Brussels international airport, European federation. September 2034

Dieter Janssens meets me at the arrival gate, having a few hours before his next transatlantic flight we share a cup of coffee.

"Berlin couldn’t fall. There were traffic jams spanning from east Germany all the way to the Benelux countries and France. It would have been a disaster to lose Berlin. They needed a week more of holding them off before Berlin and most of eastern Germany could be considered evacuated.

The highways were a clusterfuck, pardon my language. The Ministry of Defense wanted to keep the road to the east clear for incoming reinforcements, while civilian authorities insisted it be opened to allow people to drive west and alleviate the congestion on the other routes. My entire flight I saw traffic jam after traffic jam. Just unending kilometres of cars bumper to bumper. We had estimated it would have taken the crabs six months to get to our "last call" defensive lines in the Pyrenees. But I think they would have made it there faster than the folks sitting in their car.

Did you hear about the incident in Hannover? Some police officers opened the road leading west to relieve congestion, but they didn’t notify the military. As a result, Dutch army vehicles ended up facing hundreds of thousands of refugees. Although there were no collisions, the army wasn't able to move aside for them, and negotiating with the massive crowd of refugees was impossible. It blocked that army brigade for two days as they had to close the road in Hannover and literally push the civilian cars blocked out of the way.

Nothing managed to stop them. Central and western Europe was too flat, there weren’t any mountains or enough wide rivers to stop them like in the Carpathians or Urals. And we didn’t have enough men to hold them off. As my F16 flew 10km above Potsdam I put on my game face. It was nearly 1800. Me and the thirty other aircraft had to drop their payload right at the same time. Harder said than done when you had to coordinate American, Belgian, Dutch and French aircrafts. Francfort was my target, despite the similarity in name with its bigger counterpart it wasn’t as easy to spot. With the lights turned off I had to check more than once with my onboard gps. I lined my aircraft with my target.

Imagine the cockpit of an F-16 as your command center in the sky—kind of like a high-tech cockpit from a sci-fi movie but with a lot of buttons and switches. You’ve got your seat right in the middle, with a control stick in front of you that handles all the flying. The throttle’s on your left side, letting you adjust the speed. Your dashboard is a crazy mix of dials, screens, and switches—everything from altitude and speed to radar and weapon systems. There are some big, bright displays that give you all the vital info you need, like navigation and targeting data. It was a 1970's aircraft but with the most modern electronics you could imagine. You also have a heads-up display right in front of you on the windshield that shows you crucial info while you're flying, so you don’t have to look down at the gauges. The cockpit’s designed for quick access, so everything you need is within reach. There are buttons for controlling the aircraft’s systems, launching missiles, or switching between different modes. The whole setup is built for speed and efficiency, so you can keep your focus on flying and fighting.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

As I reached my target I confirmed the order with the radio. I was three minutes early but they didn’t mind. I recited a small prayer as I switched the nuclear consent switch. I made sure I was on my target. The area was swarming with crabs, it reassured me that there weren’t any humans down there.

I pressed the trigger and dropped the B61 bomb. It must have fell for about 1 minute. I applied my afterburners and did a 180 to get as fast away as I could. And there I was, flying along when suddenly, I saw this blinding flash coming from behind me —way brighter than anything I had ever seen. It was like someone had turned on a supernova right in front of me. Everything around me went white, and I had to squint even though I was wearing sunglasses.

Then came the shockwave. It felt like someone had slapped me hard, but not just on the outside—there was a deep, gut-wrenching force that shook the plane. The entire cockpit rattled, and I could feel it in my bones. I watched the shockwave traveling outward, distorting everything as it moved. I was praying to god, nearly whimpering hoping the structure of the aircraft would hold.

Next, there was this massive, expanding fireball rising up, with a dark, ominous mushroom cloud forming as it grew. It was an incredible sight but also completely terrifying. The air got hot, and I could feel it even from up in the cockpit. The whole experience was a stark reminder of just how powerful and destructive a nuclear explosion really was as I circled around it and flew back towards Belgium.

I sat there, trying to process what I had just witnessed and what I just had done, knowing that this blast was unlike anything I had ever encountered. It was a mix of awe and dread, making me appreciate just how serious and devastating nuclear weapons could be. When I had gotten to the military academy the first day I imagined myself shooting down Russian sukhois or bombing some "jihadists" on their toyotas in a far away land. Not dropping a tactical nuclear weapon above east germany. And as I took it all in more flashes came from my left and right. All along the front line from the black sea to the Czech republic There were blasts that shook and lit up the sky. The entire frontline was turned into molten cobalt by American and French made nuclear bombs. As the first wave of bombing wiped that part of Europe off the map the second wave, fired from submarines hit the same spot 2 hours later to let the crabs know we were serious.

After I landed in Kleine Brogel, my aircraft went through decontamination. While I stood on the tarmac watching the process, I couldn't help but admire an American B-1B Lancer. It was a magnificent aircraft. I watched as it taxied along the runway after landing. Even though our airbase was too small for it, our engineers managed to make it work. As the B-1B turned right, I noticed the inscription outside the cockpit: "Kali Yuga."

Something had broken us. Not only figuratively. As every unit that came into contact with the damn bugs was considered expended after a week. Something inside of us broke. This wasn't just a war, we felt like we were living the last days.