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—

June 12, 2019

Washington D.C.

"Good God, that is horrible!" President Lee exclaimed as he watched a live UAV feed from Ashmoore. On the screen in front of him, several civilians, including children, were being lined up and fed to monstrous beasts.

"The UAV operator had to be replaced sir, the previous one got sick from watching all that," Steven said.

President Lee rubbed his eyes and handed the tablet back to Steven. "Those poor people… please don't tell me this damn planet is just war crimes galore all over the place."

"I would hope not, sir. It might simply be confined to these so-called uncivilized regions, where the culture and technological era is medieval. I expect that the industrialized regions we discovered via satellite are more humane, but we won't know for sure until we establish contact."

"Damn monsters. Are there any survivors in Ashmoore?"

"Inside of the town, sir?"

President Lee nodded.

Steven hung his head slightly. "No, I doubt it. Our UAVs have identified several caravans of refugees fleeing toward Addenhold, and several caravans moving west; likely slaves."

"Damnit," President Lee clenched his fist. "If only we had built up our bases there sooner! Damn HHS and CDC sure took their time trying to verify the safety of travel, but I guess I'd rather have this than our people suffering some unknown disease…"

"Wise observation, sir."

Lee shook his head. "Okay, so we'll probably have a few dissidents against the deployment of our military. I bet there are a few folks on the internet wailing about how the US hasn't changed, and is becoming imperialist now that we're in a new world." He then looked up. "Say, Steven. What if we leak some of this footage to the public? Like to liveleak or something. That'll be sure to get people's blood boiling, and any of those damn commies who keep complaining about U.S. imperialism will sure as hell keep their mouths shut."

"That might work, sir."

"Alright then. Put that on your list," President Lee ordered. "Oh, and get me Rear Admiral Charleston — we need to talk about relocation of the Fifth Fleet. I've got a hunch we'll be needing to worry more about our west than our east."

—

U.S. Embassy, Mallowvine Kingdom

In an air-conditioned meeting room, Ambassador Anders talked on the phone as he waited for his Mallowvinian counterpart, Sir Tosh.

"Don't worry, it's safe. Hell, the bad guys over here use swords and bows! The only worrying factor is magic, but hey, can't cast a spell faster than a speeding bullet."

"But honey, what if they can shoot lightning from their hands or something, or… or… what if they summon Godzilla?"

"You're worrying too much, Maddie," Anders said with a smile. "There's like a tech difference of 500–"

He heard a knock on the door.

"Alright, I've got to go now, baby. I love you," he whispered to his phone before ending the call. Then, calling out to the door, he said, "Come in."

Sir Tosh opened the door, panting. "I came here as fast as I could. Do you bring good news?"

Anders looked to his left. "Ehh, good and bad. This is information your leaders will want to know. Come, have a seat." He gestured to a couch.

Tosh complied and sat, anxious to know what news Anders had for him.

"So the good news is that the Seventh Fleet will be here shortly; they'll be off the coast of Seacrest in a few hours. We're also requesting that you send an observer to our fleet."

Tosh's eyes lit up at the news of the arrival of the Seventh Fleet, but he quickly became confused at the odd request. "Why do you need an observer?"

"You're familiar with the Manhaven fleet and their trajectory?" Anders hinted.

Tosh's face darkened as the realization set in. "4,000 ships, likely headed to Seacrest."

"Yes. We'll be aiding in the defense of Seacrest, and we would like an observer to view the… target practice," Anders smiled.

Target practice? Tosh wondered if the magical automatic translation phenomenon somehow mistranslated, but he cast aside his confusion and simply nodded. "And the bad news?"

"The bad news is that it will take a while for us to mobilize our forces on the ground. We haven't completed construction of ports to ease our logistics, nor have we developed any roads or rail lines yet. When do you think the next assault from the Manhaven army will occur?"

"Oh. For now, it seems that the Manhavens are holding Ashmoore. They are most likely waiting for the hundreds of thousands of troops from the numerous lords and nobles in the Manhaven Kingdom. They will likely commence the attack around the same time that their naval fleet attacks Seacrest. I expect this will happen in several weeks."

"I see. I'll have this information brought up to my superiors. If there is any urgent news, remember to use your phone to dial me."

"Okay. Thank you, Ambassador Anders!" Tosh bowed.

—

Seacrest, Mallowvine Kingdom

A dark haired elf stood by the Seacrest port, looking out to sea. Durman grinned in excitement at his upcoming objective: to represent the Mallowvine military as an observer aboard the USS Ronald Reagan. The imposing steel ship came into view as it moved toward the port. The size of the vessel easily dwarfed the Mallowvinian ships, making them look like ants in comparison to the giant that was the steel ship. Moving in formation around the supercarrier were several escorts, similarly made of steel and brandishing their cannons proudly. From the deck of the carrier, one of the Americans' flying machines took off; this one was called a helicopter. Unlike the iron dragons, this one moved at a similar speed to a wyvern.

The helicopter approached an open plaza along the port, where Durman was waiting. As it got closer, he heard a thumping sound, as if someone was rapidly hitting the air. The sound grew louder until eventually, he could not focus on the sound any longer; the winds generated by this machine as it touched down overcame him like a torrent as he braced himself.

The side door of this machine opened and a woman stepped out. "Are you the observer?"

Durman nodded, yelling over the wind. "Yes, that's me! Sir Durman, Mallowvine Second Fleet!"

"Alright. I'm Lieutenant Vasquez with the United States Navy, I'll be your uh… guide or liaison for this mission. Please, step up onto this vehicle," the woman said, offering his hand.

Durman boarded the helicopter, marveling at the sophistication of the machine. Seeing the advanced technology, he felt reassured in his initial assumption that the superior technology of the Americans would reign supreme over the overwhelmingly superior numbers of the Manhaven navy. As he sat down, he noticed the relative comfort of the small cabin, recognizing its utility for passenger and cargo transport.

"Here, take this," Vasquez said, offering a headset. "It might be a bit loud, so we use this to communicate over the noise!"

Durman accepted the headset and put it on, following Vasquez' example. Lieutenant Vasquez adjusted the headpiece, and showed Durman how to talk through it.

"Can you hear me?"

Vasquez flashed a thumbs up. "Loud and clear! You're a quick learner; I can see why you were chosen to represent Mallowvine!"

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Durman said, blushing.

The helicopter's blades began to spin faster, and Durman felt a sensation pressing up on his seat as they took off. To his surprise, the takeoff was relatively smooth; there were no wild jerking movements, commonly associated with wyvern takeoffs. He looked out the window and down at the city; yet another crowd lined up along the docks, cheering and waving at the helicopter. He waved back, then looked toward the front. Up ahead, a large metal vessel came into view, its deck filled with iron dragons of various shapes, and surrounded by dozens of steel fortresses.

"It… is huge!" Durman was at a loss for words. He had only heard rumors of large carriers dedicated to wyverns, owned by the Allatian Empire, but to see such a vessel up close was extraordinary. To top it all off, this particular wyvern carrier was host to a swarm of iron dragons — much more powerful than mere wyverns, according to a few of the lucky souls who had traveled to the United States. Indeed, he even thought that the existence of such a superweapon meant that the United States had the strength of a superpower, perhaps even surpassing that of Mu, the mechanical superpower.

After the helicopter landed, he was led to the bridge by Lieutenant Vasquez, where he met with the ship's captain and admiral.

Clad in spotted blue uniforms similar to the rest of the men and women working aboard the ship, the captain and admiral were somewhat hard to distinguish. The primary differentiating factor, to Durman, was how they held themselves and coordinated the sailors under their command. The two men who were busy discussing the upcoming battle turned around, introducing themselves.

"That must be the observer from Mallowvine," one of them said. Then, giving a firm salute, he introduced himself. "I am Vice Admiral William Hawthorne, United States Navy Seventh Fleet."

The other one, a shorter but certainly bulkier man, stepped forward. "Captain Richard Vaughn," he saluted. "Welcome aboard the Ronald Reagan."

Durman bowed. "I am Observation Officer Durman. Thank you for providing assistance to us. We are eternally grateful for your reinforcements."

Hawthorne's demeanor grew dark as he replied, somewhat commenting on the video he had seen just moments ago. "Say no more, son. We saw what those assholes did to the people of Ashmoore, and we're ready to punish them."

—

Cassius Sea, Manhaven Kingdom Second Assault Navy

Vice Admiral Blane, a man in his late 40's, analyzed the massive fleet of warships around him. It was an incredible sight that made him swell with pride. He smiled as he commented on the glorious movement of the fleet, "This must be the largest naval force in the history of the Cassius continent, maybe in the Eastern Civilized Domain! I dare say we might even be able to challenge the Allatian Empire itself!"

His thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing sound that grew annoyingly loud. The buzzing was initially faint, then evolved into a loud thumping as a peculiar object approached from the horizon. "A wyvern?" Blane pulled up his telescope. "No… what the hell is that thing?!"

His sailors began clamoring and pointing at the strange object, which stopped just out of an arrow's reach. Several bowmen rushed onto the deck, setting their arrows ablaze as they prepared to fire. The arrows missed their mark, falling into the ocean.

With an inhumanly loud voice, the strange contraption declared its identity. "This is the United States Navy! Turn back now, you are trespassing on Mallowvinian waters. If you do not comply, we will open fire on your vessels!"

After repeating the same message several times, it turned back. Blane was left with a terrible premonition and numerous questions. He looked back at his own fleet, reassuring himself with his fleet's numerical superiority. "All vessels, we shall continue toward Seacrest!"

The fleet sailed forward, undeterred by the helicopter's warning. After sailing for an hour, one of Blane's men noticed some odd figures along the horizon. Blane analyzed the objects in the distance, making a confused face as he attempted to make sense of it. "Five ships… What the hell are they? Fortresses? This has to be a trick of perspective; there is no way a ship can be that large!"

His doubt was quelled as the vessels approached. One of them took the lead, announcing itself with a booming voice, similar to the one from the flying contraption earlier. "This is the United States Navy! Turn back now! This is your final warning!"

Blane eyed the vessel in shock. "I can't believe it…" he muttered shakily. Then, regaining his composure, he issued orders to his men. "There are merely five ships; we are a force of over four thousand! We shall NOT be deterred. All units, we shall battle with the enemy!"

The Manhaven ships approached the lead metal vessel, and once they were within bow range, hundreds of archers rained down burning arrows upon the metal ship. It was a fearsome sight indeed, but the Manhavens were shocked to see that the arrows simply bounced off the metal ship. "What the hell, is the entire ship covered in metal armor?" one of the Manhaven sailors asked.

"It doesn't matter," his comrade replied. "Look," he said, pointing at the ship. "It's retreating!"

Blane observed his man chatter, and couldn't help but feel dread. Why was only one ship retreating? The others maintained their positions in a line; it seemed more like the ship was returning to its formation. While his soldiers cheered the retreat of the strange vessel, Blane alone pondered the implications of such an action.

When the ship returned to the line formation, his questions were answered in a roar of light. A spectacular light flashed from all five ships, and before he knew it, he was deafened by the sound of vessels around him exploding to bits. A ship to his right suffered a direct blow from the enemy's magical cannons, almost ceasing to exist. The only sign of its existence was the storm of wooden debris and body parts crashing down onto the decks of nearby vessels. In quick succession, the five ships continued their onslaught, granting almost no time to think or even react.

In a panic, Blane froze. As his subordinates begged him for orders, all he could do was watch as his ships were obliterated, one after the other. A piece of wooden debris grazing his arm brought him back to reality.

"What the hell?"

By the time Blane's shock faded, the enemy ships had ceased firing. "Why did they stop?"

—

Cassius Sea, U.S. Seventh Fleet

USS Barry

"Damage report!" Captain Winslow yelled.

"Sir, no damage to the hull. Although the paint seems to have been chipped in some places…" an officer replied.

Winslow looked forward. "That's it? Well then," he said, thinking about their next move. "Relay the information back to Admiral Hawthorne."

"Yes, sir!"

The officer contacted the USS Ronald Reagan and provided an update on the current situation. He sat, listening for further instructions. "Captain, the Admiral has information for us! Command's detected numerous flyers inbound, 250 of them. Wyvern class!"

"Our orders?"

The officer continued to wait for additional orders. "Sir, they're sending two squadrons of Super Hornets to engage the enemy. They're relating targeting data to the CIC now, and are authorizing use of anti-air missiles!"

"Shame they didn't back down," Winslow muttered. "Sucks to be them," he said, before relaying the admiral's orders.