GATE: Thus Democracy was Called [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter 4: The Only Easy Day... Was Yesterday

December 1st 2066
New York City, Times Square

Times Square had been transformed into a fortified military outpost. The mysterious structure, now encased in a massive metal dome with giant blast doors, stood as a testament to the unprecedented challenge facing the nation.

M1X Abrams Tanks and M2X Vanguard APCs lined up in formation, a display of military might and readiness. Among them, the towering EX-5 Mechanized Power Armors stood sentinel, their operators vigilant. A company-sized contingent of soldiers stood at attention, their faces a mixture of determination and uncertainty.

President David Sanders approached the podium, his presence commanding the attention of all present. The air was heavy with anticipation as he began his speech.

"Today marks a pivotal moment in our nation's history," the President began, his voice resonating through the assembled crowd. "The action to explore the world beyond this gateway has been authorized and is ready to commence. To the brave men standing before me, you carry with you the hopes and dreams of our people."

He paused, looking over the ranks of soldiers. "You will serve with distinction. You are the best our nation has to offer, and I expect nothing less from each of you. Your courage and dedication will light the way into this new frontier."

As the President concluded, a sense of solemn duty settled over the crowd. Then, Lieutenant General Haynes stepped forward to address the soldiers.

"Listen up," Haynes said, his voice firm and clear. "Several scout missions have already been conducted through the gateway. So far, all have returned safely, but we still don't know exactly what we're facing on the other side."

He surveyed the attentive faces before him. "Therefore, I want each and every one of you to be prepared for the possibility of a firefight when we get to the other side of the gateway, and we must be ready for any scenario. Remember your training, stay vigilant, and watch each other's backs."

Lieutenant General Haynes' final command echoed across the square, "Prepare to move out. Stand by."

The soldiers swiftly moved to their assigned vehicles. The massive blast doors of the dome began to open, revealing the enigmatic gateway. As the M1X Abrams Tanks rumbled forward, their engines a low growl in the morning air, they were followed by the M2X Vanguard APCs, the hulking forms of the EX-5s, and a line of mobile rocket artillery vehicles. The convoy, a formidable procession of military might, advanced towards the gateway.

As the vehicles passed through the portal, they were engulfed in darkness. Headlights pierced the pitch black, casting eerie shadows in the unknown world beyond. Inside one of the APCs, First Lieutenant Scott Mason was methodically checking his gear, ensuring everything was in place for the operation.

After his promotion, Scott had been given command of two squads of Marines, a responsibility he took seriously. By chance, or perhaps fate, his longtime friend and comrade-in-arms, Alan Jackson, was among them. Despite the gravity of the situation, Alan's presence brought a sense of familiarity and reassurance.

Scott, still adjusting his gear, couldn't help but grumble, "Can't believe I'm spending Christmas geared up for combat in some shithole."

Alan, overhearing him, grinned and clapped Scott on the shoulder. "Come on, Scott, think of it as a holiday adventure. How many people can say they spent Christmas exploring a new world?"

Scott couldn't suppress a smirk. "Only you could find the bright side of this, Alan."

The convoy reached the other side.

Imperial Saderan Calendar, 687.
Falmart, Alnus Hill

"Echo 2-1 Actual, this is Tango 3, we have contact," the tank gunner reported, his voice tense as he peered through the night vision optics. In the distance, flickering lights moved erratically, indicating the approach of enemy forces.

"Copy that, Tango 3. Stay alert, over," came the response from Echo 2-1 Actual.

As the convoy dispersed into a battle formation, the tank gunner loaded the main gun. "Targets in sight, engaging," he announced. The tank's cannon roared to life, sending explosive shells into the advancing enemy ranks. Each hit illuminated the night with a brief, fiery glow, the impact devastating the opposing forces.

A mortar crew, set up a distance from the front line, adjusted their aim based on the coordinates relayed to them. Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of horns and a thunderous battle cry from the enemy.

"That's our cue," one of the mortar men said, loading the tube. "Fire!"

The mortars launched in rapid succession, their explosive payloads arching through the sky and raining down on the enemy. The ground shook with each impact, the blasts tearing through the ranks of the attackers.

"Direct hits, keep it up!" the squad leader shouted over the din of battle.

Inside the cockpit of an EX-5, the operator scanned the battlefield. A call came in over the comms, "Bravo 6 to all units, large hostile approaching your sector. Engage with extreme prejudice."

The operator swiveled the mech, its sensors locking onto a massive figure lumbering towards them. It was a grotesque, oversized goblin, its eyes glowing with malice in the darkness.

"Got eyes on the beast," the operator muttered, lining up the shot. "This one's mine."

The EX-5's automatic cannon burst to life, the 30mm rounds shredding through the night. The goblin was hit, its body jerking with the impact of the bullets, before collapsing in a heap.

"Target down," the operator reported, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Bravo 6, the... thing won't be a problem anymore."

Around them, the battle raged on, the United States forces methodically dismantling the enemy's advance with precision and firepower. The darkness of the unknown world was lit by the flames of combat, a stark reminder of the challenges that lay ahead in this new and hostile land.

"Delta-1 to all units, crest the hill in formation. Watch for any remaining hostiles," commanded the tank commander, as the line of Abrams tanks ascended the rise, their treads stained with the blood of the fallen enemy - a grim mix of purple and red.

As they reached the crest, the battlefield unfolded before them. The commander surveyed the scene, noting the remnants of the enemy's catapults. "Tango units, target the remaining enemy artillery. Let's finish this."

The tanks adjusted their barrels, the heavy thud of their cannons echoing as they destroyed the last of the enemy's siege weapons. A distant horn sounded, likely a signal of retreat, but the commander remained focused.

"They might be pulling back. Engage any residual forces," he ordered. The tanks continued their relentless assault, firing upon pockets of enemy troops attempting to regroup.

"Charlie-4, this is Whiskey 2. We have movement to the west. Looks like they're trying to regroup and retreat," reported the howitzer operator, peering through his binoculars.

"Copy, Whiskey 2. Adjusting fire. make sure they don't get that chance," responded the artillery leader.

The howitzer crew quickly recalibrated their aim, focusing on the enemy formations attempting to flee. With precise coordination, they unleashed a barrage of shells, each explosion marking the impact on the retreating forces.

"Direct hits on target," the operator confirmed, a sense of grim resolve in his voice. "They won't be regrouping after that."

The infantry platoon leader, First Lieutenant Scott Mason, watched as the battle tipped in their favor. He kept his squad alert, aware that the chaos of retreat could still hold dangers.

"Bravo team, maintain your positions. Cover the tanks and watch for enemy stragglers," Scott ordered, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Through his binoculars, he could see the enemy forces in disarray, their retreat hampered by the American artillery. It was a harsh but necessary response to an unprovoked attack.

"Keep the pressure on," Scott said. "We can't afford to let them regroup. This ends here."

As the artillery continued to rain down, and the tanks pushed forward, the Americans maintained their offensive, determined to secure a decisive victory in this first engagement of an unknown war. The night air was filled with the sounds of battle, a stark reminder of the new and dangerous world they had entered.