The Pentagon, 0930, 1,700 klicks from Laredo, 6 days since contact
General Mathew S. Herrera was tasked with leading forces through the Gate, and pacifying the Empire.
This was an arduous undertaking: Falmart, the continent that the Empire resided in, was estimated to be the size of Eurasia; what laid beyond that, not even the POWs knew. And even more damning: strategic preparation was largely improvised, on account of the restrictive schedule. He could only hope that the NCOs would reliably pass down information to their subordinates.
Fortunately, the Empire was a relatively short distance away from the Gate: about five hundred kilometers. Resistance - though expected - was likely to be negligible.
A fairly detailed map provided - and verified by SoF - indicated a mountain range dividing the two halves of the Empire. East of Italica was a highway, where the main traffic would be situated, but according to intelligence gathered by both JSOC and the CIA, the Dumas Mountains could accommodate for small vehicles.
Precision strikes should be able to soften up, or outright destroy, the wyvern bases, making for easy travel. The 1st Armored Division would push through Italica, possibly to contend with Imperial Forces, while a headquarters would be set up in Almus.
In a spectacular display of dominance, the head of the Empire would admit defeat, secede from any position of power, and those directly responsible for the attack on Laredo would be brought to justice.
A large concern, however, would be the lack of pre-deployment training: very few people within the Army could speak cohesive Latin, and getting the foot soldiers acquainted with the land would have to fall to trial and error.
It was all very bare-bones, but time was not a luxury they had.
CIA blacksite, time unknown, 7 days since contact
"Father!" Myui called out, galloping along the tiled floor as she leaped into Colt Formal's arms. He made no effort to compose himself, giggling alongside her as he gently rubbed at her golden hair.
"I miss you, too," he warmly whispered.
In time that they had been separated, Myui had thrown away her stoic facade, appearing much more lively than she had previously been - which was a good thing, by all circumstances.
Gary, a spectacled weasel of a man, peered from behind the two, a subtle smile etched on his face.
Formal sighed and hesitantly let go of his daughter, before standing up to meet the man. "You let me out of my cell and reunited me with Myui. I know there's a reason."
"That, there is!" he exclaimed with exaggerated swagger. "The invasion is underway, and most of our world has their sights on it."
"They do?"
"Yeah: not every day that forces from another world swoop by and attack the most militarily powerful nation on the planet."
We had no chance, he thought.
"Anyway, as soon as things get underway, we'll escort you back to Italica to get things settled. You think your citizens will be ok with it?"
"They're loyal to me; not necessarily the Empire. If you people can protect us, then I assure they will band behind your cause," Formal said.
"Ok. 'til then, the kid will stay safe with us."
Myui's expression hardened somewhat at the mention of her, but she merely nodded an affirmation and let go of her father. On the bright side, they should be home soon enough, surely.
"So, I take it that I shall have to board that flying machine once more?" Formal asked. It wasn't an entirely comfortable ride, he had to admit: he likened his experience aboard the vessel as that of novice seaman, but the journey was especially quick - so he had to give credit where due.
"Not only that," Gary paused, a cheeky grin creeping into his long face, "guess who will be escorting you."
Two individuals stood up from a nearby lounge: a mustached man with glasses and auburn hair, accompanied by a short and stout brown man.
Even with the cover of darkness and the gear that had obscured their image, Formal immediately recognized the pair of men as they approached.
"I believe proper introductions are in order. Colt Formal: meet Daniel Cunningham and Donovan Matrisciano."
Laredo, 0700, 7 days since contact
"President Wamsley has flown in to Laredo today, fixing to give a speech before troops are hoisted off into the other world. The attack, colloquially dubbed as 'The Battle of Laredo' has raised concerns not only here, in the US, but internationally. Our reporter, Elizabeth Quintanilla, is on the ground now."
The woman in question was gathered within the city hall, as many pain-stricken locals gathered outside. Many people in the city had known of someone injured or killed, or at least laid witness to the invasion, so their investment in President Wamsley's arrival wasn't at all surprising.
The President stood within the building before a host of journalists, reporters and the like, with heavily-armed guards in tow. Even atop the podium, he seemed meek, his face focusing on a particular interesting part of the ground.
Still, he carried his voice with a contradicting air of confidence as he read from a note.
"My fellow Americans: exactly one week has passed since the attack on Laredo - where our citizens were mercilessly and unjustly slaughtered by forces beyond our world - without provocation. The leaders of the Empire have shown to us a callous disregard for human decency, and it is within our best interest to subdue them, so as to provide a safer and more secure world - not only for ourselves - but for those under their reign of tyranny."
The speech was being broadcasted for all the world to see; many news organizations having gathered to record the event.
"Today, several divisions of the US Army will travel through the Gate. I can't promise a quick victory, but I will assure you all that our men and women of the armed forces will come back home - safe and sound."
The base operating around the Gate had received considerable renovation since its construction: meter high concrete barriers were placed in droves, sandwiched between electric fences, cameras, and an improvised roadway to transport the vast amount of material that would be used in the operation.
There was no shortage of soldiers ready to deploy: some were understandably angered by the attack, but many were more intrigued by the other world than anything else.
These were mostly young troops with limited, if any experience, abroad, afterall.
Aiden Cunningham, twenty-four, was a part of the 1st Armored Division's 501st Brigade Support Battalion. He was a small arms repairman, tasked with overseeing the quality of the weapons the infantry would bring into battle.
With preparations for deployment underway, work was especially hectic: an order for a large supply of spare parts, compartments with which to house those parts, and a large sum of weapons needing repairs - either due to mistreatment by their users or through years of wear.
It was a stressful position, to put it lightly, and with the sudden announcement of Roman Humility - without any semblance of pre deployment training, he couldn't help but to let his mind race.
He wasn't a frontline soldier, but even he knew the potential repercussions of an underdeveloped plan: at the very least, civilian casualties would be heavy.
"We spent the entirety of our budget this year, but I'm still short for M4 parts," Aiden vented, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "What're we running low on?"
A fellow armorer by the name of Eric Yon sat beside him, equally as frustrated, although he voiced no qualms. He was shifting through a cabinet, each labeled with weapons parts. "Springs, right now."
"Shit," Aiden lowered his head. "Ya know, support units are the most likely to see action: the enemy sees a well-armed infantry company or something like that - they tend to back down - but a logistical unit? They will see us as easy prey. The least we can do is have a working fucking firearm to help out in a pinch."
"Did your dad tell you that?" Eric facetiously asked as he sorted through the cabinets.
"Hey, he was a POG in Iraq, alright? He's seen some shit."
"But those were guerrilla fighters, weren't they? We're facing a 'regular' army this time around."
"Yeah, but what about the Japanese, for example? They didn't just up and quit - they continued fighting. Same for Iraq, and I bet you, same here."
Eric conceited with a shrug and a nod, before tending to some paperwork. "Not like we can do anything about it, anyway. Not unless you, or anybody else, wants to fund for those parts yourself."
"To be honest, they'd probably be higher quality, anyway." Both agreed for once.
Their banter, though oppositional, served as a proper distraction from the underlying danger of the operation.
Even if the Empire only possessed a modicum of magic and technology, they were large in number, and zealous to a fault - from what little that Aiden's dad told him.
He was scared, and made no effort in hiding it: even if he were to make it out alive, the psychological toll would no doubt be immense.
Coda Village, 0730, 7 days since contact
Kids will be kids: that's what Almus learned from his brief tenure in Afghanistan.
Toddlers, tweens, and even some teens flocked to the man in curiosity, as the village rarely received visitors.
Even in his modest garments, his presence elicited an intangible sense of wonder that told a story all of its own.
This man has been places far beyond their scope, and they knew it.
"Where you from, mister?" a young girl asked as she rested her chin on his knee.
"I don't know; I've been a nomad for as long as I can remember," Almus answered.
He never had children of his own, but their innocence made for a perfect antithesis to the generally macabre nature of his profession.
For the most part. A girl, who seemed to be in her early teens, stared intently from across the village center.
With turquoise hair and piercing blue eyes, she was far from inconspicuous. Not that she made any effort to hide herself, with a cloak and dress befitting that of royalty.
She didn't particularly intimidate him, but her incessant deadpan stare did set him on edge. It was obvious that she knew more than the other villagers, but to what extent, he did not know.
It would be to troublesome to call her out from across the village center, so he simply excused himself and walked over to the girl. To his relief, she stayed put. "Something the matter, miss?" he asked with an air of caution.
Kids could be especially dangerous: they were easily influenced and deceptively cunning when the need called for it; Afghanistan showed him that.
The girl paused for a moment, as though she was pondering what to say. She was like a machine processing a command - she was so expressionless. She then spoke in a monotone voice. "No. Just curious."
Almus doubted her words, but to confront her would confirm any suspicions she might've had about the man. Defusion. "Well, ok then. If you want to ask me anything, or if you need something, just let me know. I'll be here for a while longer." He didn't smile, as a girl her age and seeming perceptiveness might've caught on to its insincerity, but they did lock eyes. Only then was he able to discern the intelligence brimming within those blue irises - that she was someone to keep tabs on.
There was a moment of silence as they waited for the other to speak: Almus maintaining a cool composure, and her, an air of indifference.
Finally, she hummed in acknowledgement, then turned to walk away. As he watched her frame grow smaller with distance, the blue-haired girl then paused, tilting her head over to gaze at him one last time before speaking. Her voice was almost that of a whisper, but he heard her clear as day. "I live just off of the village outskirts, in the woods, with my master. If you truly wanna help this village, then I suggest you do so."
Almus watched the girl as she made her way to the village's exit, before nonchalantly walking into the dense foliage and out of sight.
She was strange, that was certain, but he thought of himself as somebody with a knack for character judgement: she seemed like a decent person, at least, and even if he was proven wrong, .45 ACP could rectify any complications that may arise; in a location a ways off from the village? That would make things easier for him, still.
"Alright then," he said to nobody in particular. But before that, he set his sights on the remaining children. Back to hearts and minds.
Sadera, 0730, 7 days since contact
King Duran, "the Lion" of the Elbe Kingdom, was a feared and respected warrior-ruler, and he definitely looked the part: with long hair cascading down his back, a scruffy beard, and leather patch covering his left eye, he was befittingly brutal - though methodical.
The Elbe Kingdom, residing just between the Blue Sea and Alnus Hill, was imperative to its defense - and if they played their cards right - could very well drive off the invaders from further aggression.
"My army could, in theory, hold them off for a good few days," Duran suggested. He was never a talkative man; if anything, he preferred to solve his problems on the battlefield.
"Which is ample time for my troops to reinforce Alnus and drive them out," Emperor Molt added. "I've consulted with the other leaders: a contingent force of about a hundred thousand should be there to battle soon enough."
Duran hummed. "That would be helpful."
Emperor Molt halted in his tracks. It was subtle, but Duran was able to decipher the ruler's apprehension: his regal gaze fixed on the castle's marble flooring - staring right back at him. "I sent a messenger to Italica, sure that Colt Formal would attend our meeting."
"He wasn't there," Duran gathered.
"No, he wasn't - nor was his daughter! Infact, one of the maids was in his stead...I'm not sure what to make of it." Italica was a valuable asset to the Empire: without a proper head to govern it, it was probable that the city would fall into abject chaos within a week - and cripple his military's supply network.
"She didn't say much; only that Colt Formal was on an 'outing', whatever that entailed," Molt sneered.
"They could be conspiring against you," Duran suggested, without an ounce of emotion to bare.
"To do that, the enemy would have to have made contact with them. You suggesting they might have spies?"
The Elbe ruler shrugged. "It's possible. A cowardly method, but effective."
It was then, for the first time in their long acquaintanceship, that Duran saw Molt openly express worry on his face. The man, often so stoic and in charge, looked anguished. He let out a steady breath, then held his gaze towards a window overlooking the city below.
If they had made it to Italica in so short a time, then could moles be within the capital, proper? If so, how many? How were they able to? And who?
Likely candidates for treason would be those within the pro-peace faction, and namely, a continual thorn on his side: Marquis Casel el Tiberius.
"Marcus!" Molt called out to a large bald man as he promptly stood at attention. "I want you to look for Marquis Casel and hold him for investigation. Not only that, but remain extra vigilant for suspicious activity. Relay this information to the guardsmen, but ."
"Yes, your majesty." He offered a quick bow, then made his leave.
Molt, so
"Is your army prepared? Are they at Alnus?" Molt turned his attention back to the Elbe ruler, a blank stare obscuring any emotions the Emperor might have felt at that moment, but it didn't have to. There was an uneasiness that permeated around the halls, which despite, its large size, made it feel so suffocating.
"Not yet. I will personally to it that they are ready."
Emperor Molt nodded solemnly. "Don't let me down," he warned. "You may leave."
Nothing more was said. Without a moment spared, Duran made his way to the courtyard, eager to experience a momentous battle first-hand.
An enemy, to have rattled Emperor Molt so much, intrigued him. If their military prowess matched their potential cunning, then he was in for a treat.
Alnus Hill, 0800, 7 days since contact
Duke Ligu was leader of the League of Principality: one of over a dozen of the Empire's satellite governments.
He didn't know much of the enemy, or the world beyond the Gate, but as Alnus was a close distance to quite a few of the smaller kingdoms that resided in the area, they felt obligated to fight.
Beyond what the eye could see, waves upon waves of warriors conglomerated into a sea reds, yellows and other colors to designate their allegiance.
That didn't take into account the hundreds of war elephants, ogres, dragon riders, and mages they had under their disposal.
It seemed like such overkill, that Ligu couldn't help but feel a tinge of pity for the enemy, once they bound over the Gate.
The hill was just in view, a few kilometers away from their headquarters. Even then, a single, large structure was clearly sat atop the center of Alnus, and at any moment the otherworlders would erupt from its confines like an anthill. And like the bugs that they were, they would be swiftly squished to a fine paste.
"Emperor Augustus must have such little faith in us, to send our entire armies just to deal with a bunch of cowards," Ligu lamented.
The King of Alguna twirled his pencil mustache and offered an agreement, speaking in the most posh of accents. "It's a pity that our tactical prowess won't be put to use: simply send a few thousand their way and they shall crumble, or cower away back to which they came."
The King of Mudwan, an elderly gentleman with a missing eye, said nothing. If a man such as Emperor Augustus was taking so many precautions, then the enemy must be a force to be reckoned with.
Alnus was surrounded by all sides, so the only feasible way for the otherworlders to breakthrough was to commit to a single direction, at great cost to the security of their flanks. Large quantities of troops would be vulnerable to encirclement, and like a funnel, they would have no room to maneuver.
It was a death sentence; there was no real possibility of the allied armies failing, right?
Even if they managed to make a breakthrough by some miracle, the Empire's army proper could deal a critical blow that would repel the would-be invaders for good.
"You think the Emperor would reward us handsomely once we get this done? Perhaps a new collection of concubines? More land?" The King of Alguna mused.
Ligu didn't dignify the question with an answer: he was more interested in the enemy themselves than any form of compensation.
They knew they'd be walking into a death trap, right? There was no conceivable way for them to grab a victory.
The King of Mudwan peered from outside the tent, back at the hill. He dreamt up all sorts of possibilities of what may come from it: soldiers imbued with magical prowess worthy of godhood, swarms of near-vulnerable monsters with a penchant for utter destruction, and of things so alien to him that they may be beyond the realm of comprehension.
"Duran should arrive in a few hours; for now, his forces are under the jurisdiction of his son," Ligu stated. "So, until he gets here, we're gonna have to pull his share of the weight."
The King of Alguna only chortled in response, and like a habit, his fingers found their way to the curls of his mustache. "If that weight were to be properly measured, it would barely compare to that of a hair strand! Duran surely won't be missing out on much."
It was then that the King of Mudwan finally spoke. In a gruff but almost parental voice, he provided his own introspection. "I've been around a while, seen a lot of things - and in that time you start to develop a good intuition. I feel it in my very core: what's gonna come out of that there portal is going to put up a fight, and it may very well win."
The other two rulers, as well as staff operating within the tent, stared in silence for a moment. The King of Alguna smirked in a fit of faceitiousness, while Ligu silently listened.
He didn't know what to think at that moment, but working within the confines of Falmart, he couldn't reasonably fathom how an army of - what he assumed are other humans - could best a legion of the Empire in so short a time.
There had to be some sort of clever trickery at play, right? Some sort of psychological manipulation? He just didn't know.
Coda Village, 0800
There laid a sizable wooden shack some ways within Coan Forest, just about a hundred meters away from Coda.
Unless there were other people residing outside of the village, then this was where the blue-haired girl had instructed him to go to.
Almus had his 1911 readied and placed snugly in a leather sack on his hip; all he had to do was reach for the handle and the threat would be neutralized within a few seconds, tops.
That was a worst-case scenario, but it shouldn't have to come to that.
There seemed to be only a single way in or out of the shack, so opting to stay close to the doorway once inside would be ideal.
Once he had mentally prepared himself, he had knocked on the door, and a few seconds later, it opened. As expected, the blue-haired girl stood in view, as stoic as ever.
"Come in." She moved aside as Almus entered, his eyes meticulously scanning every minute detail within the immediate vicinity.
There was a small circular table nestled snugly in the far corner, right next to a fire place. On the other end was what seemed to function as a study station, with a workbench and a small library of books.
Finally there was a man dressed in a owhat resembled a one-piece, sitting expectantly in one of two cots within the center of the room. Long hair seemed to spawn from almost every corner of his head, resembling a grey mane, and a whimsical face that reminded Almus of his own grandfather.
His beady eyes met with Almus', calm but brimming with curious glee - unlike that of his almost-robotic underling. It was an interesting juxtoposition, the agent thought to himself.
The man's mustache curled, betraying a smile underneath all of that hair that exuded warmth. "I felt something different," he cryptically said.
"You sent her over to get me, yes?" Almus asked.
"Lelei? Yeah - she and I have been living in this village for a few years now; we're perceptive to change, ya know?"
The girl hummed an affirmative.
"I understand Coda is rarely visited, but that seems a bit excessive, right? You welcome every new visitor this way?"
"No, no - only the ones that are 'different'. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I sense something about you. It's not bad, but it's...indescribable." He paused in thought, then let out a chuckle. "Where are my manners? My name is Cato el Altestan, and this fine young lady over here is Lelei la Lalena: she's a disciple of mine."
"Name's Almus. No surname." Almus was piecing it all together: he noticed the large staff that the girl held onto, and the with the way she dressed, it was easy to gather that she might've been one those mages that he heard about in passing.
Cato took notice to his brief glances, and offered to clarify. "We're mages, as you can see: we use our magic to help the people in Coda, and in exchange they let us live here. Before that, we were nomadic."
"Really?"
"Yeah: other than a brief stay at Rondel, we were constantly on the move. Now that we have a place to call home, well - we help out wherever possible. Which is why I brought you here..." Cato stood up. He was shorter and far less muscular than the man he stood in front of, but he carried himself with confidence.
"I have an eye for talent, and you, sir, are absolutely radiating it. You're an intelligent man, I can tell, and a decent person as well. If you're willing, I can teach you-"
"Master," Lelei interrupted.
"Right, let's not get ahead of ourselves. You've heard of a giant red dragon, yes?"
Perfect, he thought. Almus then nodded. "That's what I've come here for: I have hopes that we can stop it before it wreaks havoc on Coda."
The old man smiled again, this time placing a gentle grasp on the agent's shoulder. "I knew you felt 'different' for a reason. Not that I lack faith in you, but how do you suppose we can stop it? This creature has been known to destroy hundreds of men in a single breath, and nothing has been able to penetrate it's armor."
Almus remained silent for a moment, and the other two did the same. They didn't need to strain their ears, as a distinct cracking sound echoed from a quite the distance away. Then another. Another. Until a crescendo of pops and cracks awoke the sky overlooking Alnus.
All three looked over their shoulder to a window, and although mostly obscured by forest, glimpses of the blue sky above would occasionally glint in an orange hue, followed by sporadic beams of what could pass for molten metal whizzing by at great speeds.
"I've never seen anything like that before," Cato whispered to nobody in particular. By reflex, he grabbed at his staff and wandered closer to the window, with his disciple not far behind.
Almus said nothing, but he ran his hand along the side of his leather sack, pressing down so as to feel its contents. The 1911 was there, was well as a few magazines, and a small radio; then there was trace of a smooth cylindrical surface that glided by his fingers. Signal smoke.
It would probably take a few hours before the main force would reach Coda, so until then, he needed to be sure that the locals wouldn't put up any resistance. "I think I know how we can defeat that dragon."
Cato and Lelei turned to the man, and to his surprise, the girl actually raised a brow. His finger pointed toward the sky, as it continued to bellow the most unpleasant sounds. "It all falls on that."