Cent. Calendar 09/06/1639, Geheimdienst, Ragna, Gra Valkas Empire, 10:30

A bright streak of light leaking in from the window hits the white, cosmopolitan sofa and reflects from it, scattering all over the room which is decorated with plain, beige wallpapers. Countless dust particles danced in the light, accumulating on objects and furniture that were barely disturbed in the last few weeks. Hanging on the walls opposite to the windowed side were glass panels containing medals, awards, and certificates of recognition from the state and other institutions. All of them had one thing in common: they were awarded to Allen Schmidt, the person occupying the office as head of the Geheimdienst, the Gra Valkan intelligence organ. There he was on his office chair at one end of the room, leaning back on it as he held a cigar with one hand and the telephone to his ear with the other. He was back in Ragna in anticipation of the diplomatic crisis in Paganda exploding to full war, traveling to the capital all the way from his villa in Hochgarten at the other end of the empire. Just some minutes ago, he was informed that the sovereign of Paganda had surrendered and that they were currently in talks with the most senior officer of the Imperial Gra Valkan Army present. With the Leiforian front about to open up, he was currently in a call with another pro-martial conspirator regarding the upcoming fight.

“I am telling you, I personally don’t like that we have to act so soon.”

Inhaling the nicotine-filled smoke from the burning cigar, Schmidt immediately proceeds to exhale it to respond to the complaints from the other voice on the line.

“If not now, when? The others have also agreed that this is the most optimum time to do it, even if we disregard the fact that we’ve been sitting around for so long doing nothing.”

Schmidt dumped the cigar on the ashtray, killing the flames as he listened to the other voice sigh in exasperation.

“I agree, but... Donnerschlag relies heavily on so many variables we can’t control–ones that we have to risk so much so that everything lines up. Our preparations, which we’ve done with utmost care so that we’re not outed, could only muster one mechanized division for the entirety of the Leiforian front of the operation! They can’t even fully occupy the massive capital alone!”

Unfazed by these valid concerns, Schmidt replies.

“These risks are without a doubt valid, but we will get over them. Our victories back in Yggdra are not for naught.”

“But this is Asherah, not Yggdra! While Leifor isn’t a peer nation to us, they’re still formidable! Maybe not against an entire army group, but they’ll easily crush a single division!”

“Yet they’re still equally subject to fear, confusion, and deception. I believe that our own imperial forces can do the job, but I’ve played my own cards to seal my confidence in Donnerschlag’s success.”

The other voice replied with a measly “Ah” at Schmidt’s last statement. Knowing that he has personally put something from his own hands into the operation, his mind drifted to only one thing that Schmidt could have possibly sent.

“You’ve sent them in?”

Schmidt coughed loud as he said “Ja” over the phone so that no one else could hear it.

“And damage control for what they'll do?”

Schmidt let out a snicker.

“When was that ever a problem? The results they deliver are nothing short of... impeccable.”

Scenes and reports of Schmidt’s ‘cards’ causing untold damage and trouble back in the Rabany continent in Yggdra come to mind. While the government publicly denied the ruckus as anti-government propaganda and fabrications, he himself has seen the true scale of what had happened. Hearing that Schmidt’s boys were back in action, he shudders, which Schmidt could tell from the utter silence that prevailed for five whole seconds.

“...Give them my regards.”

“Of course!”

A “kachak” echoed from the other side of the telephone before dead silence took its place. With the conversation over, Schmidt put the telephone back on the receiver. The anxieties of the other man rubbed off on him, prompting him to take a deep breath before exhaling an equally hearty amount of air. He then takes a look at his office–the designated space for him in the building that he himself rarely uses. Bored with its unappealing, undecorated simplicity, he yearned to be back in his villa in the countryside. Just as he got lost in imagining the splendid view of the lush, green pastures of Hochgarten, his mental getaway was abruptly cut short by the sound of his office door opening. Through it came a person dressed in a white office shirt, khaki slacks, and his neck adorned with a color-coded tie that meant he belonged in the Abteilung KS-Dienst, the department dealing with cryptanalysis and language analysis.

“Director. There’s an urgent matter that requires your presence in a meeting with the department heads.”

Schmidt’s eyes sparkled as he licked his lips at the possibility that this was something incredibly juicy.

“Sure... But son, could you be bothered to spoil me some details ahead of the meeting?”

The man cleared his mouth as Schmidt looked at him with his mouth agape, savoring the last few moments of ignorance before he was drawn in by a possible new interest.

“Something regarding an incident in the far east in what the locals call the ‘Third Civilized Area’ that the Muish keep bringing up over and over again. Apparently, a yet-to-be-named nation toppled a large feudal kingdom with an extremely precise airstrike on the leadership.”

Schmidt clapped his hands as mixed emotions of surprise, curiosity, and anxiety reflected on his face as a wide grin. He then stood up from his chair.

“Wunderbar! Sounds like a worthy topic!”

Somewhere in Leiforia, Federal Empire of Leifor, 10:50

“Alright...”

A man dressed in dark clothing under a dark, ammo-filled, military-grade vest groaned as he landed on the moist, mossy floor in an underground sewage system. Revolting from the putrid smells of wastes and other filth, he immediately pulled up his black balaclava to cover his mouth and nose. Behind him, similarly dressed men drop onto the floor from the ladder leading up to the surface. With their six-man team all accounted for, the leading man then checked his wristwatch. Maneuvering his right arm towards the light leaking from the opening above, he sees the hands pointing to the time: 10:50.

“Almost time for the party. Let’s make sure that the guests of honor show up.”

The other men snickered and snorted behind their balaclavas as they pulled their Strauss MP5 submachine guns slung around their bodies. Now that they were ready, the leading man turned to the direction from where the water was flowing from, following the dark path ahead. Some ways down the path, they came across an opening in the wall to the left, presenting a well-lit path leading down to somewhere. Pulling out a crude drawing of a map of the system, the leading man looked at it and back towards the opening before he remarked.

“This should be the one.”

With his MP5 at the ready, he turned left and into the opening, followed by his other teammates.

Skies above Leiforia, 11:00

Meanwhile, high above the Leiforian capital, four brownish biplanes of the Leiforian Air Force flew southwest against the moderately strong winds of the late morning. These Muish-built biplanes, cruising at a modest 250km/h, were the current staples of the air wing of the Leiforian armed forces, bought as surplus from neighboring Mu after the Great War in an effort to keep their forces up to date. In light of airspace violations from the Gra Valkans a year ago, the Leiforians have upped their air patrols to maintain readiness for more daring incursions from the newcomers. Assuming that the Gra Valkas Empire is a nation with military technological advancement on par with the Muish, the Leiforians have since started to procure and develop monoplane designs, but since their numbers are still few, they’ve relegated them to interception duties while the older biplanes carried out patrols. At this point in time, the four airmen on patrol were only recently notified of the war declaration, and since they didn’t expect the Gra Valkans to attack any time soon, they maintained a regular state of readiness and only anticipated to find similarly small enemy patrols probing their airspace.

One of these airmen flew at the rightmost edge of the wedge formation of the flight and he was the closest of the four to the ocean. He swings his head from the front to the right, where beyond the intricate mesh of wires holding together both wings he sees the majestic city of Leiforia sprawling out from the mouth of a river delta emptying into a massive lagoon, which was held back from the ocean by several massive sandbars. Other than Fort Jan Povlsen, which stood at an island in the middle of the lagoon, guarding the harbor of the capital, he made out the individual, green tile roofings of the majority of the buildings of the city, giving it its name: the “Emerald of the West.” Setting aside the mood-destroying black smoke billowing out from the countless factories in the industrial parts of the city, it was a wholly spectacular sight. He felt a sense of awe at the captivating spectacle of Leiforia; a scene he always longed to see whenever he flew this patrol route. However, distracted as he was by this scene, his manacomm flaring to life brought him back to reality.

“Oi, fellas, I see some glints and silhouettes off in the distance at 2 o’clock! I count six... no wait, ten! Shit, more than ten!”

The comms flared to life with the chatter of the airmen talking about what they see off to the skies above the ocean to the west; while they had no idea who or what these silhouettes may be, standard protocol dictated that they should report this anomaly. The lead airman phoned the airbase where they were from.

“LL1, this is Kigge B-1. We’ve spotted more than ten aircraft of unknown origin coming from the west towards the east at estimated speeds of 500km/h. We are currently 10km south of Leiforia proper. Highly likely this is not your average patrol, over.”

“Acknowledged. Maintain patrol and visual sighting of the aircraft. We are sending in the Forfolgers to intercept; ETA 25 minutes.”

“Acknowledged.”

Carrying out their orders, the four airmen continued on their patrol southwest while they maintained watch on the approaching aircraft. Some moments later, the silhouettes now appeared to resemble actual planes, although their shape was unlike any monoplane they witnessed from Mu, which was their sole reference for possible Gra Valkan aircraft. If anything, they extremely resembled the polished, advanced-looking planes of the Imperials. To their horror, they grossly underestimated the speed of the aircraft as they grew in size and approached them at a rate faster than what they could comprehend.

“What the fuck? Shit, they’re too fast!”

They saw four aircraft detach from the main formation and were now heading towards them. Despite immediately realizing that they were about to be attacked, their reflexes unfortunately, failed to keep up.

“Break! Break! Bre-”

Before the Leiforian biplanes could move away from their wedge formation, they were whittled down by near-invisible bullets that seemingly came out of nowhere, tearing the delicate airframes apart as if they were made of paper. In a near instant, the four airmen were eviscerated in the split second it took to shoot the biplanes out of the sky, becoming the first Leiforian casualties in the conflict. As the shredded, burning parts of the biplanes lifelessly fell out of the sky, the dark grey aircraft that shot them down promptly returned to formation.

High in the windy, cloudy skies above the bustling, unsuspecting capital, an intrusive, alien formation of jet fighters sealed the fate of Leifor as they moved with unnervingly high speed to paralyze the still-grounded Leiforian air force. They were the opening act in the Gra Valkan grand scheme of cementing their status in Asherah as a power that was not to be underestimated. After a while, the formation of Imperial Gra Valkan Navy Air Service Ma-67 Jauchzers split as individual units proceeded to attack their designated targets: Leiforian aircraft parked or preparing to take off from air bases.

One of the Jauchzer units lined up their noses along a row of Leiforian Forfolger monoplane fighters that were taxiing to take off from an air base north of Leifor. Their unprecedented appearance, rude and unwelcome as it was, was simply too quick. The anti-air defenses of the air base could never have hoped to be ready on time, even if they had been manned at the first sign of an attack. Without mercy for the Leiforians who they literally caught off guard, the pilot of the lead Jauchzer unceremoniously said over the radio.

“Blitz! Blitz! Blitz!”

With the brevity code for guns transmitted over the comms for the rest of the unit to receive, the pilots then pressed on their triggers. The 20mm autocannons on the Jauchzers roared to life, sending a deadly rain of hot lead down on the parade of Leiforian monoplanes neatly lined up along the runway. The bulk of the rounds found their marks, completely devastating the helpless Forfolgers as sounds of metal being torn apart and ammunition exploding complemented the relentless warcry of Gra Valkan guns and jet engines.

Tatatatatatatata

Satisfied with the tremendously successful results of their gun run, the Jauchzers swiftly silenced their guns and pulled up back into the heavens. The jet fighters exited from the scene as quickly as they graced the Leiforians with their unwelcome presence, leaving in their wake multiple dead and runways littered with burning wrecks. All over the region, similar events took place, with the Gra Valkan war machine inflicting mounting casualties against the still, and now forever grounded Leiforian air force. After the dust had settled, almost the entirety of the fighting capabilities of Leifor’s air wings evaporated as patrols were shot down and hangars, planes on standby, and other aviation facilities lay destroyed, riddled with bullet holes.

Downtown Leiforia, a few minutes ago

“There we go...”

Letting out a pained groan–telling signs of a man going through his midlife crisis, Sauren Axar, President of Leifor, sat down in a passenger tram traveling northwards out of downtown. Despite his burly build and years of experience fighting in the Muish front of the Great War, he was not immune to the shadow cast by age. Next to him was a beautiful woman wearing a modest, lavender dress who, together with the comfortable green color of the tram, looked as if she was lilac in full bloom in the middle of a vibrant prairie. He took glances at her lips, dashed with equally striking, glossy red lipstick–probably one imported from Mu. Judging her to be in her late twenties, Axar also assumed that she was in the upper-middle class, which were the recipients of the lion’s share of an economy rising from the slumps brought by the aftermath of the Great War and Revolution. While he championed for uplifting the less fortunate from their woes, he nevertheless felt pride from seeing his hard work of managing the post-crisis Leiforian state taking shape in the most subtle ways. Still, he was reminded of one unintended ramification of the crises brought about by Leifor having lost the Great War when he saw words on the tram’s railings printed in bright yellow: “Imperial Kinsland Railway Company”–the name of a prominent Muish company.

“Hnngh.”

He personally did not like it. As the unchallenged victors of the Great War on the Mu continent, Mu was able to cram every single term it desired to enact on obvious losers such as Leifor. As a consequence of these terms, Muish companies gained considerable control and influence in Leifor in exchange for helping get the rest of the continent back in shape. Despite it being 20 years since the conflict, the recently established tram system in downtown Leifor was also a byproduct of those terms. While Axar did not like it, it undeniably made his daily commute between the Forbundsting, the parliament of Leifor, and his office at the other end of downtown much easier, so he benefited from it.

Suddenly, he felt a warm presence elegantly making contact with his left arm.

“Are you alright, mister?”

Looking to his left, he saw the amazing, brown eyes of the beautiful woman looking straight into his own. Her irises were nothing short of majestic as their soothing earthy color implanted seeds of admiration in his heart. However, he too grew conscious, wondering why such an enchanting maiden would strike up a conversation with an old man like him. He unwittingly covered his receding hairline with his right as he mentally coped with the situation that evolved beyond his capacities.

“Of course! I am just tired.”

How lame and unmanly, he thought.

“You looked really worried. It was as if you were having a nightmare wide awake.”

He then remembered his thoughts from just a while ago. He must have pondered so hard that his feelings manifested on his face. On top of reminiscing on the state of the Leiforian economy, they had recently just declared war on the Gra Valkas Empire, a nation that insisted it appeared from another world and was now trying to pick fights with the big boys. His mind was filled with things to do regarding that matter, such as contacting allies, mobilizing the military, preparing the economy, and so on. Before he could get lost in laying out the itinerary, he returned to the moment–back to the woman.

“Ah yes, indeed. The problems I deal with on a daily basis are no laughing matter.”

“Do they somehow involve housework and raising children?”

“Ah, no... But that isn’t to say that those are problems on their own...”

The woman let out a discrete “teehee” as she meekly covered her mouth.

“I appreciate a gentleman that recognizes our plight.”

She said as she looked at him with resolute eyes.

“Well, my wife does fancy airing out her political views on the matter. I can’t help but agree in the end.”

“I do hope my husband-to-be will see it that way too.”

Turning away from him, she looks off into the distance, her eyes that were filled with a determination just moments earlier now overflowing with forlorn distress. While Axar failed to grasp her feelings, he felt bad for her. As he reached out his hand in an attempt to help comfort her, distant, faint echoes reached his eardrum, registering in his head as explosions.

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

At a snap, his war instincts, long-buried under twenty years of post-war languidness, sprang to life and took control of every inch of his body. Discerning them to have come from above, he immediately stood up despite the moving tram and maneuvered his head out to get a view of the sky. There, off in the distance, his 60-year old eyes, despite the ravages of time, we're able to spot four distinct trails of smoke left behind by burning wrecks that were falling to the earth. Just as he was beginning to assume an attack was happening, he heard loud, countless, high-pitched shrieks echoing all over.

ZOOOOOOOOOOM

Once again, he ascertained them to be coming from above, and so motioned his head upwards but failed to find anything substantial besides telling vapor trails over the skies. Despite not knowing what left these and the high-pitched sounds behind, he knew deep inside that this wasn’t the end. Just then, he felt a tug on his suit.

“What’s going on?”

Joining him on the railings was the woman, who joined the commotion of commuters gathering on the railings, looking up at the sky and wondering what was happening. Axar turned towards her and was about to say something when he noticed her eyes widened while looking up at the sky. Following her line of sight, Axar looked around to find innumerable dark silhouettes peppering the late morning sky. Looking closely, he recognized them as aircraft, zooming past the capital from the west, but they were unlike any aircraft he had witnessed. They had long, slender airframes, wings attached to the top and angled backward, and cylinders hanging horizontally below each wing. On all of them, he made out an unfamiliar roundel of red with a superimposed black and white cross on its center. More importantly, he recognized that some of them had their bellies wide open. It wasn’t long after when flashes and clouds of debris and dust erupted from beyond the tall cityscape of buildings that blocked their street-level view. Mere moments later, they were assaulted by the tremendous, ear-piercing, tremor-inducing sounds of explosions.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The blasts shook everything without discrimination, rocking the tram that both he and the woman were riding in. While Axar held on firmly, the woman was caught off guard and tripped. As she fell from the tram and onto the cobblestone street, Axar’s reflexes kicked in with speed deceitful of his age. With his right arm still firmly on the railings, he caught the falling woman by her back and brought her away from a rough landing and back to the tram. Satisfied with his show of manliness, he smirked as he left the woman to process what had just happened.

“That was close. I’d hate to have lost a lilac like you in a sea of roses.”

To this, the woman’s cheeks were flush with red.

With the tram now stopped, he bid farewell to the woman whose name he had not yet inquired of before helping the other people disembark. As he was helping a child get off from the tram, more explosions, smaller than the others, rocked the vicinity. This time, it occurred further down the street they were in, sending people screaming and running away from the huge dust cloud that had manifested. Axar, perusing through the scenes in his memories of his untold number of commutes down this street, recognizes where the blasts had taken place.

“No! That’s the Imperial Telegraph building!”

Inwardly cursing the attackers for attacking the facility of a renowned Leiforian newspaper–a civilian target, he dropped off the child he was carrying before running off towards the scene of the carnage. Summoning whatever stamina he could muster, he dashed down the street, snaking past common citizens from different walks of life, all escaping the violence of the blasts. The cloud of brick and glass particulates that continues to shroud the vicinity forced him to cover his mouth and nose with the cloth of his sleeves. Once there, he encountered two men pulling an old man from the now-burning building towards the sidewalk.

“Who else is in there?!”

“Much of the staff is still inside! I have no idea how it evolved into a fire so quickly! I-I...”

Seeing the man panic and on the verge of tears, Axar caught the man’s attention again. With his big, brawny hands on the man’s shoulders, he shook him with strength unusual for his age.

“It’s alright, boy! You’ve done what you can! Don’t you beat yourself up over what you can’t control!”

Physically shaking the man to imbue some sense into him, Axar was satisfied with a simple nod as a reply.

Looking back at the destroyed section of the building, he could peer into the dusty, smoke-filled innards. There were no doubts that some had been killed. However, there were also no doubts that some might still be alive inside. With his soldier instincts telling him to go and help, he turned back towards the man.

“Call for the damned constabulary! I'm going in!”

Shaking off the shouts from the men urging him not to, Axar ran up the steps towards the entrance of the building. Pulling his shirt up to cover his mouth and nose as he entered the wide-open entrance, he emerged into the destroyed, burning lobby of the Imperial Telegraph. Immediately to the right side of his vision, he spotted an unconscious woman lying on the floor underneath some rubble. Running up to her, he crouched down to try and wake her up.

“Miss! Miss!”

Seeing that she wasn’t waking up, he clawed on the wreckage that had piled on her before the woman seemed clear enough to be pulled out. Putting her on his shoulders, Axar stood up, pulling her from the rubble with considerable effort. While his body ached from the newly imposed strains on it, Axar shrugged it off as he turned and ran back towards the entrance. Outside, he signaled to a constable that had just arrived to come and take the unconscious woman from him. Dropping her off, Axar then swiftly proceeded to run back into the building to search for more.

After four more people were carried out to safety by the President, he once more ventured into the burning building. However, the rapid decay of its structural integrity meant that it wouldn't be long before it failed altogether. To the horror of the people outside, the Imperial Telegraph building began to collapse with Axar still inside. Taking the still unconscious people further away from the vicinity of the building, they watched as its blazing edifice crumbled to the ground. The situation, however, gave them no time to mourn as enemy aircraft continued to fly overhead, dropping payload after payload of explosives on the seemingly helpless city. Not long after, the loud, disconcerting, and depressing wails of city-wide sirens began blaring, the unmistaken sign that the entire city was under attack.

Imperial Palace, downtown Leiforia, 11:30

“Go! Into the tunnels!”

It had been roughly 30 minutes since the bombs began dropping and the emergency sirens started ringing, but even the spacious time in between then and now offered little opportunity for the members of Leifor's imperial family to fix their appearances as they began to evacuate. A man dressed in a brown suit was urging the imperial family dressed in civilian wear into an entrance with haste. Along with a row of servants to accompany them, a squad of Imperial Guardsmen was attached to keep them safe. In between the clean, bright white of the uniforms of the guards was a young boy outfitted with imperial regalia–Leifor’s Emperor Magno V. Before His Majesty was sent off with the rest of his family, the man approached him and the guards flanking him.

“Make sure His Majesty remains safe, even at the cost of your lives!”

“Of course!!!”

The guards replied with fervorous tenacity, the result of their training that conditioned them to be the strongest among the strong. The man then turned to the boy Emperor with a composed face. Putting his hands on his shoulders, he then said.

“...and you. You have to remain calm. As the Emperor, you have to be the symbol of hope and resilience in this time of... calamity.”

They then heard another explosion, which was much closer than the others. The city was very much being subjected to a tenacious attack, although they knew that it was only the beginning–they were going to fight back. The explosion reminded him of the tight sliver of time they had to get the situation back in their control. As the regent of the still young Magno V, he held in his grip the responsibilities and obligations of the Imperial household, barring the fact that their power was now reduced in the wake of the revolution decades prior. With a wave of his hand, the guards led everyone into the tunnels that led outside the imperial palace.

With the closed door of the escape tunnels behind his back, the man, Deric Kalmar, Grand Duke of Selrik and regent of the Emperor, proceeded to walk down the now empty halls of the palace. For each step he took, the entire building shook from the shockwave of hundreds of ordnance hitting the capital. The glass chandeliers dangled back and forth from each blast, exacerbating Deric's anxiety and getting him to pick up his pace. At the end of the hallway, he emerged into a grand hall where a group of people had gathered. Most of them wore suits, while the remaining wore military uniforms. Making his presence known with his loud footsteps, they walked over to him with faces of worry.

“Sir Deric! Are the imperial family safe?”

“We have to declare a state of emergency!”

“Who'd dare to do this?! Don't tell me it was those Gra Valkans!”

Taking a deep breath, Deric knew that the first thing he had to do was ascertain the situation.

“While we figure out the ones responsible, we must first understand what is going on!”

He then points towards the men in military dress.

“You lot! Where are the chiefs of staff?!”

With faces that screamed confusion, the men replied.

“The Headquarters of the Army, Navy, Air Force, that of the Central District, and many others have been subject to the bombings. The attacks came too fast, and we had no time to evacuate. We are still getting the details of who perished, but right now, they are presumed dead...”

The situation was even bleaker than anyone had initially surmised. With their military leadership in tatters, there now lay the great difficulty of putting together an armed response to the onslaught of enemy attacks. While Deric wiped the ocean of sweat that had built up on his forehead with a piece of cloth, his eyes darted across the group of men huddled around him, scanning their faces and coming to the conclusion that someone very important was missing. Wearing a worried expression on his face, Deric asked the all-important question.

“Where is President Axar?”

Their burly, outgoing, and bullish president, the de facto symbol of Leiforian progress post-Great War, was not among the faces of government officials that had gathered in the royal palace. Hearing Deric’s question, the others looked around and amongst themselves, at long last catching up to the fact that their head of government and commander in chief was not with them. Despite the majority of the government officials that were currently present being from the right-wing, which were composed of those that detested the political status quo that had removed them of their powers in the earlier administration, the consensus among them was a resounding “Dammit! What do we do?!”

Before Deric could grill them any further, an immensely powerful explosion from nearby rocked the grand hall that they were standing in, causing the glass windows to shatter and ornate ceramic decorations to fall from their pedestals and crash in spectacular fashion. Recognizing the danger, Deric realized that they had to go somewhere safer.

“Shit! Everyone! Proceed to the underground shelters!!! Come on!”

He then asked some of the servants to assist in leading the group of Leifor's surviving leadership down to the emergency shelters located underneath the palace complex. Vexing as it may that the majority of their nation’s leaders are missing or dead in this trying time, the survivors still had a duty to fulfill to their citizens.

Off the coast of Leiforia, 13:40

“20 minutes to landing.”

A masculine voice patched behind the electronic filter of the PA system rang out within the bowels of the AL-88 amphibious landing ship’s steel innards, permeating through the salty air inside before an abrupt kachak cut the noise short. Replacing the sound of the announcement was the deep ambient growl of the ship’s six diesel engines that propel it at a speed of 25 knots through the rough, unforgiving seas west of the capital, Leiforia. The moderately alive ocean made its anger known, throwing up two to three meter high waves that rock the amphibious landing ships of the Imperial Gra Valkan Army back and forth, high and low, as they steam nonchalantly towards the beaches.

It was a horrible day for a landing. However, the top brass wants Leiforia taken ASAP. The rumblings of those in the lower echelons of the Army and Navy are not to ruin the carefully orchestrated master plan of those above. So thought everyone, including Soldat Otto Eichel, a recruit that had just graduated from the Imperial School of Infantry.

“Verdammter Scheiß! I think I’m gonna throw up...”

Otto remarked as he walked down a hallway fully clad in his combat fatigues, with his gear, rifle, and other weighty necessities strapped behind his back, making it easier for the rocking ship to toss his center of gravity around. With his dominant right hand free to assist him in managing his balance, he yanked his left hand upwards to block his mouth in an attempt to stop the half-digested eggs and sausages he had for breakfast from finding their way back out. Hearing his squadmate behind him rambling on, Obergefreiter (OGefr) Luther Meyer turned around, the infantry machine gun strapped to his back, making clinking noises in response to the sudden motion.

“Go ahead, koffer. They’re starting to do it.”

Luther then raised his arm to point to somewhere behind Otto’s back. Following his superior’s arm length, from the creases on his olive sleeves to his Caucasian, slightly aged hand to the tip of his finger, Otto’s line of sight then darted off to the line of battle-ready soldiers behind him. There, he could see the various stages of seasickness reflecting in their faces, expressions, and behavior. Some were still in denial, their faces looking down towards the grey floor as they brushed off the uneasiness in their stomachs. Some had already reached Otto’s level where the regurgitation of their breakfast had already commenced and they are trying to contain it. A select few had reached the last stage, their half-digested ingestions already littering the walls and floor of the hallway as belches resounded all across. Others like Luther, however, were completely unaffected.

“Lucky you.”

“Heh. It takes more experience than skill for this one.”

“Real-”

Cutting their chatter short was the all-encompassing shout of someone from up ahead, reaching their ears and snapping them back to attention.

“Next up!!! All of you! Proceed to your vehicles!”

As soon as the one shouting the commands started, the line of soldiers instantly moved forward like a well-oiled chain driving the operation forth. Leaning forward and gripping his bag straps with both of his hands in an attempt to keep his balance under control, Otto followed his superior’s back towards the exit at the end of the hallway. Overcome with seasickness and nervousness from his first taste of real combat since graduation; Otto took deep breaths to preserve his cool. Each breath he took calmed his nerves, and each time he exhaled took the byproduct of carbon dioxide from his body and brought with them his jitters.

Stepping out of the exit and past the point of no return, Otto was greeted by the sight of the ship’s deck. Dark-colored yet well lit by bright, white lights, the deck was filled to the brim with M.Fz. 452 "Schildkröte" infantry fighting vehicles equally spaced between one another. Populating the deck were IGVA soldiers and personnel climbing onto their Schildkröte and those lining up preparing to do so. As the crews of the woodland camouflage vehicles climbed onto their designated hatches, the infantry squads they were meant to carry entered through the wide-open doors fixed to the rear of the Schildkrötes.

As an infantryman, Otto was trained to get accustomed to the cramped interior of armored vehicles and on how to fight alongside their infantry fighting vehicle as part of the IGVA’s mobile and maneuver warfare doctrine. One of the scenarios he was trained in was that of an amphibious landing in a hotly contested zone with high degrees of enemy activity. As he remembered the various things he learned from boot camp, perusing through the specific memories of lessons and failures, he and his squadmates were approaching their designated vehicle. Walking past one of the Schildkrötes, Otto looked up at it to see its towering 20mm autocannon fixed in max elevation, its muzzle brake reaching up high in the air. Seeing its black, slender steel barrel, he can’t help but see it as the vehicle saluting them off on their mission.

Otto and his squadmates finally arrived at their designated vehicle. With its rear doors wide open, they could see into the mildly lit interior their black, cushioned seats. One of the soldiers stopped short of the door before turning around to face them, revealing a man whose tired, droopy eyes tell of a somber soul that has seen better days.

“Alright. Get in!”

The man, Unterfeldwebel (UFw) Engel Peters, Otto’s squad leader, shouted. His sharp, somewhat annoyed tone complemented the depressed, disappointed aura emanating from his very disposition. According to what he heard from Luther, UFw Peters used to have had an adventurous character who wished to go out and maybe disobey some orders before his brushes with the draconian higher-ups during the war with Kain clipped his wings and brought him down to earth.

With Luther having already entered the Schildkröte, it was now Otto’s turn to be sardine-packed into the huge, mean, metal canister. Just as he took to the handles and reached his right foot out to step in, a loud, deep boom echoed throughout the chamber.

Boom

The bass of the sound shook everything–the several thousand-ton steel ship, the Schildkröte, the bright, white lamps, the rhythmic chorus of their beating hearts, and so on. The blast took everyone’s attention, momentarily causing them to cease from whatever they were doing to look around for the source of the sound or to look at one another with faces that said, “did you hear that?” Otto was one of those that went for the latter, looking at the dark eyes of OGefr Luther staring back at him with the same question. Just as their movements resumed, the loud, electronic kachak coming from the PA system replaced the earlier boom as the new center of attention.

“New developments; possible enemy surface fire coming from the coast. Wait one.”

Another kachak cut the announcement, returning the soundtrack of the scene back to ambient engine rumbling, ocean water sloshing, and the hustle and bustle of the ship’s deck as IGVA personnel resume their embarkation.

Having entered the dimly-lit, somewhat cramped interior of the vehicle, Otto maneuvered around to get his buttocks to line up with his seat next to Luther. With his gear and rifle in hand, which he had already taken from his back, he loosened the tension in his muscles, allowing his already-positioned body to fall comfortably on the shallow cushion underneath. Now that he was set for the journey, his mind wandered to idle chatter just as his face turned left towards OGefr Luther.

“Hey, what do you think that was? “Enemy surface fire?” So they still have their big guns up?.”

Luther had his body sunk into the cushion, and his woodland camouflage helmet lowered to cover his eyes and was trying to discreetly doze off when his junior decided to kickstart a conversation he felt like answering.

“I guess. The Navy’s flyboys should have already dealt with the Leiforians, so maybe they missed a spot, and now we’re taking the shitstorm from their oopsies.”

Without lifting his helmet, Luther replied to Otto’s question with a mixed bag of helpful insight and a subtle snide remark on the Navy Air Service.

“But they would’ve spotted a gun that can hit us from anywhere in Leiforia. Maybe it’s something else?”

“Sure, kid. I’m just thankful that the gods dictated their shit aim to hit another ship instead of us.”

Just as Otto was about to rebuke them, another boom that was slightly crisper and fainter reached their eardrums, the thinner shock barely registering itself as an attention-catcher for the soldiers. Not a moment later, another one followed, followed by another, and then another.

Bam bam bam bam bam

“Mmm. It looks like the destroyers have found the pests.”

Luther commented as the clap-like rhythm of the 125mm guns of the destroyers escorting the landing ships firing played in the background, with only the shouting of IGVA leaders telling their men to board their vehicles serving as the main track.

As the last soldier entered their vehicle, UFw Peters finally climbed in, squeezing into the efficiently designed opening that led into the interior. Groaning extensively from the delicate maneuvers his joints and muscles performed, Peters at long last felt the warm touch of the seat cushion rubbing against his rear. As he got comfortable in his seat next to the opening, the ship personnel outside swivelled the doors in towards them, closing the lid on the sardine canister. Lowering his helmet to get some shuteye himself, Peters was about to succumb to his persistent drowsiness when a familiar, coarse voice beckoned him to his left.

“Got something from the Oberfeldwebel on what the hell was that?”

The man next to him asked, his voice muffled by the hands he placed over his face. The single band of green attached to the right sleeve of his olive combat fatigues tell of his rank as Unteroffizier (UFfw). His name tag, stitched across his right breast, revealed his name: Reinhard Wolff. Responding to Wolff’s sudden yet not out-of-the-blue inquiry, Peters kept his helmet low over his eyes.

“Neither he nor the platoon leader said anything. If I had to guess, the Leiforians probably managed to sneak in some torpedoes.”

Wolff chuckled in response, the puff of air he put out permeating past the hands that were still on his face.

“Heh. Damn. Reminds me of the ‘tactical retreat’ from our outposts in Rabany. The lack of coordination and the op’s secrecy meant that we were on the receiving end of our own torpedoes when they thought our evacuation was an invasion force! Damned Navy tryhards. If they fucked up in Rabany, then they’re sure to do it again here.”

Peters chuckled, his white teeth finally showing themselves as his lips curled up in a grin. The memory of the Rabany evacuation tickled something in Peter that reminded him of his more rowdy past.

“Hah! Those Miststück. Shit military intelligence is another thing, but I’ll be damned. Won’t be surprised if a Jauchzer were to strafe us later thinking we’re hostiles.”

Peter remarked, adding to the roster of smear comments against the Navy, welcomed by laughter from Wolff, Luther, and the others in the cabin.

As his superiors chatted away, Otto sank further in his seat as he leaned back on the walls of the Schildkröte. His steel helmet colliding against the wall prevented him from leaning his head any further back. His eyes turned upwards towards the light source at the center of the vehicle that provided the dim, white light for the interior. Grasping on the cold, steel barrel of his rifle that rested upright on the floor, he could feel the little bits of frigid ocean breeze that condensed on the barrel. Thoughts of the looming battlefield scared him more than they excited him. Countless war movies, soldiers’ accounts from the war with Kain, and listening to late-night broadcasts from the frontlines could not have prepared him for the personal shock that came with his first time hearing the sound of enemy fire. Colored motion pictures of infantry running across the battlefield, monotone words scribbled across empty white pages. Even the emotional voices of radio reporters reading out events that had happened in the frontlines were no match for the sheer awe of the heart-pumping blast that he had heard. He was determined to fight, but that did not completely rid his heart of his fears.

I want to go home...

An innocent, juvenile voice cried out in the depths of his heart, becoming one of the many voices criss crossing one another in a chaotic fashion that made up his inner, mental noise.

The beaches of a suburb north of Leiforia, 14:10

It had been several minutes since the gargantuan vessel that they were in shook violently as its hull made contact with the Leiforian beach, putting Gra Valkan’s military might to come onto the western shores of the Mu continent for the first time. Hearing the clamoring of personnel scrambling to unravel the processes that would get the ship to unload its mean payload of armored vehicles and the movement of steel rollers contacting numerous track links, Otto could feel the battlefield inch closer and closer. With the sharp, high-pitched screeches of whistles repeating outside, he heard the commander of the Schildkröte crew shout out to his men.

“Panzer, nach vorne!”

With the jostle of the clutch to prompt it to engage, the driver simultaneously stepped on the gas, sending fuel into the 245hp capable engine of the Schildkröte. Then, mere moments after the commander gave the order, the vehicle jerked forward, its girthy steel hulk filled to the brim with two squads trudging along the length of the ship’s hull. The mammoth of an infantry fighting vehicle traversed down the ship’s deck before making contact with a slope that led up topside. The vehicle and its occupants’ weight worked against the engine, but the vehicle’s healthy power-to-weight ratio, which is owed to its design and its powerful engine, allowed it to nonchalantly negotiate the moderate slope. Following seconds of the engine belching out a hearty amount of black smoke and boisterous noise, the vehicle reached the summit of the slope, emerging out onto the deck.

From there, the crew of the Schildkröte, which could only see the outside from behind their army of scopes, were helped to a dose of afternoon Leiforian sun. Seeing past the blinding glare of the alien star shining through their lenses, they laid their eyes on the white beaches of Leifor that were already populated by IGVA personnel and vehicles making their way out of their ships and onto the suburbs that awaited them. Contrary to the drizzle of enemy fire earlier in the form of camouflaged Leiforian torpedo pens, which catastrophically damaged two of their landing vessels, the beaches were absolutely devoid of enemy presence. Whether it was due to the Navy Air Service’s rigorous air campaign successfully neutralizing their capability to respond or the Leiforians regrouping deeper inland to meet them, only time will tell.

From the deck of the landing ship extended a suspended Bridgeway that led towards the sand below, from which track marks of vehicles that came before them were traced across the breach. Some distance from the Bridgeway's contact point with the breach was a personnel that waved to them, beckoning them to come down from the ship and onto dry land. Following his signals, the driver prompted the vehicle to move forward. As soon as the Schildkröte dropped onto the slope, the driver let go of the gas, entrusting the work of getting the armored vehicle down the ramp to gravity.

Halfway through the ramp, the driver noticed something was off.

The personnel at the bottom stopped signaling and had reached out for his radio. Just as he sensed that something was wrong, he felt the entire vehicle jerked forward, bringing with it his body and those inside of the vehicle. Otto, Luther, and their squadmates at the back were rocked forward, pitting one soldier’s body forcibly against the other.

“Ow!”

“Scheiße! Sorry!”

“Ficker! What the fuck is going on?!”

The moving was yet to cease. The driver, seeing through his moving scope and piecing together what was happening, took back the initiative and stepped on the gas. The engine roared to life as it reacted to the surge of fuel, sending the vehicle down the ramp at record speed. The heavy Schildkröte, traveling at such high speeds down the ramp, smashed into the loose sand like a meteor. The impact threw up sand and the vehicle, sending the occupants on a trip towards the interior’s ceiling before gravity reclaimed the initiative and pulled everything back towards the surface. Slightly injured and disoriented from the jostle, the occupants groaned in pain as they clutched the various parts of their bodies to check for further injuries. At the same time, those who were less affected by the jostle and those that recovered immediately picked up the gear that scattered from the impact, fixing what could be fixed, handing them back to their owners, and taking into account what couldn’t be fixed.

Meanwhile, the crew of the Schildkröte was similarly shaken up by the event. Wishing to know more about what happened, the commander, after fixing his cap and headset back to where they were, stood up. Displacing the hatch from its lock and emerging from the vehicle, the commander then turned around to get a look at the ship. After his head and torso flicked to the left to see what had happened, his eyes widened in shock at what he was witnessing.

“Mein Gott...”

“Scheißdreck! The ship...!!!”

The personnel that was signalling to them earlier cried out as he ran towards the side of their infantry fighting vehicle.

The high waves brought about by the rough weather conditions had made today a horrible day for an amphibious landing. Despite this fact, the top brass pushed for Unternehmen Donnerschlag, gambling with the risks of bad weather on top of challenges brought about by the hasty execution. As expected, the risks did not pay off for some–the AL-88 amphibious landing ship from which they came from was dislodged from its position by the rigorous ocean, pulling the steel behemoth together with its still unreleased cargo back to the ocean as the waves retreated. One Schildkröte that was preparing to descend down the ramp was pushed out of position by the sheer force of the ship being jerked from its position, and it was now perilously close to falling into the sand below.

“No!”

The commander called out.

Unfortunately, circumstances did not listen to trivial human desires, as the rocking of the colossal vessel forcibly yanked the ramp that was still clinging to the ground. The set of clamps, bolts, wires, and other fine details were stretched past their failure points, breaking and setting the ramp free from its suspended constraints. With the primary force keeping it up having failed, the Schildkröte filled with two squads on the ramp was thrown off, sending it tumbling on its side on the wet sand below. As the ship continued to be guided by inertia that was sending it back to the ocean, the thrown-off vehicle violently crashed down on the ground, sending disconcerting sounds of creaking. Seeing the vehicle upright on its side, the commander also noticed that they had fallen dangerously close to the upcoming waves, which he feared would tug the vehicle out to open sea if they didn't do anything soon.

“No, no, no, no! We’re turning around to pull them out!”

He then turned to his driver, who had also emerged from his hatch and was watching the scene with a similarly horrified expression.

“I’ll tell the Leutnant that we’ll catch up to them. Now, get us back there!”

“Verstanden!”

Going back inside the vehicle, they closed their hatches before proceeding with their duties. As the driver restarted the engine, he couldn’t help but think that this was the first in a list of unfortunate events in the days to come as Donnerschlag unraveled their first large-scale military operation since the transfer event. With his hands firmly on the steering mechanism, he commented to himself in a volume that could only be heard in his own cozy space in front of the vehicle.

“Heh. What more could go wrong?”