Project Gaia : The arrival of humanity

Chapter 30 : Occupation

"All the business of war, and indeed all the business of life, is to endeavor to find out what you don't know by what you do."

- Arthur Wellesley

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Gaia, Southwestern "New Pangaea" Continent. July 2nd 2038. 0900 Hours.

The low, rhythmic hum of rotors filled the air as several Chinook and Blackhawk helicopters glided over the dense, verdant expanse of "New Pangaea's" forests. British-man named Jake Ward sat quietly on the cold cargo bench of a Chinook, his gaze fixed on the sprawling greenery through the reinforced window. The sunlight pierced through gaps in the forest canopy, casting golden beams across the treetops. White clouds hung lazily in the azure sky, a stark contrast to the tension thickening the air inside the aircraft.

The team had been dispatched in haste, carrying medical supplies, food, and water for a village-an alien settlement now etched into human history as the site of humanity's first interplanetary Xenotarian disaster. Jake adjusted his seatbelt, his mind heavy with the weight of their mission.

Jake was no stranger to crisis zones. His career had seen him traverse some of Earth's bloodiest battlegrounds: the frostbitten trenches of eastern Ukraine, the arid conflict zones of Sudan, and the bomb-ravaged streets of Gaza. Each had left scars-not just on his body, but on his soul. He had witnessed endless cycles of violence, fueled by greed, politics, and fear. Yet here he was, on an alien world, tasked with cleaning up the aftermath of a conflict that should never have escalated.

He sighed, rubbing his temples as the roar of the rotors vibrated through his seat. The news had been grim, the UN First Contact team, escorted by a Bundeswehr detachment, was attacked without provocation. Nearly a quarter of their personnel were dead, another quarter critically injured. The world's first 'xenotarian disaster', they were calling it. A tragedy of unprecedented proportions, made worse by the sheer strangeness of it all: supernatural power, talking Equine's, and the ruins of what could have been peace.

As the village came into view, Jake leaned forward, squinting through the window. The settlement resembled something out of a medieval painting-a scattering of timber-framed homes with thatched roofs, smoke curling from a handful of chimneys. Narrow dirt paths wove between the houses, leading to a central square dominated by what appeared to be a large town hall. The village was intact for the most part, though patches of rubble and scorch marks betrayed the violence it had endured.

The helicopters circled low over the fields surrounding the village, searching for a flat, secure landing zone. Jake caught sight of collapsed fences, hastily abandoned carts, and the bodies of equines-both civilian and soldier-lying in makeshift burial pits or left where they had fallen. The scene reminded him of the villages he had seen in Kashmir, their serenity shattered by war.

With a gentle jolt, the Chinook touched down on a grassy plain at the village's edge. Dust kicked up in a swirling cloud as the rear ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss.

The cargo hold burst into action. UNHCR personnel poured out, carrying crates of supplies, stretchers, and medical kits. Jake joined them, his boots sinking slightly into the soft grass. The sun was warm on his back, but the village exuded a chilling sense of loss. Teams began unloading medical supplies, setting up triage tents, and organizing relief efforts.

Jake headed toward the eastern part of the village, where the UN had decided to establish their temporary field hospital. Around him, the remnants of the Bundeswehr detachment-fatigued, bloodied, and visibly shaken-stood guard. Most of them had survived only because they were better equipped and trained than their equine adversaries, but even light weapons had caused devastating damage to the village.