August 20, 1930, the day of Operation Red Cyclone.
Hans Meyer strode purposefully towards the train station, his mind still immersed in the harrowing images he had witnessed at the military hospital minutes before. Around him, the clamor of an anxious crowd swirled, desperate for news of their loved ones. Yet, what struck him most was the indifference of the police towards the families of fallen soldiers, whose lives were likely lost in combat.
In the midst of this chaos, a courageous woman dared to confront the police captain, Alexander Preston, seeking information about her son. The brutal blow from a soldier knocked her down, leaving her sprawled on the ground as Preston marched on without a second glance.
"Are you deaf, Preston?" Hans demanded firmly, halting the captain in his tracks.
"Captain Meyer, a pleasure to see you. What is this about, this woman? Do you think I have time to waste on this trash when my men have work to do?" Preston responded cynically.
"Isn't it your duty to provide information in cases like this?" Meyer reproached, his gaze fixed on the officer. Indignation compelled him to act.
Preston smirked arrogantly and turned to the woman with false courtesy, helping her to her feet.
"Apologies, ma'am. Captain Meyer is right. What's your son's name?"
The woman, still dazed from the blow, gathered her thoughts.
"Thank you, sir! My son... Santiago Valencia, sir."
Preston muttered an order to a subordinate, who returned with a cloth bag. A putrid stench emanated from it, eliciting revulsion from the crowd. The subordinate emptied the bag in front of the woman.
"Here's your son, or what's left of him... Look on the bright side, ma'am. At least you'll save on a coffin. And if you want a new son, I can help with that too," Preston sneered.
The woman was shattered, her wails filling the air as she embraced the remains of her son. Anger and pain reflected in Hans' eyes, who without warning struck Preston, sending him sprawling to the ground.
"Preston! I've killed so many that I've lost count... I've seen terror in the eyes of my victims, felt pleasure in their agony. But none of them deserved this. Civilians have no part in our conflicts, they are the true victims. If I catch you doing something like this again, I assure you, you'll pay dearly," Hans warned with fury before walking away.
Hans reached the train station where Sammuelle awaited him.
"Good to see you, Hans."
Confused, Hans simply responded with a friendly gesture.
"I thought Sarah would come to say goodbye..."
"Well... she didn't want to come. I think she's too sensitive. Come on, we must board the train."
The journey grew uncomfortable; after long minutes of silence, Sammuelle extended his hand and handed Hans a golden revolver, the same one his father had given him when he was still alive. Hans was impressed by the gesture.
"Sammuelle. Why are you giving this to me?"
"It's a gift, I want to give you the only thing my father gave me. It's a bit silly, but when I use it, I feel like my mother is with me. Now you need to feel accompanied, I'll be okay."
Hans was momentarily moved but also felt admiration for Sammuelle's words.
"You're the kindest person I know, Sammuelle."
"You're like a brother to me, I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me in one way or another."
"It's a gesture I'll cherish forever."
Upon arriving at the airport, the vast number of soldiers overwhelmed Sammuelle for a moment. It had been two years since he left the battlefield, and every little memory seemed to materialize before his eyes.
"Are you alright?" Hans asked.
"It's nothing... Come on, you need to board your plane."
Hans boarded his plane with his squadron, and they took off towards the islands. After two hours, as they approached Hannorian territory, the captains encouraged their soldiers.
"You must remember that every group has its leader. We are fifteen planes from Squadron 1. When we land, we'll have to join Squadrons 3 and 6 towards the south of... — Captain, it's them! No! They're everywhere! THEY'RE GOING TO SHOOT US DOWN!"
Peering through the windows, the soldiers watched as allied planes were annihilated by enemy helicopters. A missile approached the plane and exploded, obliterating the crew.