Prologue to War Ch.2: Storm on the Horizon
First of all, apologies for the long pause after Chapters. I couldn't decide if what I had was refined enough to upload. That, and my laziness, delayed the upload of this chapter for a very long time. In fact, I already went ahead and got about 60 more pages done (Sorry about that), but they're also very rough. Soooo...., I made this upload a bit longer to compensate.
A few changes have been made between this and the previous uploads. Most chapters will only have a number unless I can think of name. There are now dates to keep track of time, including the time of day (morning, noon, night, etc). Location has also been added, and yes I'll upload a map, but I can't say exactly when. The one I have now needs a lot of work. All of of the new info will be displayed as follows:
Month, Year - Country - Specific Location- Time of Day
So, here's chapter 2! And comments/critique/ratings are appreciated!
PS: Part 1 is incredibly short. In fact, this is the last chapter.
February, Y874 - Corysia - Senchen HQ - Afternoon
It is a strange collection of the old and the new. Old building, old furniture, old everything. New rank, new "office", new everything. Spaer leans back in his chair, looking around yet again, and taking in his surroundings. Muffled conversations could be heard in the background, and the stench of tobacco smoke pollutes the air. The small little corner of the base, designated for the fox as his "office", is relatively empty. Spaer's bag is at the side of his desk, and only the essential items have been unpacked. Divisional commander. Me, commanding one of only seven armored divisions. Seven! It is a wonder that the red fox was promoted to such a high position. He is barely twenty-six years old, and such eminent positions are rarely given to "pups" (or "kits" in his case), as others like to say. Most divisional commanders and up were given to warlords from the Kingdom Era, or their descendants. Furthermore, there are only seven armored divisions in the whole of Corysia's military. The Tank Army is the pride, the spoiled pup of Corysia's land forces. Thus, high positions in Corysia's prestigious Tank Army are only reserved for the best, or whoever had good relations with the officers in charge of the Tank Army.
Absentmindedly, Spaer picks up a deck of cards on his desk and flipped through it. His deck is close by so he doesn't need to reach his paw too far across the desk. The cards are unique to each division in Corysia's military, including the 7th Armored Division under his command. However, the cards aren't radically different. The only difference between decks is the back of the card. It says which branch of the armed forces, the division, and a picture of the division type. The back of his cards say "National Corysian Army, 7th Armored Division" and has a small picture of a Type 58.
Corysia's actual conventional tank is the aging Type 44, based off Sibivea's T40. Corysian rearmament efforts have upgraded the obsolete tanks to the Type 44m2. Some have even been further upgraded to the 44m3, wielding advanced, modern technology with the modular advanced computerized tank improvement system, or MACTIS. The Type 58 on the other hand, is a modern, domestically developed, and locally produced tank, far superior to the Type 44s, but lacking in numbers. It, in turn, was somewhat based on the Kargan Jagger-2 and Trunician M5 "Adder" MBTs. Compared to the Type 44, it uses equipment that is much more modern efficient, but expensive. It removed the autoloader, is protected with composite armor instead of reactive, has a jet engine instead of diesel, and a second pintle-mounted machine gun for the loader to use. All this is affordable only for highly developed countries such as Kargona or Trunicia, and thus, resulted in a relatively low number of Type 58s in service compared to 44s. Still, the Type 58 is shown the most often partly for propaganda purposes. The Type 58 is also more visually appealing with its modern, streamlined design.
The fox continues flipping through the deck of cards. Tomorrow, Spaer is going to meet those under his command, but that's tomorrow. The 7th Armored Division's tanks are still exiting the factories or being upgraded from Type 44m2s to m3s, so he has almost nothing to do. This is his first day and Spaer is yet to receive orders, so he also has almost nothing to do.
The hours gradually pass, and soon the sun is already starting to set. It seems like Spaer's first day is coming to an end. "What a constructive day, sitting around doing nothing," the fox mutters. He could be doing something, he could be useful, but no. And this will be how my days are, for many years to come.
Spaer reaches his paw across the yet-to-be-cluttered desk, picks up his deck of cards, and flips through them as his time is slowly wasted away. What is the point of even joining the armed forces? Did I seriously think I could change anything?
It was only because his father was a brilliant armored warfare strategist from Kargona that he is here. He was stationed in Corysia during the Corysia-Kargona Cooperation Agreement to modernize Corysia's armed forces. It was during his father's time here that he met Spaer's future mother. Thus, the only reason someone with a functioning brain, such as Spaer, actually made it into the Tank Army is that his father is a Kargan tank leader, amazing isn't it? Spaer's fluffy tail twitches occasionally in his anger as the fox flips through the cards in his paws.
April, Y874 - Parosana - Iroza Drydocks - Afternoon
At the massive Iroza Drydocks, warships are constructed around the clock. Workers are adding finishing touches to a cruiser. The welding tools create a dazzling display of pyrotechnics against the drab, hazy skyline. The port is filled with both military and civilian vessels, both struggling to transit in and out without colliding.
Kenno sits on a large metal cleat, still warm from the sun, as the sticky, salt-laden ocean wind blow around the fox's fur. The evening sun slowly sinks towards the horizon, dispersing a mix of warm colors into the sky. He watches as a frigate in one of the drydocks undergoes final inspection before being launched from the drydocks. A newly constructed cruiser's superstructure stands proudly against the smog-filled skyline. A wolf kneels down next to Kenno, holding two bottles in his paws. Kenno looks at them quizzically, and the wolf paws one of them over. The fox smiles, and takes the bottle.
"So where'd you find the soda, Taseko?"
"Got it at a convenience store at the street," the wolf replies, opening the bottle and taking a drink from it.
"Did they give you discount for the uniform?" Kenno asks, drinking some soda from his bottle.
"I didn't ask."
"You shouldn't have to."
"Only newly enlisted get this sort of dirty, unappealing uniform. Probably didn't recognize it," Taseko reasons.
The wolf looks out to ocean where two destroyers are slowly exiting the port. Taseko flicks his tail around as the two finish their drinks. In less than a week, both of them will be stationed in Corysia. Even though Corysia is just a strait away, communication with their friends and families will be significantly more difficult. Once they're gone, they won't be back for another year. Still, both are optimistic about their new life in Parosana's armed forces.
March, Y874 - Trunicia - Fort Radlo - Noon
The blazing sun is high up, scorching the dusty landscape below with no clouds to shield against the unrelenting sunlight. Softly rolling hills cover the landscape with sparse vegetation. Cutting through the continuous shade of sand and dust is a four-lane highway. A convoy of buses drive south on the highway, every one filled with furs. After a period of time, they exit on one of the ramps onto a smaller road, followed by more driving. Soon their destination becomes apparent as a cluster of buildings appear in the distance.
Cerl sits straight in his seat, taking in passing environment. Every breath is clogged with the stench of diesel fume, special thanks to the bus. The short fennec fox never really fit in anywhere. Ever since he was a kit, he wasn't comfortable with anyone, whether it was his family or classmates. When he didn't make it into college, military service seemed like a good idea. So here he is now, along with everyone else who has completed basic training. Now they are here to meet up with the rest of the 2nd Heavy Mechanized Division.
The coyote next to Cerl taps him on the shoulder and points ahead at the cluster of specks in the distance.
"There it is, Fort Radlo" he says. Cerl had met the coyote, Kril, during the start of basic training. The two have been friends ever since. There's also Darren, sitting on the other side of the bus's aisle, whose muzzle is pointing at the floor in his sleep.
Sure enough, Cerl looks through the bus' front windshield and could see the buildings ahead, past the other buses. "That's home," the fennec comments. The desert can play tricks to the eye. In the unpolluted air, faraway objects can be seen with incredibly clarity, making them seem as if they are only a short distance away. The buildings in the distance were actually several miles away, and it took another ten or fifteen minutes before they arrived. The buses arrive at the fort, and stop in a large open area in front of some buildings. The platoon leader stands, and turns to face the rest of the furs.
Kril, who already predicted what will happen, quickly jabs Darren who is still busy sleeping.
"Hey sleeper, wake up!" he hisses.
"Stand up!" the lieutenant shouts into the bus' intercom.
Everyone stands, quickly followed by Darren as he notices the situation. The platoon's CO then leads the new soldiers out of the bus and onto the flat, open area along with the furs from the other buses. Soldiers already part of the recently rebuilt 2nd 'Razor' Heavy Mech Division stand close-by and on the second floor balconies, observing the fresh battalion as they enter the buildings.
January, Y874 - Trunicia - Cadian Mountains - Morning
Snow softly fell on the mountainous terrain, adding a layer of white to the already snow-covered landscape. The cloudy sky blocks the sun, ensuring that the snow will stay frozen a little longer. Tall pines covered the base of the mountains, but thinned further up where only a few could hold on to the mountain's slopes.
Among the trees huddled at the bottom of the mountains is a small area where the vegetation is less dense. A metal plate has been placed there behind some foliage, with a dot the size of a golf ball in the center. The plate is partially buried under snow, and set so that it faces the mountains. In the few seconds when the wind dies down a bit, a bullet hits the sandbags surrounding the metal plate. Some of the snow settled precariously on the sandbags falls off from the impact. Up high in the mountains, a paw moves forward and grabs the bolt of an M31 sniper rifle. With incredible fluidity, the paw lifts the bolt and pulls it back, ejecting a spent cartridge, before pushing the bolt forward and back down.
"Bottom-right, hit the bags," Ryt, the sniper's spotter, informs. "Fire when ready."
Kruivak searches for his target again. The two arctic wolves in ghillie suits are lying prone behind a bush and some boulders. Ryt observes through a spotting scope and Kruivak through his rifle's optics. The sniper finds the target, adjusts his aim accordingly, and rests his finger on the M31's trigger.
Kruivak had known Ryt even before grade school. His oldest memory is of him and Ryt fooling around in a supermarket as if they were in a playground. The arctic wolf remembered how on the first day of school the two went together, and that Ryt ended up introducing Kruivak to the class when he got stage fright. Ryt seemed like an ambassador, being the one who talked for Kruivak since he could rarely summon the courage to speak in front of just about anyone unless absolutely necessary.
Kruivak pushes away his memories and focuses on the current objective. The wind settles for a brief period, and he presses the trigger. The firing pin slides forward and impacts the primer at the base of the chambered cartridge. The propellant is ignited, firing the bullet. The arctic wolf feels the rifle kick his shoulder as the propellant explodes, sending the bullet downrange. It punches a hole through the metal plate about four centimeters to the bottom-left of the dot.
"Bottom-left," Ryt comments.
Nothing else needed to be said. Kruivak now has his target zeroed in. The wolf quickly operates the bolt, finds the target, steadies the rifle, waits for the wind to die down, and squeezes the trigger. The third shot impacts the metal slightly off from the dot's center.
"Hit," the spotter says as Kruivak operates his rifle's bolt
After short delay, Ryt turns to Kruivak and asks, "Do you know how far that is?"
Kruivak shakes his muzzle, still inspecting the shot through his rifle's scope.
"1478 meters," Ryt replies, a smile tugging at the sides of his maw.
A 12.7mm rifle would have a breeze shooting about one and a half kilometers, but shooting that far with a 7.62mm sniper rifle isn't exactly easy. The two arctic wolves pack up their gear and begin their long trek back to the barracks.
May 18, Y874 - Corysia - Senchen military base - Evening
"Who are you?" a grey wolf asks.
"Oh, me? Uh...I-I'm-," the silver fox stutters, but before he could form a coherent response, the large wolf walks over roughly grabs the patch on the fox's uniform with his name stitched on it.
"I asked who the fuck you are!" the wolf growls, glaring at the name patch. "Dauntless?" he asks, eyeing the fox suspiciously. Terry could easily see the large wolf is significantly taller than him while they were standing meters apart, but now it's even more apparent. The grey wolf stood immediately in front of Terry, yet he could look straight down and his threatening muzzle can't touch Terry's fuzzy black ears. Still, the difference in height wouldn't make it any harder for the wolf to decapitate the tiny, whimpering fox below with teeth alone.
In his anxiety, the silver fox says nothing, his eyes darting around the dark, unforgiving barracks. Terry could see the wolf's name patch, with "Karbovic" stitched on it. The fox also sees other things past the large wolf, but he can't identify them in his confusion.
"T. Dauntless?" the grey wolf asks, causing Terry to jump as he realizes the wolf is asking him a question.
"O-Oh...um...yeah...that's my-"
"I know that's your fucking name, I'm asking what your first name is!" the wolf snarls, pushing Terry backwards with his paw that held onto the name patch.
"T-Terry..." the fox replies quickly.
Another wolf, much smaller than the larger menacing wolf, joins and asks, "Where you from? Senchen region?"
"No...I...I'm from Es..." Terry's voice trailed off as he notices that almost the whole platoon has gathered around him. He finally realizes that his ears are flat against his head, and his tail wedged between his legs, but can't tell how long it has been that way.
(.....)
"Terry, apparently there are other plans you."
"What?" the fox asked the lieutenant. He was drafted, and therefore he should be going back to civilian life, right? Isn't that how the one-year draft works?
"54th I-Division is short a few furs, you're replacing them," his CO responded curtly.
"But I'm suppo-"
"Yeah, yeah," he interrupts. "You're in the draft, militia, people's army, whatever you call it. Either way, you're selected, so you're going."
It was that quick, that simple. The course of the silver fox's whole life was changed. Terry is now "voluntarily" in military service to reinforce the 54th ID, I-division, Infantry Division, or whatever one wants to call it."
(.....)
Terry glances at one unfamiliar faces to another, unsure of what to do. The silver fox could feel the collective eyes of everyone cutting him apart.
"We're not going to kill you," Darrell, one of the wolves says, finally lifting the silence.
Terry could only stutter at first, but he finally spits out, "I'm from Escova...northern Escova."
"Why are you here?" Karbovic questioned bluntly.
"I...w-was transferred-"
"What's in the bag?"
"Bag...um...just..."
But before he could respond, Karbovic opens his simple bag, and spills the contents onto the fox's cot. The wolf sifts around the contents, none of which seem particularly interesting. For at least another minute, Karbovic continues his violation of Terry's privacy, rummaging through the fox's possessions. Unable to find anything of interest, Karbovic decides to give up. Without another word, he returns to his cot, leaving Terry's belongings scattered about. With the "exciting" part over, most of the furs lose interest and return to what they were doing earlier. Only Darrell and Sun, a red fox, was left.
"It usually isn't like this," Darrell says, helping Terry to organize his possessions.
"Usually?" Sun adds in, but the wolf ignores him.
"So, you're from northern Escova?" Darrell asks, changing the subject.
"I lived in Escova."
"No, I mean where are you transferred from?"
"Oh, I got moved to the Senchen region when I was drafted, but I wasn't stationed in the city."
"Then I assume you haven't been around here much?"
"Not really."
The three talk for a few more minutes. Mainly Darrell is the one who converses with Terry, while Sun just sits back and listens, occasionally adding in a witty comment. After Terry tells a brief story of how he got transferred, Karbovic returns.
"You two ready?" he asks.
"Yeah," they reply.
"We're leaving in one minute!" Karbovic shouts, notifying everyone in the room.
With that, Karbovic returns to his cot and everyone else in the room resume what they were doing earlier.
"Where's everyone going?" Terry asks
"The nearby market. It's the only reasonable place to spend free time."
"The only place with liquor you mean," Sun chuckles. Darrell sighs in response.
With no other option, Terry goes with them to the market. But of course he first has the mess on his cot to take care of.
"Darrell, are you coming or not?" Karbovic asks.
"Yeah, of course."
"Well, what are doing?
"Helping to...clean up Terry's stuff."
Karbovic glares at Terry, whose ears immediately fall flat on his head.
"Fine, whatever. We aren't going to wait, don't take your time."
Karbovic leaves, along with everyone else in the section except Darrell and Terry. Silence falls on the room once more, only interrupted by Darrell and Terry putting away the spilled items.
After he is sure they have left, Terry asks, "He never smiles?"
"Oh...no, never seen him smile before," Darrell responds. The wolf sighs and pauses.
"I won't go into details, but he's dealt with a lot," the wolf says. "Just don't take anything too personal."
Without saying anything else, they finish cleaning up. They exit the barracks, and Terry follows Darrell towards the market. The rest of the section is not far ahead, and the two easily regroup with everyone else. In the distance, skyscrapers and other tall buildings crowd the sky, marking downtown Senchen, the "Financial" - one of the most important locations in all of Corysia. Standing out among the buildings is the 68 story Senchen Business Center. Of course, that's the "good" district, far off in the distance. The group of soldiers is heading for the market closer by in the outskirts of the city. It takes at least fifteen minutes of walking before the market is in visible range.
A whole street and more is occupied by the market, with numerous shops and stalls lining the sides of the road. Furs crowd the street, moving from one shop to another, essentially shutting it off for cars and other automobiles. They can still pass, albeit at a slow pace. Smoke from the various stalls combined with the humidity in the air makes the place almost unbearable to furs who don't frequent the location. Upon reaching their destination, the section splits up into smaller groups and head toward their individual destinations. Terry, who wishes to stay with a familiar face, follows Darrell. Fortunately, the wolf joins the group with Sun, the fox he met earlier. To the silver fox's dismay, Karbovic is in the same group. He stays at the tail of the group to avoid contact with the large wolf. After jostling among the crowd of furs, who seem quite used to their military uniform here, they finally reach their first destination - a small restaurant.
Terry sits at a table in the corner to avoid attention while the other three get something to eat at the counter. He doesn't have the money to buy anything. The silver fox notices the television is on, and tuned into one of the news channels.
There has been yet another military incident in Contrael. Two weeks ago, paratroopers landed on some island that belonged to Arcania - "Rusedia Island" or something like that. Officials from Arcania claim they are Trunician soldiers. Of course, Trunicia denies it. Trunician soldiers? Oh well, this isn't new stuff. Anyone who even vaguely pays attention to the news will be aware of events in Contrael. There have been incidents varying from sunken ships, to downed aircraft, to MIA soldiers. Everyone has been pointing fingers, but surprisingly, the first shot is yet to be fired.
The group exits the small shop, making their way through the crowded market, occasionally stopping at a stall so one of them can purchase something. The rest of the trip is relatively uneventful as the group of soldiers makes their way through the crowded streets of the market.
They finish as the sun starts to set on the horizon. The soldiers make their way back to the barracks, down the same path they came from. However, as they near the normally noisy mess hall, they find it surprisingly quiet. The television is also on, and it is tuned into...the news channel? Hearing some broken sentences about Contrael, they quicken their pace. The four enter the mess hall, finding everyone huddling at the television.
The NSU has responded to the Rucidia Island Incident with force. Kargan tanks have rolled into surrounding countries in central Contrael, and Arcania is launching a full-scale invasion on Agrium. Images of burning buildings, mechanized troops in action, and jets conducting bombing runs are broadcasting on the news channel. After less than a minute, an update arrives: the AON has declared war on the NSU. Contrael is now at war.
May 3, Y874 - Arcania - Weapons R&D Lab - Afternoon
"How long has it been?" a grey wolf sighs, leaning back in his swivel chair
"What do you mean?" the wolf's partner, a jackal, asks.
"How long has it been since this whole project started?" the wolf asks, rubbing his muzzle. It has been about, what, five or six years since the massive research team was assembled. Everything has been done, weapon designs, production facilities, but now they are waiting because of the incompetence of a sister facility.
"Just...keep your muzzle shut. You know where that sort of stuff gets you," the jackal replies.
The wolf sighs. Secrecy is kept tight on the project, in fact, no one knows exactly what they are making. Talking is discouraged, and even complaining can result in punishment. After a few minutes of mindless waiting, a coyote bursts into their cubicle.
"Fermi, Ronzo, come quick! Good news, follow me!" the coyote shouts excitedly.
Good news? What could it possibly be, a breakthrough? There have been too many of those, only to end up as false alarms. They follow the coyote through the winding halls of the research facility, cold from excessive air-conditioning, and finally to their destination, already crowded by other furs. Fermi stands on the tip of his hindpaws, trying to see what the commotion is about. He could see a large, rectangular metal object at the center of the room.
"What is it?" Fermi asks another wolf in front of him.
"It's here, finally here! The Rucidia Island Project!" the wolf shouts so that he could be heard.
"About time!" Fermi scoffs.
"Hey, you haven't heard the news? Trunician paratroopers landed on Rucidia! This thing survived direct hit by a rocket!" the wolf replies.
Fermi is surprised to hear this. The wolf genuinely didn't know about the Rucidia Island Incident. At least the weapon has made it, and work will resume on the project.