313 Years Later

Prologue: Dead in The Water

November 23rd, 2414
Vania
4:34 a.m.

"Lieutenant!" a voice called out. That same voice reached out and put a rough hand on a man's shoulder, waking him up from his writing.
Hundreds of miles in the air, aboard a plane flying above the desert, fiery plains of Vania, Lieutenant Anthony would be brought out of his notebook and into the current situation.
"We've got our orders! Drop Point Kilo is 5 miles out!" The man yelled, and shoved a satchel onto Anthony's arms, covering the small notebook. "You'll be delivering the bomb lieutenant! Protect it with your life! If this bomb doesn't get to the boiler room then this entire operation is fucked! Can you do this?!" He asked, having to yell over the loud, windy storm outside, the plane itself shaking.
"Sir, yes sir!" Anthony responds from under his helmet as he moves the notebook from under the satchel and stuffs it into a large pocket on his uniform. The man gave Anthony a rough pat on the shoulder before heading to the front of the plane.
"How much longer until we're in dropping distance, Logan?!" The man asked one of the pilots operating the plane.
"8 more miles sergeant. Should start getting them ready now!" The pilot, Logan, informed him. The sergeant nodded and went back to the other soldiers in the plane, knocking loudly on the roof of the plane. The soldiers, including Anthony, looked to the sergeant.
"Alright men! We got a good thirty minutes before we hit Point Kilo!" He said, and the looks of the soldiers inside turned from concentrating on the floor to concern as they looked at the sergeant.
"Remember! We are the Twenty First Freedom Fighter Battalion of the United Vania Republic! Now what is it we say Freedom Fighters?!"
"No surrender, no weakness, no mercy!"
After the quick speech and slogan from the soldiers, the plane was filled with talking and laughing. One of them was drinking, which probably wasn't the best of ideas. Not that anyone, even the sergeant, seemed to care. Anthony, personally, went back to his notebook, and continued writing in it.
-and when I come home, and this is all over, I can finally see Sam again. I miss them dearly, everyday. Sometimes I have dreams where I find myself back in Carotoga, in my home. Before they took over, and caused the horrid war and fighting. Before I left to fight. Even now, on a Dropper, I feel nauseous. Not of being so high up in the air, but because I am afraid of what will happen to Sam if I were to die. Someone so young doesn't deserve to live alone in the Greener Wastes. At least he is not here, living amongst a war in the Scorched Lands. I pray to whatever God might exist to keep him-
His writing was stopped short when a hand was placed hard on his shoulder and he was shaken out of his writing. He looked up to see one of the helmetless soldiers now sitting across from him, smiling a great big smile at him.
"Reagan! I must've missed you at the headcount, because I don't remember sarge naming you off on our Dropper." Anthony said as he closed his notebook and put his pencil away, then shaking hands with the soldier, Reagan.
"Aye, well, ye' never said goodbye! Can't leave yer' own best mate without sayin' g'bye!" He said as he gave Anthonys hand a squeeze and a hard shake before letting him go.
"You're breaking a lot of rules just by being here. Could be court marshalled."
"Yea, and? Whole things breakin' down anyways. Might as well break a few rules before it's all gone, amirite?"
Anthony gave him a look under his helmet, but he couldn't help but know that he was right. The United Vania Republic, UVR for short, had become the last stand between freedom of the people and ultimate dictatorship of Vania by the Crimson Imperium. But so far, the UVR was being beaten at every turn. Every defense ended in retreat, every advance ended in too many casualties, and every attempt at assassination had been foiled. They only had a handful of bases and holdouts left, and they had lost the voice of the people. They had stopped believing that the war could be won against the Crimson Imperium, and stopped helping them out of fear of the repercussions they could receive if caught. Ever since the loss of Forward Base Independence and the death of General Delano, everything had more or less fallen apart. And now, in a last ditch effort to strike a large blow to the Crimson Imperium, Operations Base Rome was sending a large percentage of their soldiers to attack a factory known to be producing large machines, weapons, and ammo for the Crimson Imperium. And it was Anthony's job to deliver the bomb that would blow the factory to Hell if the others did not make it. The sudden realization of the amount of responsibility he was now carrying hit him, and he looked at the satchel he had been given. Inside was one of the six bombs they had that had the potential to destroy the factory. But he had no time to panic.
When a red light inside the plane started flashing, that was their signal. Anthony and Reagan looked at eachother, then gripped onto each others arms and hoisted themselves up.
"Best o' luck, Anthony. And if I don't make it," he said, taking out a folded and taped piece of paper to him, "give 'is to Carmen. 'Is my last dyin' wish, I guess. If I die, and from what I can hear outside, chances of me livin' are low. Damn me." He said, followed up by Anthony. "Don't worry, man. We got this. Freedom Fighters never lose."
They stood and readied their weapons, tightened their parachute backpacks and got ready to start their jump. Just as Anthony stood up, an explosion rocked the plane hard. This was nothing new to the soldiers, but the explosions kept coming. And with the explosions, distress calls and confirmation from the other planes in the squadron.
"This is Alpha Two, dropping Alpha Squad. Good luck boys."
"Beta Five hit! We're going down! I repeat! We are going d-"
"Delta Three turning back home, flak is too heavy, other Droppers be advised."
"Charlie Eight dropping payload. Leftmost lane is clear for Droppers."
"Whiskey Niner dropping Whiskey Squad. Drinks are on me after this!"
Shrapnel caught one of the engines, setting it ablaze and allowing more light than just the inside fluorescent light to shine through the plane. They heard an explosion hit something outside, and Anthony watched as outside, another plane's cockpit was hit directly by flak. The nose of the plane broke apart almost immediately, fire and bodies flying out of the plane as it descended downwards.
"Almost there men!" the sergeant yelled.
One of the soldiers yelled and fell when a window next to him shattered, a large piece of shrapnel piercing his skull and lodging itself in his head, killing him instantly. His friend, Anthony assumed, bent over to mourn him, but was stopped by the sergeant when he started ushering the soldiers out of the plane, the light now green.
"GO! GO! GO! GO!"
One after another, they were ushered out of the plane and jumped out and into the incoming flak and towards the desert plains of Vania. When it was Anthony's turn to jump, however, the plane took a direct hit in both of its wings. With one on fire and the other gone completely, the plane spun completely out of control, spiraling towards the ground. The bomb Anthony was carrying went out the window while Anthony himself struggled to hold on to the inside of the planes roof.
"BRACE YOURSELVES!" The sergeant yelled, grabbing onto a seat inside the plane. Two other soldiers and Anthony held onto anything they could grab on to, watching as the ground got closer.
Anthony shut his eyes hard just as the plane made impact with the ground, and he was knocked out instantly.
December 7th, 2414
9:05 p.m.
Vania
"Anthony," a voice called out to him from the darkness.
Anthony stirred, though still unconscious.
"Who..?" Anthony muttered under his breath as he slowly started to wake.
"Anthony," it called out again, more feminine this time.
"Who..?" He muttered once more, unable to tell who was talking to him, if it was anyone at all.
"Wake him up." the voice said.
Anthony suddenly felt a splash of cold water rush across his face and he instantly woke up, gasping for air as the water went up his nose and down his throat. As a late reaction, he recoiled from the coldness of the water, and then started coughing up the formerly mentioned water that had gone up his nose. A bright light blinded his eyes and he felt hands grabbing at him, to which he pushed and shoved away.
"Get that light out of my eyes, damnit!" He screamed as he tried to figure out where he was, but the light was too blinding for him to see anything. He heard someone say to move the lamp away, and the blinding light was moved away seconds later. He blinked for a few seconds, his eyes adjusting to the darker room that was now shown before him. People in doctors and nurses outfits stared at him as he looked around the room, slowly realizing the fact that he was in some sort of makeshift tent infirmary.
His head throbbed with pain and his mouth was dry, as if he had been drinking an incredibly low amount of water for what felt like days. He sat up, the heaviness of his uniform and armor plating gone, with the only clothing he had on now being a T-shirt and a pair of khaki pants, and a slew of bandages across his stomach and his left forearm that he could feel but not yet looked at. Someone, one of the people in a doctors uniform, broke the overall silence between them all.
"I, erm, hello? Anthony?" He asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Anthony took a minute to register the doctors question, looking up at him. His face was old and rough, with a shaven beard accompanied by weary eyes hiding behind small, slim glasses that were taped together by the nose bridge. He was a dark-skinned man, and his uniform was stained with dirt and dried blood. He turned his head to look at the others, but he was snapped back to the doctor when he asked for Anthony again.
"Anthony? Can you hear me?" The man asked, and Anthony shook his head in confusion, and answered.
"I- where- who? Who is Anthony? I don't, I don't know an...an Anthony." He said, as his eyes shut closed in pain and his hand went to hold his head. "Where am I? What happened to me?" He asked, waiting for answers from the doctor, who started to look uncomfortable as Anthony expressed his confusion towards him.
"As I suspected. You must have amnesia, from the crash." He said, and gave Anthony's shoulder a light squeeze. "Anthony B. Daniels? Does the name mean anything to you, son?"
Anthony closed his eyes at the name, confusion seeping in as he struggled to remember what that name meant. Somewhere deep inside his mind, he knew that name from somewhere. Anthony B. Daniels. Anthony B. Daniels. Anthony B. Daniels...
The doctor moved his hand away from his shoulder and turned to a small table next to the small, thin bed that Anthony currently laid on. He picked something up from the table and placed it in Anthonys right hand. Anthony looked down at what it was and saw a pair of dog tags attached to a small chain.
"These were found on your body when we fished you out of the wreckage of a Dropper not too far from here. I hope it'll help you remember who you are, or who Anthony is."
Anthony brought the dog tags closer to his face, examining it closely.