August 5, 1640
Mykal, Mu
A middle-aged manager yawned as he opened the door to his Toyota Corolla. Finally, it was time to return home after a long day of cataloguing the American shipments. The setting sun shone brightly overhead, casting a long shadow behind him. He looked down, eyes glinting from the copious brightness that assaulted his irises. He lifted his hand to shield himself from the sun.
As he opened the door, he noticed a bright flash reflecting off his vehicle. The light didn’t come from the sun; rather, it came from behind him.
He turned around, quickly discovering that the warehouse that he had just left was on fire. The blast sent debris flying in the air, roaring flames consuming what remained underneath. Seeing the carnage, he jumped into his vehicle and started the engine.
Falling shards of wood and metal pelted his car as he stomped on the pedal, desperately trying to flee the parking lot. Tired squealed, producing wisps of smoke as the man maneuvered his way out of the facility. His heart raced as fast as his car, pounding for every wooden shard that hit his vehicle.
After making some distance between himself and the warehouse, he calmed down enough to look back. Black smoke drifted into the air, scarring the beautiful Mykal skies and replacing the atmosphere of serenity with one of tragedy and terror. Blaring alarms encompassed every inch of the facility and extended out to the highway past the port warehouses, further dimming the mood.
It couldn’t get any worse than this, right?
As if to mock the man’s wishful thinking, another explosion ravaged the port, laying waste to another warehouse. Then another followed, and another. It seemed like there was no end in sight to the terror, until the detonations unexpectedly ceased. Looking in the rear view mirror, he saw seven columns of smoke shrinking into the distant sky.
The scene was surreal and unimaginable, yet the truth remained. This was no dream; the unthinkable really had happened. For the first time in over a century, the mainland had come under attack.
——
Otaheit, Mu
“Thank you all for coming at such short notice, and so late in the evening,” Prime Minister Sinclair announced to a small audience consisting of key Muan advisors including General Seneville and Minister Deville, as well as American personnel such as Ambassador Whitehall, Colonel Wilson, and CIA Officer Wileman.
The men gathered in the Prime Minister’s office, faces sunken in light of recent events.
Sinclair gave a brief introduction, “I’m sure you all have heard by now, but four hours ago, seven warehouses in the port city of Mykal were destroyed. In particular, the destruction was confined to the warehouses which were used to store American weapon and equipment shipments.”
Although they already understood the implication of this statement, hearing it aloud struck a deeper chord than simply coming to a realization in their own thoughts. For these specific warehouses to be targeted, it only meant one thing: the Gra Valkas Empire was at play. The Gra Valkans, above anyone else, had vested interests against Mu.
“We considered the possibility of Annonrial involvement,” Deville answered the question that tickled their subconscious minds. “However, we detected no trace of magic signatures corresponding to a magic bomb. The only party with conventional weapons aside from ourselves is the Gra Valkas Empire, the military of which is currently preparing an incursion into our territory.”
“I never thought they’d resort to such underhanded methods, but here we are,” Seneville lamented, fearing the threat of terrorists rampaging through Mu.
Although terrorists were a potential danger that the Americans had warned about, cultural analysis of the Gra Valkas Empire along with a lack of funds discouraged the development of a Muan counterterrorist unit. Additionally, terrorist activities were much harder to detect considering Mu’s lack of surveillance technologies and their relatively open borders. With these combined reasons, the Muan government opted to ignore their special forces, a decision that they had now come to regret.
“How many casualties?” Whitehall asked.
The Muans’ expressions immediately shifted from regret to guilt. Those who didn’t hang their heads low instead wore deep frowns. The question served as a reminder that through their inaction, they had caused pain and suffering among their own people.
Sinclair appeared to have been impacted the most, like he remembered something he wanted to forget. He answered, his tone seeming more like something derived from a machine, even more so than his initial greeting, “Four dead, twenty-six injured. Three fatalities — port guards — were a direct result of enemy gunfire.”
Although Sinclair’s response seemed monotone, everyone knew that he had assumed the weight of all the guilt from failing to prevent these deaths. Slumped shoulders and a sorrowful stare conveyed what his words could not. He seemed distant, yet continued to listen in to the conversation, fighting with every ounce of strength to atone for his mistake.
“May their souls rest in peace,” Whitehall said.
The men in the room offered a moment of silence for the fallen Muans.
“And we shall not rest until Mu is safe and secure once more,” Sinclair declared, fiery determination burning away his regrets. “Minister Deville, how do you propose we tackle this new issue?”
The Muan spymaster had contingencies already prepared, and answered confidently. “I’m a firm believer that the best defense is a good offense. Gra Valkas intelligence has made it harder to conduct operations in their territory, but our prior raids in the Hinomawari Kingdom and elsewhere have demonstrated that they still have difficulty fighting against asymmetrical warfare. With your permission, Mister Prime Minister, I wish to expand my ministry and send more teams to assault Gra Valkan targets.”
“I’m all for granting more money and resources to you, Deville, but I’m still unsure about devoting most of your assets to offense…” Sinclair admitted his concerns and trailed off his statement, wondering if Deville had a convincing argument.
Deville gave a reassuring smile. Coupled with his confident answer, it truly seemed like he had everything planned out. In reality, he was trembling underneath the skin, struggling to maintain his composure. He was ready to risk everything for a play. “I understand your concerns, Mister Prime Minister. I plan to deploy a majority of our assets in order to force the Gra Valkas Empire to recall their special forces units. This will alleviate some pressure on our security forces back home.”
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Before Deville could explain further, Sinclair expressed his doubts. “In that case, won’t we be left defenseless? The more men we sent to the Gra Valkas Empire, the less likely it is we will be able to prevent another attack.”
Sinclair’s doubts left Deville with little choice. It was all or nothing, but Deville felt like his flush was good enough a hand to win him everything. So, he doubled down. “That may be, but we won’t necessarily be left defenseless. On top of drawing the Gra Valkans away from our land, we will also be relying on the Americans for security.”
Now was the time to see if his gamble played off. Deville looked at the American group, determined to secure their aid. “Mister Wileman, will the CIA lend us assistance in defeating Gra Valkan terrorists?”
Deville’s gamble hinged on the fact that the Americans were interested in undermining the Gra Valkas Empire. If anything, he expected that they wanted to protect Mu as much as Mu wanted to protect itself. The odds favored Deville’s strategy so much that the worst case scenario was the Americans asking for exorbitant amounts of money in exchange for protection. Thankfully, Deville played his cards well and the gamble was successful.
He asked the Americans — who would be less willing to participate in direct action against the Gra Valkans — to maintain a passive, defensive role. In doing so, the Americans would be able to secure Muan borders much better than the Muans themselves, while also fighting the Gra Valkas Empire indirectly. After all, the Gra Valkas Empire was highly unlikely to admit to using terrorists to strike at Mu. Thus, the Americans could annihilate any Gra Valkan operatives with impunity.
“Very well,” Wileman said. “It would be terrible if our products never made it to our customers.”
The Muans suppressed the urge to smile, listening as emotionlessly as possible.
Wileman continued, “The CIA is comfortable with setting up an intelligence network and conducting investigations on Muan soil to locate potential threats. Once these threats are discovered, we will report our findings to Minister Deville, who will then decide what course of action to take.”
Although he may have saved Mu from the Gra Valkas Empire, Deville wondered what plans the United States had for the country. “And this intelligence network… you will provide full disclosure, correct?”
“We will,” Wileman answered with an unsettling amount of certainty. “If you wish, we can instruct some of your men on how to operate our equipment.”
Wileman’s offer was suspiciously generous, Deville thought. He had no evidence or reason to believe that the offer was not as it seemed, so he ignored the feeling in his gut. He gave a nod, “Then, Mister Prime Minister, do you approve of these terms?”
Sinclair noticed Deville’s reaction, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Forced to choose between further death at the hands of the Gra Valkas Empire or unreasonably generous terms by the Americans, he found the answer to be obvious. If the Americans had something up their sleeve, he would deal with it later. “Mister Wileman, Mister Ambassador, the country of Mu accepts your offer with gratitude. Minister Deville, please begin preparations at once.”
Deville acknowledged Sinclair’s order, “As you wish, Mister Prime Minister.”
Seeing that the Muan-American agreement had finally been authorized, General Seneville took the opportunity to find out more about the upcoming conflict against the Gra Valkans, and what the Americans were willing to contribute. “So,” he said abruptly, “Does this mean shipments will continue as planned?”
“It does,” Colonel Wilson clarified. “Delaying shipments could potentially jeopardize the defense of Mu. However, since the next set is still a couple weeks away, I think we should start reorganizing our drop-off points. What do you think, Mister Wileman?”
Delivering goods to an easily accessible, unguarded location, such as the previously bombed warehouse district near the port, was a fatal mistake. If Mu is to survive the upcoming war, it can’t afford any more errors, especially not ones that drastically reduce its defensive capabilities. Although the loss of life was an avoidable tragedy, the Muans couldn’t ignore the arguably worse loss of stockpiled ammunition and weapons. For all they knew, each lost rifle or ballistic vest could mean a lost life — or worse, a lost base or city — down the road.
Wileman gave the issue some thought and came to the same conclusion that everyone else in the room had arrived at. “I think that’s a good suggestion, Colonel. Most of the shipments had been directed to civilian ports due to volume, but it should be possible to arrange for docking at a Muan naval base. For the time being, dropping off supplies at or near a naval base will decrease the risk of an attack— at least until war breaks out.”
General Seneville agreed and offered a solution, “I’ll redirect shipments to our military ports. It’ll be tough storing the new supplies, but new warehouses are nearing completion at our Mykal and Otaheit bases. If the tonnage exceeds the capacity of these new structures, I’ll make space at existing warehouses by distributing supplies to rear support units near the front lines.”
Sinclair felt a weight being lifted off his shoulders. Breathing a sigh of relief, he applauded the work of the meeting’s participants. “Well then, that more or less solves our issue regarding Gra Valkan attacks.”
Seneville knew this wasn’t true. He didn’t want to burst Sinclair’s bubble, but felt obligated to do so regardless. He reasoned that it was better to be informed than to be blissfully ignorant. “That may not be the case, Mister Prime Minister. It will still take time to set up our defenses, and for the CIA to establish their surveillance systems. In that time, it is still possible for more attacks to occur at existing warehouses. I’ll be reinforcing these locations immediately after the conclusion of this meeting, but we shouldn’t think the storm is over just yet.” Shadows cast by the light overhead created dark canyons across Seneville’s face. “We cannot underestimate the Gra Valkans, for this may very well be a fight for the existence of Mu.”
——
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