After the Battle of Ferghana Valley, Hazel gathered with her officers, Adam and Patrick, in a canvas tent to discuss the aftermath. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the remnants of victory.
“So, those were Emerald League mercs funded by the Red army,” Hazel said, scratching her chin. “I wonder how the they feels about us taking out their hired guns.”
Buoyed by their success, Adam and Patrick exchanged glances, their spirits high.
“They’re definitely not happy about losing their mercs,” Patrick chimed in. “Should we consider attacking the Emerald League next?”
“Our goal is the Emerald League,” Hazel replied. “If we play our cards right, they might forgive us. It’s kill or be killed out here, after all.”
Adam and Patrick nodded, but Patrick raised an eyebrow. “So, neither the Crescent Alliance nor the Emerald League is at full strength right now?”
“Exactly,” Hazel confirmed. “The main Crescent Alliance forces are stuck in China, relying on mercs here. If they had their main army, we’d be in serious trouble.”
Patrick pondered this. “So, they’re both hesitant to waste resources on a fight they can’t win?”
'Right,' Hazel agreed. 'We're in a contested area. If the Crescent Alliance were here, we'd be in deep trouble.'
As they strategized, they moved through the stunning landscapes, vibrant flowers swaying in the breeze. A river glistened beside a mountain pass, where other tanks had recently rolled. Captivated by the beauty, Patrick snapped photos, a stark contrast to the chaos of battle they had just endured.
Meanwhile, Nara and Tetsuya's scout team encountered a herd of livestock blocking their path. After some effort, a local shepherd guided the animals away, prompting Tetsuya to salute him, calling him a "prophet shepherd."
Approaching the bridge, a fragile wooden structure spanning a white river between two cliffs, Nara felt a pang of guilt. The locals’ warnings about its weakness echoed in her mind. Hazel’s solution—reinforcing it with steel—had been a good one, and the locals’ enthusiastic help had sped up the process.
As they worked, Nara noticed the growing crowd of camp followers, a constant reminder of their expanding operation. We’re becoming quite the caravan, she thought. Too visible, perhaps. By late March, the reinforced bridge was finally ready. The tanks began their slow crossing, the scout team leading the way. Nara watched, her heart pounding with a growing sense of unease. Something felt… wrong. Then she saw them: a dark swarm on the horizon. “Tetsuya!” she shouted. “Gliders! Lots of them!”
Hazel shouted commands over the radio, “BATTLE FORMATIONS! Mount the AA guns! Tank units, keep moving orderly! If any driver panics, they’ll be shot on the spot!”
Nara felt her heart race as she prepared for battle, her adrenaline surging. The crew moved with precision, mounting the AA guns in anticipation of the incoming gliders.
As the gliders approached, Hazel ordered the AA guns to fire. Bullets whizzed through the air, striking the gliders as they attempted to dive in for a bombing run. Nara’s eyes widened as the chaos unfolded, gliders dodging and weaving to avoid the onslaught.
“Keep firing! Use anything you have!” Hazel shouted, drawing her pistol and aiming at the gliders overhead.
The tanks continued to roll across the bridge, seemingly unfazed by the relentless attack. Nara felt admiration for the tank crew's bravery, but her thoughts were interrupted as a rider approached from behind, their eyes gleaming with malice.
“Someone is attacking our camp followers! It’s the Siberian riders!” came a report from the rear.
“we has been attacked on all side!, Scout unit, move to the back of the tank line!” Tetsuya commanded, urgency in his voice.
“Crap,” Nara muttered under her breath. The road was too narrow for two tanks to pass side by side. She had no choice but to jump from tank to tank, sprinting back to the bridge to assess the situation.
Hazel's forces were in a bind. The narrow road forced their tanks into a single file, preventing any effective formation. Friendly tanks and vehicles blocked their lines of fire, while enemy tanks hammered their position from the front. Adding to the chaos, hidden enemy cannons pounded them from the flanks, and gliders rained explosives from above. It was a textbook cluster—a very loud, very dangerous cluster.
Nara, reaching the rear of the caravan where the trucks and wagons were jammed together, saw the chaos firsthand. Siberian riders swarmed the camp followers, creating a desperate melee. Some riders galloped straight into the traffic jam, tossing bags of explosives like oversized firecrackers.
The tanks and armored vehicles at the front were too busy dealing with the gliders and cannons to notice the attack from behind. Nara dove behind a tank, ambushing a passing rider. A solid bonk to the head with her rifle sent him tumbling from his horse, bending her rifle stock in the process.
She quickly finished off the dismounted rider when another charged in, throwing a spear. Nara dodged at the last second, the spear embedding itself in a tank track with a thunk that made her eyes widen. The spear had pierced the steel. She looked at the skull-masked rider, who grinned from behind his mask, revealing a mechanical arm as he pulled another spear from his cloak.
Before he could throw it, Nara simply shot him in the chest. Stunned, he staggered. Nara jumped onto the nearby tank and delivered a brutal kick to his head, sending him tumbling off his horse and over the cliff edge.
Suddenly, a rider with piercing green eyes galloped towards her. It was Viper, the one she'd fought in Russia.
“We meet again. Let’s finish our duel,” Viper sneered, pulling out a sawed-off shotgun.
Before Nara could react, Viper fired. Nara rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the shot, but felt the sting as it grazed her shoulder.
“Not today!” she hissed, quickly drawing her rifle and aiming at Viper.
But Viper’s horse suddenly kicked, throwing Nara off balance. She fell, and Viper aimed her shotgun at her.
Just then, Patrick leaped from a tank, charging at Viper. He swung his sword, aiming for her horse. The horse stumbled, and Viper lost her balance, tumbling to the ground.
Nara was still reeling from the horse kick, pain radiating from her chest as she struggled to find her rifle. Her hand shook as she drew her pistol, the tremors making it nearly impossible to aim. Just then, Viper sprang to her feet, leveling her sawed-off shotgun squarely at Nara.
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“Nice aim, but you’re pointing at the wrong foe!” Patrick shouted, rushing in from the side. He slashed Viper's hand with a swift strike, causing her to scream and the shotgun to clatter to the ground.
Caught off guard, Viper realized she had lost her chance. “We’ll get you next time!” she spat, turning to flee.while she prepare her smoke grenade trick, But Patrick was faster, his enchanted leg propelling him forward as he drove his blade into her back. Viper crumpled to the ground, her sword falling from her grasp.
The sight of their leader falling ignited fury among the Siberian riders. They dismounted in a frenzy, reckless shouts echoing as they prepared for a final charge.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, most of the tank division had crossed the bridge despite the heavy bombardment from enemy, Their AA guns were operational again, firing at the retreating gliders, which were finally running out of bombs and beginning to disperse.
The dismounted riders, fueled by rage, moved dangerously close to the tank division, intent on detonating the bombs they had planted on the tank trail. In their frenzy, many were caught in their own blasts, the explosions throwing them into chaos.
Nara, Patrick, and a small group of survivors pushed through the flames toward the bridge, desperately trying to reach the rear guard unit. Soldiers on the other side opened fire on the Siberian riders, taking down several of them in the process.
Once the last of the survivors reached the bridge, Hazel turned to his crew. “Good. Now quick!” she commanded, and the tank turret swung around, aiming at the bridge. He intended to destroy it to halt the riders' pursuit.
Nara's heart raced. “Stop!” she cried, sprinting toward Hazel to prevent the destruction.
Hazel looked startled by her sudden intervention. “Why? It's a strategic move!” she argued, her brow furrowing.
“Do we really have to destroy it to stop the riders?” Nara replied, her voice laced with innocence and urgency.
After a tense moment, Hazel’s expression softened as he scanned the battlefield. the gunfire and blast is over. “Alright… they’re gone. Dead or wounded.”
Nara nodded, relief washing over her as she took in the quiet scene, bodies of fallen riders strewn across the ground. She inhaled deeply, thankful for the brief peace after the chaos.
Later that day, the locals stoically helped bury the dead from both sides. Even the children picked up scattered limbs without complaint. The Afghans were tough people, and this sight struck Hazel's weary soldiers, who had grown nihilistic over time. They sensed a flicker of humanity restored in the midst of war.
In the past, they might have mutilated or run over corpses for fun, but now they witnessed something almost otherworldly. The locals viewed people not just as meat and bone, but as spiritual beings deserving of respect. They believed that everyone was created from the earth and should return to it properly, a reminder of the dignity that war often strips away.
a quiet dignity. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the makeshift graveyard, a crackle came from the radio. A news report, distorted by static, began to play. “…latest developments in the Eurasian conflict…” Hazel frowned. Even in this remote corner of the world, the grand narrative of the war continued, often distorted and sensationalized for public consumption. I wonder what they're saying about all this back home? she thought.
then at monitor screen, Slick studio, dazzling lights, and our reporter, Veronica Spark, with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Alright folks Witty world news here, strap on your gas masks and grab your binoculars, because Zion just took a geography quiz and, well, let's just say they forgot to study Eurasia! Yes, folks, the big Z's been on a tear, carving up the continent like a drunk butcher at a discount ham sale.
Now, the estimates are flying faster than bullets in a Texas hoedown, but we're talking somewhere between 20 and 26% of Eurasia under Zion's thumb. Sounds impressive, right? Wrong! Turns out, winning wars is like that fancy soufflé you spend all day making - one wrong move and it collapses faster than a politician's promise.
Veronica leans forward,
First, the True Horde and have been giving Zion's boys a taste of their own lead-laced porridge. Think Stalingrad meets Mulan with way more explosions. And then there's the little family feud with the Red Nation and Blood Khaganate
Zion's basically fighting on three fronts, folks, and let me tell you, their forces are looking thinner than a Celebrities selfie after the Photoshop filter. 40% casualties, they're whispering in the war rooms - that's enough soldiers to populate a small moon!
Veronica leans in again, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper.
But the real fireworks are yet to come, folks. Later this year, the bigwigs are throwing a shindig - the Conference of Conciliation, they call it. Sounds like a retirement home for world leaders, right? Wrong! This is where they'll try to untangle the Hejaz Caliphate and Golden Caravan squabble before it explodes bigger than a thermonuclear popcorn machine. And let me tell you, if these two desert divas don't learn to share their sandcastles, Zion's gonna waltz right in and steal the whole beach!
Veronica winks at the camera.
Remember, folks, in this game of thrones, everyone's got a crown of thorns, and Zion might just be learning that sometimes, the biggest victories come at the cost of the greatest losses. Until next time, stay safe, stay informed,
- you never know who might be watching!
Zion's expression darkened as he absorbed the grim report. "This just keeps getting worse... The True Horde is proving to be a formidable opponent, and the Red Nation and Blood Khaganate are still putting up a fight. Now, the Hejaz Caliphate and Golden Caravan are poised to exploit our weakened state. It feels like we're being attacked from all sides. I need a plan to turn this around before it's too late."
Trickster chimed in, "We've secured new pawns: Rashid from the Hejaz family and General Picot from the Golden Caravan. They could be pivotal in igniting a new conflict in the Mediterranean. But the upcoming conference poses a real threat; if world leaders unite against us, we're finished."
Zion nodded, "That's promising news, Trickster. If we manipulate these pawns correctly, we might spark a new conflict. But you're right; the conference is a major hurdle. We must tread carefully."
Then Wraith, usually silent, spoke up with a husky voice, "We should blow up the Academy of Unity during the conference, making it look like a third-party attack. That way, the world leaders will turn on each other."
Zion's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you suggesting we blow up the Academy? And make it look like a third-party job? That could throw the conference into chaos, but it's a risky move. What if they unite against us instead?"
Wraith nodded, "I have an agent embedded in the Shangri-La Confederacy—Pramansha. We've been preparing this for a decade."
Zion was taken aback. "A decade? That's impressive. You've clearly put a lot of thought into this."
Wraith simply replied, "There's nothing more to say." He bowed slightly and left the room.
The cold, calculated planning in Zion’s war room stood in stark contrast to the desperate reality unfolding on the ground. At the Xian base, Nkosi listened intently as reports of the Red Nation's advances in Xinjiang flashed across the screen. her brow furrowed with concern. “This is bad news. Zion is exploiting our distraction up north, and the Red Nation forces are overwhelming our positions in the south.
Alam rubbed the back of his neck, recalling a grueling campaign from three years prior. “I campaigned in that area. It’s tough to defend. Zion’s move there is a double-edged sword; it could cost them dearly.”
Nkosi nodded, her expression grim. “You’re right. The vast desert makes it hard to secure. If we let them stretch their forces thin, we can counterattack when they’re vulnerable.”
“Exactly,” Alam agreed. “It’s better to wait until they overextend. After five months of stalemate, we can afford to let them come to us.”
“Patience will be our ally,” Nkosi added, determination in her voice.
Alam raised a critical question, “But do you all have the patience to wait?”
Nkosi looked at Artak, who was quietly observing the conversation. “I believe we do. We’ve held our ground, and our commitment to liberating the world from Zion’s oppression is unwavering.”
Artak then added “yeah.. but waiting is can be seen as cowardience for our people. we must balance attacking. and defending.. its not about fight the enemy soldier.. but maintain our image as soldier”
Alam sighed, “My domain in China is strong, but my territories in Central Asia are scattered. If Zion pushes into the Black Sea, it could be a major challenge.”
Nkosi nodded. “Your strength in China is a solid foundation, but we must remain vigilant. We can't let Zion gain a foothold in your region.”
Alam tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I know my vassals in Central Asia will resent me for this, but let them hate me.”
“Tough decisions are necessary for the greater good,” Nkosi said. “Protecting your territory is vital.”
“Yeah… anyway,” Alam said, shifting gears. “Artak, why do you always carry that snake on your shoulder? Heh.”
Artak’s eyes sparkled with pride as he gestured to the coiling serpent. “My snake is my companion. We have a very special bond. It symbolizes power and wisdom, and I cherish it dearly.”
“Oh? Like a wife?” Alam teased, a grin spreading across his face.
Artak laughed, clearly fond of his snake. “You could say that. It’s been loyal to me through a lot. I really value its companionship.”
Alam nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “It’s nice to have a bond with something…” He glanced at a beautiful Himalayan painting on the wall.
“Having connections can really lift your spirits,” Artak said, following Alam's gaze. “Whether it’s a friend, family, or even a pet, strong relationships give us purpose and belonging.”
They both took a moment to admire the painting, its vibrant colors standing out against the tense atmosphere of their conversation.
“Anyway, can I see your sword, Alam?” Artak grinned.
“Sure” Alam replied, drawing his silver long sword. “I got this during my adventures at sea.”
Artak nodded, appreciating the craftsmanship. He then pulled out his own curved sword. “An officer without a sword isn’t properly dressed for the Golden Caravan. we got a nice sting ray leather handle, with fine steel for its blade”
Alam raised an eyebrow and instinctively touched the curved blade, examining it. “Interesting. Art, did you ever kill someone with it?”
Artak nodded, reminiscing about past battles. “Yeah, we took out a lot of neo-Nazis in Europe. Some of them were dressed like Ancient Romans when we slaughtered them.” His white snake lifted its head, as if it understood the gravity of the moment.
Alam smiled slightly. “You’re lucky. You can use your sword and actually kill someone with it. Those were simpler times. I wish I could do that too, instead of just spamming bullets and explosions on the battlefield.”