Not everyone in the U.S. military had General Ross’s talent for picking fights with S.H.I.E.L.D. This operation had also been authorized through the World Security Council, so the requested reinforcements arrived with remarkable speed.
A fully equipped Army major strode forward and snapped off a crisp salute.
"Sir! Major Gary Sanderson, reporting with the assigned support force."
Unfortunately, he saluted the wrong man.
Phil Coulson accepted the greeting with his usual pleasant smile.
"Thank you for the assistance, Major." He gestured toward Evenson, who had suddenly become fascinated by a patch of sky roughly forty-five degrees above the horizon. "He’s the commanding officer."
Inside, Evenson was dying.
Seriously? The one time I actually get to be in charge, everyone assumes I’m somebody’s assistant.
He had almost returned the salute on reflex before realizing what was happening. That would have been unforgettable for all the wrong reasons.
Sanderson looked Evenson up and down.
That’s the commander?
The man didn’t project the aura of an elite operative. If anything, he looked like someone who could sell you a "genuine designer watch" from the trunk of a car.
Then the major’s military-trained brain found a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Of course.
Real intelligence veterans don’t look like spies. If you can identify them at a glance, they’re terrible spies. This must be one of those legendary professionals who’s so experienced he blends into any crowd.
His expression immediately shifted from confusion to respect as he stepped over to salute again.
Evenson waved him off.
"I heard you the first time. Skip the ceremony. Tell me what you brought."
Sanderson straightened.
"One company of elite infantry, all equipped with heavy weapons."
Truck after truck unloaded soldiers.
They were in excellent condition, disciplined and well trained. Nearly every man carried an M249 SAW, while their backs were loaded with disposable rocket launchers or rotary grenade launchers. Standard assault rifles seemed almost like an afterthought.
As ammunition crates were unloaded, Evenson noticed radiation symbols stenciled across many of them.
Depleted uranium armor-piercing rounds.
The cleanup crews were going to hate this battlefield afterward.
"Good," Evenson said with a nod. "But I’m more interested in the really heavy hardware."
Sanderson answered immediately.
"Five self-propelled artillery pieces. Eight AH-64 Apache attack helicopters. Ten main battle tanks."
Enough firepower to erase a small town.
Evenson still looked unconvinced.
"That’s all?"
"The nearby base also has two Air Force strike groups on standby. They can reach this location in under a minute and conduct saturation bombing."
A smile finally appeared on Evenson’s face.
"Now you’re speaking my language."
Sanderson hesitated.
"There’s... one more thing."
"What?"
"I’ve been authorized to designate targets for Tomahawk cruise missiles." He paused before adding, "And I also have launch authority for three Jericho missiles."
Evenson blinked.
That’s a little excessive.
Cruise missiles? Really? And Jericho missiles? Stark Industries’ famous export?
I’d rather not reduce the thing we’re waiting for into radioactive gravel. I still need it.
"Permission to ask a question, sir?" Sanderson said carefully.
"Go ahead."
"Is this... a training exercise?"
Evenson turned to him.
"A training exercise?"
He let out a quiet laugh before his expression hardened.
"No."
"If you want you and your men to stay alive, stop thinking of it that way."
Sanderson swallowed.
"...Then who are we fighting?"
It was a reasonable question.
This was New Mexico, not some overseas battlefield. Mobilizing tanks, artillery, helicopters, cruise missiles, and combat aircraft made no sense unless America had somehow declared war on another nation.
A handful of terrorists certainly weren’t worth this.
"Focus on establishing your defensive positions," Evenson said.
"Our enemy will be here very..."
He stopped.
His eyes lifted toward the sky.
A massive surge of energy washed over the desert.
Then a pillar of brilliant rainbow light tore across the heavens before crashing onto the distant plain.
"...soon."
Sanderson stared in disbelief.
"...That’s the enemy?"
The impossible column of shimmering colors looked less like a weapon and more like someone had stabbed an enormous rainbow popsicle into the Earth.
Was it some classified orbital weapon?
Coulson looked equally stunned.
"What is that?"
"The Bifrost."
The rainbow beam faded as quickly as it had appeared.
"Our guests have arrived."
Sanderson’s stomach sank.
Wonderful.
Not a satellite weapon.
An alien interstellar gateway.
We’re going to war with extraterrestrials.
Is it too late to request a transfer somewhere safer? Maybe an active combat zone.
"Can we get eyes on the landing site?" Evenson asked.
Sanderson hurried to the newly assembled satellite communications station before returning a minute later.
"The energy burst interfered with satellite imaging. We can’t get a visual."
He immediately offered another solution.
"I can send Apaches for close reconnaissance."
Coulson shook his head.
"My agents are already closer. I left two observers in the nearby town."
Evenson nodded.
"Use them."
A few moments later, the radio crackled.
The field agents sounded entirely too relaxed.
"Sir... we’ve spotted Xena... Jackie Chan... and Robin Hood..."
Evenson pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Please tell me these are the two agents you assigned to monitor Thor."
"...Yes."
Coulson’s expression darkened.
Thor had spent several days around the town before S.H.I.E.L.D. detained him, so the agents had remained behind to watch for anything unusual.
Apparently, they had taken the assignment far less seriously than expected.
"When this operation is over," Evenson said, "send both of them to Melinda."
Coulson unconsciously rubbed his own cheek.
He understood exactly what kind of "treatment" Evenson meant.
"Major," Evenson said, "launch your helicopters."
He added one final warning.
"Don’t get too close. And don’t provoke them."
About five minutes later, the reconnaissance helicopters transmitted live video.
Three men.
One woman.
All dressed in unmistakably Asgardian armor.
"Bring Thor," Evenson ordered. "Let’s identify our visitors."
Thor hurried over, excitement instantly replacing his frustration.
"My friends!"
He pointed enthusiastically at the screen.
"The Warriors Three!"
Then he pointed at the armored woman beside them.
"And that’s Lady Sif..."
Evenson glanced sideways.
"So... your wife?"
A sharp crack echoed through the room.
Jane Foster had just dropped her teacup.
It shattered across the floor.
Her mind had stopped functioning.
Wait...
Is this really happening?
Did the girlfriend just get blindsided because the actual wife showed up with backup?
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