Escape To Yesterday - A Historical FOF2K4 Dynasty

[Franklinnoble]

*** This thread is the continuation of the "Interest Chargers" dynasty. (http://dynamic2.gamespy.com/%7Efof/forums/showthread.php?t=20236) ***

Prologue
London
May, 2054

Two men in dark suits chased Franklin down the escalator at the Bayswater station of the London Underground. Both in their early 30's, they were somewhat puzzled at how the 80 year old trillionaire had been able to outrun them so far.

Franklin grinned as he hopped on the orange line and sped out of sight of his pursuers. He'd change trains a few more times before he would arrive at Piccadilly Circus, just to be certain he wasn't followed. Then he would see what Oscar Baines had wanted to meet him for.

Baines had told him to meet him at the London Museum of Art. Franklin figured that it would be best to get off at the Piccadilly Station and walk the rest of the way. He was being closely followed almost constantly these days, and there was no such thing as being too careful.

He arrived at the museum and met Baines in front of a large Monet painting. Baines nodded at him and walked off. Franklin followed him from an inconspicuous distance until both men arrived in a women's bathroom that was marked "Closed for Cleaning."

Franklin remarked, "You know, in 80 years, this is my first time in one of these places."

"You've never been to an art museum?"

"No, I've never been in a ladies' restroom."

"Ah. Well, I figured this was the last place anyone would look. Let's go, then." Baines entered a stall and pointed a small remote at the toilet. The commode slid backwards and revealed a narrow staircase in the floor.

"That is so MI-6," remarked Franklin.

"Indeed. This way, Mr. Bond."

The staircase led to an underground room that was occupied mostly with shelves full of dusty boxes. A table near the furthest wall stood out as the only evidence of recent use; brimming with electronic equipment and computers that Franklin could not identify. Baines led him over to the table and picked up some sort of diagnostic device and pointed it at him. "How have you been feeling?"

"Fine," Franklin replied. "What is this place?"

Baines fiddled with some of the settings on his scanner. "It used to be an office for British intelligence during World War II. They seem to have forgotten about it for this war."

"That's probably because it doesn't matter. Even if Winston Churchill jumped out of his grave and started giving motivational speeches on the BBC again, we'd still lose the war."

"Well, you're in perfect health, and the nanites are working exactly as they're supposed to."

"It's weird. Sometimes I can actually 'hear' them."

"That's not surprising. They've got several colonies throughout your cerebral cortex. They respond better when they can tell what's on your mind."

"I guess that's good to know. But I don't think you called me out here just for a checkup." Not that it mattered. Great Britain was the last free nation in the world, and that would likely change in a matter of weeks. There was no place else to go. At least not for most people.

"I have an idea."

"That's what I've been paying you for over the last 20 years."

Baines grinned. "How would you like to go to the moon?"

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"No, I'm quite serious. The quantum gate needs a lot more work, and there's not going to be room to work around here for much longer. We need a safe distance between ourselves and the Canadians."

"Alright, genius. How are we going to get there?"

"You know that $4 billion dollars I spent about three years ago?"

"Yeah, on a bunch of old Russian satellite equipment. What evere happened to that stuff?"

"It's in Siberia. The Canadians trashed the warehouse, but completely missed the silos."

"Silos? Are you saying....?"

"I'm saying I have four rockets with Soyuz capsules ready to launch right now. There probably won't even be anyone guarding the complex. All I need is to get us and a few crates of equipment out there."

"And assuming we can actually get to Siberia without being shot, and launch rockets to the moon without being shot, and land safely on the moon, then what? It's not like we can pitch a tent and camp out up there for a few months."

"No, but the Japanese moon base is still intact."

"Those guys ran out of oxygen six months ago."

"I can solve the oxygen problem. We just need an air-tight roof over our heads."

"And what's keeping the Canadians from coming after us?"

"I have a solution for that, too. Just find a way to get us to Siberia, and I'll explain the rest on the way."

**** To Be Continued....

[JeeberD]

Did bbor launch a gas attack which lead to a nuclear holocaust??? :(

[StanGunner]

OK ya got me reading. Bring it on!

[Franklinnoble]

Prologue - Continued

Canada had suffered terrible economic hardship in the 40's. Decades of socialist government had left the nation bankrupt. No economic aid was available, because most of the world had already given too much to the Canadians, and now they had their own problems. Food and fuel shortages hit America hard, and there was nothing to share with their neighbors to the north.

The United States had to close all its borders and refuse any immigrants or refugees. The Canadians were resentful and angry, and went as far as banning all imports from the USA and prohibiting all American civilian and military air traffic. With only Europe and Asia as trade partners, and little surplus to offer aside from timber, Canada's economic depression worsened beyond any hope of recovery; nearly every industry either collapsed or became government owned. The Canadian dollar wasn't worth the paper it was printed on, and became totally irrelevant on the international exchange.

There were over 60 million people in Canada, and most of them were starving and impoverished. In 2047, a militia uprising broke out, led by Thomas Nordberg. Nordberg commanded a force of over 100,000 angry men, and overthrew the government. The United States threatened to intervene, but Nordberg kept his promise to hold a general election to approve the new leadership and a new constitution. It passed overwhelmingly, as the people flocked to support the only strength they knew. Nordberg immediately instituted a program of mandatory conscription for all able-bodied men between the ages of 16 and 50. Most were made part of the new Canadian army. The rest were put to work on farms and on infrastructure projects. It was a new communist regime - everyone was employed by the government.

Naturally, the United States was not very comfortable with the developments in Canada. Most of the U.S. military had been reduced to long-range, aerial, and naval combat units. Nothing existed to deal with a force of over 10 million armed men that could simply walk onto American soil. The only comfort that the U.S. had was in the fact that the Canadian military was poorly equipped, had no air force, no heavy cavalry, and no nuclear arsenal.

The Canadians did, however, have many American sympathizers, and one of them committed an act of industrial sabotage that would change the face of the world.

***

Franklin Brown remained the owner of the Washington Redskins until the NFL ceased operations at the outbreak of the Canadian war. The team had been a perennial powerhouse under his stewardship, and had made him a very wealthy man. Long before there was any inkling of trouble in the north, Franklin had diversified his assets. One doesn’t merely leave a quarter of a billion dollars in annual income in a savings account. He had bought a respectable portfolio of stocks and bonds, and had provided venture capital for dozens of start-up enterprises. Many had failed, but a few had prospered fantastically, and one would prove to be the catalyst for the bloodiest war in history.

Oscar Baines was working on his doctoral thesis at Penn State when he met Franklin for the first time. Franklin still made a habit of scouting his first round draft picks in person, and was at the campus to see a linebacker work out. Baines had approached him at the stadium and handed him a coal black piece of plastic, roughly the shape and size of a piece of paper and only slightly thicker.

“I’m going to need a silver marker or something if you want an autograph here, kid.”

“I don’t want your autograph, Mr. Brown. That’s the future of manufacturing.”

“How so? Are we going to make toasters by practicing origami or something?”

Baines smiled. “What you’re holding isn’t paper, and it isn’t plastic. It’s a sheet made of malleable, programmable carbon nanotubes. It’s tougher than steel, and if it were to break, it would remember how to put itself back together.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because you’re a venture capitalist.”

“And you think this will make money? Even if you’re not totally bullshitting me here, I’m guessing that in order to manufacture anything aside from a sheet of paper requires a complex and expensive process that you haven’t even mastered in theory yet.”

Baines grinned even wider. “I made bulletproof paper on a college campus, Mr. Brown. Imagine what I can do for you with a proper laboratory.”

“When do you graduate, kid?”

“Not for another year and a half.”

“Well, here,” Franklin handed him a business card. “Why don’t you call me after you’re done with school?”

***

Baines didn’t wait. Less than a week after their meeting, he had sent a complete and detailed business plan to Franklin’s office, including a digital presentation of what his nanotube manufacturing could really do, and what it would take to make it work. Franklin flew him to Washington for a meeting.

“You’re gonna quit school to do this?”

“I’m only in school to do this. What’s the point of staying there with such limited resources?”

“You don’t care if you don’t get your PhD?”

“No. I’ll make enough money without it, I’m sure.”

Franklin gave him his capital. He would remain 75% owner of Colossal Micro Laboratories, and Baines would own the rest. Within two years, CML had developed the technology to allow complete digital design and fabrication of simple parts and components. The company had 30 employees, and one day, one of them went on vacation and never returned.

***

Andrew Palmer became a United States citizen by marriage just four years before the border to Canada was closed. The federal government had erected a three-layered fence along the border that was nearly impossible to cross. When Thomas Nordberg came to power in his homeland, Palmer made the decision to return to Canada and offer his services to his country. He had been with CML for over a year, and had stolen nearly every secret from the lab and stored it on his handheld computer.

He almost didn’t make it. His plan was to cross the border in Montana – along one of long, uninhabited stretches of wilderness. He bought a Jeep and a dirtbike, and drove as close as he could to the fence. Even if the monitoring system along the border detected him, it would take at least 20 minutes for border agents to reach him by helicopter. The real problem was that the middle layer of the fence would become electrified if an intrusion was detected.

Palmer’s plan to dynamite holes in the fences worked fine. What he hadn’t anticipated was being shot by the Canadian border patrol who found him after he had been on the other side for about 45 minutes. Automatic gunfire had left bullets in his stomach and spine, and he only barely survived to remain crippled for the rest of his life. He was spared execution after he had convinced Canadian authorities of his intentions and had shown them the data he had with him. Six months later, he was in a secret laboratory in northern Manitoba, working to create a means of manufacturing the arms of a hostile nation.

***

When the Canadian air force sent 10,000 fighter/bomber jets across the border armed with low-yield nuclear warheads, America could do little to stop them. Military installations and major cities were devastated in less than half a day. Following the planes were millions of Canadian troops, well-armed and fast-moving on countless hordes of armored personnel carriers. America launched a full tactical nuclear assault against Canada, and had most of its warheads intercepted.

Most, but not all. After the theft at CML, Franklin had contacted the U.S. government to inform them of the severity of the breach. While little was done in the immediate aftermath, the Pentagon began to pay close attention to what Oscar Baines had to say after large factories and warehouses began showing up on satellite photos over Manitoba almost overnight. Before anything could be done to raise the tactical preparedness of the U.S. military, the Canadian war machine had built thousands of planes, vehicles, and weapons, all in less than two months. CML had the technology to match the production, but it was too little, too late. Franklin had Baines set up shop in Great Britain, and Baines modified the guidance systems on 225 intercontinental ballistic missiles for the U.S. Government. Those were launched along with the rest of the American arsenal at Canada, and specifically at the nanotech manufacturing facilities in Manitoba.

They hit their mark, and Canada had lost its manufacturing capabilities, but the damage was done. Ten million Canadians, armed to the teeth, overran the United States in just months. A similar fate later befell Russia, then Asia, and then Europe and Africa. Few nations bothered to keep large standing armies anymore, and Canada took advantage. They plundered their conquered nations to re-supply themselves as they continued to march over the globe, and it was only the nano-manufacturing plants in Great Britain that kept the Canadian onslaught at bay for a brief period of time.

But you can’t hold off an army of millions forever, and it would not be long before the Canadians overran the British Isles.

***

Fortunately for Franklin and Oscar, the Canadians had not done a very good job of securing the lands they had conquered. There were countless bands of resistance all over the globe, and the Canadians were content to destroy the conventional military in each nation and then move on, with the intention of eventually killing nearly every dissenting person on the planet. Over 200 million Americans had been butchered already, and nobody was really sure whether or not the Canadian army would run out of steam before they had killed just about everyone else on the planet.

In the meantime, securing passage through Europe and into Siberia was easier than expected. Everybody wanted to help anybody who said they were on a mission to fight back against the Canadians, and after less than a week, the two men were at the deserted Siberian scientific compound that Baines had said would be their salvation. The place was unguarded, and the men loaded the Soyuz capsules without incident.

“What happens when we launch these rockets and they scramble jets to intercept?” Franklin asked Baines.

“First of all, they’d have to be really, really good to intercept one of these rockets.”

“Suppose they are…”

“They’ll never make it.”

“Why?”

“Because I have two satellites in low orbit right above us. If anything approaches us on the way up, it’s toast.”

“How?”

“Concentrated E.M.P., followed by a nasty fusion-powered laser. The E.M.P. will destroy the nanomachines ability to self-heal, and the laser will do the rest.”

“I assume you have a similar apparatus ready to set up on the moon base, should we get any unexpected guests?”

“No, I have ten similar satellites ready to deploy around the moon. In the event that the Canadians can figure out how to launch a spacecraft against us – which I doubt they can do, unless they’ve got scientific American sympathizers – it will be disabled and disintegrated long before it can ever reach the moon.”

“Well, let’s get moving, then. We may not have much time.”

“Where we’re going, time won’t be much of a factor.”

*** To Be Continued...

[StanGunner]

I never knew the Canadians were so bloodthirsty. Guess I was lulled by the fact that so many are comics. Of course I have heard that comics are maladjusted, unhappy and disgruntled at heart. It probably all stemmed from the triple whammy of GST, HST and PST. I live just across the border. This is just another reason to move south.

[Franklinnoble]

Samurai Lunar Research Center
September, 2054

In the four months that they had been on the moon, the Canadians had only made two attempts to overtake them. In the first, they had launched an old Atlas V rocket directly towards the moon base - presumably with a cargo of several commandos in space suits. They were immediately disintigrated as soon as they were within range of the defense satellites.

Their second attempt was more aggressive, but equally futile. They launched a volley of ICBM towards the base as a diversionary tactic, while three Atlas rockets were sent behind from various trajectories to land ground troops. Baines grinned as the rockets approached.

"Watch this..." he said.

Franklin was observing the inbound ICBM's on the large monitor in the command center. There had to be nearly a dozen of them. "Can your satellites take out that many at a time?"

"The satellites could take out a hundred times that many - but I'm not going to destroy them completely." The ICBM's kept on course towards the base. Two of them were suddenly vaporized in a flash of light.

"That's only two, chief... the others are coming in fast."

"Those two are the only ones on course to make a direct impact with the structure. I'm going to let the others land around the perimeter."

"Can you explain why that's a good idea?"

"The EMP took out their guidance and detonation systems. They're flying duds right now. I can salvage the warheads after they've landed."

"Isn't the radiation dangerous if they crack open?"

"This structure is designed to shield us from all sorts of radiation in that event. The rovers will be doing the salvaging, and remove any dirty warheads. The rest we can use."

"For what?"

"I dunno... I just thought it'd be cool to have a few nuclear warheads lying around."

Franklin looked up at the screen again. Sure enough, the ICBMs were falling towards the base, but their propulsion systems had cut out, and they were about to crash harmlessly about the perimiter of the facility. There were still three Atlas rockets inbound. "I guess we have to toast those guys."

"Yep. We can't afford to let them land. There could be dozens of troops on board, and I'd rather not take our chances with the ground perimeter defenses." Baines punched a few buttons on his console, and the rockets were vaporized instantaneously.

"You think they'll give up after that?"

"Well, if they knew what we were doing up here, they wouldn't. But from a tactical standpoint, they've got to realize that they just can't keep sending rockets up here and expecting to get through. The defense satellites are too good for that."

"Let's just try to finish up here before they try again."

The quantum gate was nearing completion. The problem was that there was no way to safely test it. Using it was a one-shot deal, and it had to be perfect. Another two months passed before Baines declared the gate ready to go.

The "gate" was actually an apparatus mounted upon a modified Soyuz capsule. There was no point in going back in time while standing on the moon. The capsule would be launched from the moon, then the gate would be activated. With any luck, the capsule would arrive at a point in time in the past, and could then be navigated towards the Earth for a normal landing.

"You realize," Baines said, "That you're going alone, right?"

"Why's that?"

"Because if this doesn't work, I need to be the one left behind to try it again."

"What if it does work?"

"I'll never know."

"I don't get it."

Baines sat down at a chair in the hangar where the final preparations were being made to the capsule. "If you go back in time with this thing, you can't come back to the future."

"You haven't figured out how to go forward yet? Why don't you work on that before we launch?"

"Because it's theoretically impossible to go forward in time. When you arrive in the past, you'll instantly create a temporal paradox. This future, and every moment that happened after your arrival, will cease to exist. Simply entering the earth's atmosphere will likely affect the outcome of world events and permanantly alter this timeline."

"I thought we were going far enough back to avoid detection."

"We are, but that's not the issue. You'll change everything you touch, and that will have a ripple effect worldwide - an effect that will only be magnified with the passage of time. When you first arrive, you can count on certain events to happen as you know them to occur historically, but after a while, things will deviate greatly from what you expect."

"So, really, I don't have to do anything but show up, and it'll probably prevent this war."

"Probably, but you'd better make sure. You have to interrupt the Nordberg bloodline."

"So, I kill his great-great-great grandmother or something?"

"I don't think you need to be that drastic. Use the nanogun and program the nanites for simple sterilization. His ancestors will never have kids, and he'll never exist. You go about life as normally as you possibly can."

"That seems pretty simple."

"It really is. You'll have the ability to affect major changes in history, but you should really focus on keeping an eye on would-be despots and keeping them out of power, especially when nanotechnology begins to become a scientific reality."

"How am I going to do that? I'm already 80 years old."

"Have you looked in the mirror lately? You're getting younger daily. I turned off the anti-aging inhibitors on your nanites - in a week, you'll look and feel like a 20 year old."

"And I can expect to arrive sometime in the 1920's and hang around over a hundred years to keep an eye on rouge nanotechnology?"

"Theoretically, unless you experience a very gruesome accident of some sort, you should live indefinately - I don't know for sure, but my data suggests the nanites can keep you alive as long as you eat regularly and/or get some occassional sunshine."

"So that's it then... you launch me in this thing, and you're basically committing suicide for yourself and everyone else living in this timeline so we can start all over."

"What's the alternative, Franklin? You've been watching the news feeds from Earth. The Canadians have killed billions, and enslaved the rest. There's nothing left to save in this timeline. Our only hope is in the past."

[StanGunner]

Maybe Franklin can also help the Bills win one of their SuperBowls?

[Franklinnoble]

Samurai Lunar Research Center
October, 2054

Franklin woke up to the muffled sounds of explosions on the morning of October 31, 2054. Somebody had started the trick-or-treating a little early, it seemed. He jogged down to the command center in his sweatpants and saw that Oscar was already at the main console, furiously punching away at the keyboard.

"Damned Canadians. They were never this persistant before they became world dominators," Baines fumed.

"What's going on?" Franklin looked up at the main screen. It appeared as if thousands of projectiles were inbound towards the base.

"Oh, they're trying to be clever. They've sent up about four hundred rockets with custom warheads, each packed with about five hundred or so small guided rockets. The warheads pop just outside the range of the perimeter satellites, and the guided rockets are too small and too numerous for them to pick off. They've managed to take out one satellite, and there have been thousands coming towards us for the last 10 minutes or so."

"So we're screwed?"

"Don't be silly. I've got laser cannons, EMP guns, and conventional machine guns all over the ground here, and they're keeping most of them off us. Besides, the guided rockets are too small to pack much of a punch. It would take a few dozen direct hits just to crack the dome in one area, and even that wouldn't be a critical amount of damage, as I've got the entire structure nano-coated for self-repair."

"Then why do they bother?"

"Because they can. Because there's nothing left on Earth to really pick on, and we're a nice challenge for them. And because I think this is just the first of many attacks meant to wear down our defenses and create a diversion for a more potent assault. Let's face it, they have considerable resources at their disposal, and we're only two men up here - sooner or later, they will break through."

"Are we still going to try to launch today?"

"Absolutely. I'm going to have this mess cleared up in a bit. Put that on." Baines pointed at a stack of clothing sitting on a chair across the room.

Franklin picked up a plain looking cotton button-up shirt, wool slacks, socks, and leather shoes. "I assume this is supposed to look like 1920's clothing?"

"Well, you won't stick out or anything, and that's the general idea. You'll get by until you can buy new clothes."

"I don't have a spacesuit to wear in the capsule or anything?"

"Please. What's the point? If that capsule cracks, chances are you've been hit with something that no spacesuit will stop."

"Right." Franklin got dressed and went over the inventory of what he was bringing back with him. There was a briefcase with a small computer and about $5,000 in 1920 US dollars. He couldn't take any more paper currency than that, as the US dollar was still on a gold standard, and too much counterfeit money could dramatically affect the economy. Besides, that was more than enough to get started, and he would have another means of income upon his arrival. The three large black foot lockers contained everything he would need to prosper in the past, as well as what he needed to secure the future.

About two hours later, Oscar was satisfied that the airspace was clear, and began to prepare the capsule for launch. The booster rocket was remarkably short, as there wasn't much gravity to clear on the moon. He went over the plan again with Franklin.

"Alright, so you'll get about 500 miles clear of the moon, and engage the quantum gate. It won't be like in the movies... no flashy lights or flux capacitor or anything like that; but you'll probably emerge a little disoriented, and there's a real good chance you'll be no where near Earth orbit."

"That's not very comforting."

"Well, this isn't something I can be more exact about. I can program the gate to land you sometime between 1920 and 1922, but it won't get any closer. My short-term experiments have proven that the device is less accurate over longer jumps. So, I could send you back five days or so, and nail it within 10 seconds, but 135 years is a bigger deal. Anyhow, it's highly likely that you'll end up well outside current Earth orbit, and you'll have to navigate towards the planet for re-entry."

"Right... so, I end up in the same place in space, just a different time. But isn't the entire solar system moving? I could end up a billion miles from Earth."

"Unlikely. The quantum gate uses the nearest, largest gravity source as its point of reference - in this case, the sun - and you will be transported to a point and place in time in relation to that."

"Ok. I'm not gonna end up emerging inside Halley's Comet or anything like that?"

"It's theoretically possible, but unlikely. The whole point of doing this in space is to reduce the likelihood of you encountering any other matter on the other end to a statistical improbability along the lines of being struck by a bolt of lightning."

"And the on-board computer will handle most of the navigation and re-entry?"

"Correct. I've already programmed it to drop you in a valley in central Virginia. In the 1920's, there's no roads in that area for a good 20 miles all the way around. You'll have plenty of time to hide the capsule and then hike out. Then just stick to the plan."

Franklin nodded. He was as ready as he was ever going to be. He set his briefcase inside the capsul, and shook Oscar's hand. "Thanks for everything, Oscar. Are you sure you won't come with me?"

Oscar shook his head, "No, especially not after this morning. I need to be here in case the capsule fails, or if they try another attack. I will assume you've gotten lost if I'm still here after you open the gate, and I'll try to figure out what went wrong so I can make another attempt."

Franklin nodded. "Alright, well, I'm not one for mushy good-byes. Let's light this candle and get this done."

Oscar grinned. "Get strapped in. It might get a little bumpy."

Franklin got seated in the capsule and pressed the button to seal the door. Oscar's voice came on over the speakers. "All set?"

Franklin finished buckling the harness, "Yep."

"All right... here we go." And without so much as a countdown, the capsule surged upwards, slamming Franklin's head back against the padded headrest. The initial launch lasted only a few minutes, and then he heard from Oscar one last time.

"You're clear. Just hit the pretty blue button to activate the gate. Good luck."

Franklin reached up and pressed the button. He was suddenly struck by a piercing ringing noise and then given a terrible jolt. Then everything went black.

[Franklinnoble]

Somewhere about 90 million miles from the sun
May, 1921

Franklin awoke in a fog, his vision blurred and his head pounding. He hadn't felt pain or discomfort like this since before he'd been injected with the nanomachines; he wondered how bad he'd feel if he didn't enjoy the benefits of an enhanced metabolism.

He rubbed his eyes and looked at the on-board computer monitor. It was awaiting his command, and had already calculated his location, and, more importantly, the current time.

04:32 A.M., Eastern Standard Time.

May 18, 1921.

"Holy shit, it worked..." Franklin muttered. He brought up the graphic that showed his current position. He was about 2 million miles from Earth - miraculously close, under the circumstances. Assuming the capsule was in good working order (the diagnostics verified it), he could be on the ground in 2-3 days. He plotted the course and hit the fusion reactor ignition, and the capsule sped off towards home.

***

Despite the fact that he could have been stuck weeks or months from Earth, Franklin cursed the distance after the second day, as 48 hours in a cramped capsule without a bathroom was a long time indeed. He had finally achieved orbit of the planet, and the computer was making final calculations for re-entry. He verified that the nanomylar parachute system was prepped and ready to deploy, and then gave the order to initiate the landing. The navigational thrusters fired, and then he began the bumpy descent into the atmosphere.

Sure enough, the capsule's chute deployed, and he made a soft landing in the middle of a forest about 40 miles southwest of Richmond, Virginia. The area was suitably remote, and he had made the landing late at night, so as to avoid detection. No doubt some stargazers would have seen him lighting up the upper atmosphere, but it was unlikely that anyone had a telescope that could tell it wasn't just a meteorite making its way to the ground. He stepped out of the capsule and enjoyed the opportunity to stretch his legs and relieve himself, then immediately went to work setting up camp. He had about 5 hours before dawn, and he wanted to get some sleep. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

[StanGunner]

:) WOW!! Long time between chapters. Keep it coming Franklin

[Franklinnoble]

:) WOW!! Long time between chapters. Keep it coming Franklin
Thanks... I had a few rough months there with a lot of personal stuff getting in the way, but I've been itching to get back to this for a while. Don't worry, I'll actually have some more football in the storyline here soon enough. :D

[Franklinnoble]

Ashburn, VA
July, 1922

Four-thousand acres of prime Northern Virginia real estate was a lot cheaper these days. Franklin grinned as he thought about how much his home would be worth in about 75 years. He sat on the porch of the large, two-story brick colonial style mansion and looked out at the horses grazing in the pasture. In just over a year, he had already managed to establish himself as one of the most affluent men in the Washington, D.C. area, and he was preparing to move on to the next phase of his mission.

The first few days after his landing had been rough. He had to bury the capsule and its contents, then hike nearly 20 miles to the nearest town, where he bought a horse (nobody had a car for sale) and then headed to Richmond, where he immediately began his career in banking.

While he was only able to bring $5,000 in paper currency, there was almost no limit to what his portable nanofactory could create for him – including a hefty sum in gold bars. He announced to the manager of the Colonial Bank of Richmond that he had struck it rich with a family goldmine in California, and that he had decided to bring his good fortune back east. His initial deposit was large enough to grant him a seat on the bank’s board of directors, and within three months, he became the new owner.

Moving the capsule had been a tricky prospect. He had purchased a home on the outskirts of Richmond, and brought a team of horses back to the landing site with a large wagon. It took three days to reach the road, where he had a pickup and a trailer waiting. The capsule rested in a shed in his backyard until the new estate in Ashburn had been completed. It now sat in the basement, and had become a part of his underground office/laboratory.

Franklin had diversified his holdings considerably in his first year, purchasing large tracts of real estate, and stocks in companies he knew would do well (well, at least until October of 1929). The wealth wasn’t necessary for his mission, nor was it really historically responsible, but he had grown accustomed to a comfortable lifestyle, and he saw no reason not to embrace one now, since the timeline was shot to hell anyway.

The challenge now was doing what he really came here to do – prevent the birth of Thomas Nordberg and Andrew Palmer. He had done detailed genealogy research on both men long before he’d left the future, and had a good idea where to find their direct ancestors in this time period. Nordberg’s was simple enough – there was a Randall Nordberg who was a student at Boston College starting in the fall. He was to be married and have children in the next 6 years. Palmer was a little more difficult. There was no record of a living paternal relative in this timeline (at least not yet), but he had a maternal ancestor living somewhere in Los Angeles by the name of Amanda Roberts. She would become pregnant by some unknown chap in just under 4 years, and bear the next known Palmer ancestor. Franklin had already hired the Pinkerton detective agency to track down Roberts, and he expected to know her exact whereabouts within a month or so. Information moved a lot more slowly without the internet, television, or even a national radio broadcast network, but he was already concocting plans to capitalize on that.

[finkenst]

Yay! You're back!

[Franklinnoble]

Alright... I'm trying to decide here... I have a few idea for some more plot twists and such... would you care to read that, or would you rather I got on with the football portion of this dynasty?

[Franklinnoble]

I've posted a poll... feel free to comment here, and vote there:

http://dynamic2.gamespy.com/~fof/forums/showthread.php?t=26033

[Franklinnoble]

Chestnut Hill, MA
October, 1922

Franklin sat in a Ford Model T outside Barney’s Tavern as the rain poured down over the small Massachusetts borough. Randall Nordberg spent nearly every Friday night at Barney’s, according to the report he’d been given by the private detective that had watched him for the last three months. Franklin would wait for him to leave the tavern and begin his walk home before he would strike.

He was wearing a pair of phony spectacles that actually granted him enhanced night vision and a 20x zoom when he needed it. With them, he saw clearly through the rain, and was able to carefully examine the face of every person that emerged from the tavern. His detective had provided him with several photographs of Nordberg, and the resemblance to his world-dominating descendant was uncanny.

Sure enough, Nordberg emerged from the tavern shortly before midnight. Good. Franklin thought. I won’t have to stay up too late. Franklin checked the palm-sized nanogun once more to make sure it was ready to fire. It was a nondescript matte black dart pistol that was easily disassembled and concealed, and it would fire a painless, laser-guided dart at its target that contained a cache of nanomachines with one simple mission – sterilization. Nordberg wouldn’t even know he’d been hit, and while he might enjoy a fulfilling sex life for his remaining years, he would produce no children.

Nordberg’s path would take him right in front of the rolled-down passenger window of the Model-T, and Franklin wasn’t even looking in his direction when he fired the nanogun and hit his target. Nordburg rubbed his arm as if he’d been pinched, but continued walking, oblivious to what had just happened.

***

Los Angeles, CA
November, 1922

The Pacific Coast Diner was a small surf-and-turf restaurant not far from present-day downtown Los Angeles. Franklin sat at a table by the window reading a newspaper and sipping a glass of lemonade as his waitress returned.

“You ready to order, hon?” She was a short brunette with blue eyes. The nametag on her dress read ‘Amanda.’

“Yes, I think I’ll have the grilled trout and roasted potatoes.” Franklin replied.

“Soup or salad?”

“Salad, please. No dressing.”

Amanda jotted down the order and walked back towards the kitchen. She never noticed the dart that hit the back of her leg. Franklin tipped her generously after he finished his lunch and headed back to the train station for his return trip to Virginia.

[stkelly52]

So are you ever going to finish this one?

[Franklinnoble]

So are you ever going to finish this one?
Yep.

Here's the deal. I do most of this sort of thing while I'm at work. I have two kids at home, and there's just no time.

My job situation has been pretty brutal since November. I just now started a new, permanent position that I'm hopeful will grant me some modicum of stability for the forseeable future. With that in mind, I've installed FOF2k4 on my work PC, and am preparing the historical league for this dynasty.

Oh, and I still have a few nice plot twists to throw out there. They'll come later... when our hero least expects it.

[Franklinnoble]

Auburn, VA
October, 1924

It had been almost two years since Franklin had completed his primary mission in the past, and he was getting a little stir crazy. There wasn't much of a nanotechnology threat to worry about for the next 75 years or so, and he was eager to find a project that could keep him busy in the meantime.

He had already secured several fortunes - his historical and technological advantage had seen to that. He knew things would get rough in a few years when the market was due to crash, but that would have little effect on his lifestyle; he was more worried about bigger issues, like what, if anything, he should do about things like World War II. He could go to Germany and kill Adolf Hitler right now. No one would ever miss him...

Alas, no, he decided. America became the world's strongest democracy because of the military and technological growth spurred by World War II. Right now, America was a seclusionist culture, and might stay that way without the upcoming war.

So, he would let international politics run their course for now. But that wouldn't stop him from making a huge historical change - one that would keep him busy while he waited out the next several decades.

Professional Football hardly existed at this point. There were a few fledgling leagues, but nothing that could compete with the current king of American sports leagues (baseball). Franklin had maneuvered himself into a position to change all that. He was a large shareholder in companies like AT&T and RCA - companies that were on the leading edge of radio technology. Radio stations were still scattered and disorganized at this point, but that was changing. Broadcast networks were about to be launched, and Franklin was using his influence to push that along. He had big plans for negotiating broadcast rights for college sports, major league baseball, horse racing, and boxing - but that would be just the foundation.

He knew that the modern NFL reached its apex thanks to collectively bargained television broadcast contracts and revenue sharing. There was no reason why these concepts couldn't be applied a few decades early to radio. Of the handful of current professional teams, Franklin had bought a controlling interest or purchased outright. He would assemble a nation-wide league under his vision, then gradually sell-off interests in the teams over time, as more investors began to realize the profit potential of the game.

He'd lose a ton of money in the early years, to be certain. But he had money to spare, and lots ot time to kill, and, most importantly, he missed the game. It had been over 10 years (for him, anyway) since he'd given up his ownership of the Redskins when the NFL ceased operations at the start of the Canadian war. He wanted to get back into the game, and he was going to do it in a big way. Plans were being finalized, and soon he would make the announcement to the national news media. The NFL was about to be re-born, bigger and better than anyone had ever imagined.

[Franklinnoble]

Washington, D.C.
January, 1925

There was snow on the field at Griffith Stadium, and a few dozen reporters grumbled about the fact that they had been invited to an outdoors press conference in January for some mysterious reason.

They all showed up because their editors (and in some cases, their publishers) told them to. No other details were given, and many of them wondered why nearly every national newspaper had sent a sports writer to Washington for this event.

A small stage and podium had been set up in front of the bleachers on the field, and after a few minutes of waiting, a man walked up and began to speak.

"Thank you all for coming out here today. My name is Franklin Brown, and I'm here to share a vision with you."

One bold reporter cracked, "Why don't you share it indoors, buddy?"

Franklin smiled. "Because I want you to imagine this vision being realized on this field, and 31 others just like it, all across America." For the first time, some of the reporters realized that the field, usually used for baseball, had been re-configured for football. "I am here to announce the birth of the National Football League, a professional football league that will revolutionize the game and the world of professional sports."

There was some muttering amongst the reporters, most of it highly skeptical. Franklin continued. "There will be 32 teams total. Two conferences, with four divisions each. My aides are passing out a list of the teams to you now. The league will initially maintain ownership of all 32 teams, and gradually divest its interest in them over time. General managers have already been hired for each team, and a league-wide draft will be underway in New York City in two weeks." The reporters received a piece of paper with a list of the teams:

American Conference

Eastern Division
Boston Patriots
Providence Steam Roller
Buffalo Rangers
Hartford Blues

Northern Division
Cleveland Browns
Pittsburgh Steelers
Cincinnati Bengals
Milwaukee Badgers

Southern Division
Houston Oilers
Miami Dolphins
Tampa Bay Buccaneers
Baltimore Colts

Western Division
Denver Broncos
Oakland Raiders
Kansas City Chiefs
San Diego Chargers

National Conference

Eastern Division
Washington Redskins
New York Giants
Dallas Cowboys
Philadelphia Eagles

Northern Division
Green Bay Packers
Minnesota Vikings
Chicago Bears
Detroit Lions

Southern Division
Canton Bulldogs
Columbus Tigers
Atlanta Falcons
New Orleans Saints

Western Division
St. Louis Cardinals
San Francisco 49ers
Los Angeles Rams
Seattle Seahawks

Franklin paused for a moment and gave the reporters time to read through the list. Then he asked for questions.

"Thirty-two teams is an awful lot. How are you going to pay for this?"

Franklin smiled. "Good question. The league will be underwritten by me for right now, until it becomes profitable. National radio broadcast contracts have been arranged, and revenue from those will be shared amongst all teams, as will a large percentage of ticket and merchandising revenue."

"What about the players that already have professional contracts?"

"I have purchased all existing professional teams and either dissolved them or merged them into the NFL. Players with contracts have been bought out, and will be made draft eligible."

"Why so many teams?"

"I want the league to have room to grow in every major city in America. I expect after some time, certain teams may re-locate to other markets, but I want a large, competitive league structure in place that can last for many, many years."

"Who is eligible for the draft?"

"Any person who has been graduated from high school for at least three years. We do not wish to seriously comprimise the talent available to the college game, and we feel that professional players should be 100% physically mature before entering the game. We expect that a lot of men who have enjoyed distinguished college careers anytime in the last 10 years will be getting phone calls in the next few days from our general managers."

"Why would someone who has a college degree and a steady job want to play football instead?"

"Because we're going to pay them very generously to do so. NFL salaries will be higher than that of any athlete in the world, and will assure a comfortable living for any player in the league, even at the bottom of the pay scale."

"When are the games going to be played?"

"Sunday afternoons and evenings, and possibly even Monday nights. We don't want to compete directly with college games on Saturday. All the stadiums in the league will have lights for night games."

Franklin fielded more questions for the remainder of the hour, then excused himself. The reporters disbursed, shaking their heads in disbelief. It was a crazy idea, most of them decided, but they were all under orders to take it seriously and write about it, so the next day, every paper in the nation carried stories about the new football league. Advertisements were placed in each paper for tryout camps in each city that was to host a team, and general managers from each team gave interviews to their local papers and radio stations promoting the new home teams. The league draft was just two weeks away, and the NFL had to find enough talent to fill its rosters.

[Franklinnoble]

Washington, D.C.
September, 1925

The Redskins first game of the season was at home against the Hartford Blues. The stadium was only maybe a third full, and a lot of those had been tickets that were given away. Franklin stood in the owner's box at the top of the stands and surveyed the scene. Not much attention had been given to any of the pre-season games, but there was a relatively full press box next door, and they were about to see football like they had never seen it before.

Leather helmets with no facemasks were still standard at this point; there simply hadn't been any alternative. However, the rest of the NFL rules were thoroughly modernized, and the people would be witnessing them for the first time. He had given a two-week seminar on modern offensive and defensive schemes to the GM's and coaches in the league, and told them emphatically that traditional football strategy simply would not work in the new league. It was not an easy message to get across, and Franklin suspected that, for a while at least. many teams would still run the ball a lot more than they passed it.

Another big difference was the roster sizes. None of the coaches were accustomed to having so many players at their disposal. In fact, many players were disappointed at the idea of not playing both ways. It would take some getting used to, but Franklin figured that he could ensure that his Redskins would lead by example, and the other teams would have to follow the example if they expected to be competitive.

The referees were all-new. None of them had any experience in football at all. This was deliberate. If the new rules were going to take hold, they had to be enforced by men who had no prior prejudice towards the old rules.

It would probably take several years for the design to truly take form. There wasn't much talent in the league right now, and few recognizeable names. The Bears had Red Grange, and the Bulldogs were going to try to get a few more years out of Jim Thorpe, but aside from that, nobody was familiar to the fans yet. But the money was good for the players, and college players were sure to be attracted to the game in years to come.

In the meantime, Franklin was content to be back at the helm of a football team. His Redskins didn't do much to usher in his new vision of a more spectacular offensive brand of football, edging by the Blues by a score of 10-7. Ah, well. A win was a win, and the NFL was off to a good start.

[Franklinnoble]

**** Just a side note ****

If anyone has historical players that they would like to see in the game, let me know. Please make them relevant to the timeframe that the dynasty is presently in. I could only come up with a few names for the 1925 season (Grange, Thorpe... Lambeau is also playing for the Packers, but he was really a better coach than player ). If you have a good player you'd like to suggest, post it here, and I'll see about re-naming a player on a current roster. I may even play around with custom draft files... I know that there aren't any historical draft files until 1970, so this dynasty (if it lasts that long) will be mostly fictional until then.

[Franklinnoble]

Ashburn, VA
January, 1926

The Redskins had started the season 3-0, but ended it 6-10. Inexperience had simply caught up with them. Franklin had deliberately drafted last, and drafted young players only, and in the short term, that meant his squad was outmatched against a league full of older, more experienced competition. There were signs of promise; Thomas Kent, their young QB who had played for Florida two years ago and was working on his family farm in Ohio when he had been drafted, had passed for over 3800 yards in his rookie season. He was hardly the most talented quarterback Franklin had seen - not even in the top ten - but he might be good enough to make the Redskins a contenting team in another year or two.

The Miami Dolphins won the first Super Bowl, defeating the Detroit Lions by a score of 16-7. The Dolphins were led by stud RB Stuart Barton, who led the league in rushing with 1623 yards, and was named Super Bowl MVP, League MVP, and Offensive Player of the Year.

The league was not yet profitable, but it had done better financially than most people expected. Ticket sales were good, and the radio networks had enjoyed decent ratings as America tuned in to the NFL on Sunday afternoons. Ownership interests began to appear, with Henry Ford purchasing a stake in the Lions, and Norman Rockefeller buying a piece of the Giants.

Franklin hadn't even seen that many of his team's games. He spent most of the season on the road, scouting college talent for the upcoming draft. Film of college games wasn't widely available at this point, so there was no substitute for in-person scouting. The Redskins were picking 8th overall, and had a lot of holes to fill, especially on defense.

[Franklinnoble]

New York City
April, 1926

It was draft day for the NFL, and the league had rented out the newly opened Madison Square Garden for the event. There were no players on hand, and the occassion hardly resembled the modern NFL draft.

There weren't any sports publications in 1926. There was no leauge-wide rating of available draft picks, and very little media prognostication over the outcome of the draft. Each team was left to its own devices when it came to selecting the picks, and Franklin was already making plans to organize a scouting combine before next years draft.

For now, the arena was filled with NFL GM's, owners, and scouts, each huddled around their own tables, with a stage at the end of the arena fitted with a podium and a large blackboard. The picks for each round would be written on the blackboard, and each team would be given 15 minutes to make their selection.

Franklin had hired a man by the name of Jack Redman to be the commissioner of the league. Everyone knew that Franklin still ran the show, but Redman had taken over most of the basic day-to-day administrative duties of the league, and was given charge over things like settling contract disputes and levying fines for rules violations. He would also oversee the draft.

The Redskins needed help all over their defense. In the first year draft, they had loaded up on young offensive talent, but they had done so at the expense of the defense. There had been some good players available in free agency, but the bidding for them had gotten out of hand early, and Franklin knew much better than the other owners and GM's the perils of signing large contracts against a limited salary cap. He would build the team through the draft and perhaps a few smart trades, leaving free agency alone unless there was a glaring need that could be quickly and cheaply filled.

There were two defensive tackles at the top of the Redskins wish list. After that, there was a definate drop-off in the available talent. They were:

Emmanuel Nabors - Oregon State
Gary Lofton - Florida State

Nabors was arguably the best player in the draft, but a lot of other teams knew that. It would be a small miracle if he fell all the way to #8.

The draft began, and Nabors was taken right away by the Los Angeles Rams, who had the #1 overall pick. Franklin had hoped that Nabors might have been obscured, playing in the Northwest, but he feared that LA might have scouts up that way. His fears were confirmed.

Lofton was taken 3rd overall by Cincinnati. The Redskins were in a bind. They could take a chance on DE Todd Ingley (Louisiana), or try to trade down. Ingley hadn't been heavily scouted, but he had put up good numbers in college. At 6'1", he was a little short, and he'd be a risky pick.

Washington selected him anyway. There wasn't much to be gained by trading the pick at this point; they would just have to scour the later rounds for good talent. The remainder of the draft included:

2 - Jonathan Riley - ILB - Duke
3 - Chris Hackett - ILB - Tennessee
4 - Kirk Berkebile - QB - Oregon State
5 - Adrian Easter - DE - Navy
6 - Alfred Duran - RB - St. Francis
7 - Blake Pitts - G - Mississippi

Telegrams were immediately sent out to each player drafted, informing them of their status, and requesting their arrival at training camp.

[Franklinnoble]

Tampa, Florida
March, 1927

It wouldn't make any sense to have the annual scouting combine in Indianapolis - there was no HoosierDome (or RCA Dome, or any sort of dome), and Indiana was pretty damned cold this time of year.

The Tampa Bay Buccaneers had a good stadium and practice facility (and, in fact, had just won the Super Bowl), and were chosen to host the combine, largely thanks to the fair weather they enjoyed around that time of year.

New league rules were in place requiring each rookie player to declare his draft eligibility to the league office at least one month before the combine - otherwise he could not be drafted or signed as a free agent by any team. Each draft-eligible rookie was invited to the combine and offered train fare and lodging for the four-day event. Teams were allowed to host private workouts for players only if they agreed to sponsor their combine expenses (expenses were shared amongst multiple teams that had interests in the same player).

The Redskins had improved to 8-8 in the 1926 season, and they were expected to be playoff contenders in 1927. Quarterback Thomas Kent had put up nearly identical numbers in his first two seasons, and it was generally expected that he would have to improve his efficiency or start looking for new employment.

Franklin sat in the bleachers at a high school football field in Tampa and watched Kent's biggest threat workout. Luke Lane was a 6 foot, 200 pound QB from Southern Mississippi who threw bullet passes with pinpoint accuracy at every distance. He was quick, intelligent, strong, and even-tempered. Having nearly half a century of football talent evaluating experience, Franklin knew this kid could be a great one.

He also knew that he'd probably get drafted very early - possibly #1 overall. This year's draft was rich in talent, especially on the offensive side of the ball, so there was no telling, but Lane was a rare QB. And Kent was an underachiever at this point. He could still develop into a good quarterback, but his passer rating had been 77.1 this last year - hardly promising.

Washington drafted 14th this year. They would have to make a big move to get Lane. Oakland had the #1 overall, and was not likely to part with it cheaply. Franklin scratched his beard and watched Lane hit Redskins all-pro wide receiver Thomas Darden in stride. He was working in shoulder pads and a helmet, behind a skeleton offensive line with a practice team defense in front of him. He took the next snap, dropped back, gracefully sidestepped a blitzing Todd Ingley, and fired a pass right into the hands of Darden again - who was double-covered in a deep crossing route. Redskins Head Coach Floyd Brock was sitting next to Franklin and just shook his head and muttered, "No way Kent ever even tries a pass like that."

Franklin nodded. He got up and started walking down the bleachers. He had seen more than enough to know that he had a big decision to make between now and April.

***

Draft day arrived, and Franklin approaced the Raiders table at Madison Square Garden. The team was now owned by Andrew Ellis, a Bay-area businessman who had made his fortune in shipping. He shook hands with Ellis and said, "Andy, what do you want for that #1 pick?"

Ellis grinned. "I've had about 20 offers already. I'm thinking of using it on Blackwell." Patrick Blackwell was a running back from Toledo who had a lethal combination of bruising strength and blazing speed.

"How about Thomas Kent, and our #1?"

"What's the matter with Kent?"

"Nothing. We're just looking to go in another direction. Albert Denham has a lot of potential." Denham was the Redskins backup QB, and this was not an entirely implausible excuse - he HAD talent, and had been the target of several trade offers to the Redskins over the last year or so.

Ellis grunted. "That's still not enough. Dropping to 14th in this draft is a big deal."

Franklin nodded. "How about I throw in our second rounder, too?"

"Can't afford it this year. Our cap is pretty tight." Ellis was full of it. If he could afford to sign a #1 overall, he could afford a #14 and an extra 2nd round pick.

"How about next year's 2nd round pick?"

"No way. I've got another offer on the table that includes 3 first rounders..." Ellis didn't make a fortune in business by not being a shrewd dealer.

Lane's pricetag was getting prohibitively high. "I'll be back in a minute." Franklin said.

Franklin returned five minutes later. "Alright, Andy... here's my final offer. Kent, our #14, our #1 next year AND the year after, plus Tampa Bay's #1 next year. Take it or leave it."

Ellis grinned. That was too much for him to pass up. "Done." Acquiring Tampa's #1 next year had cost Washington this year's 2nd, 3rd, and 4th round picks. Suddenly, Franklin felt a lot like Mike Ditka must have. He muttered to himself as he returned to the Redskins table "This kid had better be worth it."

[Franklinnoble]

I need a super twist. :)
Patience. It's coming. Eventually.

[Franklinnoble]

Ashburn, VA
Thursday, October 31, 1929

The stock market had crashed, pretty much exactly on schedule. Franklin had personally lost over $200 million over the last week. He didn't care. He had ample liquid assets to carry him and the NFL through the depression, and in fact was planning on buying substantial amounts of stock when the market re-opened on Monday.

The rest of the league wasn't so confident. Many of the team owners were ruined, and nearly all of them wanted to sell out or close shop completely. There was no way they could pay salaries, and there was little hope that anyone would show up to watch football games for the rest of the season.

Franklin had called a meeting of all the league owners and the commissioner, and they were all meeting in a large boardroom at Redskins Park. Despite Prohibition, drinks were served, and generally well received. Franklin called the meeting to order and told the owners that he would personally guarantee the salaries for all NFL players for the remainder of the season. The league was not going to close its doors. Owners who were financially strained would be able to take out 0% interest loans against up to 90% of the value of their teams if they needed it to cover other debts. As a last resort, the league would buy out owners that simply could not continue to operate.

Many owners took out loans, and all of them were relieved that the player salaries would be guaranteed by the league. The radio broadcast deals were immediately re-negotiated out of necessity - the networks simply could not afford to pay full price for the rights to the games. Franklin knew it was critical to keep the games on the air, so for the time being, the NFL would practically give the broadcasts away.

Player salaries were frozen. There would be no increases for the forseeable future. The players cried foul at first - with no increases, veterans would be cut more often in favor for lower-priced rookies - but they eventually understood that the alternative was unemployment, and most people learned to be very happy just to have a job.

The Redskins had gone 8-8 in Luke Lane's rookie season. Last year, they went 12-4, and lost in the NFC Championship game. Lane led the league in passing. They were off to a good start so far this year, but there was no telling how the growing economic depression would affect the team. Franklin planned on speaking to all the players prior to Sunday's game to assure them of there security and the stability of the league. Aside from that, all he could do was ride out the storm like everyone else...

[StanGunner]

Still one of my favorite reads.

[Franklinnoble]

Monday, December 8, 1941

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Yesterday was supposed to be Pearl Harbor Day. The Japanese were supposed to have bombed most of the Pacific fleet and drawn the United States into World War II.

They had not. Franklin had stayed as clear of the political situation in the U.S. as he could, content with running the Washington Redskins and overseeing the continued success of the NFL. It was highly unlikely that any of his actions should have changed the movements of the Japanese military.

But something was out of place. About six years ago, Franklin had discreetly launched a series of small satellites into high orbit. They were meant to provide him with the ability to conduct global espionage in the event that there was any odd historical development. This instance certainly qualified.

His satellites did a complete photographic and thermal scan of the Pacific Ocean. Japan's navy was no where near Hawaii. They appeared to be solely focused on the war against China. It appeared that they had no intention of making any aggressive moves against the U.S. Why had this changed?

What was more disturbing (and had gone unnoticed until now) was that the Germans had NOT attacked the Soviet Union in June of 1941. In fact, satellite imagery revealed no aggressive movements toward the East by the German military. Their focus seemed squarely upon Great Britain.

This was an alarming change in the military tactics of the war. Without the war on the Soviet front, Hitler was much stronger in the West. Britain might actually fall. And without the attack on Pearl Harbor, the United States' entry into the war was delayed, and every moment was becoming critical.

There had to be an explaination, and something needed to be done to correct the shift in the timeline. If Germany kept its alliance with the Soviet Union and overtook Great Britain, it would be nearly impossible to free Europe, especially with the United States maintaining a policy of neutrality. But who was responsible for the drastic changes, and what could be done to repair the damage?

A knock at the door of his den interrupted his thoughts on the matter. Franklin stepped out of the alcove that held his computer equipment and shut the bookshelf over the doorway that kept it hidden. He called out, "Come in."

Reginald, his butler, entered the den and announced, "You have a visitor, sir. I told him that it was entirely too late to have company, but he insisted it was most urgent."

"Fine. Where is he?"

"In the living room, sir."

The living room was a large, comfortably furnished room with a large marble fireplace at one end. Facing the fire and warming his hands was a man in a tan overcoat. Franklin did not recognize him until he turned around.

"Hello, Franklin. Nice place you've got here."

Franklin stood stunned as he looked at the last man he expected to ever see again.

"Oscar? How the hell did you get here?"

[Franklinnoble]

Monday, December 8, 1941 (continued)

"I don't get it." Franklin stammered. "You said that as soon as I went back in time, you, and the rest of the future I came from, would cease to exist."

Oscar smilied. "I never told you that."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't. I'm not the same Oscar Baines you knew from your original timeline."

Franklin shook his head. "What do you mean? I don't get it..."

Oscar walked over to one of the large leather sofas, removed his coat, and sat down. "Take a seat, Franklin. This is going to take a while for me to explain.

"When you went back in time, and attempted to sterilize the ancestors of Thomas Nordberg and Andrew Palmer, you changed history, but not exactly in the way you expected. You succeeded with Palmer - he will never exist, but he wasn't really that important. The problem was that you didn't really know the truth about Thomas Nordberg."

"What, did I not get the right ancestor?"

"Not exactly. You see, you didn't attempt to sterilize Nordberg's ancestor; you were attempting to sterilize Thomas Nordberg himself."

"What do you mean? How is that possible?"

"Nordberg doesn't belong in this time any more than you do. In fact, he's been here a lot longer than you have. You see, Thomas Nordberg is actually from an alternate timeline - a timeline which he broke when he was accidentally transported back to the year 1827 from the year 2087."

"Whoa... how did all this happen, and how do you know all this?"

"I'm getting to that. In the original timeline, I invented biomolecular nanotechnology, just about the same time that I did in your timeline. By the 2080's, nearly everyone had nanotechnology implants similar to the ones you have now, giving them remarkable health and longevity. Apparently, I had started work on my next experiment, the quantum gate, when I first met Nordberg. He was 19 years old, and had already spent 6 months in prison for grand theft when he started working at Colossal Micro Laboratories as a janitor. I don't know how he got the job there with his criminal record and all, but he eventually figured out what I was working on, and decided that he could make good money if he went back in time a few years and bet on a few Super Bowls. The problem was, the quantum gate was incomplete, and I had trouble accurately calibrating it for time jumps of just a few minutes. When Nordberg tried to go back five years, it instead sent him back 260."

"So what's he been doing for the last hundred years? And why does he decide to try world conquest in about a hundred more? And you still haven't told me how you know all this..."

"I told you, I'm getting to that. Anyway, Nordberg wasn't very bright, so it was all he could do to stay alive for the first few years he was in the 19th century. In fact, if it weren't for the nanotechnology, he'd have probably died pretty quick in those days. Apparently he's already been shot four times. And he's not waiting to rule Canada and take over the world anymore - he's got ambitions right now."

"The Nazis..."

"Precisely. In my timeline, Nordberg realizes someone know's he's out of place, because when you hit him with the sterilization dart, his nanomachines go into hyperdrive to ward off the attack - and the stimulation not only alerts him of the fact that someone else has nanotechnology in this time, it prompts the machines to set up a more intelligent collective in his spine - it's like he has a second intelligence running inside him now, one that has brilliant analytical skills that he lacks on his own. Nordberg decided a long time ago that he could use his longevity for world domination - but now he doesn't have to wait until the Canadian civil unrest to do it. He is more decisive now, and he's been living in Germany since 1923. He's a high-ranking officer in the Nazi party, and he's secretly been Hitler's right-hand since he became Fuhrer. And he's not letting the German's screw things up this time around. He's kept Hitler's ego and pride in check, and they're running this war much more efficiently than they ever would have, thanks largely to the tactical prowess of Nordberg's nanocomputer."

"Holy shit... think of the technological advances he could give the Germans."

"Precisely. He hasn't done that yet, because he's still a bit limited with the resources he has - he didn't come here in a spacecraft full of sophisticated computer equipment like you did - and he's also trying to lay low and avoid the notice of whomever else in this timeline has nanotechnology."

"You mean me..."

"Right - only he doesn't know it's you. Fortunately, his knowledge of early NFL history is pretty limited, or he'd have you pegged. Instead, all he knows is that someone tagged him in Boston in 1922, and he fled the country. Now he's running most of the German army, and he's managed to keep the US out of the war. In another year or so, you will have figured this out on your own, but by then Britain has fallen, and the Germans posess rocket technology. Six months later, they have nuclear bombs, and they rule pretty much most of the Eastern Hemisphere."

"So, how do you know this? How did you get here?"

"Nordberg is content with what he had in my timeline for a while. The USA never entered the war, as they make a deal with the Germans to remain neutral if Germany agrees to stay out of the Western Hemisphere. Germany does - for a while. For many decades, they're busy enough dealing with various civil wars and uprisings all over their empire. Life goes on pretty much like normal for the US - it's like the Cold War that you knew, only on a bigger scale. You and I meet while I'm a student at Penn State, and we start Colossal Micro Laboratories together. That's about when Germany declares war on the United States."

"Because your nanotechnology is a threat."

"Exactly. See, Nordberg figured that as long as he was the only one with nanotechnology, he was safe. He wouldn't even allow German scientists to study it. But as soon as he found out about my work, he decides to crush it. This time, however, Canada is on our side - along with the rest of the Western Hemisphere, and World War III is on."

"But, surely by then, everyone's got nukes."

"True, but you've got satellites in the sky, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Don't forget - you're around while all this is going on, using your political and corporate influence to keep America a step ahead of the Germans. You figure at this point that Nordberg is somehow responsible, but you don't know how - yet. You sought me out at Penn State and put me to work on the problem - and you gave me access to your computers and nanolabs here at the house to give me a head start. So the development time is much, much shorter for me. Still, the nuclear war isn't pretty - the satellites stop most of their inbound missiles, but ours hit all their targets - and nearly every major city in the Eastern Hemisphere is fragged."

"Holy..."

"Yeah, it's pretty bad. The environmental impact is brutal, and will probably end up killing most of the planet anyway. It doesn't take long for us to figure out that the only way to save the world is to go back and prevent the problem - again."

"So this time, I sent you back. It makes sense... but I still don't get how you figured out Nordberg's history."

"We captured him shortly after the war. I was able to tune the satellites to search for his nanomachines, and we found him hiding in a bunker in Ireland. By then, I knew more about the machines inside him than he did, and it wasn't hard to get him to talk. They can cause their host a great deal of pain, when properly instructed."

"So, you got Nordberg to squeal, and then you invented the quantum gate, again, and went back here. But why now? Why not just go back further and take him out sooner?"

"Because it's easier to use your satellites to locate him. And because you said that you were having a good time with you NFL team until Nordberg started screwing around with world history."

Franklin grinned. "Ok, so we track down Nordberg, take him out of commission, and then what?"

"Well, it won't be easy. Nordberg is probably in Berlin right now, surrounded by the heart of the German wehrmacht - it won't be like tagging him outside a pub in Boston this time around. Still, the theory is that once he's gone, Hitler's ego will take over again, and he'll attack the Russians - Nordberg said he could hardly get him to stop bugging him about it. With any luck, we can somehow get the US into the war - soon - and turn things around."

Franklin nodded. "Then we don't have much time to waste. The computer lab is in my den. I imagine you'll want to get in there and start re-configuring those satellites."

Oscar smiled. "No problem. Do you mind if I get something to eat first? We've been on pretty lean rations since the nuclear holocaust."

"Sure thing. Ask Reginald for whatever you want - we have a pretty good chef on staff here. He can also get you set up in one of the guest rooms - did you bring anything with you?"

"You might say that. I've got a large craft parked in a glen somewhere on the back of your property here. We'll tend to it in the morning. I'm going to need you to build me a decent lab."

"Alright. We'll start working on that in the morning. I'm supposed to be in D.C. tomorrow, but I can postpone that a day or so."

"What's going on in D.C.?"

"The Redskins are in the playoffs, Oscar. We're playing Green Bay this weekend. You want tickets?"

[Poli]

:)

[Wolfpack]

...and now I've gone cross-eyed. ;)

[Franklinnoble]

...and now I've gone cross-eyed. ;)
Quite possibly the best response to this thread ever. :D

[StanGunner]

Wish I had a time machine to jump ahead and read the new threads.

[Poli]

I've got this back to the future thing going on.

[Franklinnoble]

Ashburn, VA
February, 1942

Franklin greeted Redskins quarterback Luke Lane on the runway of the small airfield that had been recently built on his estate in Ashburn. He had been in the hangar with Oscar when Reginald called over and announced that Lane had stopped by. Franklin figured he knew why Lane had come to see him.

"Nice plane you have there, Mr. Brown." Lane gestured towards the black B-17 that was parked in the hangar.

"Thanks. I wanted something to make my business travel a little easier."

"Isn't that a bomber?"

"Yes, but I've made a lot of special modifications myself."

"Hmm. Well, I came out here today to let you know that I've made my decision. I'm going to go ahead and retire. I don't really have a lot left to prove, and I'd like to spend some more time with my kids."

Franklin nodded. "I sort of figured you would, Luke. You finished on a pretty good note. But we're sure gonna miss you." That was an understatement. The Redskins had defeated Kansas City for their 8th Super Bowl victory during Lane's career. He would be retiring with the career record in touchdown passes, and 7th all-time in passing yardage.

"I'm gonna miss it too, but fifteen years is enough for me. My oldest is starting high school this year, and I'd like to be able to see his games."

"Luke, I'm not gonna try to talk you out of it. You've given this team more than anyone could have ever wished for, and you certainly deserve a peaceful retirement."

"Thanks." Lane shook his hand and walked back towards the driveway. Franklin pondered the Redskins' future for a moment; Lane would have been a free agent this year anyway (he most certainly would have been franchised), so the cap implications for the team weren't bad at all - his salary had been enormous. The problem was that the Redskins had nobody on the depth chart behind him. Journeyman backup QB Herschel Villa had also retired following the Super Bowl, leaving the team with unproven third-year QB Harry Terrell as the only option. The team still had a solid receiving corps, and an outstanding running back in Mitch Castle, but they would have to find another QB, and guys like Lane were few and far between.

All that would have to wait, however. The more urgent issue was the hunt for Thomas Nordberg. Oscar was able to pinpoint his exact location with the satellites - he moved around a lot, but generally stayed pretty close to Berlin. Getting to him was going to be the hardest part.

That's where the B-17 came in. Franklin had bought it from Boeing a month ago. Oscar had stripped it down and re-built it, so while it looked like a flying fortress with a black paint job, it was actually nothing like it underneath. The hull was fortified with a lightweight nano-polymer that would be impervious to the conventional weapons of the day, and would allow for pressurized flight at extremely high altitudes. The engines were still prop-driven for appearances, but the wings contained fusion propulsion engines that gave the plane supersonic capability. The .50 caliber gun barrels remained, but were now attached to a specially designed action that could fire over 8,000 rounds per minute. The plane was designed to slip in and out of Germany completely undetected, but if it were sighted, it could easily withstand anything the Nazis could throw at it.

Franklin walked back into the hangar, past the plane and through the door in the back which led to Oscar's lab. Here, he had parked the small shuttle he had taken back from the future, and assembled the equipment he used to build most of the enhancements for the B-17, among other things.

"Are we about ready to do this? I'd like to get out of Germany before the free agency period starts?"

Oscar grinned, "Don't wanna take any of this too seriously, do you?"

"On the contrary. My hall-of-fame quarterback just resigned - I take that very seriously."

Oscar shook his head. "Try this on for size." He held out a black jumpsuit. Franklin put it on. "The nanomachines in that suit should be able to communicate with you. Ask the suit for the menu."

Franklin started to ask what Oscar was talking about, but before he could say anything, a menu appeared in his field of vision:

Suit Menu - Main


Civilian clothing
Military clothing
Camoflage
Help
"Whoa... can anyone else see this?"

"Nope. The nanomachines are superimposing the menu on your optic nerve for you. You just think about what you want to select, and it takes care of the rest. So far, I have the suit programmed for a few different varieties of civilian clothing, and various military uniforms - including an assortment of German military dress."

"What's the camoflage look like?"

"It gives the suit a chameleon effect - you basically blend in with whatever you're surrounded with."

"That's pretty sweet. With this, I should be able to walk right up to Nordberg."

"Don't get too overconfident - we have no idea what measures he's taken to protect himself. He may have the ability to detect your nanomachines and see you coming. He may even be prepared for a counter attack."

Franklin hadn't considered that, and the thought of Nordberg being prepared with weapons to neutralize his own technological advantage didn't appeal to him. "I don't like the sound of that."

"That's why I've decided that we need to hit him hard from a distance first. We've still got room in the bomber for a bunch of blockbusters; we'll carpet-bomb the area he's at - it'll create a diversion for you, and it should knock him off balance for a while."

"Why not just whip up some cruise missiles?"

"Because if we miss, Nordberg will know for sure that someone is throwing a lot of new technology into the mix right now. By using conventional ordinance, even if it's extremely potent, it doesn't look too out of place. The Nazis will think that the Brits got one lucky bomber into Berlin that made a mess of one small area. They'll lose some men, and a chief military advisor, but they won't think much more of it. Aside from that, we need to try to let history take care of itself."

"I guess that makes sense. When do we leave?"

"I'll have everything ready by tomorrow. We'll take off tomorrow night. If everything goes well, we'll be home by morning."

"That fast, huh?"

"That plane can get us there in three hours. If I have a good bead on Nordberg, I can level the place, drop you off, and pick you up in no time."

"Good. I'm going to need all the time I can get to find a new quarterback."

[Franklinnoble]

Berlin
February, 1942

The transatlantic flight had been uneventful, as most of the trip had been spent at an altitude that far exceeded the reach of any current aircraft or radar detection; and the descent into Germany had gone undetected.

Franklin looked over the console at the rear of the B-17's cockpit. "Still no unusual activity on any of their radio channels. Looks like a clean entrance."

The plane was hovering over a field about fifteen miles outside Berlin in 'whisper' mode - the conventional engines were shut down, and only a soft hum emitted from the fusion reactor at the heart of the craft. Oscar activated the landing gear and set the plane down. "Alright - time for you to start moving."

The men walked towards the back of the plane where the rear bay was already opening. Parked at the head of the ramp was a BMW R12 motorcycle dressed and painted to look like Nazi military issue. It was actually a very, very accurate replica, as Franklin had been unable to locate a model in the U.S. for them to use.

His suit had already assumed the form of an SS uniform, complete with helmet and goggles for the ride towards the city. He released the motorcycle's restraints and started to wheel it down the ramp.

"Remember," Oscar called out, "If you run into anybody, speak German!"

"I don't speak German." Franklin started the motorcycle.

Oscar flipped down the microphone on his headset, and spoke over the radio to him, "Yes, you do. Your nanomachines have you quite fluent, but you'll need to make a conscious effort to listen and respond."

Franklin tapped the earpiece under his helmet and responded, "You know, you really need to start telling me before you program crap into my brain. One of these days you're going to overwrite something important."

"Not likely. You've got plenty of unused space." The plane began its ascent and turned towards the city.

"Smart ass. Have fun bombing the bunker."

"I will. Get moving - it'll be a smoldering heap by the time you get there. I'll be laying down cover fire for you. The latest data from the satellites indicate that Nordberg is still asleep in building B, basement level."

"I'm on my way." Franklin reached the main road and turned the throttle up, speeding towards the city. It would take him about twenty minutes to get there. Oscar would circle the area for a while, monitoring any troop movements (unlikely at this time of night), and waiting for him to get a little closer.

When he was about five minutes out, Oscar came on over the radio. "Bombs away."

Right on cue, the night lit up with a series of loud explosions. Shortly afterwards, air raid sirens went off, and following that, anti-aircraft guns. The Luftwaffe would be airborne in a few minutes, but they'd have little chance of even seeing the B-17 - it was running without any lights.

Franklin sped through the streets and approached the bunker, weaving in and out of debris and dodging confused soldiers as they scurried about. His internal suboptic display was tuned to Nordberg's nanomachines, and led the way towards the bunker.

It was completely leveled when Franklin arrived, just as Oscar had promised. Franklin parked the motorcycle and dismounted, drawing what looked like a German Mauser (and which was, in fact, capable of firing 7.63mm ammo), but was actually an electromagnetic pulse emitter designed to completely neutralize nanomachine technology. He stepped towards the bunker, noticing some shifting in the rubble in the general direction where his optics indicated Nordberg was located.

"Sonfabitch is still alive..." Franklin muttered to himself. He walked briskly towards the bunker, and was less than ten feet away when Nordberg lifted up a section of the wall that had been on top of him and stood up.

"Gutentag, Herr Nordberg." Franklin glared at his target.

Nordberg shook his head, and his eyes flashed with a sudden realization. "You're no German." His hands moved around as if to reach for something, but there were no weapons on his person - he was dressed in only a pair of cotton pants.

"You're finished here, Nordberg. You've managed to screw things up quite enough." He raised the Mauser towards him.

"Achtung!" Franklin spun around at the sound of the voice from behind him. A German soldier leveled a rifle at him and fired. The bullet ripped through his right lung and sent him sprawling backwards.

Coughing and trying not to choke on his own blood, Franklin rolled over to see Nordberg running off into the distance. Suddenly, another voice, "Stay down."

Franklin did, and then the area was strafed with several thousand .50 caliber tracer shells, cutting his attacker in half, and taking down Nordberg as well.

Franklin spit out a mouthful of blood and muttered, "I thought the whole point of cover fire was to take out the bad guys BEFORE they shoot me."

"Sorry, I was busy mowing down a column of tanks headed this way. Hurry up and get Nordberg before he tries to run off again."

The nanomachines had already healed his lung and most of the gunshot wound, leaving Franklin a little winded and very sore. He staggered to his feet and ran over to Nordberg, who was flailing about on the ground trying to re-attach his right leg.

"That looks kind of painful."

Nordberg glared up at him. "Too bad that idiot didn't aim for your head."

"You mean like this?" Franklin aimed the Mauser and fired. A flash of light struck Nordberg in the forehead and incinerated his skull, along with most of his upper body. One of the unpleasant side effects of the concentrated EMP blast on the nanomachines was the complete destruction of their host material. Franklin fired twice more at Nordberg's remains, vaporizing the rest, and then jogged back to the motorcycle.

It was a short ride to a nearby clearing where he drove the bike up the ramp into the hovering B-17, and then began the flight back home. Franklin tried to sleep most of the way, but was restless with worry over the things he couldn't control at this point, like how soon the U.S. would enter the war, and if they weren't already too late.

[Poli]

"Ziggy says we can't leave until the US enters the war..."
:D

[Franklinnoble]

I don't get it...

[Poli]

Quantum Leap, Sam. Quantum Leap.

[Franklinnoble]

Quantum Leap, Sam. Quantum Leap.
Doh! I should have known that...

[JeeberD]

Awesome stuff, Franky...

[Franklinnoble]

Ashburn, VA
March, 1942

It didn't take long for Hitler to step up his aggression in the east and draw the Russians into the war. Shortly after that, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, a few months late, but creating the needed effect of bringing the United States to the war. While the U.S. was late, their Pacific fleet was in better shape than in the original timeline - not as many ships were in Pearl Harbor during the attack this time around. Hopefully, the increased naval assets would help offset the delayed entry into the war.

The impact on the NFL would be staggering. Franklin figured that nearly every player in the league would be drafted or would volunteer for service before the season started in the fall. He would either have to shut down the league for a few years, or play with men who weren't fit for combat. Neither option seemed very appealing.

In the meantime, he would busy himself helping behind the scenes during the war - whether it was funding industrial companies that could provide military hardware, buying up large sums of war bonds, or providing anonymous intelligence tips to the Allied war effort, courtesy of his global satellite network.

Oscar was moving to California. He had always wanted a home on the coast, and real estate was still relatively cheap enough to allow him to buy a large oceanfront estate to enjoy. There wasn't much point in him hanging around Virginia now anyways - he could collaborate with Franklin via satellite any time it was necessary.

***

Berlin

Lukas Weiss was a captain in the German army, responsible for a platoon headquartered near the bunker that Thomas Nordberg had occupied. His men had been in charge of clearing the rubble and seeking out the men who had abducted him. Weiss was reading reports at his desk when a knock came at his office door.

"Eintreten."

A lieutenant stepped into the room, carrying a briefcase-sized grey metal box. "Hauptmann Weiss." He handed him the box.

"Was is das?"

"We do not know, captain. The emblem on the front glows red when one presses a finger to it, but it cannot be opened, not even with a cutting torch."

Weiss furrowed his brow and pressed the mysterious circular emblem on the surface of the box. It glowed red briefly, then returned to its original grey. "Very well. Leave it with me, and I will inspect it."

The lieutenant nodded, stepped to attention, and saluted. "Sieg heil!"

Weiss returned the salute, and placed the box on his desk. He knew that Nordberg had been involved in some top secret projects for the Nazi party, and suspected this mysterious item belonged to him. He could not guess what it contained, but was sure that it merited further study.

[Franklinnoble]

*** Just an aside.... Nazis make great bad guys. Every dynasty should have a few...***

[Poli]

Noted. Can't believe I got you with Quatum Leap. Tsk, tsk.

[sterlingice]

FN, this is quickly becoming one of my favorite dynasties! Keep up the good story :)

*** Just an aside.... Nazis make great bad guys. Every dynasty should have a few...***
Not that I want to admit to this, but I actually watched the season finale of last season's Enterprise and it provides a good counterexample to that. It's not so much the Nazi's, per se, but the fact that there are Nazi's in a Star Trek which seems out of place.

SI

[Wolfpack]

FN, this is quickly becoming one of my favorite dynasties! Keep up the good story :)


Not that I want to admit to this, but I actually watched the season finale of last season's Enterprise and it provides a good counterexample to that. It's not so much the Nazi's, per se, but the fact that there are Nazi's in a Star Trek which seems out of place.

SI

<slides on the geek hat>
There was an episode in the original series where the Enterprise actually encountered a planet that was inhabited by Nazis. Supposedly what happened was a Federation (somethingorother) decided National Socialism was inherently a good concept, but Hitler mucked it up with all the hatred and looniness he possessed. Unfortunately, the experiment failed because the nature of the system dictated needing an enemy to hate (or something to that effect).
</geek hat off>

[Franklinnoble]

Peenemunde, Germany
August, 1945

World War II was dragging on too long. By now, the Allied forces should have liberated Europe, beaten the Nazis, and nuked the Japanese into submission. None of that had happened yet. The Manhattan Project was behind schedule, and would not produce the first atomic bomb for at least six more months.

Germany had stepped up its attacks on Great Britain, Russia, and Allied territories in Europe with V-2 rockets. The aerial attacks, backed by unexpected numbers of Panzer tanks, had made the Nazi entrenchments nearly impenetrable. While there was little doubt that the Germans would eventually run out of either men or food, in the meantime, they were slaughtering millions in concentration camps and slave labor camps.

Wernher von Braun was the scientist most directly responsible for the development of the V-2 rocket, but it was believed that his true motivation was exploring the potential of space travel, and that he was only developing military ordinance for the Nazis under threat of imprisonment (or worse).

Franklin knew this to be true - history recorded that von Braun fled the research facility at Peenemunde when the Russians captured it, and surrendered to the US Army. He later was a critical figure in the development of American ballistic missiles and a large part of the US space program. The problem was that von Braun was still working for the Germans, and was continuing to develop more advanced weaponry for them. This had to stop.

Franklin had been to Peenemude in May of 1942, and had made contact with von Braun. He told von Braun that he was a secret agent working for the United States, and that he wished to help von Braun defect. The German scientist was skeptical, but agreed to stay in touch with Franklin via a special "short wave" radio.

In July, von Braun contacted Franklin and expressed his desire to defect, but under the condition that about 40 other scientists and their families come with him. This would be logistically difficult. The stealth B-17 that was still parked in the hangar couldn't possibly carry more that 50 people, and that would be pushing it. Braun wanted to remove about 100, and they were all living in a secure Nazi compound.

There was no way Franklin could pull this off on his own, even with Oscar's help. He contacted President Harry Truman and let him know that he had heard through his sources within the German industrial network (a lie, but a feasible one... Franklin had diverse corporate holdings around the globe) that Braun wanted out of Germany, and wished to come to the U.S. He explained to Truman the impact of Braun's research, and that it would be devastating to allow him to continue working for the Nazis.

Truman agreed to authorize a limited-scope mission for a company of troops to extract Braun, on the condition that Franklin could find a way to safely get the company in and out of Germany. Franklin was given a contact at Fort Meade that would provide the troops when he was ready.

His first phone call after the meeting with Truman was to Oscar Baines.

"So what'd Truman say?" Baines answered from his home in Bodega Bay, California.

"He authorized the mission and gave me a company of men. Now I just need a way to get them into Germany, and back out, along with about 40 scientists and their families."

"We're going to need more aircraft. You know anybody at Douglas?"

"I should hope so. I own 12% of the company."

"Good. Get me four C-47D's, and have them delivered to your airfield in Ashburn. You'll need to expand the hangar space for them."

Franklin scribbled down some notes on a piece of paper. "I can probably have them in two weeks, maybe less. I'll start working on the hangars right away."

"Good. Let me know when they're ready, and I'll come out to retrofit them. We're going to need to keep them fairly conventional, since we'll be using military pilots, but I can throw in a few features like improved fuel efficiency and engine speed, as well as radar invisibility, without tipping them off."

In the ensuing weeks, Franklin procured the aircraft and briefed his military team on the mission. There was an airfield at Peenemunde that they would land at and extract the scientists from. Franklin assured them that there would be minimal Nazi resistance.

The mission started in Britain. At nightfall on August 11th, Franklin and Oscar took off in the B-17 and headed towards Peenemunde. Braun met them outside the town near the banks of the river. Oscar had dropped Franklin upstream, and he paddled a small raft to the rendezvous point, where he greeted Braun, and handed him a black briefcase.

"What's this?" Braun asked.

"We're bringing you all out tomorrow night. Shortly after nightfall, we will gas the entire area. This will render everyone unconscious for at least 8 hours. You and your people should each take one of the tablets inside this case - they will make you immune to the gas. Gather at the airfield after everyone is asleep, and we will take you out of here."

"How will I know when it is safe?"

"You'll know. We will have to pass low overhead - they will try to shoot us down before the gas takes effect."

"What if you are shot down?"

"We won't be. Just be sure that everyone takes one tablet before nightfall."

Franklin paddled away and was picked up by the hovering B-17 downriver. The next evening, he and Oscar took off again at nightfall, ten minutes before the C-47D's. They flew in low over Pennemunde, and began spraying gas over the compound. Several anti-aircraft posts opened fire briefly, then stopped.

Just as Braun and his fellow scientists began to gather at the airfield, the C-47's began to land, with the B-17 circling overhead to provide cover, if necessary. The defectors were loaded without incident, and safely removed from Germany.

The mission was a success. With Braun out of the country, Germany would not be able to advance its ballistic missile program. Franklin and Oscar did not leave Europe right away, however. They had one more mission to complete.

[sterlingice]

There was an episode in the original series where the Enterprise actually encountered a planet that was inhabited by Nazis. Supposedly what happened was a Federation (somethingorother) decided National Socialism was inherently a good concept, but Hitler mucked it up with all the hatred and looniness he possessed. Unfortunately, the experiment failed because the nature of the system dictated needing an enemy to hate (or something to that effect).

Yeah, well, this is what happened in Enterprise (spoilers follow, if anyone cares) and the conversation a friend and myself as we watch it. It's quite a bit paraphrased as it's been a couple of months.











Backstory: So, I started watching Enterprise because a friend of mine had told me what was going on and it sounded interesting. At the end of last year, this group called the Xindi (sure, it was a warmed over version of the Dominion in Deep Space Nine but that was the only Star Trek series I followed regularly) sent a giant weapon to earth which cut a swath of death through Florida and killed something like 5 million people. Now they're off in space building a giant Doomsday Device (TM, patent pending) and are going to destroy the entire planet. Well, in this season's finale, Quantum Leap and his crew stop Doomsday Device but they're separated and we're supposed to think the captain is dead (yeah, right). Enterprise is hanging out by earth because they had to stop Doomsday Device at the last moment, otherwise it wouldn't have been fit for tv and we'll pick up the action from there.

Me: "Maybe they'll go into the earth politics or something. The writing has been decent this season so maybe they can tackle how Earth is dealing with space travel"
Him: "I doubt it. No one would watch. Then again, no one is watching now."
*scene with crew reacting to Quantum Leap being dead*
Me: "Enough with the emotional Vulcan already. I thought they weren't supposed to have emotions."
Him: "But we get token reactions from the rest of the crew, too. Huzzah"
*then there's the ridiculous scene of them sending a shuttle down to earth and hearing thudding noises*
Him: "Sounds like the hicks are shooting at the spaceship. Guess things haven't changed in 200 years"
*they pan out and show WW2 fighter planes shooting at the shuttle*
Me&Him: (almost in unison, both in horror) "Oh dear god."
Me: "Well, you know how the Sci-Fi hierarchy grows. Once you outgrow your sphere you have to move onto the next: world then space then all of time so time travel was only a matter of time"
Him: "But you have to outgrow your current one first and they're nowhere close"
Me: "So when are we going to get the gratuitous shot of Quantum Leap not being dead?"
*cue scene with Quantum Leap all bloodied and we don't know where he is*
Him: "So, what's next? Nazis?"
Me: "No, even better. Commienazis"
*they show Nazis running around camp*
Him: "Of course."
Me: "Uh, yeah.
*We both let out some sort of sigh or groan or both. But the writers don't leave us time to ponder this stupid development as they show an alien leaning over Quantum Leap in a Nazi uniform to dramatic music and the closing credits start*
*I scream/groan some sort of "NOOOOO!" at the tv*
Me: "So is 'Nazi's in Space' their answer to Mel Brooks's 'Jews in Space' from History of the World?"

So, think about how this writer's meeting went down.
One writer: 'What does everyone in sci-fi like? Yeah, time travel.'
Other writer: 'And who does everyone hate? That's right, Nazis!'
Producer: 'Perfect! We have our season finale! It will be the best ever!'

SI

[Franklinnoble]

So, think about how this writer's meeting went down.
One writer: 'What does everyone in sci-fi like? Yeah, time travel.'
Other writer: 'And who does everyone hate? That's right, Nazis!'
Producer: 'Perfect! We have our season finale! It will be the best ever!'

SI
*** Note to self... abandon Nazi storyline. Revert to more original material, like Canadian world domination. ***

[sterlingice]

*** Note to self... abandon Nazi storyline. Revert to more original material, like Canadian world domination. ***
HAHA. Well, it's great if well done and it fits: say, in a dynasty about time travel. But it seems really shoehorned into a Star Trek series where the writers are over their head to begin with.

SI

[Poli]

Noted.

[Franklinnoble]

Essen, Germany
September, 1945

Friedrich Krupp AG was the one of the world's largest producer of steel and military munitions leading up to and during World War II. Their factories produced everything from artillery to naval ships, and the entire city of Essen was essentially a gigantic industrial compound owned and operated by Krupp.

The Allies had bombed Essen repeatedly during the war, but the factories kept running, helped largely by forced labor. As the war dragged on, the use of slave workers increased, and their output of artillery, tanks, and other weapons continued to keep the German army well armed. Because of the delayed entry of the United States and Russia into the war, Krupp had managed to fortify its operation, making its critical resources redundant or completely impervious to bombing. Anti-aircraft guns surrounded Essen, and the Luftwaffe took great measures to protect the anvil of the Reich.

It was an obvious target, and Franklin should have just stuck with "Plan A." But Oscar didn't want to unleash unconventional explosives on the Germans, so they went with "Plan B." And now he was a prisoner of the Krupp works police, tied to a chair in a dark prison cell, recovering from another brutal interrogation. It had been three days since he was captured inside one of firm's factories. Nobody but Oscar even knew he was in Germany, and Franklin wasn't even sure if Oscar was still alive.

[Northwood_DK]

Thanks Franklinnoble.
I have just printed all 59 pages of your “Escape to Yesterday” dynasty. With my wife pregnant an almost sleeping when I get home from work and my interest in Olympic waterpolo ad an all time low I now know what to do tonight.

I really enjoy the story. This is FOF dynasty at its best.

[Franklinnoble]

Thanks Franklinnoble.
I have just printed all 59 pages of your “Escape to Yesterday” dynasty. With my wife pregnant an almost sleeping when I get home from work and my interest in Olympic waterpolo ad an all time low I now know what to do tonight.

I really enjoy the story. This is FOF dynasty at its best. Wow... thanks!

It's feedback like this that keeps me going...

Just as an aside... my wife is pregnant, too... and she's 100% Scandinavian. ;)

[Poli]

I'm 50% redneck and 50% trailertrash, so it works out well.

[Franklinnoble]

I'm 50% redneck and 50% trailertrash, so it works out well.
Nice pedigree... are you a current or former President of the United States?

[StanGunner]

Come on everyone, more feedback for Franklin! We need him to keep up the frequent updates.

Now if you could tie Kodos in some how and keep the Dallas Cowboys from ever forming a team the future would be bright indeed.

[Poli]

Nice pedigree... are you a current or former President of the United States?
No, but I have applied for the head coaching position of your Washington Redskins.

[Franklinnoble]

No, but I have applied for the head coaching position of your Washington Redskins.
You callin' Joe Gibbs a redneck?

For shame.


;)

[Franklinnoble]

Come on everyone, more feedback for Franklin! We need him to keep up the frequent updates.

Now if you could tie Kodos in some how and keep the Dallas Cowboys from ever forming a team the future would be bright indeed.
Actually, the updates are coming because I've finally settled into a "normal" job where I can work on the story throughout the day.

The Cowboys are already a part of the league - one of the drawbacks of FOF2K4 (that I hope is addressed in a future version) is that there are no customizeable league sizes or expansion.... so I was stuck with 32 teams out of the gate. And, honestly, as much as I hate the Cowboys, I enjoy the rivalry, so I'd probably keep them around anyway.

[Franklinnoble]

Essen, Germany
September, 1945

Albert Schultz was the son of a diplomat who had been assigned to the German embassy in Washington, D.C. prior to the rise of the Third Reich. He spent most of his childhood in the United States, and was educated at the University of Maryland, where he studied to become an engineer. His uncle was a foreman at one of the Krupp factories in Essen, and it was his father's plan that he complete his degree and then return to his homeland to work for Krupp.

Schultz never wanted to leave the U.S. While the Great Depression made things bad in America, they were far worse in Germany. But when his father was removed from his position in the embassy, the only thing that kept him in the U.S. was the fact that he was still in school, living off his athletic scholarship. Work would be nearly impossible to find after he graduated, and he would have to yield to his father's wishes.

In the spring of 1932, Schultz graduated, and was resigned to his fate. Then he received a telegram that granted him an unexpected reprieve:


TO: ALBERT SCHULTZ

FROM: CEDRIC FLEES

MR. SCHULTZ

THE WASHINGTON REDSKINS HAVE SELECTED YOU WITH THE 32ND PICK OF THE 7TH ROUND OF THE NFL DRAFT STOP PLEASE REPORT TO REDSKINS PARK IN ASHBURN, VIRGINIA ON JULY 15 FOR MINI-CAMP STOP KINDLY HAVE YOUR AGENT CONTACT OUR OFFICE REGARDING YOUR CONTRACT NEGOTIATIONS STOP

CEDRIC FLEES
DIRECTOR OF PLAYER PERSONNEL
WASHINGTON REDSKINS

Schultz had been the starting running back for the University of Maryland football team his senior season, but had not expected to be drafted into the NFL. The Washington Redskins were the reigning Super Bowl Champions and weren't in desperate need of any help, so they had selected a local favorite with the final pick of the draft.

The Redskins signed him to a three year contract, during which Schultz saw limited playing time, mostly on special teams. At the end of his contract, he was not re-signed, and did not receive any offers from any other teams. With his brief career over, Schultz reluctantly returned to Germany and went to work for Krupp.

He had met Redskins owner Franklin Brown on several occassions during his time with the team, but after he left the country, he never expected to see him again. Germany went to war, and Schultz was kept busy with the design and manufacture of artillery barrells. Now, more than ten years after his last game as a Redskin, Schultz had seen his former employer again - in Essen, being dragged away from one of the factories in shackles by the Krupp Works Police.

[Poli]

You callin' Joe Gibbs a redneck?

For shame.


;)
You're right. I'm over qualified. I should apply for GM.

[Franklinnoble]

Essen, Germany
September, 1945

Albert Schultz had convinced his superiors and the chief of the Krupp Works Police to allow him to personally interrogate the prisoner before he was to be executed. After all, he was likely an American, and Schultz had spent most of his life in the United States. Perhaps he could get through to him and find out what his mission was and who had sent him.

Schultz entered Franklin's cell accompanied by one armed guard. Franklin was still chained to a wooden chair, and did not appear to recognize him. Schultz turned to the guard and asked, "Sprache sie Englische?"

The guard replied, "Nein"

That was good. This would have been a short conversation had the guard been able to understand what they were saying. Albert spoke to Franklin, "Hello, Mr. Brown. You probably don't remember me. My name is Albert Schultz. I played for you back in the early 30's. Please don't give the guard any impression that you recognize me."

It was very difficult for Franklin to keep his jaw off the floor and his eyes from going wide. What the hell were the chances of this? In a low, even tone, he replied, "I do remember you, Albert. You were "Mr. Irrelevant" in 1932. What are you doing here?"

"I don't have time to explain. I work for Krupp, but I wish to help you. They plan to execute you tomorrow."

"Can you get a key to this place? Or get me past the guards here? If I can get out in the open, I'm pretty sure I can manage the rest on my own."

"I have access to explosives. I will need a diversion."

"I can help with that. In the factory I was caught in, there is a very small device attached to the back side of the large press on the west side of the building. I did not have a chance to arm it. It is a small disc, with a red button in the center. Press the button, and I will be able to create your diversion."

"How?"

"I'll explain that later. Just head straight here from the factory. There will be a large explosion. You may still have to kill a few guards. Do you have a pistol?"

"I have many pistols."

"Good. Bring two. I'll handle the rest once you get me out of here."

"Alright. What should I tell my superiors? The will ask what we talked about."

"Tell them I told you that I am an American reporter. They won't believe it, but they will believe that is what I told you."

"Very well. I will go to the factory tonight. Will you know when I have armed the device?"

"Yes. One more thing; there was another man captured with me. Is he being held here as well?"

"I am afraid not. He attempted to escape during interrogation and was shot."

Franklin paused for a moment. There might still be hope. "It is very important that I see his remains before we leave."

Albert shook his head. "He will have been creamated by now, just as they dispose of the slaves who die here every day."

[Franklinnoble]

Essen, Germany
September, 1945

Later that night, Albert put on his heavy wool coat and took a walk towards the factory. He had to be careful - the factories ran night and day, and he carried a clipboard with him to make it appear as if he was taking inventory along the way.

He reached the press where Franklin had planted his device. It was sitting about waist high, between the press and the wall. Albert pressed the button to activate it, and continued his inspection of the factory, just to maintain appearances. He left, and walked towards the police station.

***

Inside his cell, Franklin watched the heads-up display generated by his suit. It was tattered and torn (although he could have let it self-repair at any time), but still was able to connect him to the explosives he had started to plant throughout the Krupp compound.

He had actually armed several of them already, but had been caught before arming the last one that Albert had just activated. He could not detect any of Oscar's explosives - Oscar had entered the Krupp compound after Franklin had, and had been caught almost immediately. Oscar had radioed Franklin frantically as he was taken - telling him to be sure that nothing fell into the hands of the Germans. Then the radio went silent - Oscar had disintigrated his earpiece. Franklin did the same, then heard a few explosions across the compound - Oscar must have gotten some of them off. Franklin figured on planting the last of his explosives before trying to free Oscar. But the Krupp police went on full alert, and had located him before he could get much further.

Now the last explosive had come online, and it was time to get out of here. He would blow as much of this place sky-high, and then come back for more if he had to. He wouldn't let Oscar's death be in vain.

Franklin gave Albert a few minutes to get clear of the factory, then set off the charges. All over the Krupp industrial compound, factories began to shudder and collapse under the devastating power of the micro-fusion bombs that Oscar had designed. Alarms began to sound, and guards and factory workers scrambled about.

Albert entered the police station as most of the police men ran out. He walked purposefully towards the detention center, and the guard at the main security booth asked him what his business was. Albert answered with two shots from one of his Mauser pistols, and grabbed the guard's keys. He ran back to Franklin's cell, and released him.

Franklin stood up and stretched for the first time in days. "Thanks, Albert. Let's get out of here."

"I can't leave. I have a wife and child in Austria. The Nazis will know I'm missing, and my loved ones will pay."

"Albert, I have a plane hidden just three miles from here. I can fly us to Austria to get your family, and bring all of you back to the U.S. with me."

"That's impossible. Your plane will hardly have enough fuel to return to Great Britain"

"Trust me, Albert. This is no ordinary plane."

Albert handed him one of his pistols and said, "Fine. We need to hurry. It'll take us a while to run three miles."

Franklin shook his head. "Screw that, we'll steal a car or something. They'll catch us too soon otherwise."

Franklin found a truck parked about a block from the police station, and drove it to where he had hidden the B-17 - in the middle of a forest outside the city. As he and Albert boarded the plane, Albert asked, "How do you get this thing in and out of here with all these trees around?"

Franklin answered, "Like this." He sat down in the cockpit and flipped on the ignition. The fusion core came to life with a deep hum, and then the plane ascended straight up out of the forest.

Albert looked stunned. "You're right. This is no ordinary plane."

Franklin scowled as he brought the weapons console online. "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

Oscar had insisted that they not use unconventional weapons against the Germans - it could have dangerous consequences on the timeline (which had already been screwed up enough). Franklin decided it was time to bend the rules a bit. He punched in the command that switched the .50mm nose cannon from conventional ammuntion to explosive armor-piercing shells. He then targeted the first of several Krupp factories still undamaged from the earlier explosions, and pulled the trigger.

At a rate of over 8,000 rounds per minute, the explosive shells made short work of most of the manufacturing capacity of Friedrich Krupp AG. The effect was swift and devastating, with thousands of explosions lighting up the entire compound almost simultaneously.

With his strafing run complete, Franklin pointed the B-17 towards Austria. He would have to do a lot of explaining to Albert along the way.

[Dawgfan1980]

God Bless Franklin

[JeeberD]

Simply amazing work...

[Franklinnoble]

Ashburn, VA
June, 1946

America dropped the first atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in May of 1946, and the Japanese immediately capitulated. Less than a month later, Berlin fell, and World War II was finally over. American troops would soon be on their way back home, and Franklin began planning for the NFL to resume operations in 1947 - it was too late to prepare for a season this fall.

Franklin had given Albert Schultz a home in Maryland and a generous reward for his help in Germany. He didn't tell Albert the truth about who he was or where he was from - he simply said that he had access to highly advanced experimental technology as an industrial scientist, and that he really couldn't tell him much more about it. Albert didn't press the matter. He was happy to be returning to the U.S. with his family.

Franklin was listening to the news of the German surrender on the radio and reading the Washington Post when he got the phone call. Reginald interrupted him.

"Sir, you have an urgent telephone call."

"Who is it?"

"Someone claiming to be Mr. Baines. I assumed it was a prank, and hung up on him the first time, but he called back, and was able to describe in some detail the grounds of the estate, and the fact that you prefer Romeo y Julieta cigars."

Franklin furrowed his brow. Oscar was creamated in Essen nearly 9 months ago. But nobody really knew who Oscar Baines was in this timeline. Who else could it possibly be? He picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Franklin! Thank God that damned butler of yours didn't hang up again. International phone calls are not an easy thing right now." It sure sounded like Oscar.

"Oscar? How the hell did you survive the furnace at Essen?"

"What are you talking about? Listen, I don't have much time on here. Do you think you can get the B-17 into Paris?"

"Sure. The commercial airport isn't really open for business yet, but I still know some people at Fort Meade. I can be there tonight."

"Great. I gotta get off this line. See you later."

Well, Franklin thought, this should make for an interesting story. He sounds pretty good for a guy that's supposed to be a pile of ashes.

[Franklinnoble]

Paris
June, 1946

One of the latest improvements that Oscar Baines had engineered in the biomechanical nanomachines that he and Franklin posessed was carbon fiber skeletal augmentation. After the encounter with Nordberg in Berlin, Oscar had considered what Nordberg had said.

Too bad that idiot didn't aim for your head.

If Franklin had been shot in the head, he would have been killed, by most definitions. Sure, the nanomachines would have repaired the damage to his brain and skull, but it was unlikely that he'd be anything more than a vegetable after having a bullet blow through his dome. So, Oscar decided to take some preventive measures.

The internal nanomachines were programmed to create a microscopic carbon fiber lattice throughout their hosts skeleton. The process was completed over the course of a few weeks, without any noticeable side effect. The result? Franklin and Oscar's bones were virtually unbreakable.

When Oscar was captured at Essen, he had already set charges at several strategic locations, and he detonated them as he was taken into custody, in hopes that the diversion might give him an opportunity to escape. It did not, and he was thrown in a cell and interrogated.

After being brutally beaten by three Krupp policemen, Oscar spat in one of their faces, and called him a "sitzpinkler." This enraged the man, who promptly drew his pistol and shot Oscar four times in the chest, then once in the head, for good measure.

The bullet didn't penetrate his skull, but the impact of the shot gave Oscar a severe concussion and left him unconscious for four days. He appeared dead, as the nanomachines rushed to treat his brain injury and did not bother to repair his heart and lungs for the first six hours after he was shot.

Ordinarily, dead prisoners and enslaved jews and Russians were simply cremated at the Krupp compound. It was a clean, efficient way to dispose of the remains. However, one of Oscar's explosives was in fact planted at the creamatorium, and the dead were now being thrown in a mass grave made from an empty open pit coal mine.

Oscar laid buried with hundreds of dead bodies for four days before he regained consciousness in his horrific surroundings. He dug himself out and carefully surveyed the Krupp compound, realizing that Franklin had used the B-17 to finish the job, and was long gone.

With no clothes, no money, and reeking like a dead man, it was all Oscar could do to evade the Germans and make his way towards France. The winter was especially brutal, and he spent most of it camped out in a forest in the mountains outside Stuttgart. By spring, the German lines were falling back, and after France was liberated, Oscar finally made it to Paris.

Making a simple phone call hadn't been easy. He was a man without any real identity who had no business being in Europe, so it was not as if he could simply walk up to the nearest G.I. and ask him to radio Washington. When phone service was finally restored to parts of the city, Oscar had climed a telephone pole and tapped the line to make his call to Franklin.

***

The men had exchanged their stories of their escape from Essen on the flight back from Paris and were now enjoying cigars on the porch of Franklin's Ashburn estate. Oscar was planning to stay the night and then leave for his home in California the next day.

Oscar asked Franklin, "So, it's back to football for you now?"

Franklin nodded. "Yep. We'll take this fall off - not enough time to get players drafted for this year and all that. But we'll start again in '47."

"Well, it looks like things are back to normal. The Germans lost a lot of steam when Essen went down. I figured they'd have to surrender in under a year."

"Yeah, they did, but there might be one problem."

"What's that?" Oscar asked.

"You haven't heard? Adolph Hitler is still at-large."

[JeeberD]

Oscar spat in one of their faces, and called him a "sitzpinkler." This enraged the man, who promptly drew his pistol and shot Oscar four times in the chest, then once in the head, for good measure.

Beautiful! :D

[Franklinnoble]

Yeah, I've been trying to come up with a way to work "sitzpinkler" into the story for a couple of days now. :D

[AStott]

Finally got a chance to read this entire thread. I was half expecting you to do a combined Hearts of Iron/FOF2004 dynasty... :)

[Poli]

Ironically, three new cousins have suddenly appeared beside me. :)

[sterlingice]

Well, of course we all know that in 1957 the Occult Wars finally come to an end with the death of Adolf Hitler. ;)

SI

[Franklinnoble]

Well, of course we all know that in 1957 the Occult Wars finally come to an end with the death of Adolf Hitler. ;)

SI
Fortunately, Hitler never acquires the Spear of Longinus in this timeline.

[sterlingice]

Fortunately, Hitler never acquires the Spear of Longinus in this timeline.
Phew. That was a close one ;)

SI

[JeeberD]

Bumpsters

[Franklinnoble]

Bumpsters
I've been waiting for Cap to finish his draft file generator... fear not, updates will be coming soon.

[sterlingice]

Screw your blog, get back to this ;)

SI

[finkenst]

Fortunately, Hitler never acquires the Spear of Longinus in this timeline.
why does the "Spear of Longinus" ring a bell?

[Franklinnoble]

Screw your blog, get back to this ;)

SI
Yeah, yeah. My creative batteries needed a little re-charging.

[Franklinnoble]

why does the "Spear of Longinus" ring a bell?
It's a "Hellboy" movie reference... similar to SI's comment about Hitler dying in 1958.

[sterlingice]

Yeah, yeah. My creative batteries needed a little re-charging.
I hear that. We love the story but don't rush. Better to take your time and get it done on your own schedule than to get burned out and either muck it all up or quit. Any of us subscribed to the thread will know when you put up new updates :D

SI

[finkenst]

can't let this fall off page 1... we need an update, ladies man.

[sterlingice]

can't let this fall off page 1... we need an update, ladies man.
Oh great, now Oscar's catch phrase is going to be "do it in the butt"

SI

[Franklinnoble]

Sorry... wife was in the hospital all last week... kinda knocked me off schedule. I'll try to get an update done in the next day or so.

[Poli]

No pressure. I'll just kill a kitten a day until I see the update.

[sterlingice]

No pressure. I'll just kill a kitten a day until I see the update.
It's amazing what you can find when you google "kill" and "kitten" and while I could have gone with the picture of someone holding a gun to the cute kitty, I think this one says a lot more about AE and what he's threatening :p

SI

http://www.iwu.edu/%7Erbarrett/Kill%20Kitten-Smaller.gif

[Poli]

That about says it.

[Franklinnoble]

I'm going to have to come up with a major plot twist on this dynasty...

... because I lost the original game file. :(

Never fear... I'll think of something.

In the meantime, AE can continue to do his part to control the stray kitten population...

[Poli]

DIE DIE DIE DIE!!!!!!




AE ANGRY!!! AE SMASH!!!!

GARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

[Franklinnoble]

Not to worry. Realistically, this dynasty wasn't that game-driven anyway... so it'll be a smooth recovery.

[Poli]

Not to worry. Realistically, this dynasty wasn't that game-driven anyway... so it'll be a smooth recovery.Ok then. I suppose I'll just keep killing kittens then.

[sterlingice]

Not to worry. Realistically, this dynasty wasn't that game-driven anyway... so it'll be a smooth recovery.
That's good. I was about to say... I mean, sure there was game in the dynasty but it was much more plot driven. That said, you have to scrap some of what you were going to do and that sucks.

SI

[JeeberD]

I suppose I'll just keep killing kittens then.

"When masturbation's lost its fun
You're fucking lazy"

-Green Day

[Franklinnoble]

I have come up with a new way to ressurect this dynasty.

I'll be using the new release of FOF and TCY to do it.

Stay tuned... if I'm not too busy tomorrow, I'll have something substantial posted here. You should be able to lay off the kittens...

Here's a few hints:

* Nordberg is dead, but he left something behind. Go back a few pages if you forgot. And Hitler is still at large (don't worry... after the next big plot device, I'm done using the Nazi storyline).

* There will be one more trip to the past, but it could be the last for our hero... as we know him.

* Franklin and Oscar will find a way to send a message back to the future.

[JeeberD]

Franklin is going to kill Jerry Jones as a young man and assume his identity!!! :eek:

[Franklinnoble]

Franklin is going to kill Jerry Jones as a young man and assume his identity!!! :eek:

Ugh... and play as the Cowboys?

No, I have something far worse in mind for our hero... ;)

[Franklinnoble]

Ashburn, VA
January 1, 1948
3 a.m., Eastern Standard Time

Franklin had gone to bed shortly after 1 a.m., following a New Year's Eve party held at Redskins Park. But he didn't sleep long.

He was immediately snapped to attention by an alarm set off by his internal nanomachines. They were connected to his surveillance equipment in his laboratory, and were programmed to wake him with a quick shot of adrenaline in case of emergency. Something was very wrong.

He rushed to the lab, where the main wall monitor displayed what had set off the alarm. There were hundreds of inbound missiles headed towards every major city in North America and Europe. Some had been launched from Siberia, others from Africa, and others from Mexico. They were moving low and fast, and had already begun to strike the closer targets. His satellites were only able to stop a handful of them, as they were not orbital projectiles.

"Good lord..."

He hit the button to open a channel to Oscar Baines. There was no answer. The screen indicated that most of Northern California would be struck at about the same time as the Mid-Atlantic - in about 10 minutes. It was just after midnight on the West coast - Oscar was likely out at a New Year's Eve party, and wouldn't know what hit him.

There wasn't time to think. The Ashburn facility had anti-ballistic defensive measures, but that wouldn't keep out the radiation. There would be no fewer than a dozen nuclear warheads exploding over Washington, D.C. in just a few minutes. There was nothing Franklin could do to stop it.

He ran out to the hangar and fired up the B-17. He was 200 miles over the Atlantic when the nation's capitol was incinerated.

Over the next 45 minutes, his satellites reported the results: It was total armageddon. The only major city that was spared was Berlin. The culprit was obvious.

Suddenly, the north Atlantic satellite reported an incoming transmission. Franklin patched it through.

"Who is this?" He demanded.

"I should ask you the same thing." The accent was German. But the voice was not familiar.

"My name is Franklin Brown. You've obviously discovered my satellites, and I assume you are the one who has just unleashed a total nuclear holocaust upon the entire globe. Congratulations. The planet is yours, for whatever it's worth now."

"Do not worry, Mr. Brown. My nuclear warheads are remarkably clean. The death toll will be enormous, but the radiation contaminiation should be manageably low, especially with the technology at my disposal."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Colonel Lukas Weiss. I was a special operations officer in the Third Reich. I am sure you were expecting Herr Nordberg."

So, this bastard knew who Nordberg was, and obviously got the technology from him. "No, I took care of Nordberg personally. Obviously I should have been more thorough."

"Obviously. Mr. Nordberg left something behind for me - something that I have now used to correct Germany's defeat. Herr Hitler is most pleased. Tell me... why does your satellite tell me that you are over the middle of the ocean?"

Shit! He's hacked the satellite! There's not much time...

Franklin cut off the transmission and engaged the B-17's stealth mode. It would still be possible for Weiss to find him, when he figured out the rest of the satellite's operational capacity - which meant he could shoot him down, too. There was only one option left. Franklin engaged the hyperjet and headed for the South Pole. Antarctica was the one area on the planet lacking continuous satellite coverage - it would buy him a few minutes.

It was all he needed. Weiss began to adjust the satellite's orbit just as Franklin completed the calculations for the quantum gate. He would go back again and solve this problem once and for all.

[Poli]

WOO!

[Franklinnoble]

Washington, D.C.
June, 1827

Washington, D.C. was not at all recognizeable to Franklin. The city hadn't full recovered yet from being burned to the ground by the British 15 years earlier, and it was a sprawling mess - not quite urban, and not entirely rural.

Franklin had hidden the B-17 in the wilderness not far from where he had once lived in Ashburn. It would move itself if anyone got close to finding it. He had been here a week, having arrived just after Nordberg. It had taken him a few days to walk to town and procure suitable transportation (a stocky paint horse), but his tracking system had done the rest. Nordberg was hiding out in a farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Franklin knew he had the element of surprise, so he walked up to the door, and simply knocked.

There was no answer. He pushed the door open and walked inside. The scene in the kitchen was not pleasant - the bodies of a man, woman, and two small boys were lying in the middle of the floor, their throats slashed. Franklin drew what looked like a percussion cap pistol. It was actually the same sort of weapon he had used to dispatch Nordberg once before.

He walked towards the living room, and was suddenly struck from behind. He fell to the ground, and the pistol clattered across the floor. He turned over to see Nordberg standing over him, brandishing a shovel and his pistol.

"I don't know how you don't have a busted skull right now, but I'm guessing this gun of yours is loaded." Nordberg pointed it at Franklin's head.

There wasn't time to think about it. If Nordberg got the shot off, Franklin would be incinerated, and the mission would be a failure. There was only one option.

"Well, I didn't figure on it ending like this, Nordberg. But, what the hell." Franklin grinned at Nordberg. Nordberg paused.

"How do you know my name?" A puzzled, frightened look came across Nordberg's face.

"Only idiot bad guys in lame movies explain themselves before dispatching their prey. Intitiate death blossom protocol. Level one."

"What the hell?"

It was the last thing either man said. The death blossom was a self-destruct program that Oscar had come up with in the event that, well, either of them ever needed to self-destruct. Level zero was simple self-incineration. Level ten took out everything for 100 square miles. Level one would flash-fry Franklin, Nordberg, and most of the house they were in.

Which is exactly what happened.

***

Miles away, the B-17 registered the self-destruct signal. It noted that Nordberg's signal had been extinguished as well, and therefore required only two more actions - preparing the package, and initiating its own self-destruct. Both took only a few seconds, and then the plane was vaporized.

***

To be continued...

[finkenst]

Yay!

and what?!

[Franklinnoble]

Umm... and they all lived happily ever after?


:D


Gimme a little time here... I'm working on it.

[Poli]

It's ok. I mean, you've saved, what, 2 or 3 kittens.

[Franklinnoble]

Epilogue
Ashburn, VA
June, 1827

The package was a box no larger than a Sunday newspaper, encased in a black nanopolymer. It was constructed of and contained the most advanced nanotechnology ever developed. But its secrets would remain hidden for decades.

Now it would hide. Self-propulsion jets appeared from its sides, and the package launched itself into high orbit. An object that small would be nearly impossible to detect, even without the stealth technology that it employed.

It would remain there, until its master returned.

***

Continued in the Remember Tomorrow dynasty thread... (http://dynamic2.gamespy.com/%7Efof/forums/showthread.php?t=32323)