Lieutenant DuPont had wandered to the edge of Fort Gideon’s food court and munched on a cheese and bean burrito while watching a horde of Engineers and their specialized vehicles rumble past him. The base had always been a hive of activity, but ever since the Seabees and Army Corps of Engineers had rolled in, the intensity of damn near everything had skyrocketed to an entirely new level.
Taking another bite, DuPont couldn’t help but glance at the building materials and what looked like train tracks that stuck out of the 5-ton trucks while heavier vehicles hauled excavators and bulldozers. This sight would have been mundane and rudimentary at any point in time, but DuPont knew this was a huge deal because of where they were going and what they were building.
The Lieutenant had played guard dog for these engineers before as he and his platoon patrolled the periphery of the rift while engineering teams slowly built an entire system of railways leading to it. It was one of many steps to what DuPont knew was to come. The sight of those tracks leading to nowhere sent a chill down his spine, and as he thought about it, he realized they were a tangible reminder of what kind of Juggernaut the US Military actually was.
As he observed the seemingly endless convoy, DuPont dwelled on its implications. He started piecing together all the subtle signs that were being dropped for an imminent invasion. The railroad was just the beginning. He had noticed the massive warehouses springing up seemingly overnight, designed to store enough supplies to sustain an entire army in a world where resupply might be impossible.
Railways weren’t the only things being laid either. Massive road networks that could support incredible amounts of weight were being built all over the place, leading to two destinations.
The Rift and Fort Gideon.
It was obvious to anyone who bothered paying attention that something would go down, but most decided to shove their heads into the dirt and not think about it. The idea of invading a country, or in this case, a new world, was all fun and games until it the rubber met the road. Then, all of a sudden, reality hit, and the jokes and bravado stopped the moment you had to stop by the aid station to get your blood type checked.
The mounting stress and tension were compounded by the increase frequency and intensity of drills. Just yesterday, DuPont had overseen an exercise that simulated punching through enemy lines to get to a contingent of friendly forces that had been cut off. The scenario had felt different from anything else. It was…. more real, this time. More immediate.
But the most telling sign was the food. The mess hall had been serving meals that most would consider a luxury, especially in the military. DuPont remembered the chuck roast they'd had a few nights ago. The meat was so tender it practically fell off the bone, and everyone laughed that they were going to go in the next day. And just last night, they'd been treated to carbonara.
Suspicions at the increased quality of food had rippeld throughout the monolithic base and its sister compounds that surrounded the magical anomaly that sat in the middle of ohio. Giving your troops the last bit of comfort and feeding them wellwas an old military tradition just before a major operation and DuPont knew this was the calm before the storm.
Tension in every single service member in this god-forsaken base was so tight that DuPont thought someone was going to snap sooner or later. The heightened force posture and increased number of armed patrols didn’t help ease everyone's frayed nerves. At this point, DuPont just wanted to hear they have the go-ahead and get this shit over with already, but he also knew there was a greater game being played.
The emphasis on operational security and the constant drone of helicopters overhead didn’t help ease everyone's frayed nerves.
At this point DuPont watched as the convoy of engineers rumbled past, his mind drifted back to the frustrating duties he and his men had been forced to perform ithe past few weeks. The emphasis on operational security had reached new heights, with orders coming down from the top to obfuscate their forces and movements from satellite observation.
He recalled the tedious work of setting up strange camouflage netting over entire motor pools, ensuring that every vehicle was hidden from prying eyes above. They'd spent days erecting false structures – inflatable tanks and mock artillery pieces – strategically placed to confuse any attempts of overhead reconnaissance.
The most maddening task had been the constant relocation of equipment. Every night, they'd have to check in with the counter-intelligence guys and move vehicles or even supplies to different locations, only to move them again the next night. DuPont was convinced it was an exhausting game designed as a punishment.
But he also understood it was all necessary. With their country’s near-peer adversaries in Europe and Asia watching their every move, they couldn't afford to give away their hand even though he didn’t quite understand the game that was being played. He'd read about the international saber-rattling going on, but it seemed those swords were close to leaving their sheaths.
DuPont had seen more than one soldier officially reprimanded for complaining or even speaking too loudly about these measures. The message was clear: this was not to be questioned or discussed in any capacity and would be dealt with siwftly and harshly.
“God…” DuPont groaned as he winced at the still ongoing convoy. “How goddamn many are there? Jesus…” He sighed, wanting nothing more but to just cross the road and head back to his dorm.
Taking a massive bite out of his burrito, DuPont watched the seemingly endless stream of vehicles rumble past with the look of defeat spread across his features. His jaw worked mechanically as he chewed slowly before turning his gaze upward when the air was filled with the thunderous sound of rotors.
What greeted DuPont wasn’t the usual cluster of patrolling helicopters or gunships, but a veritable swarm, belonging to the 101st Airborne, passing overhead. Not only that, but each helicopter was full of infantry and had Japanese Torii’s spray painted in red on the side. DuPont's eyes tracked the formation, taking in the impressive display of aerial power, especially with the AH-64 Apaches escorting them.
“Oh… they’re going to go push someone’s shit in, I guess .” DuPont muttered with a slight cringe whe he noticed those death machines were loaded to the gills with Hellfire missiles and nothing else.
The sheer number of aircraft was staggering. It was clear that an entire Battalion or even a Brigade level element was on the move, but DuPont didn’t know what they were on the move for. It didn’t look like they were off to conduct another training exercise…. They were far too armed for that.
Were they tasked with a mission?
…
Regardless of what the 101st would do, they were just another reminder that DuPont was still here, dealing with the build-up and anxiety of not knowing how or when they would launch their own operation.
He swallowed hard before taking some of his day's only good thing. The waiting was the worst part of it all. Every day felt like being stuck in limbo, caught between the anticipation of action and the dread of the unknown. DuPont just wished they'd at least get some information about when or how they’ll move out. At least then, he’d know every seemingly asinine task he and his men were made to do wasn’t pointless.
But he also knew there was absolutely no way he’d get that piece of information until it was time to move.
DuPont took another bite of his burrito, chewing mechanically as he watched the last of the helicopters disappear into the distance. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. Those men were doing something other than running around like chickens with their heads cut off, moving tanks, IFVs, or god knows whatever the hell else.
“Mmm… Divine…," he muttered a word of praise for this food as the last of the engineering vehicles rumbled past.
Finally able to cross the street, DuPont heaved a heavy breath through his mouth, causing his lips to rattle in exasperation. He couldn’t help but say thanks to any holy powers that may exist for allowing him to move again. Today was going to be another busy day of moving, with the company and its equipment moving t-air motor pool and throwing more weird tarps over them.
As he made his way across the street towards his barracks, the sky was once again full of aircraft, and the roar of jet engines echoed overhead. The sound was as mundane as a sedan down a suburban road, but this time, the noise was far greater than normal. DuPont looked up and was taken aback by what he saw. His eyes widened to see the sheer number of planes streaking across the sky toward the rift.
There usually was, at most, a flight or two lurking overhead. But what DuPont saw was a lot more than one or two flights. There had to be at least two squadrons, more than 30 aircraft dipping low to enter the rift.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Most of the aircraft were chock full of air-to-air missiles, but a good number of the trailing jets had nearly every pylon loaded with a Joint Direct Attack Munition or JDAM. The sight made his heart flutter. He knew this was likely the most significant sign yet that they were on the precipice of something massive.
"Oh, it’s on…" DuPont muttered, watching as another wave of similarly equipped aircraft roared overhead towards the strange creeping night of the rift.
DuPont's feet started moving before his brain fully registered the decision. He was running across the street, his half-eaten burrito forgotten and discarded. As he sprinted, he noticed he wasn't alone. Other soldiers had the same aide and were bolting to their own barracks.
Once inside, DuPont found his soldiers lazing about, playing video games, or joking around. No one seemed to care about anything other than complaining about having to move their vehicles again.
"Listen up!" The Lieutenant barked as his voice carried across the room. "I want full gear checks in the next hour. Every piece of equipment, every round of ammo. If it's not working, I want to know about it now."
Everyone in the recreation room snapped their heads to Lieutenant DuPont as he continued shouting orders. "I want everyone prepared for a full deployment yesterday!” He continued, gesturing with his whole hand in a karate chop to drive each point home. “That means go-bags, personal affairs, or whatever the fuck, to be done within the day! If you need something at the PX, you go NOW and buy in bulk!"
One of the younger soldiers piped up, “D-Did we receive orders, sir?"
DuPont's eyes locked onto the young soldier. "Not yet," he replied excitedly, "but it's coming, and it's coming fast."
He then turned to Hofmann, the platoon sergeant, with an intense gaze. "Hofmann," he spoke in a tone that left no room fro argument, "get the boys together and hit the PX. Hell, hit any store you can find. I want you to grab anything and everything that could be useful."
DuPont's hand moved to his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. "Toilet paper, jerky, batteries - fucking everything," he continued, gesturing wildly as he handed his wallet to Hofmann. "Clean out the store if you have to. We don't know when we'll get another chance to resupply once we're on the other side."
Hofmann nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Yes, sir," he replied, taking the wallet. "We'll get it done."
DuPont then turned back to the rest of the platoon. "The rest of you, I want every vehicle and every piece of kit checked and double-checked. If somethings missing, I want to know about it. If something's broken, I want to know about it. If something even looks a little worn, I want to fuckin’ know abaout it!"
“Now go!” He finished clapping his hands, causing the barracks erupted into a flurry of activity. Soldiers rushed out of the recreation room while Hofmann, the platoon sergeant, quickly gathered the other NCOs.
"Alright, listen up," Hofmann barked. "Takashi, take your squad and hit the PX. Rivera, your guys take the commissary. Matthews hit any off-base stores you can find. Buy out their stock if you have to. We need everything - food, hygiene products, batteries, the works. Move!"
***
Meanwhile, in Washington D.C., Defense Secretary Mark Leigh sat in the Pentagon's highly secure National Military Command Center (NMCC). The room hummed with tension as officers mumbled, staring at the screens on the walls displaying real-time satellite imagery. Everything from troop movements to intelligence reports from across the globe were plastered on every digital display.
Each one told a story of escalating global tensions as the Defense Secretary’s eyes darted between the screens. "Give me the latest," he spoke in a calm and measured tone even though he was wracked with stress.
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs spun in his chair and faced Leigh. "Sir, The Russians have adopted an overtly aggressive posture in Eastern Europe.” He explained, tapping at the desk. “They've placed three of their mobilized armored divisions along their western border. NATO's responding, but the Baltics are on edge."
Leigh nodded grimly. "And China?"
The Director of National Intelligence took over. "It's bad, Mr. Secretary. The PLAN has dramatically increased its presence in the South China Sea. We're not only seeing unprecedented naval exercises near Taiwan, but they’ve replaced their Coast Guard assets that were harassing the Philippines at the Spratly Islands with heavily armed Naval vessels.”
“Our analysts believe they're not just flexing but preparing for potential action." Another general added that he sat beside the Chairman.
Mark Leigh went quiet as his brow furrowed in deep thought. They had anticipated this reaction, but the reality of it was still sobering.
After a moment, he turned to the Secretary of State, who had just joined the meeting via a secure video link. "What's the diplomatic situation, Madam Secretary?" Leigh asked, rubbing the creased wrinkles on his forehead
The Secretary of State, Tessa Hammond, wore a grim look as she stared at her peers on the screen. "It's a shit storm, Mark.” She said tersely as she leaned back with her arms folded. “We're being pressured from all sides. Russia and China are leading the charge and demanding UN oversight of the rift. They're painting us as neo-imperialists and warmongers that are destabilizing global security."
She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "But it's not just our adversaries. India and Brazil are also pushing for multilateral control. And even though they’re participating in the Multinational division, France, Turkey, and a few others in NATO are calling for more transparency and shared access."
Leigh let out a humorless chuckle. "France, huh? What, Africa's not enough for them anymore?" He shook his head with a look of frustration on his face. "Turkey, I get. They've always had their eyes on expanding influence. But what's the State Department’s response been?"
Hammond sighed. "We're using every diplomatic tool in our arsenal.” She said, running a hand through her hair. “We're emphasizing the unprecedented nature of the situation and the need for careful, controlled exploration. We’ve also been playing up the potential dangers of unrestricted access and positioning ourselves as the responsible custodian, but..." She hesitated for a moment as she thought about what she would say next.
"Russia and China are pushing hard for a Security Council resolution demanding international oversight.” She said tentatively. “We've vetoed it, of course, but they're not backing down. They're now trying to take it to the General Assembly for a non-binding resolution."
"Let me guess," Leigh interjected, "they're framing it as a matter of international peace and security?"
"Exactly," the Secretary nodded. "And they're stating this is a threat that threatens the entire globe and are invoking the 'Uniting for Peace' resolution, trying to bypass our veto. It's gaining traction, especially among the Non-Aligned Movement countries."
Leigh's jaw tightened. "And our allies?"
The Secretary of State sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mixed bag…” She nearly groaned as she was reminded of the literal hellstorm she was dealing with. “CANZUK, Japan, Korea, and Poland are standing firm with us, but others are wavering. They're caught between supporting us and appeasing their own populations and interest."
"Pretentious son’s of bitches…" The Secretary of Defense scoffed. "As if we'd allow open access to goddamn anyone within our own borders."
The voice of the National Security Advisor chimed in from another screen. "We're also seeing increased activity in international courts. There's talk of China and Russia bringing a case to the ICJ to challenge our exclusive control over the rift."
Leigh leaned back in his chair, his mind racing through the implications. "They know we’d sooner go to war than allow that to happen, so this must be a pretense for a full-on push of a multipolar world order," he mused aloud.
The National Security Advisor nodded. "That’s what we’re assuming as well, Mark.” He said, leaning forward. “They may try to frame it as a necessary counterbalance. The rhetoric coming out of Beijing and Moscow is all about preventing 'American hegemony across two worlds.'"
"Wel… They’re also not wrong," the Secretary of Defense added. "If we successfully exploit the resources on the other side of the rift, the global power balance will shift dramatically in our favor."
Leigh suddenly stood up and started pacing around the room. "We can't back down and we definitely can't show any sign of compromise.” He said more speaking to himself than to anyone else. “If we give an inch on this, they'll take a mile..."
After a minute of silence and the Secretary of Defense’s pacing, He finally came to a stop and fraced the group within the NMCC and those teleconferencing in. “I want a heavier presence in the South China Sea and the Baltics. We can’t shy away from confrontation”
Everyon shifted somewhat comfortably at the suggestion, but it was the Secretary of State that spoke up first. "Mark, we need to be careful…” She said tentatively. “Any aggressive move on our part could spark a wider conflict. We'd be fighting a war on multiple fronts – through the rift and potentially against Russia and China."
"And if we do nothing?” Leigh counter, rubbing the creases of his forehead again. “What happens if we let them chip away at our allies, expand their influence, or maybe even make a move on Taiwan or the Baltics while we're distracted by the rift?" He shook his head. "No. We can't let the fear of conflict paralyze us."
The room fell silent while tension grew and seemed to suffocate everyone in the room.
After a moment, Leigh spoke again in a low and firm voice. "We need options and not just defensive ones.” He said, turning towards the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “I want to know what pre-emptive strike packages would look like. If they push too far or become too aggressive, I want to know what it would look like to defang them completely within the first few volleys."
The Chairman visibly stiffened at that suggestion. "Sir, that's... that's a significant escalation. We'd be risking—"
"I know what we'd be risking," Leigh cut him off. "But I need to know our options. All of them.” He replied definitely. “If push comes to shove, we need to be prepared to act quickly, and decisively."
He looked around the room, meeting each person's eyes. "I'm not saying we'll do it. But we need to be ready for the worst-case scenario,” he said as everyone stared at him as if he had lost his mind. If we hesitate, if we show them they can push us, it would lead to an even-tempered conflict. We could lose everything—not just our allies and influence, but our position in the world."
The room was quiet for a moment before the Chairman nodded slowly. "Understood, sir. We'll prepare a full range of options, including... pre-emptive strike scenarios."
Leigh nodded, feeling the weight of potential futures pressing down on him. "Good. Get it done. And someone get me a secure line to the President. He needs to be briefed on this immediately."