The Nauta

Okay, okay, okay, we rewind now.

30 minutes ago.

"This is the command centre for the largest establishment of the Falcon Eye, the Fittoa central command.", said the speaker overhead.

"As of last month, it has been made aware that an immense force of nine million soldiers are to approach the central stronghold of Fittoa, with hostile intentions. We are expecting around four million foot soldiers, two million knights, as well as one million special and forward scout forces. Talons stationed around the advancement have taken care of any stray soldiers, and you can expect no stragglers of any kind after the mission."

"The mission directive this time is simple, kill any hostilities on sight, no exceptions, formations are unnecessary, those of you on the air carriers, you will be dropped in the middle of enemy formations, a company of armoured jeeps that was just dispatched are your extraction transports in the case of a failure of assault. You are otherwise authorised to exercise force without caution. Every missile establishment within the Fittoa forest have been armed, and you can expect a missile strike on your area immediately should you request for external cover fire. Hopefully, we will be able to wipe out the foolish assaulters with this attack. They should not be expecting an attack from above, and your job is to kill as many people as possible during the confusion, which is likely to last for the length of the mission, while a volley of bombardments and machine gun fire traps enemy forces from the outside. This would hopefully wipe out the foolish assaulters. If not, we shall launch a full scale cavalry of type 90 tanks when they reach the Fittoa forest outskirts, and all available talons will participate.", the clear, authoritative female voice said.

"Your mission this time is vital to the organisation. Yet it is a relatively simple task, well within your capabilities, and you are expected to carry them out with extreme efficiency. This is for the Falcon, and for the people of the Falcon." concluded the broadcast.

The hangar is silent, except for the din of the equipment as 100 aircraft carriers revved into life. Their 6 turbo engines spun smoothly, taking off into the grey sky.

Cikagn crowded with Amelia, Seb and Andrew within the small confinement of the APC, their bulky equipment making the space between them awkward. Lined up single file in the small chamber, they barely have the space to turn their heads to each other. With the radio comms switched off during flight, their conversations are drowned out by the plane engines, communication, status reports, and notifications that were related through a buzzing speaker in the corner of the APC.

A computer noise reports their condition every 10 seconds. Two wires connected, a magnet vibrated, carrying out a frequency into the air. Electricity crackled overhead, "Report: altitude: 1 kilometre, flight, all systems optimal, no commands, update complete".

Cikagn sighed as the long flight dragged on. No windows in the cramped space, just the periscopes showing the dark plane hangar, the screens lit serenely green with night vision, faint against the red illumination of the cabin. They were silent, with the communications off, they could barely hear each other over the engine noise anyways.

"Report: 300 kilometres..."

300 kms below and 100 kms away, the gleam of silver stretched for as far as the eye could see. The sea of bodies marched on, amongst them are enormous wooden catapults, and various other heavy equipment platforms.

On one such humble equipment platform, against the clank of shoes, the stifling smell of sweating men, and the neighing of horses, stood a lone, scrawny figure on a long stick, towering above the armada. His ears twitched continuously as he began to stare up at the imposing, grey sky.

His eyes widened, and in a swift movement packed with both panic and decades of training that had become reflex, he yelled at the top of his lungs down at the group of soldiers marching alongside the small platform.

Several armoured and muscled men climbed onto the moving platform, a red flag is raised as 2 horse carriages drew up next to it. One of them hauling piles of wicked, abnormally long harpoons, with 5 jagged points on each of the 5 metre long metallic streamlined sticks, its tips were heavy with a stump of titanium. The watcher on the pole rushed into the other carriage, a gypsy styled mobile, with a white tent as its ceiling.

A robed man with a long beard sat within the carriage, a wooden board with nails stuck in a lattice formation raised at eye level. The young watch boy pointed to several points on the map, as the older man stroked his beard, and tied a piece of red string across the nails at several places. An armoured soldier rushed in, and the elder man gave him some instructions. He hurried away, signalling to his men.

A banner of flags were raised over the ballistae, as the other ballistae platforms drew up different banners in response as well. A procession of swift footed horses stirred at the centre of the armada, as communication began to discourse within the sea of bodies.

A red hot and whistling cylinder containing boiling water clanked into place at the middle of the thick, wooden launch stick of the ballistae. The men hauled 3 harpoons onto the platform with the help of the soldiers on the carriage carrying the ammunition. A large soldier, with his eyes only a slit through his helmet and his mouth invisible like the rest of his comrades, barked an acute and short order. A lever was pulled, and a wheel was turned, raising the ballistae from the platform, the ammunition carriage drew up beneath the long launching stick of the ballistae, as men began to secure various ropes onto the undersides of the weapon, which is now beginning to whistle from the steam and pressure building up within.

Another bark of command. With a clank, the 6 operating men slammed a heavy head onto the tip of 3 harpoons simultaneously, oozing with a transparent liquid that stung sharply against the brittle winter air. It is alcohol, purified as much as possible, to increase flammability. The men pushed the charge, now heavy with metal and momentum guided by its tip, onto the dock of the ballistae. A soldier lit a match and threw it into a pocket of the machine, as a spark rang up alongside the launch stick, ending at the tip of the harpoon. A lever was pulled, and oily liquid dosed the harpoon, just as the spark reached the tip, with a whoosh, a bright flame licked at the soldiers that backed away. One of them rushed to the back of the platform, frantically cranking a dial, he positioned it to a marked position of the general's finger, who ran to his side and checked a semi-circle stuck to a post. Positioning his thumbs against the sky, he squinted across at the clouds, just as a rumbling sound started to become audible.

The general straightened his fingers as he clacked his metal boots together. Throwing out his hands with such force, his armour clinked as his muscular arm raised towards the sky. All eyes on the platform stared at him intently, witnessing a historical moment. With a clear bark, his command pierced the sky.

"Fire!"

And he was not alone, across the silver sea of bodies, thousands did the same procedure. The first flaming stick flew from its notch, slicing a trail of light across the cloudy sky.

Millions followed it, lighting up the sky, as the 5 metres of sonic metal and flames whizzed into the clouds.

The first explosions singed the clouds themselves.