North-South side of the Island
In the vast expanse of the desert, a lone figure stood tall and proud, his uniform crisp and clean, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Corporal Jameson was a seasoned soldier. He was a man of few words, but his presence commanded respect from all who served under him.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the desert landscape. It's night
It was a night like any other, as Corporal Jameson squad and he patrolled the desolate desert landscape.
As they moved through the darkness, a sense of unease settled over us. The hairs on the back of Corporal Jameson neck stood on end, and Jameson could feel eyes watching them from the shadows. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling howl pierced the night, sending shivers down his spine.
Jameson raised his M1 carbine, scanning the darkness for any sign of the enemy. But what Jameson saw was far more terrifying than any foe. A figure emerged from the shadows, its form shifting and contorting in a grotesque display of inhumanity. It was a skinwalker, a creature of Navajo legend that could take on the form of any creatures it desired.
Jameson could hear the panicked shouts of his squad as the skinwalker lunged towards them, its eyes glowing with malevolent intent. Jameson fired round after round, but the bullets seemed to have no effect on the creature. It was as if they were fighting a force of nature itself.
In a desperate bid for survival, Jameson called for backup. But as the skinwalker closed in on them, Jameson knew that their modern weapons were no match for this evil. They were outmatched, outgunned, and facing a foe that defied all logic and reason.
As the creature bore down on them, Jameson braced himself for the inevitable. But just as all hope seemed lost, a blinding light pierced the darkness. OH-6 Cayuse a light observation helicopter descended from the sky, their searchlights illuminating the ground. The skinwalker let out a guttural roar before retreating back into the shadows, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
As the dust settled and the adrenaline faded, Jameson realized that they had narrowly escaped death. But the encounter with the skinwalker had left a mark on his soul, a reminder that there are forces in this world that defy explanation and reason. And as Jameson looked up at the blood moon hanging in the sky.
Soldiers came from the helicopter.
"Corporal Jameson, are you all right?"
"Ah! Thank you. That was terrible. Our weapons were completely useless."
"Don't worry about this. Magic and Technology Department is working to solve this matter."
"Ha! They need to come up with some solution quickly. Before we die... Umm... Also Why are you here anyway?"
The soldier gives him a letter.
"We will begin the attack to the south tomorrow morning. Prepare your men. This is the order of the High Command."
_____________________________________
Army Command center
_____________________________________
Cigar smoke swirled in the air, a ghostly dance against the cold, metallic gleam of the war room. The scent, usually a comfort to General Martinez, tonight felt acrid, a testament to the tension that crackled like static in the air. Maps plastered across the steel walls, vibrant with strategic markings and miniature flags, seemed to mock him with their neat depiction of a conquest far messier in reality.
"A choice," Martinez snarled, his voice rough as granite grinding against stone. He stabbed a finger at the map, a vein throbbing in his temple, his usually tanned face flushed with a dark crimson. "You dress it up with fancy words, but a dog offered a bone still belongs to the master holding the leash."
Colonel Hans, his usual boisterous cheer replaced by an unsettling pensiveness, idly spun his whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. His boyish good looks, usually framed by a jovial grin, were now a mask of cold calculation. "The men, General," he began, his voice deceptively mild, "They are like hounds straining at the leash. Eager to rip and tear. This talk of citizenship... it doesn't sit well with them. Or with me." A faint smile flickered across his lips, but it held no warmth, only a chilling emptiness. "There's a certain... satisfaction... in crushing your enemies. A clean, simple truth."
Brigadier General Eva Cortez, a woman whose recent promotion for ruthless efficiency was evident in the way she held her silence until it was a weapon itself, finally spoke. Her dark hair, pulled back in a severe bun, accentuated the sharp angles of her face, and her black uniform seemed to absorb the light, making her presence all the more imposing. "Sentimentality is a luxury for those who haven't seen the things we have, General," she said, her voice sharp and clear as shattered glass. "We trained for conquest, for swift and decisive action. To break, not to build." Her gaze, sharp and dark as obsidian, fixed on Martinez. "The Emperor might believe in second chances, but we are soldiers. We deal in absolutes."
"Yet here we are," a deep voice rumbled from the far end of the table, "Holding the line for an Emperor who sees peace treaties where we see strategic advantages." Said Major General Petrov, commander of the Imperial Eastern Division.
His grey uniform, adorned with medals glinting dully in the low light, seemed to strain against his imposing frame. "I swore an oath to the Emperor, yes, but I can't ignore the safety and supremacy of our people and our Emperor."
Colonel Sato, one of the Notable commander of the Imperial Eastern Division corp, the youngest at the table, cleared his throat. His youthful face, still bearing the marks of innocence despite the harsh realities of war, held a quiet strength. "The Emperor is a Wiseman, Major General," he said, his voice calm but firm. "He understands that a true empire is built not just on might, but on loyalty. On offering those we conquer a place at our side, not beneath our boots."
"Hmmm... You are right. Loyalty earned through fear is a brittle thing," Cortez countered, her tone laced with ice. "It breeds resentment, rebellion... It sows the seeds of its own destruction. But if you are very strong then no one will dare to rebel against you. And.... we are strong here"
Martinez, his anger simmering but controlled, surveyed his officers. He saw the doubt etched on their faces, the fear masked by duty, the conflict between their instincts as soldiers and the Emperor's unexpected edict. He felt it too, a gnawing unease in his gut.
He pushed back from the table, the metal scraping against the floor like a discordant note. "The Emperor is a man of peace," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But he is no fool. He understands the need for strength, for decisive action." He met the eyes of each officer, his gaze unwavering. "Major General Petrov, Your duty is to conquer the East. You will crush any who stand against us. But," he continued, his voice softening slightly, "we will offer them a choice. A chance to join us, not as slaves, but as citizens of the empire and for those who choose defiance..."
"For them, General," Cortez said , her lips curved into a chilling smile, her voice as sharp and cold as a honed blade, "we will show them the folly of their choice. We will be the architects of their destruction."
A heavy silence descended upon the room, broken only by the rasp of cigar smoke and the distant howl of the wind.