided. A state of torpor would be an accurate summation."

"Exactly my point. The response is obvious." Benny slaps the table, scaring Fish, making Crank insecure. "Listen, it's not that I don't appreciate your promotion, but...where's Roscoe Turner? You remember him? The biggest name in aviation and the backbone of your pet project! Where's a fleet of trucks to rebuild Salem and Fort Mott? What's the status of the remodulateds after Motherville took a powder? I bet you wasted no time bugging Congress for additional millions to fund Motherville tower research or whatever the proposal is called, but the people at ground level have to pick up the pieces, pay for it themselves, and have a nice day. Right?"

"Son, I understand your frustration--"

"No! You don't! Crank doesn't either. I did my bit in two, count 'em, two wars! Yeah I signed up! Yeah I wanted a double dose of the action! But the aftermath, heh! The aftermath is always a shot in the collective groin, isn't it? Go home. Play pretend. No! Not this time! Too many went home in a pine box! And when all's said and done, the bureaucrats swoop in cut up the remains! If you can answer my questions, by all means do so! If not, I'm headed for the door!" He heads to it before the Chief can open his dry mouth.

"Traveler Haskins." He's pointing again.

Sigh! "Yeah?" Benny squeezes the doorknob.

"You and Musa are still recovering from the effects of another world. We've no idea what the side effects might be. You two are hereby relieved of duty pending a full recovery, followed by a leave of six months. After then, and only then, are you to return to Salem to help with the rebuilding."

Benny opens the door and steps out. Crank jumps up to follow.

"And rebuilding Salem and all surrounding municipalities as well."

Benny stops dead. Does he mean it? I don't really know the man, but...if things can't be uplifting from the ground up this time around, I'm done. He returns to shake the Chief's bony hand. "Thanks, Chief. I will hold you to it."

"Of that, Traveler Haskins, I have no doubt."