"ROAAAAAARRRRR!!!"
A massive Silver Land Dragon unleashed a deafening roar as its enormous body stood before Eurylochus, who fired his rifle uselessly as the bullets barely scratched the behemoth's scales.
"Fuck! Not again!!"
The dragon's mouth gaped wide, and a blinding glow emanated from its throat, illuminating the world in an explosion of dazzling light.
"No!!"
Eurylochus exclaimed as he jerked awake with sweat drenching his hospital scrubs and winced in pain when it surged through him as his sudden movement aggravated his injuries.
Gasping, he rolled onto his side and coughed in pain before his eyes caught the ominous red flash of a warning light in the dim room.
"Field hospital... must be the one at the Mining Facility," he thought, piecing together the details.
He forced himself to steady his breathing, and the small sound of the facility's silent siren reached his ears. A hurried looking nurse rushed past his bed, and he called out to the nurse who had a stressful look on her face.
"What's happening?"
"It's an Orc raid," the pretty nurse answered, her face appearing deadly pale under the flashing red lights. "Don't worry, we're moving everyone into the mines for safety."
With that, she headed off somewhere urgently.
"Damn, I was just having a sweet dream about this girl..." one of the injured soldiers a few beds down joked, causing weak laughter from the others who awoke, which quickly dissolved into painful coughs.
"Sarge," someone beside Eurylochus rasped, "What do we do now?"
"There's nothing we can do in this condition," Eurylochus groaned as he laid back into the bed. "Just trust our brothers out there."
"Hooraaah..."
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The Orc fleet sailed rapidly across the ocean, moving faster than what the human strategists had predicted. Their ships plowed through the waves, where the same rhythmic beating of war drums echoed throughout the whole fleet in a sustained about pace for the Orc rowers, who strained in unison, propelling the vessels forward.
Most of the orcs aboard were younglings, attracted by offers and promises of food, drink, plunder, riches, and best of all, a good fight.
They had flocked to join the Skull Krusher fleet, sent from the Mother City to raid neighboring lands for resources and spoils.
At the head of this horde was Jiak the Skull Krusher, an Orc Warmaster whose name struck fear across the seas. He had earned his title through cunning and brutality, capturing countless enemy ships and returning to the Mother City with their riches.
In recognition of his exploits, the Elders had used their ancient magic to transform him, reforming his body and mind, turning him stronger, faster and more intelligent. Once merely a Warleader, Jiak had evolved into a Warmaster, which is equivalent to a Transcendent Tier-1 according to those Soft Skins.
Not only that, he now had commanded a force of over 200 ships and 40,000 Orcs, ready to lay waste to the outside world.
Though his force was small compared to the rest of the Orc Warbands, especially the vast Orcish Hordes of legend, it was more than enough to raze cities and cripple small nations.
Jiak had spent two long years amassing this number of fleet, backstabbing other Orc Warmasters and stealing resources from other clans, until his power was undeniable. Even the Orc Warboss himself had given Jiak his blessing to set sail.
Now, Jiak sat upon his throne of skulls with a wicked grin spreading across his face. He could already taste the bloodshed, the plunder, and the chaos that awaited them.
Soon, the world would tremble beneath his heel.
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Austronesia People's Empire, Imperial Majahapit, The Eastern Coast of New Guinea
1st Year of God, Monday, 3rd Week, 3rd Month of Abraham
In the eastern seas off the coast of New Guinea, part of the Imperial Majapahit, dozens of warships from the Liberation Navy stood ready for battle.
At the forefront of the fleet was one of the largest ships known as the "ALN Keumalahayati," a massive 100-meter battleship named after the legendary Indonesian hero, Laksamana Malahayati, an admiral of Aceh Keumalahayati and interestingly the first female admiral in the modern world.
Commanding the ship was an admiral who strapped securely into a chair bolted to the floor of the operations center. His eyes were fixed on the tactical display screen, which showed UAV footage of the orc fleet advancing rapidly toward the shore.
The estimated time to landfall had shortened from nine hours to just under seven, and accounting for the squadron scramble and flight time, the orcs would reach the coast in less than three hours.
Calculating the distance and time to engagement, he activated the fleet-wide communications.
"Command to all units. Enemy fleet less than 15 minutes out. Look alive now!"
A series of confirmations echoed through his earpiece. Switching channels, he addressed No. 2 Squadron, where the Thunderwing gunships were ready to strike.
"Command to Thunderwing-1 and 2, commence attack. When you hit bingo on ammo, RTB for rearm and refuel. Over."
[T-1, roger.]
[Thunderwing-2, copy that.]
The admiral glanced out the narrow viewport and watched the two gunships accelerate, breaking formation and roaring toward the enemy fleet.
They couldn't sent long-range missile strikes to bombed the fleet as they have a shortage of them due to the New Year Tragedy, but the Admiral had meticulously crafted a strategic plan, where the Air Force would deliver the first blow and aimed to decimate the orc fleet before they could make landfall.
If they weren't enough, the Liberation Navy was prepared to unleash a barrage of firepower to stop the invaders.
And if both efforts failed, the Imperial Liberation Army had already fortified the coastal defenses of New Guinea, making sure no aliens would lay a single hair on the soils of their Motherland.
A perfect defense.
However, if all defenses were to fail and the Orcs began spreading across the land, a nuclear strike would serve as the final resort.
And due to the New World's unique ability of healing the land from environmental destruction and cleanse itself of radiation, there would be no fear of a radioactive fallout or the creation of a long-term death zone.
"Command to all Phoenixes, check your fuel and weapons. Over."
Reports of fuel and weapons status flowed in from the fighter jets, and the admiral nodded in satisfaction. The Phoenixes had enough fuel for almost an hour of sustained combat before needing to return for refueling.
[Command, Phantom-1 has eyes on the enemy vessels!] one of the F-16 Phantom pilots reported.
[Thunderwing Actual has a tally on surface contacts. Weapons standing by. Over.]
"Weapons green. Engage at will!"
[Thunderwing Actual, roger that. Weapons green. Engaging now!]
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The pilot of Thunderwing-1 keyed his comms to the other A-12 Thunderwing attack helicopter.
"T-1 to T-2, drop down to 100 meters above sea level, reduce speed to 60% power, and engage surface vessels. Weapons green, repeat, weapons green."
"Roger that, T-1." The pilot of T-2 pushed his flight stick forwards, following Thunderwing-1's lead, and reducing his throttle, and flipped the master weapons switch.
Ensuring his targeting display highlighted the '70 mm rocket' option, he followed on the first Thunderwing flank and dropped down to 100 meters above the churning waves.
"T-1 to T-2, we'll attack in sequence from the starboard side. Watch my run and follow when I'm clear, over."
"Two, copies," T-2 replied and followed T-1 craft as they looped to come in from the right side of the Orc fleet. He fell back slightly to give Thunderwing-1 room to make the first attack and provide observation before his turn.
From his cockpit, he could see the sea crowded with dozens and dozens of orc ships with black and red sails flapping in the wind, and he had no doubt the orcs were pointing at the gunships cutting through the air above them.
"Thunderwing-1, beginning attack run!"
T-1 dipped lower, slowing further as its six pylons armed with rocket pods ignited. A hail of rockets streaked toward the orc fleet, slamming into their flimsy wooden ships. Ball of fire erupted on impact, while towering splashes of seawater marked where the rockets missed and crashed into the ocean.
Watching the destruction unfold, T-2 couldn't help but cheer. The memory of the New Year Tragedy, when so many of his friends, family members, and loved ones were taken by demonic forces, flooded back.
Seeing the orc ships explode in fiery chaos brought a strange, cathartic satisfaction. For once, he was the one unleashing devastation.
As Thunderwing-1 tore down the row of helpless ships, more fiery explosions followed, and the T-1's pilot then pulled up sharply, looping around to prepare for another run.
"Wooo! Did you see that? You're up next!" T-1's pilot called with the adrenaline clear in his voice.
"Roger, beginning attack!" T-2 grinned and angled his gunship for the next run. He eased back the throttle, aligning his crosshairs with the untouched row of vessels, and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Rockets whooshed from his pylons, shaking the Thunderwing slightly, making T-2's grin even wider to the point of a maniac as he watched more orc ships go up in flames. Explosions tore through their ranks, followed by towering white geysers where the rockets splashed into the sea.
With a satisfied smirk, he pulled up at the end of the fleet and looped back just as Thunderwing-1 began its second run. Soon, the heavy bombers, the "big boys", would arrive to finish the job, but for now, the orcs would feel the full wrath of the Thunderwings.
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Jiak twitched his eyebrows in confusion as he first heard the strange roar coming from the skies, and looked up in wonder at the sight of two grayish objects flying over the fleet. The Orcs around him shouted and pointed in excitement, unsure of what they were witnessing. But Jiak's instincts kicked in as one of the objects looped back, and a series of explosions ripped through the fleet.
"It iz an attack!" Jiak roared, as he stood up from his throne, "Ready 'da anti-dragon shooters!" He barked orders at his crew before turning around to a shaman beside him. "Relay ma kommand ta all da ships, tell im ta form up 'n da anti-dragon formation now!"
The orc shaman bowed low and pulled out a glowing crystal orb. Chanting in a guttural, ancient tongue, the shaman's hands danced over the orb, which pulsed with a purplish light. The message spread fast and transmitted to the other shamans holding similar orbs across the fleet.
"Load 'da shootas an' tell 'da shamans ta use spells ta take down dose kursed fly'n monstaz!" Jiak snarled with blazing eyes as he saw the other strange flying monster turning for another pass.
As the shaman relayed his orders, Jiak stood tall and grip the hilt of his axe. The air crackled with tension as the fleet's defenders scrambled to arm their primitive anti-air weapons and prepare their magic, but Jiak sensed that they might be facing something far more dangerous than any ordinary dragon.