"Mono/Dialogue"
'Inner thoughts'
Narration
[Message/communication apparatus]
Date: 25th January 1920 NWC or 647 AU.
Location: Fallfiore and its surroundings.
POV: Narrator
[This is Condor Four on station, we got eyes on the fleet.] A Phantom loitered high above the cloud as its camera tracked the retively massive fleet on a collision course with RNS Sajanus. [Confirm the composition.] Freddy replied, his staff officers around him as they charts course towards the fleet.
The rest of his ships are broken down into a wide array of interlocking nets of missiles and guns. A bold pn that would have been unthinkable for the saner nation. Regalia, unfortunately, does not subscribe to such a doctrine. Apprehension was born from the tragic and painful defeat at Luna Sea, and the day their regional hegemony was tested gradually by the world.
[Acknowledged.] His reminiscence was cut short by the pilot’s words, Condor Four climbs towards the 15.000 meters (around 49.200 feet) high in the sky. High definition cameras taken from Victorian’s finest jets were transpnted onto the Phantom, and they can see the rge array of the fleet.
Instead of reporting the frontline fleet first, the WSO cameras peer further back in the fleet. While not as rge as their old pnet, the curvature is rge enough that quick triangution by the computer showed this detached segment was located 60 kilometers away from the main one. There are a few smaller ships trailing behind to cover them.
“You think they got spooked by Condor Two and the Arganean?” The Pilot questioned his WSO, who merely shrugged. “Beats me, mate, and I am just gd they are not retreating in full. It is a bitch to fly this thing. Can’t wait to fly the new jet... if it doesn’t get cancelled.”
“True, true...” The camera zooms in, the WSO voice entering the communication net. [Confirmed existence of four massive ships, presumably the Sea Roost, according to intel. We also confirmed a squadron of twenty ships of varying sizes creating a barrier over them.] His TV focused on the formation of the four floating sbs of wood and steel. It has four massive catapult-esque contraptions to unch wyverns into the air.
He pitched the camera up a bit. [Confirmed 32 OpFor air assets performing CAP around Sea Roosts. Consistently maintaining their flight at 1.800 meters, although the thermal signature keeps fluctuating erratically compared to what we had encountered before.]
[Say that again, Condor Four. Fluctuating thermal signature?] Fred asked for confirmation from this fgship. While many would dismiss that these are mere flying lizards who will get shredded anyway, he is still an officer responsible for the lives of his men. Such a small signature could spell unwanted disaster if they get caught off guard.
[That’s affirmative, Sir. Our instruments were unable to consistently lock onto them. I will crify that these specimens possess no visible difference to the ones Condor Two had spshed 10 minutes prior.] Fred was stumped by the report. ‘Why? What could cause this?’ He turns to his staff officers, who murmur amongst themselves.
“There could be terrain interference. We are not exactly sure how this world truly works, and there might have been an electromagnetic field of sorts?” A female staff member offers her idea, which was answered with nods and murmurs of pusibility.
“Pusible, but it might be localized? We were told that the Imperial have astonishingly high technological advancement speed, wasn't it?” Another staff member countered, an old man who creased his brows as he continued. “There are far too many things we do not recognize in this world, and I admit our understanding could be off the mark... but we must not abandon our own line of thinking.” One by one, the voices died down as what he alluded to became clear. A possibility that is all too real when looking at what is happening.
“... A proto jammer?” The staff officers bnched at the idea of dealing with proto jammer. “It might not be a jammer per se, but something that disrupts the view.”
“However, this points to the idea they understand the more grounded logic. We can infer the vast difference between the two armies, and how fast the Arganean had learned our own. Suffice to say, desperation makes one capable of reaching further highs.”
“Desperation on what, though? The Empire is the de facto sole ruler of the isnd. There’s little reason to endorse rapid technological advancement at the cost of regional stability unless...”
“... Unless there’s another foe they are expecting to fight.” The discussion inevitably turned on a geopolitical scale. NIIO was adept at pying the game, while Regalia was content in making non-aggression pacts and maybe some cndestine ops. This ingrained habit from the war will take time to be truly reined in, but the idea is there.
“Hmm...” Fred is naturally on board with their school of thought, but with a twist. He had been spending the majority of his naval career beneath the cloud and fog of SIEZ. A hellscape that none of the NIIO ships dares to thread, a hellscape that was the salvation for the Regalian Navy.
What if the enemy they are dealing with was not something coming from the real world, but something outside? His theories go even more convoluted, so he puts a halt to it. Right now, they have a battle in front of them.
“That’s enough, dies, we've got war ahead of us.” He clears his throat before turning to the radio. [Condor Two, continue with your mission. It is not our pce to think about superfluous topics. Try changing from IR lock to radar.]
[Changing to conventional radar... we got lock faster than with IR.]
[Then that’s good enough, and proceed with your tasking.]
[Affirm... Confirmed composition of thirty-two rge- scratch that, thirty-three-sized ships-of-the-line css, possibly galleon, and all flew the Red Lion banners. One ship dwarfs the rest...] Said ships-of-the-line are indeed quite the marvel. Boasting, on average, 80 cannons, these look pristine. One of the ships is noticeably as rge as the Sea Roost, with guns doubling the number of those on the others.
[Confirmed fifty-five medium-sized, possibly cogs and carracks, flying the banner of Silver Dragon, two unknowns, and Red Lions, repeat. Confirmed joint fleet.] The next report noted down the predicted use of Arganean ships. [Counting... forty-one Red Lion ships... eleven Silver Dragon Ships... four unknowns.] The carracks, while smaller and sporting fewer guns, appear to be well constructed and could be used as a blockade runner.
[Confirmed positioning of the smaller ships, presumably dromons and galleys... numbering eighty-seven ships. Counting composition... Red Lion ships number thirty, Silver Dragon ships number eight, and forty-nine flies unknown fgs.] Unlike the rger vessels with the doctrine of line battles in mind, these ships possess mostly forward-firing cannons with some swivel guns.
The Phantom loiters around a bit more, checking for any vessels they might missed before banking hard back. The stage is now set for a war that returns with all its terrible vainglory.
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Arganean and Imperial combined fleet erupted in chaos as the mana signature of their wyverns was snuffed out one by one. Many thought it was a joke, a form of folly and weariness from being too long above the waves... but none returned. None could tell them what had happened out there.
Amidst the Fgship of the Imperial Armada, New Dawn, the admiral debates the course of action with his men. It was not a pretty sight.
“With all due respect, my lord, turning the Sea Roosts away was a grave mistake! We will be blind without their coverage, and I refuse to believe that the finest of our own was snuffed out!” A senior aide argued, his voice both of outrage and thinning patience. He had watched as the finest of their vessels were turned back home, running with their legs between their tails, covered by precious Wyvern Riders, which could have been decisive.
“We have our pride to show those cowardly Arganean! This act of ours will only embolden them! We could have afforded more tactical flexibility if only we conquered North Arganea! We must make an example!” He raised his fists, and many supported and cmored to his rhetoric.
Then a woman in her 30s raised her voice. It is a rare thing to see a woman in the Imperial Military, and she could jeopardize her career for daring to voice her opinion. “You are the blind one here! The Admiral was making the best choice he could; we are blind! We are not even sure how many foes our Wyverns faced out there! It might be possible that he-” She is a part of the Chief of Staffs, but her words were usually dashed aside; this is a political suicide, but she persists.
Her words were drowned by refusal and angry rebuttal, “The Half-Breed Prince was no one! He has no backing; no one will side with a child prophesied to bring forth doom and destruction! He is a coward, a pgue, and the very epitome of sickness. His Imperial Majesty wishes to uproot from this world!”
“What’s the matter, woman? Have you finally lost your nerves and wish to return to the kitchen? I smell fear from you, how unsightly.” Not even finishing her argument, she was cut off with faces full of sneer and superiority.
“You should have learned your pce; your kind doesn’t belong in this profession. Why won’t you meekly accept you lot in life, and let us men do works your kin to delicate to accomplish?”
“I wouldn’t have opened my mouth if I were you.”
“Hah, the female is shivering in her skirt at st! We are not even sure of our foe, and you choose the easier path. Typical.” Her face flushed in outrage and embarrassment at the public insult and jeers that followed. She ground her teeth behind her thin lips as she mocked, again.
She tried to look at those who are ostensibly on her side when it comes to who to support, but they seemed to look at her with carrying degree of skepticism. She is trapped in a sea as a mere passenger to be tolerated, her brilliance obfuscated by this lot.
“Silence!” The admiral, having enough of his words being challenged, shouted and smashed the table with his fist. The officers quiet down, although their resentment, fear, uncertainties, and ambitions remain palpable. “I had made my choices, and it is my right to direct the course of action.” His men grumbles but none raise their voice unless allowed.
“It is true that we have no clues on what had befell the wyvern fly group. It is also true that it could possibly be true that they are out there, waiting, fighting, or even flying to their intended target. Our mana radio struggles to maintain a connection in these waters, so uncertainties are expected.” He takes a rge gulp of grog, and the taste of alcohol and lime drenches his parched throat.
“However, my decision will not be overturned. We are charting through unowned waters, monsters the likes of which only Aquysor Fasthard could harbor might be within our sight. Our heat dampener should obfuscate their senses, but we must take heed. Heed the unthinkable.”
That unthinkable is defeat. Many amongst the assembled sailors hates that words the most. They are one of the best equipped fleet in the Empire, and to have this mighty fleet be overturned in its inception would be a nightmarish, embarrassing, and career-ending humiliation. This will also weaken their grip on the client states, so like it or not, they must gain some modicum of success.
Younger staff officers are hungry for glory, their brains full of Imperial propaganda of its excellence. These are great officers from the finest academy, but intelligence will never equate to wisdom. Wisdom that is in sort supplies as the Imperial Army, Flying Corps, and Naval Armada continue to sweep aside all that stands in its way.
Many of these youngster believes that they are only vulnerable because the enemy practices cowardly guerril warfare. The death toll has been watered down, further obfuscating the ugly truth that drives the masses to their death.
“If we did encounter a mana cloud or storm, we would protect the rest of our air units. Take heed, I will take responsibility for this mayhem, now dismissed, and tend to your station!” One by one, the officers left the meeting room, some relieved that their career is safe, and others grudgingly accepted as embers of ambition continue to bloom bright. He turns to the female officer. “You stay.” She was initially wary and afraid that it was another harassment... but the man motioned her to sit. “Wine?”
“Oh... um... I would be gd to.” He grunted affirmation, his hands moving rapidly as he mixed in the alcohol. “You were brave there, more so than the others... I should have known better; it is always the darkest underneath the lighthouse.”
“My lord?” Her puzzlement was amusing for him, his smile pains his lips before handing her the drink. “It is the truth. We grow too quickly, needing too much manpower to keep everything under our grip.” He clinked his gss with hers, and both savored the taste of fermented grape running down towards their gullet and cleansing the pate.
“What’s your name?”
“It’s Asheva, My Lord. I had been serving in the capital defense fleet until st month.”
“Serving or denied from advancement?”
“My lord... I...” Her face twisted into both shame and hurt. Once the adrenaline was out of her system, she realized how badly she almost destroyed her own career. Having no allies in the fleet is a hard existence, especially when your colleagues never respect you.
“Speak pinly, and don’t call me Admiral or some such; I hate it. Call me Dalig.”
“Then, if I may, Admiral Dalig...” She clenched her gss tight, her face twisting further due to years of meritocratic service rendered barely enough for respect. “Yes... I was supposed to be part of the First Fleet that shattered Arganean’s finest... It was not meant to be.”
“Hmm... I was there, so I understand your frustration. It was the Empire’s defining moment, a moment where we stopped being formidable to becoming great...” His smile fails to convey any warmth, eyes flicking onto the floor as if seeing the many rivers of blood and screaming faces beneath the waves.
“It was not a great victory like the propaganda suggested... Our technology, our cannons, barely made a difference against those shielded vessels. The Queen decided to end this war that shattered Arganea.”
She was about to ask why there’s not even a snipper of rumor... but then she remembered the near mind-bending, and mythical power of the Arganean crown. “Don’t tell me... no... I can understand the power to raise nd from the sea... but to that extent?”
“It’s real. We had been dismissing magic as fading, but we simply do not understand.” He pointed out of the window towards the nearest Arganean Carrack. “Those men and women cannot speak of it; they only spoke what they were told, like it or not.”
“... What’s the point of you telling me this?” He barked a ugh at her question, bereft of caution, as he wanted. His ugh ceased, his smile grim but satisfied. “We will die here.”
“!?” Her eyes widened seeing his face. Dalig had been mostly irritable, forlorn, or simply indifferent so far... so witnessing that fatalistic smile on his face made her feel chills. “We are dead, the Prince has gained something that will overturn the war. More people will die, more useless graveyards for ‘Heroes’.”
“My lord, what you spoke of is treason. It is unbefitting.” She tried to measure up some sembnce of control, but he shook his head in amusement. “No, I can feel death when I taste the very air. The Spirits had been silent, and from that silence we are sailing to our death.” He rose up, motioning her to follow.
Her training ingrained from harsh education made her walk a step behind him as his mind grapples with the Rear Admiral’s erratic defeatism. They surfaced above deck just as the spotter on the crow’s nest shouted. “Bck dots from the north! By the gods, there are a dozen of them!”
“Hah, just in time! All ships, battle stations!” He shouts with glee, an expression that unnerved the magical radio operator before the order was reyed. Dalig side-eyed Asheva, whose face paled seeing what was coming towards them. It was not dragon, wyverns, or fmebirds...
“... What are those!?” Even from this far out, she doesn’t see any signs of fpping wings. Their figure is bereft of mana, except for the small fre of those behind its gssy window.
“No idea, but you'd better hold onto something. If we survive, I’ll buy everyone the finest grog in all the continent! Full mast ahead! Long Live the Emperor!” His voice carries over the communication apparatuses. Ships' anti-wyverns swivel cannons and repeating ballista are pointed upwards.
Sun gre had made it difficult to see them, and the fear of the unknown, just a few moments ago, due to the wyvern group's disappearance, was amplified. It is an ugly reality that not everyone was truly built for war. It is a collective state that reinforces morale, but the morale itself is nowhere to be seen.
Then the ships rocked.
Dalig was thrown off his footing, and Asheva tumbled off, her cap flying to the sea. “What had happened-”
“BLADEMOUTHS!” Terror instantly fills the air as schools of dangerous sea monsters have surfaced. They are close to the forgotten ocean, but not that close. “WHY ARE THEY HERE?!” An officer shrieked as the side of this galleon was bitten off, the tempered wood unable to cope with the massive shark’s razor-sharp and tough teeth.
“NO! NO-!” She watched as a staff officer was thrown off the tilted ship, directly into the sea, and then into the mouth of monsters. More and more Bdemouth Sharks surfaced, preying upon the vessel as if led to an impromptu all-you-can-eat buffet. Cannons meant for the aircraft above were hastily aimed at the monsters. The cannonball, ordinary or magically enhanced, starts fighting back against the beasts.
One of the smaller dromons was simply gone once a shark bded maws sawed it in half, the sailors helpless as they slid into the sea to become fish chows or take the faster way out. “Curse it all! Signal the ships to form a tight cordon! Signal everyone to coalesce!”
“That would limit our field of fire, My lord!” Asheva steadied herself, the ship rocking like mad as its keels were being nipped, ports and starboards gnawed, and men turning to fish feed. “Either that or we die!” Dalig pulled out a handcannon before running to the nearest Bdemouth, busy chewing and breaking his ship. It notices him, but the point-bnk range is enough to strike straight through its eye. The beast let go of the ship, but there’s still so much more to do.
He watched helplessly as one of the client states’ carrack capsized, a Bdemouth ramming amidst the ship with frenzied fury, their basic instinct overridden by sudden thirst in need of sking. The high concentration of mana made all of them a rge beacon for sea monsters, a short of nightmare that would have pgued Regalian shipping otherwise.
As there’s tragedy, there’s also brave folly. A sailor could be seen running with a barrel linked to a long fuse. He screamed as he jumped into the sea, a maw snatching him midair alongside the barrel. Then, an explosion rocked the sea as a Bdemouth’s head imploded, flesh and brain matter scattering a messy pile of gore.
More and more sailors remember their training, brandishing arquebuses, harpoons, and even magic at great risk. The desire to live and fight, no matter the odds, had been tempered with training, and this is the catalyst for them to try and try. Survival is a motivation; adrenaline is a potent drug. The sea is bathed with blood and carcasses, wailing and screaming intermingled into the truest nguage of struggle.
“Turn up the mirror! Signal our wyverns!” The nearest mirror officer made a series of blinking lights to ask for help from their flying knights. It came as a heartbreaking revetion as they instead head straight for the incoming, presumably hostile, buzzing steel birds.
“Bst it all… Men! Get to your posts! Come on!” She pulled up the cowering sailors by their shirts, forcing them to stand before shoving them to man the cannons. The sailors work with practiced efficiency even as more and more of their comrades fall victim to capricious fate.
Dalig stood ready on one side; close to 40 cannons had been reloaded. He raised a hand. “FIRE!” Cannonballs sm onto the surface target, felling another Bdemouth. The ship rocks harder; it has become a priority target.
Regardless of their intent, one would be remiss to dismiss their valor. Valor that would be worthy of songs, worthy of the name of their ancestors. But they are too disorganized to form an effective cordon. With that, the fleet doesn’t even have the luxury of watching the flying contraptions passing them; their lives and survival demand utmost focus.
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Narina watches the fleet below, once angling their weapon to her squadron, being torn apart by sea monsters. Disregarding the monsters, those weapons could theoretically harm her air unit, but that’s not her target. Her eyes are fixed on the fleet distancing itself to save what’s left of their air unit. She tunes out the screams and terror from below; this is war. A war that immediately went sideways.
This is one part of the pn that she was powerless to negotiate with. Now she lies witness to hell on earth, those of her people and enemies falling victim to an insidious ploy of a madman. Very effective, yes, it preserves resources and life. It brought over a shock of a different scale, and it shows a very real possibility of what manner of tactics, strategies, and doctrines the Regalian are willing to employ.
Her misgivings aside, this is a lesson in modern warfare. ‘No pns survive first contact...’ She noted bitterly internally. The mission that should have started as a nding operation had been thrown into disarray when news of rebellion broke out in Fallfiore.
A rebellion that sprang up without warning despite assurances. Rebellion, where men are loyal or traitorous, is painted in a near-anarchic state of savagery. A war that has no border with a flimsy reason. War is based on emotions and fears rather than true calcution. The Empire will not be lenient even if they won, to them rebels would be rebels.
She refuses to believe that an incident of this scale is possible without one crucial point.
The Regalian lets it happen.
‘What a terrible hypothetical…’ She doesn’t know, or rather, she does not want to know. It is pusible that Regalia is stretched thin themselves, but this much catastrophe is just illogical. Regardless, the Thunder Squadron shall perform naval air strikes, while the Rain squadron head for the Isnd.
Arganean Royal Dragoons will nd as it had been outlined, but the fourth and fifth companies are being airlifted off the carrier to nd on Fallfiore. E.I.R.I. pledges more men to help them scour the isnd, but this debacle certainly put the Regalian motive into question.
‘Focus, Nari. His Majesty depends on you.’ She pitched her aircraft further upward, aligning the aiming reticle as flights of wyverns are heading to intercept her squadron. [This is Vector One. Remember to pair up and never overextend. Do not try to earn glory; our objectives are the Sea Roosts. How copy?] A series of ‘Roger’ follows her question; she calmed her beating heart and pced her thumb on the trigger.
[We got them.] One of the Thunder pilots grunted as the enemy took the bait. They flew just high enough for the wyverns to reliably intercept and fast enough to avoid the sporadic AA attacks to be evaded. The simple bait had hooked more than 2/3 of the wyverns guarding the fleet’s sky towards them.
They are not obligated to engage them; there’s no tactical or strategic imperative to be gained. She pitches her aircraft upward, followed by the rest as they climb higher and higher. Evading the suspected melee or magical equivalent of aerial skirmish with ease.
Her foes clearly see it happening in real time, realizing far too te that they had been duped. She and her men could climb far higher than a wyvern could, completely bypassing the interception flights. With the first deception succeeded, the aircraft’s engine went into full throttle, leaving their foes in the dust as a glimpse of an era nearing its end.
She can sense the magically gifted rider futilely cast magic in the form of fireball, wind bde, and even lightning. Unfortunately, they had fallen way too short. Fireball could be guided, but it is useless if it cannot move faster than one hundred knots. The wind bdes are unseen, but these possess piss-poor range, and the lightning was the only real threat. Shame such a technique requires an immense amount of mana, and even then, the range would make the arcane lightning dissipate before long.
Narina doesn’t need to see their frustrations, fury, and fear. No matter what they did, the aircrafts are simply unreachable.
“Curses! Those cars are flying too high! We can’t reach them!” The newer wyvern rider screamed as the unknown metal birds flew over him. He cannot use magic, and the sight of his seniors being left helpless is too demoralizing.
“Lord Commander! What should we do!? Our arquebuses won’t reach them! This battle is lost!” To his side, a veteran desperately asks for command. Command, ideas, pns, or anything, but the Commander of this flight is equally lost on what to do.
“Come down and face us, cowards! Fight like a proper knight! Fight us evenly!” A scream of indignity and besmirched honor that is also disregarded. There will be no glorious combat; this is just another strike on the sanctity of war, where soulless contraptions made nature obsolete.
The remaining 1/3 of the wyvern are left in panicked limbo; they are sitting ducks by the enemy, who doesn’t give them a chance to fight back. They could try sacrificing themselves for the ships, but that’s easier said than done. Especially when the majority are greenhorns who were fed propaganda on invincibility rather than self-sacrifice.
Soon, they are right above the fleet, the crews thousands of meters beneath them frantically swivel their deck culverins and ballistae to the sky, creating a cloud of smoke and desperate screens in futility.
One by one, the Arganean pilots dived from the sky, their rockets prepped and aligned with the mass of soldiers below. The wyvern riders don’t understand what they will do, other than the Arganean are pnning something devious. Each wyverns break from its formation, racing back to the Sea Roosts to defend them.
How unfortunate.
“Thunder One, rockets away!” She pressed the button briefly, and a burst of six rockets, aided by velocity and gravity, streaked past the speed of sound as they rained down onto the fleet below. Narina scored her first sinking, the rockets punching through the upper deck and pummeling on with each gaping wound providing passage for deeper hits.
Her rockets scored detonation, caused by the ignition of both gunpowder and magical gems. The explosion was painted green, blue, and red as differing elements cshed and danced to create a macabre conga of death. Sailors were rocked off their feet, thrown overboard, or outright incinerated into dust, scattering to the winds.
“Thunder Two, rockets, rockets, rockets!” Her subordinate targeted the second Sea Roosts; this one fared no better as simir detonations occurred. Hundreds of lives had been extinguished, and two mighty ships sunk into the bottom of the ocean.
Appears some of the bolder riders swiveled their mounts in the way of incoming rockets. Their heroism only ended with their body turned to bloody, charred paste. These sights caused the surrounding wyverns to be agitated; the noise and burnt smell triggered their animalistic instincts.
Other Thunders pick their target with contemptuous ease as the wyverns struggle to make it back on time. They can do nothing as the ships were sunk one by one, the sailors becoming food for sea monsters following them from that accursed sea.
“Thunder Four, Guns! Guns! Guns!” Calling out their attack, rains of .50 cal HMGs struck the wooden decks and penetrated deep. Flesh was simply torn from the body; a complete departure from the pop-culture depiction of mere bullet holes.
No. These high-caliber small arms used velocity, mass, and kinetic power to tear the body into bloody chunks on the floor. Those below decks don’t understand what really happened, only that their friends and comrades were killed in such horrific fashion in front of their eyes.
“Thunder Seven, you’re too close to maximum engagement altitude limit! Pull up!” She calls out to her subordinate, that one so-called Ace who strays too close to the Wyvern’s engagement range. She watches as he barely dodges a lightning bolt, yet he keeps on weaving as if he enjoys the sughter.
She will need to reprimand him ter, but for now… he is very good. His movements are minimal, his ammunition expenditure phenomenally low, and he doesn’t fire his rocket in bursts. The man squeezed his trigger, one pinpointed rocket that weaved through an open window for cannon and detonated inside.
To say she wasn’t impressed would be a lie. To say it doesn’t affect her morale and desire to fight would be an even greater lie. She might come to regret it ter, but adrenaline clouds the mind. With every pull of their triggers, dozens, if not hundreds, lost their lives. There’s not a single pce avaible for emotion in the heat of combat, and she considers it all a done deal.
The Imperial invades, ensves, and now they are all dying. Her people are becoming butchers for a righteous cause, and so she keeps on pressing the buttons and trigger.
Yet as she watched yet another ship vanish into the sea, her eyes were turned in the Old Citadel’s general direction. Wondering when this prelude will end, and for the seasons of war, inevitable resumption to enter a whole new, bloodier phase.
[END OF CHAPTER]
Author’s Note:
Yo there, this is me, myself, and I, the author who is kinda stressed.
I might be taking a break for real mid-February. So, yeah…
Anyway!
I decide to crank up the moral hypocrisy, dilemma, and war reality further. Expect some really rotten apples to come out of the woodwork.
I want to make the war… not that glorious. I want to make this one ugly, and maybe stomach-churning at times. I want to see if I can do that, and based on my civilian perspective on wars, I don’t wanna know about it, but you can’t help that morbid curiosity to know, and only regret it all ter.
Ciao
