The southern border… the port. Senlo, it was called.

The town had slept that night. Men, women, and children of Ruslavia’s first city by the sea were worn and tired from the ever present suns high above and as they lapsed into darkness no one found reason to fear. Fear was an advent of hell, whereas they knew none scattered about their sea-faring utopia. They all lived the simple life, fish as staple and dock work for occupation. The town was filled with a salty, happy ambiance as it leaned back against the scattered foothills and beginnings of the Gurai Ridge, which left it its own valley where ship masts rose to meet the blue skies.

Even the dogs were rolled into a lag over the prospects of next day of warmth and life. No one knew the better, not even the government’s few remaining troops and even they had remained accustomed to drinking the nights away and spending the days gazing into a sparkling horizon. In the bustling hub of commerce Senlo boasted, one could be lost within a daze for days at a time. The wine exported was free-flowing and the strongest. There was a mist of disillusion in the air that rumbled lowly through the voices of the people. Just speaking of the neighboring country Leighmond arose worried glanced among the men’s faces. Senlo’s atmosphere could only hide so much, but the people drew upon the warmth the blue on blue around them emitted and hid their anxiety.

That night it slept, much like dew upon the grass. Heavy. The entire town was silent but it was the sparse soldiers that noticed a strange light through the fog off the docks in the distance. At first blamed on drink, men who soaked their feet in the mineral-rich waters watched port-side as it only grew larger. More intimidating it became even through the smoky blanket.

One soldier drew his wet feet up beside him on the stagnant wood and peered as far as his dark eyes could into the mists that surrounded them. He could feel the now grappling fear in his chest, tightening his breath that escaped in a muffled gasp.

The few lanterns flickered and he rose, only to see a comrade lift an old radio transmitter piece to his mouth. There was a dullness of no concern on his face, whereas he knew that it’d be best to just ask before getting hasty about a thing.

The young soldier only heard a crackling, high pitched frequency come back and the other shook the dusty box. Nothing came about and he tried again.

Nothing came about once more.

The younger soldier backed away from the churning water and feared the slow moving, calm light although it was probably still a mile from shore. His bare feet left prints on the wood that disappeared within seconds. The heavy night that invoked heavy sleep was upon them, the fog had rolled in like a drug to mask it all. Both the young soldier and Henry Marx could not help but start to fear even in the happy, dark town that surrounded them.

The hull was an awesome size as it cut through the thick gray to show dark star-ridden skies. Like a butcher’s knife it ripped through the black waters, and they caught the rumble of the engine and the small clicks that accompanied the steel ship.

The ship had the black warning of death along its starboard side, they could see it, it was approaching so close now. In fact, the approach was coming on so fast; there was no possible way a ship of its magnitude could stop.

Marx knew but didn’t pause. "This is a hail to the L-27 Battleship closing in on port. Do you copy?"

The same crackling whistling noise came out and although no hope could come, as the roar was over-powering and the dock was beginning to tremble from the ship taking ground upon the sand.

Henry Marx had no answer so he dropped the radio receiver and stood, unhooking his brand new MK-47 and letting it rest on his arms as he faced the huge ship. He only took a few steps back as the black wedge of curved metal eclipsed the dark gray skies and suddenly visible pale moon.

Keeping his calm he watched as various forms of black set up along the sides of the ship and with a rumbling cry, fire erupted behind him that flowed like blood into the night sky. Senlo was alit, its damp wood crackling and snapping like a small fire to the gods. Screams followed, but he knew the entire situation was a slaughter. A spineless attack on a blind and sleeping city by the sea. The fire would only continue, before men would fall from the great metal hull to finish off the last survivors.

But why?
The realization hit Henry like a slap in his dirty face. "Augustian Ore."

With that his feet took him along the cobblestone and away from the docks and the huge ship. The looming giant behind him, his bobbing vision recklessly took him along the port that had begun to shine with an aurora of flame.

There had been a huge shipment from Burlap Desert only hours before sunrise that morning.

Leighmond was fixing to either steal or destroy; to make a point that had already arose in the minds of citizens throughout both countries. The desert was a trove of wealth and the falling economy of the entire area made it a gold mind. Augustian Ore was rare and valuable to the west, where it would fetch a high sum to the exporter. There had been hushed rumors over independent skirmishes in the vast brown desert for years but an attack on civilian territory would spark a full-blown war in hours. It wouldn’t be quick, either. Although mainly an area of farming, mining, and herding, Ruslavia had an army to look after it, no matter the rumors of drunken brashness among its men. Where Leighmond had the mechanical know-how, the small Slavic country had made up for it in spirit. The men living in the mountains were as tough as nails.

Henry Marx could hardly remember his home, it’d been so long but as he stood next to the ship full of ore that began to lick flames, he re-snapped the rifle onto his back. The cowards were only there to kill and start the government on declarations and settlements. They wanted to take Ruslavia out in one foul punch and claim the desert or go further to enslave the whole land. It didn’t matter either way to Henry. Although he knew himself no coward, he jogged towards the border-gate to the city and jumped the fence. He considered himself no fool as well, for behind him was a massacre no one man could help to stop. Although it pained him to look fear in the eyes and except it, turn his back on it, and walk away; he valued his life. At once he took a look back from the hills when he reached them. Done. It was already done with and even though their beautiful battleship would soon burn as well, the troops of Leighmond had successfully ransacked the city and burned it to the ground.

It hurt. Henry loved Senlo.

He vaguely wondered what had come about of the younger soldier he’d been sharing a drink with only moments before. Most likely burned alive when he tried to hide. Fleeing was one thing, hiding like a sewer rat was another.

The night beyond the city was still calm, although smoke elevated up to the hills and he could smell the burning. It was a disgusting thought, of devastated and ended lives that brought rage to his blood. Standing under a canopy of evergreens he swore upon the burning village that lit up the harbor and screamed into the valley.

"This is war, you Commey bastards!" He took a breath, his red hair blowing in the breeze like the flames below. "This is a war I’ve waited for my entire life." In his eyes was the same distant reflection, looking like stars in the blackness. He knew he’d get vengeance and next time would not run. Licking blood from his lips that he didn’t know the origin of, he let his heart grow heavy, for there was so much more to come.