A soldier of the proud Wannoan National Army ran through a broken field in the darkness of the night, feet stamping off the bloodied grass and soil of his mangled brethren. The sunny early afternoon from which the weary soldier came from was nowhere to be found the moment he stepped through the portal anticipating an easy fight against the sly yet inferior Casovyonian filth on the other side. His only source of light in the mayhem of this wretched land, unblessed by even the lit, warm grace of the sun, remained the orange glows of fireballs and the streaking trails of tracers whizzing into the charging line of his own comrades.
This could not be Casovyo, for it would have still been later in the afternoon. It could not be a particularly cloudy overcast, for it was too dark in the open and a shade-cast was beyond the realm of magical possibility even for the pesky Saunans who allied with the Casovyonians. No, it cannot be that the Casovyonians have advanced this much since the last time he had been taught of their inferior military might.
No, this cannot be Casovyo. Not at all does it make sense. Who was this? If it was not the Casovyonians who opened a portal to conduct espionage or attempt an invasion, then who or what?
Who are these people, who possess firepower to destroy a thousand of our bravest warriors in mere minutes, who can pierce through our dragons and their armour so consistently and frequently, who can make our finest machine guns and field guns look so utterly worthless, who can deal such devastating damage to the advance of the Wannoans?
Truth refused to unfurl itself fully, but the soldier knew something was terribly wrong. He felt a bullet strike his rifle, throwing it out of his hands which too took one horrific wound on each side. Without a functional rifle and functional right hand, the dirt-caked husk of a soldier fell to his knees.
"CURSE YOU GENERAL JAMUND, YOU FOUL... LYING... TRENCH ORPHAN...!"
In the anguish of a thousand men and a thousand dragons a stray round found a home in his chest, tearing apart the spot where his right lung had been just prior. Around him were only the screams of the dying and the silence of the dead, only supplemented by violent shrieks of weapons completely foreign to his training and his conscience.
His head jerked upwards towards the tracer-filled skies broken only by the louder shrieks of agonised and dying dragons, feeling his life being drained away in the hands of his incompetent officers and the unknown enemy force. In his last moments the soldier thought of his dear father and mother, whom he had hoped to see again after the planned campaign to reclaim the Cintilden Lowlands for the Republic.
That was all no more, for his life of 23 years persisted only long enough to pay front-row witness to yet another loud whistling from the skies. The blinding flash of pure white lashed away at his mortal body, reducing the disillusioned soldier to a mere faint memory of an army now a blunted blade with a bejewelled handle.
Another soul was vanquished far from family and home, in the once-more scorched fields of Flanders where the poppies once blew.
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The Sokan Plains, Diras Province
Republic of Casovyo
3/1/2000
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"Ambassador Reeds, as one of... the first of my people to speak to you... I recognise our importance in representing ourselves to your nation."
"Mister Sobion, as a representative of the United States of America we are grateful for the opportunity to conduct peaceful exchange. With little in the way of language barriers, at least for now, we look forward to establishing more formal relations with your government."
CZYTASZ
White Star of Aturan
Science Fiction[Story under heavy WIP, feedback very greatly appreciated. Title and description subject to constant changes.] "You never know what you truly have until it is gone." It is the year 2035. Something in the world of known science has gone seriously wro...
