The officer grabs my shoulder tightly, forcing me out of my trance. "Snap out of it; they haven't seen us yet; they can't see much from up there as long as we keep a low profile, so get! off! the! street!"
He turns me around and pushes me towards the nearest brush. I stumble inside, my heart in my throat, as I see the enemy planes getting closer and closer. I can see the colors of their flag. The flag itself is black , but not a solid color, as if it represented the night itself. A blood red Raven adorns the middle of it, in its maw, a ripped out heart that is meant to be their enemy. Its eyes are a stark contrast against the sky, a truly shiver inducing war Flag. My breath hitches in my throat as they come even closer.
The thunder of fiery engines vibrates through the air, and I whip around to see another fleet,this time ours, each plane streaking across the sky with the colors of our nation. A white flag on it, a golden sun reaching for the sky, covered by the mother of trees on its branches, hanging dead enemies. Adrenaline surges through my veins as the air battle commences. The enemy fleet looms ahead like a dark cloud ready to unleash its fury, and so does our side.
I can hear Arthur and the other soldiers shouting orders and scrambling for cover as the planes soar overhead. My heart races as I try to keep low, watching as the planes weave in and out of each other, firing rounds of bullets and exploding bombs, and defensive shields get erected and shattered by both sides. The sound of shrapnel and debris raining down around us is deafening, and I cover my ears with my hands, trying to block out the chaos. As the sirens whale, our ground anti-air support tunes in on the orchestra of death, its lady now dancing in delight, her feet moving to the macabre rhythm of the Flak.
The officer next to me yells for everyone to stay down, but I can see the determination in his eyes as he watches the battle unfold. Suddenly, one of the enemy planes veers off course, its engine sputtering and smoking. The pilot ejects just before the plane explodes, and I can see his parachute deploying in the distance.
The officer's bellow reverberates across the sky, ordering everyone to remain watchful for any sign of approaching enemy pilots. Above us, our planes circle on relentless patrol, their engines screaming as they tear through the air. Every nerve in my body is coiled tight with anticipation and dread, waiting for something to happen on the horizon.
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Suddenly, a bright beam of light shoots from one of our planes and slams into one of the enemies. A loud explosion follows, and the plane falls, burning from the sky. The officer next to me lets out a triumphant roar as he watches our Anti-Air support take out multiple enemy planes with ease. But our side isn't the only one with mages; one of our planes stop mid air, the air around it shimmering unnaturally.
I blanche. I can feel the power resonating in the fabric of the weave; something big is about to happen. Time seems to stop, not literally, no, no one could even if they tried. But in this moment, the world felt like it. We all see our plane, proudly carrying the emblem of this very nation, getting slowly crushed. There is no hope for the pilots; the air around them is caging them, forcing them to get crushed in a coffin of debree. I turn away, disgusted. There is no reason to waste so much mana on such an attack; it was just a show of force the lives of the pilots, nothing more than an art piece meant to show total dominance.
As I turn back to face the battle, I see the officer's eyes widen in horror. Another enemy plane is headed straight for us, its wings aflame and out of control. The officer grabs my arm and pulls me down, shielding me from the explosion that rocks the ground beneath us. I can feel the heat of the flames on my skin as I try to catch my breath. The officer is shouting for a medic, but I can barely hear him over the ringing in my ears.
As I lift my head, I see the wreckage of the plane scattered across the field, the charred bodies of the pilot and copilot lying motionless on the ground. I feel bile rise in my throat, the taste of vomit on my tongue as I try to hold back the tears.
The officer stands up, the dust from the explosion still clinging to his uniform. He surveys the destruction with a somber expression before turning towards me. "It's time to march, soldier," he says solemnly, and I nod in agreement. We can't stay here any longer; we don't want to get caught in any more crossfire.
So I take a deep breath and gather my courage as best I can before following the officer and the rest of our group, hopefully far away from the carnage. The sun is setting on this day of battle, but its rays cast an eerie glow across the land that reminds us that the sun will carry on with its cycle with or without us. And so we march on into what will be another long night for those of us lucky enough to survive it.