Origins: The Reich Read Online Free PDF Page A

business to an end?”
    “It takes time to mobilize an entire nation for war.  More so when that nation is half a globe removed from the fighting and therefore unprepared to participate,” Hastelloy answered.  “Next spring you’ll see a numerically unstoppable tidal wave of Americans wash over your German lines to finish things.”
    “Then what?” asked a youthful voice entering the balcony.
    “Tonwen!” Gallono bellowed on the way to his feet with his arms open wide.  The science officer was notorious for not liking to be touched; a quirk Gallono took great delight in violating every time they saw one another.  Tonwen kept his hands to his sides and stared emotionless at Hastelloy as Gallono wrapped him in a bear hug.  His eyes pleaded for release as Gallono hoisted him into the air and gave him a few good bounces before releasing his grip.
    All Hastelloy could do was smile, shake his head, and laugh at the sight.  It was all in good fun of course, but it was also a microcosm for how the entire crew interacted with one another.  After serving with the same five individuals for nearly five thousand years, it was safe to say they were familiar.  They all knew each other’s buttons.  They knew how to tap them to lighten a mood or mash them down hard to darken a conflict.  That kind of familiarity had proven both beneficial and devastating over the years depending upon how it was employed.
    Tonwen took it in stride with an emotionless response, “Thank you.  My back was in need of chiropractic adjustment.”
    “Any time,” Gallono responded with one last cringe-inducing slap to the shoulder before taking his seat again to continue needling his target.  “Look at you. You’re barely old enough to grow a beard or mustache.  How old are you? Five? Ten?”
    “This body is seventeen years of age, thank you.  Now, as I was asking before you accosted me, what happens when the Great War ends next year?  Do we move on to a second round?”
    “Not without each of us assuming a strategic place of influence over the combatant nations,” Hastelloy answered.  “We tried it your way by lighting the match of conflict, then stepped back to let humanity resolve it without our undue interference.  I think we can all agree that didn’t work.”
    “And time is running out,” a fourth voice chimed in from the balcony doorway to finish Hastelloy’s thought.  The twenty-year old entered the room with a gait that favored his right leg.  The deformed limb announced each step with a metallic clink of a brace holding the foot in position.
    The unspoken question lingered over the balcony until Hastelloy finally asked, “What happened to your leg, Tomal?”
    The limping young man came to a full stop on his trek around the table to look upon his commanding officer in disbelief.  It was as if simply bringing up the subject of his foot gave unforgivable offense.  “Osteomyelitis I believe is the clinical name, a bacterial infection of the bone marrow that causes deterioration until it is eradicated.  The glorified witch doctors on this planet didn’t find the cause early enough and now I am deformed for the rest of my life. I thank you so much for drawing everyone’s attention to my handicap; very polite of you.”
    Hastelloy breathed a frustrated sigh through his nostrils.  Tomal, what to do with you?   At that moment, Gallono chose to push on one of Tomal’s buttons.
    “Hmm,” Gallono huffed.  “It’s preferable to the agony of a war wound at least.  Now tell me, how are things back in Berlin while all the other able-bodied men are fighting to stay alive in the trenches?  Do your university studies into the profound subjects of literature and philosophy give you a headache or maybe keep you up past your bedtime?  Try sleeping with mortars bursting over your head while attempting to breathe through a gas mask and then tell me you have troubles.”
    “I volunteered for service, but the army would not