6th of January, 1007 ALB (1962 AD)

03:30 Hours

London

Ministry of Defence Main Building

This new world seemed to not understand that London was not used to cold weather. It was used to wet weather.

Colonel Edmund Blackadder adjusted his coat as he walked through the crowded and busy hallways of the Ministry of Defence Main Building. There were officer staff and other bureaucrats moving paperwork about as outside it was snowing. Snow in London was not normal. Either way, ever since Operation Glorious Showdown's splendid success, all troop movement was, due to obvious reasons, diverted to securing the city's defenses against anything that might threaten the safety of the city. Any shred of normalcy was thrown out the window long ago.

The Telecon & Communications Room was buzzing with operators, especially after contact had been made with Philadelphia, establishing the fact that other aligned nations had also successfully managed to transfer their cities and populations. However, there were also detections of other forms of communications—ones that were eerily similar to Britain's, yet somehow outdated.

Either way, that did not concern Blackadder, for currently, he had received a memo via his phone that he was to come to Melchett's office for a special reason. Knowing the man, who had taken cybernetic implants which did not help with the man's sanity that was as existing as a vampire's reflection, it would be either for a stupid reason or for a good reason. Blackadder betted on the former.

He walked for a few minutes before he found the plaque that said "FIELD MARSHAL SIR ANTHONY CECIL HOGMANAY MELCHETT".

He stood before the double doors, straightened his uniform, grabbed his officer's cap off his head and moved it to his side, holding it by the arm. He then inhaled, closed his eyes, and exhaled. He opened his eyes as he faced the oak-wooden doors in front of him, straightening his mustache. He then grabbed the handles, pushed the doors open, and stepped in before closing the doors behind him, pushing his back against them.

The first thing he saw in the overly-extravagant office, with all the reminders of the Field Marshal's long and distinguished career with some seized antiques from his conquests in Africa, alongside the gold-plated letters of the quote, "If there be a God, I think that what he would like me to do is paint as much of the map of Earth as British Red as possible." by the colonial secretary, Cecil Rhodes, on the wall behind the Field Marshal's table, was Colonel Kevin Darling working on several piles of documents.

"What is it, Darling?"

Colonel Darling raised his head, pouting. "It's Colone-!" He was stopped by Blackadder raising his hand.

"Let's not repeat that scene, shall we?" Blackadder skidded his boots against the polished wooden floor, looking around. "The telemail summons you sent says that the Field Marshal has requested me for a 'special reason'." He pitched his nose, inhaling deeply. "One moment."

"What?" inquired Darling.

"Kevin, I am utterly terrified at the special reason and knowing the marshal, he is going to make me do something that would make me rather be on cleaning duty rather than follow his orders," Blackadder said, lowering his arm.

"What could possibly make you want latrine duty?"

"Oh, I don't know, perhaps taking a platoon of men to paint the grass in the trench system green because the Field Marshal said they looked 'far too brown and depressing.' God knows how the French didn't notice us. I still remember that German's face when I told him what we were doing."

Before Darling could speak, the adjacent door to the office was flung open. Melchett looked at the door handle in his cybernetic hand for a moment, blinking before he bellowed, "Damn this blasted arm!" He then let it fall, stepping into the room. "What's going on, Darling?"

Both men immediately clicked to attention as Darling opened his mouth to talk. "Colonel Blackadder to see you, sir!"

The Field Marshal looked at the other body in the room before he grinned, clapping his hand as he walked over. "Ah, Blackadder, splendid to see you here! At ease."

Blackadder put his arms behind his back, feeling the weight of the metallic arm of the Marshal on his shoulder. "Indeed, sir." He thanked the Lord he had his back's skin made slightly more robotic. He had to replace it after his back caught on fire on the Eastern Front.

"Now then, do you know why I called you here?" Melchett's grin didn't falter, his eyes looking at the Colonel with glee, daring the man to guess.

"Perhaps to tell me that I have done my duty and I can honorably discharge?" Blackadder guessed.

"Of course not!" The Field Marshal chuckled, slapping his hand on the Colonel's chest before stomping over to his desk. He then grunted as he took his seat. "No, nothing of the sort. After all, duty calls!" He crossed his fingers together, looking at the Colonel. "No, Colonel. What I want you to do is some reconnaissance!"

"Reconnaissance, sir?" inquired Blackadder. "Don't we have planes for that?"

"Bah! All the planes sadly melted from the nuclear blasts. No, we are doing this the old-fashioned way!" Melchett slapped his hands. "Now then, what I want you to do, Blackadder, is take a company of men and start exploring our surroundings in this alien world! You may take some of the hardsuits and mechanized units with you for extra security!"

"Ah yes, sir, I am all for security, but I must say that any presumed alien who sees a 3-meter-tall walking tin can with machineguns slapped onto them will most definitely not be thinking that we come in peace," Blackadder remarked. "I also must say that they are a bit overkill."

"No such thing!" Melchett said as he looked at a file. "And our Prime Minister has ordered us to start inspecting the territory nearby. Should we make contact with any aliens, we are to engage with them diplomatically." He said with glee, slapping the file cover closed. He looked at Blackadder, getting up and putting his arms behind his back.

Blackadder sighed inwardly, knowing that any attempt at diplomacy would probably end with him having to clean up the resulting mess—both metaphorical and literal. "Understood, sir. I'll prepare the men and the hardsuits."

"Good man!" shouted the marshal before sitting back down. "Dismissed. "

Blackadder clicks his heels, before he turns around and starts walking out of the office. He opens the doors, walks through and closes it.

Lord, give me strenght.

04:10 Hours

Outskirts of London

Captain Bennet's heavy, armor-plated boots crunched into the snow, leaving dirty footprints due to the weight of his armor. In his hands, he held a shellgun. A shellgun was a mounted, albeit slightly smaller, artillery piece modified to look like a grenade launcher, but bigger. It could fire one shot at a time, using 40mm pieces wrapped on a belt around the hardsuit. It had a bolt and could fit one shell at a time. If it was used alone, one would need to be fast in that hardsuit or risk getting incapacitated by an anti-tank shell. If a group, at least three people, would use it, then God have mercy on whom it may concern. It was also heavy and could get stuck if it wasn't oiled well enough.

That's why hardsuits always had, at least, infantry support (although mechanized was generally preferred). If the combined arms approach was used, they would truly be an unstoppable force. There were also carrier-helicopters made specifically to carry hardsuit soldiers from one point to another, and they could also act as attack-helicopters that had mounted shellguns on them. The only issue was that it couldn't fly more than 100 meters above the ground due to the obvious weight on it.

Bennet didn't like the snow. It made his shellgun get wet. Alas, he continued to walk forward, flanked by two others, Sergeant James and Sergeant Garry.

"I haven't seen this clear a snow ever since the fifties," Garry uttered on the microphone implanted inside the helmet.

"Why?" asked James, slightly turning his head to Garry. "Were you sent to the Balkan Campaign early on?"

Garry nodded. "First bunch to be shipped off, lad." Garry got curious. "You?"

James turned to face the Captain's back before he looked forward, continuing the pace. "It was almost the same amount of snow in Borealia as here."

Garry followed the gesture, looking forward. "You're from Borealia?" asked Garry, to which James nodded. "Did you have a family back there?"

James grunted as he tilted his head down, looking at his shellgun. "Grandparents. Both dead."

A wave of silence fell, the only thing audible being the foreign wind blowing against the power armor before Garry muttered, "I'm sorry."

A sigh was heard on the radio, as James chuckled. "Don't be. They died before the nukes could kill 'em." There was a tinge of sorrowful happiness in that tone, James being happy that his grandparents died naturally. That sent Bennet on a memory spiral, remembering the Imperial Civil War in which the British Empire crushed the dissidents within the UCA, ensuring the crown jewel remained forever loyal to the Crown. Bennet was raised by an American father. He was killed by the rebels in New England during the first firefights. His father's death motivated Bennet to sacrifice his body and become a hardsuit soldier, wanting to get revenge on the rebels who brutally burned his father's barn. In the end, he did by becoming one of the most decorated super-soldiers of the British Empire and fighting in all the wars that Imperial Britain got herself in, fighting in a desperate bid to prove, perhaps to himself, that he was a loyalist British-American. Even after he was given official citizenship to the home islands, his insecurities still haunt him.

His thoughts were interrupted by child-like laughter. He raised his fist, halting. The other two halted. They too had heard the laughter. "Where is it coming from?" asked James.

"Over there!" Garry pointed at a light source in the distance as the other two turned their heads to the right to where Garry was pointing. The trio turned and walked towards the dim light, walking up the hill. The snow made it hard for them to walk without slipping and sliding down. James had to use his combat knife, shoving it into the ground to act as support. The weight of the shellgun held them down. Yet, the men pushed on, determined to see what was that eerie laughter.

After they got on top of the hill, they saw a small town with cottages all around it. What left them astounded were three small ponies in warm wear, playing with a ball. They were pastel-colored, and all of them reacted like humans would.

The three soldiers, men who had long forgotten the beauty of childhood, simply stared, confused.

The three fillies in question were laughing cheerfully. Sandy, a unicorn mare, levitated the ball to her earth pony friend, who in turn kicked it to Nighty Pike, their batpony friend who laughed as he caught the ball with his hooves.

"Oi, try not to kick it so hard, Muscles!" he shouted at the earth pony.

Muscles giggled as he grinned. "Sorry! I can't help it!"

All three of them laughed as Nighty threw the ball at Muscles again, who in turn kicked it hard directly over his head and at the hill behind them. Sandy looked over her shoulder before she looked back at her friends. "Quick, before mom and dad discover we are out of bed!" she shouted, before checking for lights being turned on.

"Okay, hang on!" Nighty shouted as he turned around and ran towards the hill to grab the ball. He was so focused on the ball that he didn't notice who was in front of him. As he grabbed the ball in his mouth, making sure his fangs didn’t accidentally dig into it, he looked up. His night vision showed him something that made his blood run cold. His mouth left agape, and the ball fell from his mouth, rolling back down the hill.

"Aye, what's wrong Nighty?" shouted Sandy as she caught the ball with her magic.

Nighty began to stutter. "M-M-M-M-M-...!" He then began to trot backward, fear filling his veins. "MONSTERS!" he shrieked as he began to run away.

The two looked at their friend running away before turning their heads to the hill. They heard the groan of something metallic, hissing, and slow stomping. Then they saw three giant, bipedal metal beasts about the size of a lamppost, staring at them. One of them was carrying what looked like a big knife. The three beasts simply stared at them with their neon-green visors. A robotic voice came from one of them. "Hello."

That was enough to snap them out of their paralysis and send them running and screaming.

"Hello." was all that Garry said. And that sent the little ponies running off.

"Great first impression. Maybe they saw yer ugly face. " joked James. That got James a push from Garry's hand. "Watch your mouth." Garry grunted to a chuckling James.

"Enough. " said Bennet as he turned around. "Based on this.." he turned his head, looking back at the villiage which lights were already turning on. "..it seems we made contact with an alien civilization." he shrugged.

"Should we report this?" asked James. The two turned their heads to James. Even behind the armor, it was clear that they were staring at him as if he was stupid. "We will. " simply answered Bennet and began to walk, the others walking forward, flanking Bennet.

Contact has been established.

Author's Note

Sorry for not posting anything for a week, I was on vacation and forgot to announce it.

Also, enjoy some Blackadder. (apologises if it is not funny)