===Antarctica, Cygnus Station===
-0748 hours Standard Time
The cold lashing winds sink in from all sides, biting through layers of protective insulation. Perpetual whispers hung over my shoulders as the bitter chill slowly worms its way into my core. Warmth was a sensation I was struggling to hold, especially in the extremities.
'Minutes in, and it's already unbearable,' I muse through shivering muscles. The coat was doing its best, but it was not enough to stem the tide.
I hated this place with a passion. There was little else I could do but wait as my hands and feet grew numb.
Suffering through the climate beside me, Douglas, James and Robert stood along the snow-stricken runway, their hands digging deep into pockets. Most of our idle time was spent staring at the horizon, waiting for the slightest hint of movement to alert us of an incoming arrival.
"We should see the plane by now," Douglas remarks over the silence, "still nothing."
"Give it time, we've only been here for like five minutes. Maybe the weather's acting up on their end," Robert swings back with a casual tone.
Douglas shrugs, placing his hands deeper into the pockets, "Command would have radioed us if that's the case."
Accompanying my fireteam in this miserable assembly are eight additional operatives. Chevron squad. I did not know much about them aside from the basics, but it was bound to change during the course of our joint mission.
The men are recent additions from yesterday's inbound flight from across the South Atlantic, likely sharing my team's case of being pulled in from the African sector.
"Wait," one of them squints ahead with a raised arm, "I think that's it. They're keeping close to the ground."
Following the operative's gaze, sure enough a small speck was visible just above the horizon.
"It's not really that big," he further remarks, warming up his gloved hands with a huff.
The rest of his squad gather into a loose circle independent from us, moving away from the runway's edges.
Despite being relatively new to the scene, I can rest easy in knowing these operatives hold relevant experience in our craft. Africa, particularly in the east is a hotbed of activity, none of which could be spun as positive. There was no shortage of conflict in the region, especially with several countries already on the brink of social collapse.
Much of the ensuing conflict was powered by a lack of basic amenities and the sudden rise of extremist tendencies among the local populace. Anyone deployed to the continent for even a month is bound to have seen plenty of action.
"Desert-Four. We've got visual," Robert states over radio, "it's approaching the station."
A few seconds pass before channel lights up with a reply, "Copy, stay clear as it lands. The briefing room's already prepped for our guests."
"Clear away!" Robert signals everyone with a yell, stepping away from the makeshift runway.
A slow drone rolls around as the aircraft comes in for landing. Its bright colours and smaller fuselage made it apparent the jet was not a military asset. The design certainly screamed expensive, and likely represented current trends and advances in private avionics over the past decade.
Closer to the runway the plane tips its nose up, its four engines vectoring down to deliver their thrust directly onto the airstrip. The deafening roar sat firmly on my chest, finding purchase deep within tissue and bone. Its invasive throbbing is unnerving to say the least.
The jet's resulting downwash melts the surrounding snow, opening up a large depression directly on the icy pavement. Planting itself on the airstrip, its landing gears rebound slightly before accepting the weight above. The engines roaring presence quickly fades and I set a quick pace to the door behind the cockpit.
The white door slides open and reveals a man in heavy winter clothing. A few steps extend out from beneath the fuselage, forming a platform for the man to disembark. Following closely behind, several more figures appear from within the jet's lit interior, also dressed for the occasion.
"Daniel Cooper?" I announce, scanning the small crowd for a response.
"That's me," a voice replies in an all business tone, "I've been somewhat briefed about this whole situation. But there's still some gaps I'd answers to."
"Noted, I assume you'd all want to settle your stuff first," I say, sinking my gaze to the bags they brought, or rather their lack thereof. Most had only one, even then it was relatively small.
"Is this all you're bringing?" I ask the representative.
Cooper shrugs, "They told us to pack light, so we did."
Rolling along with the answer, I swing back around. "They're good on baggage. I'll get these guys settled and ready for the mission. Everyone else can get ready on the other side," I announce, pushing the notice out with a firm tone.
"I'll have everyone make a final equipment check once we're geared up. Your fireteam included," Chevron's leader affirms, going ahead with the prompt.
"Thanks," I say.
"How long will you need?" he asks.
"Two hours tops. Briefing's roughly the same as our own aside from some differences."
"Alright," the operative nods, "see you on the other side."
Thanking him with a nod, I send him off with a slight nudge. The operative pulls the rest under his lead and they soon set a smooth pace towards the Rift.
"This way please," I say after watching the men fade into the cold mist.
I throw an amused glance back while leading the way to the administrative building, voicing a curt greeting, "Welcome to Cygnus Station."
"Incredible," a person mutters in total awe.
I shake my head in response, "This is just the tip of it."
"The bunks are a little small, but its good considering where we are. Also keep an open mind during the briefing, there's a lot of wierd shit to take in," I say factually, not mincing the words.
"Honestly... I can't wait," Cooper replies, voicing his excitement.
"You have a big moment ahead of you," I glare back, directing it specifically at him.
"You will be the face of humanity to them."
He pauses, "What do you mean?"
"You'll know soon enough," I reply, leaving that revelation to the suits.
Along the way I help answer their questions, mostly keeping them entertained throughout the short walk. After getting their belongings set up, we proceed onwards to the briefing room.
I lead the way into the station's tallest building, skipping the usual pleasantries with the two guards on shift. They likely knew my intentions and thus went ahead with a simple wave, urging me and the guys behind through the entrance.
The Antarctic gale fades and I take a moment to clench my hands, feeling the warmth and sense of touch returning.
"This way," I say, urging the newcomers to the small lift. Its doors open to reveal a grey interior, containing only the very basic functions to be classified as one.
Some of the staff had taken to calling it the shaft due to its strong resemblance to a mining elevator. Though I found the term accurate, I pay no mind to it.
"You sure it's safe?" Cooper eyes the lift with a doubtful look, "Looks really unfinished."
"It works, that's all that matters," I reply.
With some encouragement, Cooper steps into the shaft along with the others. The final leg of the trip proceeded without any hassle and the isolated room now lies directly ahead.
I knock twice before opening the door. Representatives from all the major divisions sat in the same arrangement as before. A heavy silence ensues as the high ranking officials stare back.
"Thank you Lieutenant," the Operations supervisor breaks the tension, "is this all of them?"
I reply, giving the middle-aged women a nod, "Yes Ma'am, all five."
"Good. Have a seat, let's begin," she announces, gesturing to the row of seats to her left.
At her consent, the group found themselves on the unoccupied seats. Spotting an empty one adjacent to Cooper, I decide to take the chance and listen to what the officials have to say. It was likely to a rehashed version, but a second rundown on our overall objective can only do good.
"Our latest drone survey along the north west came back with this set of pictures," she says, flickering through the slides to indicate the aforementioned images.
"This is the largest active settlement within eighty kilometers in any direction. Ignoring their war towards our north, this finding represents a unique opportunity. A chance to better extend our political understanding of New Eden's inhabitants," she continues.
The liaison team erupts into heated discussion once the terms of the mission are layed out in full.
One of them raises a hand in the midst of the debate, "Understand how exactly, and how do we accomplish it."
"By going directly to the source, hence the city on screen," a staff officer answers from the back.
Cooper interjects with a sharp, almost accusing tone, "I don't like this at all. It's a tall order you're planting on us. And, we're essentially going in blind."
"It's a risk we'll need you to take unfortunately," the supervisor replies apologetically, "but we'll provide monetary compensation that's appropriate to what we're asking."
At the promise, his eyes light up, "How much exactly?"
"Depends on the results, but you can expect at least five hundred thousand. You won't go alone to the city. Security will be provided by SOG operatives, one of which is sitting right beside you," she says.
I keep quiet during the discussion, only turning towards Cooper at the unexpected mention. His eyes flashed with uncertainty as he weighed the risks and benefits, ignoring my stare in spite of the call out.
"Fine," he sighs, shoulders deflated, "on one condition. I'll go, but if any of my colleagues want out, they'll get a free pass."
"Deal."
Cooper unfolds his arms, ready to take this under his wing. "Tell me what we need to know and do."
===Tartarus Base, New Eden===
-0852 Hours Military Time.
Our goals are clear, and concise. But that did not make them any more believable. This was equally bold, and reckless. Even with five full days of thorough planning, I was not convinced the mission will proceed as intended. There were just too many variables and unknowns for that to ever happen.
Most of the information from outside since the incident came from drones. The British Black Vipers in particular were instrumental in keeping our eyes open to the world. No outbound flights were scheduled out of overall fear and hesitance. The restriction remained in place up until now.
Richard and Williams kept to themselves in the first days since their rescue. Traumatized as they were, they managed tell us of what they knew regarding the political state of this world. It was not much to go by, but it was better than nothing. That apparently was enough Intel to stir up the chain of command, which led me to my current setting on New Eden.
After a quick change into standard loadout, I set off from the barracks. The recently completed airfield lies ahead, filled with the hustle of organized military activity. Several rotor wings sat inside the segmented asphalt, surrounded by operatives and maintenance technicians alike.
"It's nice that we have some backup," Robert comments, pointing towards a familiar silhouette.
"That one's good, actually more than good. Nothing but praises for it," I remark, staring at the aforementioned tilt rotor aircraft.
He shrugs after a laugh, "Knew you'd say something like that."
The V-280 Valor was an asset I hold in high regard from my days back with the American war machine. Those were mostly good days. There were ups and downs in this line of work, but this was the same for everything else.
The VTOL capable craft is a step above the now retired V-22 Osprey in several crucial areas. Most notable of which was its fixed engine configuration, allowing the aircraft to be maintained with less support infrastructure needed.
I decide to divert the topic to something more relevant. "What do you think of Chevron?"
Robert turns to stare at the group, "Not much to say really, but I know they're good. Ethiopia would do that to anyone."
At that my heart dropped and a wave of unpleasant memories filed in. "Did you manage to find out if they were part of that convoy?"
He shakes his head, "Nah, Gabriel didn't answer. If his squad was there that day, he's got more than enough reason to stay silent."
Douglas trails towards the conversation. "Nobody likes to open fresh wounds," he says with a bitter tone, "best we let that ambush off our minds."
After the short interjection, he moves off. Despite being the team's most reserved member, I knew Douglas was most affected by it. He was the only one on the fireteam with a wife and kid. It was clear the events of that day affected him greatly.
I knew him well enough not to probe too deeply. Douglas was a man who enjoyed his privacy and kept his demons closed off.
After the final preparations are done, We board the Valor. Cooper and two other volunteers from his flight sat at the cabin's front end. Holstered at their sides were their only means of defense. A single handgun pulled from the armory's surviving inventory.
"Hang tight, we're off," the intercom announces above.
Looking out the windows, the two escorting AH-86 Jaguars took off. Their fixed missiles and chin mounted 20mm auto-cannon were poised to retaliate at the first sign of danger. They were perhaps the only familiar things I could pin my hopes on from here on out.
With a slight tilt to indicate its bearing, the Valor races ahead to catch up with the attack helicopters. The ground soon falls out of sight, giving way to an expansive reach of blue.
A few clouds pass overhead as the Valor maintained its course out the vale, gaining both speed and altitude in pursuit of its escorts.
The monotonous view outside eventually loses its novelty, and so I turn my attention back to the cabin. If nothing else, some idle banter will help keep me occupied through the flight.
Snippets of conversation randomly erupt from my fellow operatives, the idle topics were thrown around as distraction while the V-280 flew in formation alongside the escorting assault helicopters.
Out of the two people who can understand their language, only Richard was part of this endeavor due to Williams being too traumatized to even be considered for this. How exactly he could understand them was beyond me, but I took that as a silver lining. If contact is to be established, he was our life line.
The rotorwing abruptly makes a slight bank to the left, turning its heading from north to northwest. From this point on, everything below me is uncharted terrain.
The talking dies down as the V-280 co-pilot's voice once again booms over the intercom. "We're almost there. City's outskirts in visual."
Anticipation slowly builds up, almost enough to be palpable. There is no turning back now.
"Everyone good?" I say, tracking the everyone's response.
"As long as I don't die before touch down, I'll be fine," James announces, his usual mirth absent.
"We'll need to expect the worst just in case," Chevron's leader answers, "I still think this is reckless."
I sigh, giving the operative my sentiments. "You and me both."
I continue my speech with a hand towards Cooper. "Too late to stop now. We'll attempt peaceful first contact, Cooper here will be doing most of the talking alongside Doctor Richard. The former's got a degree in culture and language, he'll handle the heavy work alongside Richard. Keep them safe at all costs."
"Sounds simple enough," Douglas answers under a serious glint, "but it's easier said than done. We need to see how they respond first to our arrival."
Flicking the safety off, I turn back up to answer, "Fingers crossed then."
There were few times in my life where I felt powerless, this was one of those times. I spent the remainder free of idle thoughts, wondering if this might be the last thing I would come to regret.
===City of Drossal, Thellius' POV===
It was a silent morning on the royal palace of Drossal, for while the horrors of war continue to take the lives of so many, the esteemed city is largely at peace.
Life is great and wonderful among the many districts of Drossal, and although the masses know of the war, it did not deter them from their everyday lives. Unquestionable faith has been placed onto the defenders, composed not only of the Kingdom's garrison but our auxiliaries from An'bar as well.
These northern warriors of cloth and hood were trained in the dark arts of hexes by their Lords of War, bearing the burden of past sins yet to be forgiven. Such crimes have long since faded from memory, now existing only within scribes and the realms of history.
Their lands across the three great rivers have long since been kindled under the Kingdom's yolk, but their warriors are still as cunning as they were in the era of conquest. With their battle prowess, Yhunian forces will find it an unruly task to break our defenses.
The Eastern Bastion will stand, as it had for thousands of starwheels. I yearn for a touch of slumber, yet the prestige and title of Lord General meant such luxuries are fleeting at best. The city expects me to serve without pause, as does the Royal Family.
The youngest daughter of Queen Ayleth has made this her home. Neither her sisters nor mother could dissuade her from leaving. I refuse to think of what would happen to the young woman should the palace fall.
Gilded under this, it is all the more reason that we hold the line here. She possesses a radiant beauty that surpasses even those of the elusive sea angels that dwell in the great rivers. Yhunia's warriors surely know of this, from the noble to the wretched.
The sound of a vile creak interrupts my dreadful muse. A curious glance up reveals it is merely one of my underlings. A supporting tactician barely worthy of remembrance, one whose skills have yet to be tempered by the war's depth.
"Your grace, the Sky Marshall has sent me. The last of his Silverwing riders have returned from their raids," He urgently informs me, prime and stoic in appearance.
"How much time do we have until the outskirts are soured by Yhunian hands?" I ask, setting my sights back into the war maps. A burden befitting of my stature.
"He fears we may have only until noon before Drossal's eastern provinces are besieged. Our Aegis knights stand ready, as is the Black Hand Vanguards. But they remain outnumbered," the novice tactician says, tone cemented under barely hidden edge.
Though his words proved insightful, there is more I have come to expect. "Is that all?"
"Yes, Lord General," he answers, "that is all the Sky Marshall has shared."
I wave a hand in dismissal. "You may leave. Rejoin the others in the warring chambers."
The younger tactician poses a hand across his heart in esteemed reverence. "At your behest Lord General!"
I leave the reports to dwell in solitude, making my way out the city palace as wandering thoughts linger ahead.
No word has yet to sprout on a lone silverwing rider returning. At this time, I must assume his demise. Fate may have deemed the lancer and his steed a lost cause, but I will grieve for their memory.
Five days have passed since then, but the strange forms of those vagrants are imprinted onto memory, clear and precise like gems fashioned under a watchful eye.
Perhaps they are the ones to blame for their deaths. They were men of deeds and discipline, wreathed under armor gilded in dark metals. Equally strange as their appearance was their rattling tongue.
It was not of this land, nor does it hail from beyond the forgotten borders of ancient Nul'ma. I dare say even the dead tongues of those who no longer linger surely were not the answer. There is much to ponder over even as the scent of flowers neared.
I pass by the palace royal guards at the exit, the men bestowed reverence before resuming their faithful watch upon the garden's hallowed grounds. Golden rays revealed the presence of ancient stonework across the hidden alcove of green. Moss littered their sides, seeping into cracks and crevices like roots upon soil.
The battered arches held aloft the Kingdom's Royal emblems above the parting spray of flowers, shimmering like pearls across rivers of green and more. They shone brightly in the high winds, urging me to find solace amidst the clarion call of war and strife.
A deep breath carries the scent of flowers into my being, gracing my senses with the sweet touch of ignorance. For the moment, the pressing matters of battle are beyond my concern.
This brief respite shall be swept aside soon enough. The army stands ready to greet our enemies. Drossal will be the first major city to indulge in battle, if the fortress city is able to halt their incursions, it will signal the changing tides of this conflict.
"For those who came before, and those yet to die," I whisper into the winds, allowing their wandering ebb to carry my thoughts onto distant shores.
All of a sudden, the background of silence gives way to soft echoes of throbbing, like heartbeats quickened under duress. But as the sounds grow bolder, that interpretation seemed ill-fitting. The throbs were exceptionally fast.
Black figures approach in the distance, soaring towards the palace most definitely. Yhunian wyverns perhaps, though it seems impossible. Those sounds are unheard off. The guards look up with unease, casting their regards to the distant commotion, weapons unsheathed and ready.
"Lord General," one of the guards speaks, "you must seek shelter at once!"
"Not yet," I reply, trusting my spirit, "they would not approach so brazenly if they sought harm."
Perhaps it is them. An answer after days of spawning relentless questions. "Have the lancers stay their weapons of war, let them come to us, all will be explained in due time."
"As you wish Lord General," a voice answers before erupting into desperate footsteps.
I swing around to fully regard the entourage now surrounding me, grateful for their presence.
"What shall you have us do Lord General," one of the guards inquires, the crest upon his helm painting him as a Captain Minor.
I point up, "Receive them with care, they are not the enemy. I suspect they wish the same as us. Answers and much more."
The Captain nods, "Then I shall inform the retainers to ready their men and women servants. If it is as important as you decree, then we must prepare accordingly."
"On that we are agreed," I answer, bestowing the guard my blessings, "Spread the word."
Now only time will tell if my foresight is to be given praise.
===Drossal, Jerome's POV===
~1013 Hours Military Time
The intercom opens up once more with the Co-pilot's voice, this time with a frantic tone. "Heads up everyone, two Banshees approaching from below, possible attack run."
"Reducing horizontal speed to zero, will attempt to appear as passive as possible to convey our intentions. Jaguars are on high alert," he shortly adds after a tense pause.
"Fuck if we we go down," James mutters, gripping his seat tightly.
"Lets hope we don't," Robert answers, "anyways you might want to take a look outside."
He taps hard on my shoulder pad, snapping me out of the jitters. "Intel's right on the mark," he says, pointing towards the field below.
I look out, following the lush outlines of a landscaped garden beneath. A myriad of other details come into focus. Imposing stone monuments surround a central walkway, each crowned with a symbol, radiating brightly from their heights.
Although it does vaguely resemble architecture during the late renaissance era, it was undeniably something else and several magnitudes larger. In some aspects, it was more akin to depictions found within established works of the fantasy genre.
"Wow shit," I murmur.
From that eye-catching fountain in the middle to the subtle pavements around it, everything seems to make heavy use of graceful curves. There is a distinct contrast when compared to the sharp contours that constitute the majority of Earth's first world cities.
All these interesting details were dwarfed however by the massive structure adjacent to the organized clearing below. It was a structure to dwarf everything else. Beautiful rows of cerulean windows pattern its glossy walls in an alluring fashion. Golden archways surround its perimeters as both support pillars, and as points for entry into the build itself.
It was no wonder the drones had this locale marked as an area of interest, even though it was quite a distance away.
"The Banshees are breaking off, will be settling down real soon. Prepare for touchdown everyone. I already see a couple of unknowns on the ground," the co-pilot says as everyone relaxes.
The immediate threat was gone, allowing the tension to ease up slightly. Still, this is only the beginning of a long dangerous road.
I grip my rifle firmly, prepared to exfil once the Valor made touchdown.
"We'll cover twelve to eight," Chevron's leader announces over an isolated channel, "Jerome, you're team's got the rest."
"Got it," I reply, moving to the left of the cabin.
The ground slowly approaches and I brace myself for the slight nudge beneath. I turn back for a brief glance at the delegation. They did not seem overly intimidated by the situation, but I was willing to bet they did on the inside.
The Valor braces against the earth and I take that as the final cue to slide the door open. The sudden glare of the sun, followed closely by the garden's vibrant flowers are the first things to register.
I head out, ducking beneath the still rotating blades at a brisk pace. "Desert team, we take nine to twelve," I yell out, getting into firing stance surveying the scene ahead.
"Go, go!" Douglas hollers, speeding to my position and taking a similar stance.
"Left side clear!" I announce.
"Likewise here!" a voice affirms on the other side similarly.
The mounted Banshees remain vigilant above, their distant shrieks prevalent as they keep away from the two Jaguars. The attack helicopters loom overhead, ready to respond to any escalation of violence with extreme prejudice.
Optimism was never my strong suit, but I sincerely hope nothing comes out of those pods and cannons. There is nothing to gain from that outcome for both sides.
"Remember, don't point your weapons directly at them, we don't want to send that type of message," I harshly remind everyone through the local channel. "Maintain this and... we should be fine."
The Valor's twin rotors continue their droning as I continue scanning the surroundings for anything that would seem remotely threatening. So far, so good. More of the locals arrive to the scene, drawn to the commotion. Even with just a glance, these new arrivals were different.
The approaching crowd wore armor reminiscent from those in the encampment. Among them, I spot a familiar visage.
The aforementioned man is draped in golden armor. His eyes peer right through us, showing a brief glint of his intentions. It is hard to decipher exactly what that was, but I knew it was not hostile. Sensing no change in the stalemate, I abruptly break the defensive front.
I have to stir up the dust, so to speak. "We've got a familiar contact. It's the General from the encampment," I announce, looking at the civilian team.
Richard stares over my shoulder, "From the rescue?"
"Yeah," I say, stepping aside and pointing ahead, "thirty metres beside the massive archway to the left, you can't miss it, he's right there looking at us."
The researcher's eyes widen momentarily, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other in discomfort.
"Whatever you plan to do, do it now. We'll do our best to keep you safe," I say calmly for his benefit.
"Good luck," I add in, averting my eyes to the side to keep it subtle.
Without waiting for a possible reply, I hurry back to my place in the defensive formation.
After a deep exhale to clear my mind of any lingering thoughts, I proceed ahead with a watchful outlook. Whichever way these people intend to react, I am prepared to act accordingly.
===End===
"I just keep moving forward."
-2nd Liuetenant Jerome Simmons.