“ROAAAAAARRRRR!!!”

A massive Silver Land Dragon unleashed a deafening roar as its enormous form stood before Eurylochus, who fired his rifle uselessly as the bullets barely scratched the behemoth’s scales.

“Fuck! Not again!!”

The dragon’s mouth gaped wide, and a blinding glow emanated from its throat, illuminating the world in an explosion of dazzling light.

“No!!”

Eurylochus jerked awake, sweat drenching his hospital scrubs and winced in pain when it surged through him as his sudden movement aggravated his injuries. Gasping, he rolled onto his side, coughing in pain before his eyes caught the ominous red flash of a warning light in the dim room.

"Field hospital... must be the one at the Mining Facility," he thought, piecing together the details.

He forced himself to steady his breathing, and the faint sound of the facility's silent siren reached his ears. A hurried looking nurse rushed past his bed, and he called out to the nurse who had a stressful look on her face.

“What’s happening?”

“It’s an Orc raid,” the pretty nurse answered, her face appearing deadly pale under the flashing red lights. “Don’t worry, we’re moving everyone into the mines for safety.”

With that, she headed off somewhere urgently.

“Damn, I was just having a sweet dream about this girl...” one of the injured soldiers a few beds down joked, causing weak laughter from the others who awoke, which quickly dissolved into painful coughs.

“Sarge,” someone beside Eurylochus rasped, “What do we do now?”

“There’s nothing we can do in this condition,” Eurylochus groaned as he laid back into the bed. “Just trust our brothers out there.”

"Hooraaah..."

————————————————————————

The Orc fleet sailed rapidly across the ocean, moving faster than what the human strategists had predicted. Their ships plowed through the waves, where the same rhythmic beating of war drums echoed throughout the whole fleet in a sustained, about pace for the Orc rowers, who strained in unison, propelling the vessels forward.

Most of the orcs aboard were younglings, attracted by offers and promises of food, drink, plunder, riches, and best of all, a good fight.

They had flocked to join the Skull Krusher fleet, sent from the Mother City to raid neighboring lands for resources and spoils.

At the head of this horde was Jiak the Skull Krusher, an Orc Warmaster whose name struck fear across the seas. He had earned his title through cunning and brutality, capturing countless enemy ships and returning to the Mother City with their riches.

In recognition of his exploits, the Elders had used their ancient magic to transform him, reforming his body and mind, turning him stronger, faster and more intelligent. Once merely a Warleader, Jiak had evolved into a Warmaster, which is equivalent to a Transcendent Tier 1 according to those Soft Skins.

Not only that, he now had commanded a force of over 200 ships and 40,000 Orcs, ready to lay waste to the outside world.

Though his force was small compared to the rest of the Orc Warbands, especially the vast Orcish Hordes of legend, it was more than enough to raze cities and cripple small nations.

Jiak had spent two long years amassing this number of fleet, backstabbing other Orc Warmasters and stealing resources from other clans, until his power was undeniable. Even the Orc Warboss himself had given Jiak his blessing to set sail.

Now, Jiak sat upon his throne of skulls with a wicked grin spreading across his face. He could already taste the bloodshed, the plunder, and the chaos that awaited them.

Soon, the world would tremble beneath his heel.

————————————————————————

Austronesia Empire, Imperial Majahapit, The Eastern Coast of New Guinea

1st Year of God, Monday, 3rd Week, Month of Abraham

In the eastern seas off the coast of New Guinea, part of the Imperial Majapahit, dozens of warships from the Liberation Navy stood ready for battle.

At the forefront of the fleet was one of the largest ships known as the “ALN Keumalahayati,” a massive 200-meter battleship named after the legendary Indonesian hero, Laksamana Malahayati, an admiral of Aceh Keumalahayati and interestingly the first female admiral in the modern world.

Commanding the ship was a seasoned admiral, who strapped securely into a chair bolted to the floor of the operations center. His eyes were fixed on the tactical display screen, which showed UAV footage of the orc fleet advancing rapidly toward the shore. The estimated time to landfall had shortened from nine hours to just under seven, and accounting for the squadron scramble and flight time, the orcs would reach the coast in less than three hours.

Calculating the distance and time to engagement, he activated the fleet-wide communications.

"Command to all units. Enemy fleet less than 15 minutes out. Look alive now!"

A series of confirmations echoed through his earpiece. Switching channels, he addressed No. 2 Squadron, where the Thunderwing gunships were ready to strike.

“Command to Thunderwing-1 and 2, commence attack. When you hit bingo on ammo, RTB for rearm and refuel. Over.”

[T-1, roger.]

[Thunderwing-2, copy that.]

The admiral glanced out the narrow viewport and watched the two gunships accelerate, breaking formation and roaring toward the enemy fleet.

He had meticulously crafted a strategic plan, where the Air Force would deliver the first blow and aimed to decimate the orc fleet before they could make landfall.

If they weren’t enough, the Liberation Navy was prepared to unleash a barrage of firepower to stop the invaders.

And if both efforts failed, the Imperial Liberation Army had already fortified the coastal defenses of New Guinea, making sure no aliens would lay a single hair on the soils of their Motherland.

A perfect defense.

However, if all defenses were to fail and the Orcs began spreading across the land, a nuclear strike would serve as the final resort.

And due to the New World's unique ability of healing the land from environmental destruction and cleanse itself of radiation, there would be no fear of a radioactive fallout or the creation of a long-term death zone.

"Command to all Phoenixes, check your fuel and weapons. Over."

Reports of fuel and weapons status flowed in from the fighter jets, and the admiral nodded in satisfaction. The Phoenixes had enough fuel for almost an hour of sustained combat before needing to return for refueling.

[Command, Phantom-1 has eyes on the enemy vessels!] one of the F-16 Phantom pilots reported.

[Thunderwing Actual has tally on surface contacts. Weapons standing by. Over.]

"Weapons green. Engage at will!"

[Thunderwing Actual, roger that. Weapons green. Engaging now!]

————————————————————————

The pilot of Thunderwing-1 keyed his comms to the other A-12 Thunderwing attack helicopter.

“T-1 to T-2, drop down to 100 meters above sea level, reduce speed to 60% power, and engage surface vessels. Weapons green, repeat, weapons green.”

“Roger that, T-1.” The pilot of T-2 pushed his flight stick forwards, following Thunderwing-1’s lead, and reducing his throttle, and flipped the master weapons switch.

Ensuring his targeting display highlighted the '70 mm rocket' option, he followed on the first Thunderwing flank and dropped down to 100 meters above the churning waves.

“T-1 to T-2, we’ll attack in sequence from the starboard side. Watch my run and follow when I’m clear, over.”

“Two, copies,” T-2 replied and followed T-1 craft as they looped to come in from the right side of the Orc fleet. He fell back slightly to give Thunderwing-1 room to make the first attack and provide observation before his turn.

From his cockpit, he could see the sea crowded with dozens and dozens of orc ships with black and red sails flapping in the wind, and he had no doubt the orcs were pointing at the gunships cutting through the air above them.

“Thunderwing-1, beginning attack run!”

T-1 dipped lower, slowing further as its six pylons armed with rocket pods ignited. A hail of rockets streaked toward the orc fleet, slamming into their flimsy wooden ships. Ball of fire erupted on impact, while towering splashes of seawater marked where the rockets missed and crashed into the ocean.

Watching the destruction unfold, T-2 couldn’t help but cheer. The memory of the New Year Tragedy, when so many of his friends, family members, and loved ones were taken by demonic forces, flooded back.

Seeing the orc ships explode in fiery chaos brought a strange, cathartic satisfaction. For once, he was the one unleashing devastation.

As Thunderwing-1 tore down the row of helpless ships, more fiery explosions followed, and the T-1’s pilot then pulled up sharply, looping around to prepare for another run.

“Wooo! Did you see that? You’re up next!” T-1’s pilot called with the adrenaline clear in his voice.

“Roger, beginning attack!” T-2 grinned and angled his gunship for the next run. He eased back the throttle, aligning his crosshairs with the untouched row of vessels, and his finger tightened on the trigger.

Rockets whooshed from his pylons, shaking the Thunderwing slightly, making T-2’s grin even wider to the point of a maniac as he watched more orc ships go up in flames. Explosions tore through their ranks, followed by towering white geysers where the rockets splashed into the sea.

With a satisfied smirk, he pulled up at the end of the fleet and looped back just as Thunderwing-1 began its second run. Soon, the heavy bombers, the "big boys", would arrive to finish the job, but for now, the orcs would feel the full wrath of the Thunderwings.

————————————————————————

Jiak twitched his eyebrows in confusion as he first heard the strange roar coming from the skies, and looked up in wonder at the sight of two grayish objects flying over the fleet. The Orcs around him shouted and pointed in excitement, unsure of what they were witnessing. But Jiak’s instincts kicked in as one of the objects looped back, and a series of explosions ripped through the fleet.

"It iz an attack!" Jiak roared, as he stood up from his throne, "Ready 'da anti-dragon shooters!" He barked orders at his crew before turning around to a shaman beside him. "Relay ma kommand ta all da ships, tell im ta form up ‘n da anti-dragon formation now!"

The orc shaman bowed low and pulled out a glowing crystal orb. Chanting in a guttural, ancient tongue, the shaman’s hands danced over the orb, which pulsed with a purplish light. The message spread swiftly, transmitted to the other shamans holding similar orbs across the fleet.

"Load 'da shootas an' tell 'da shamans ta use spells ta take down dose kursed fly'n monstaz!" Jiak snarled, eyes blazing as he saw the other strange flying monster turning for another pass.

As the shaman relayed his orders, Jiak stood tall and grip the hilt of his axe. The air crackled with tension as the fleet’s defenders scrambled to arm their primitive anti-air weapons and prepare their magic, but Jiak sensed that they might be facing something far more dangerous than any ordinary dragon.

————————————————————————

The two pairs of fighter attackers F-12 Phoenixes split up into two groups and dived in from two different directions. Each fighter jet was loaded with dual 70 mm rocket pods under its wing, holding 10 rockets each, and the forward gunner/copilot was equipped with twin machine guns.

“Phantom-1 to all Phoenixes, conserve your ammo, two rockets per ship, over,” the squad leader's voice came over the comms. “Make your shots count!”

As the Phoenixes lined up for their attack runs, the skies above the orc fleet suddenly erupted into a nightmare. Bolts of lightning, fireballs, ice spikes, and ballista bolts shot upward, forcing the Phoenixes to weave and dodge through the storm of magical and physical anti-air fire with surprising agility.

“All Phoenixes, break! Break! Break!” the squad leader shouted, startled by the intensity of the counterattack. He noticed the orc ships had arranged themselves in a crescent formation. The layered defense was unusual, and he wondered what its purpose was.

The Phoenixes managed to wing out the barrage with remarkable skill, though one jet took a lightning bolt to its wing. It would've damaged, if not destroyed the fighter jet, but fortunately, the Orichalcum steel plating that had recently been added to the jet absorbed the magical impact, leaving only a scorched mark where the bolt struck.

“Thunderwings, draw fire from the Phoenixes!” the squadron leader ordered. “Phoenixes, commence attack runs after Thunderwings take the brunt. Let them soak up all the AA fire!”

Chorus of acknowledgement sounded out from the pilots in the comms and the Phoenixes formed up again, circling back for another attack run, while the heavily armored Thunderwings swooped in and strafed the ships while drawing the fleet's firepower.

The orc fleet responded with a dazzling display of magic, as bolts of lightning, fireballs, and ice spikes flew toward the Thunderwings, exploding like fireworks in the air. But the attack helicopters moved too quickly for most spells to land a hit. The few lucky strikes that did connect merely chipped the Orichalcum-reinforced armor, leaving scorch marks but causing no real damage.

Exhausted from their frantic spellcasting, the orc shamans paused to catch their breath. As the skies cleared of magical defenses, the anti-dragon ballista crews scrambled to reload.

The Phoenixes took the opportunity and dove in for another attack. With the defenses temporarily overwhelmed, they unleashed their rockets, setting orc ships ablaze and tearing through their ranks. Explosions rippled across the fleet as more vessels and orcs were consumed by fire and destruction. By the time their ammo was depleted, the Phoenixes had left nearly a quarter of the fleet in flames.

"All units, RTB," the squad leader ordered, as No. 2 and No. 3 Squadrons regrouped. "No. 1 Squadron, stay and observe."

The Thunderwings of No. 2 Squadron and the Phoenixes of No. 3 Squadron broke formation, heading back to base for re-arming and refueling.

The admiral glanced at the chalkboard secured to the wall, where a command operator had written down time estimates for each squadron's return to base, along with the time needed for rearming and refueling. Another column showed the projected time for the orc fleet to reach landfall.

Based on the information, the admiral calculated that the squadrons would have time for one more strike before nightfall. Once darkness descended, engaging the orc forces on the ground would be far more difficult, and he’d likely have to rely on the Phantoms for a night raid.

He wondered what the orc admiral would do next. Would they split their forces, or continue to present themselves as target practice for the pilots?

————————————————————————

Lieutenant Colonel Ciaphas Cahyono folded his arms as he stood before the tactical display, his sharp eyes focused on the blinking blue icons representing friendly units. The electronic hum of the command center buzzed in the background, but his attention was fixed on the retreating aircraft.

“All units, RTB,” he called out over the comms and watched as the blue icons shifted and turned, heading back to base. He then shifted his gaze to another screen, which displayed a high-resolution image of the smoking Orc fleet. The image, captured from a remote camera on one of the fighter jets, revealed the devastating aftermath of the airstrike.

His second-in-command, standing beside him, pointed at the carnage on the display. “Looks like we took out at least a quarter of the Orc fleet with that strike.”

Cahyono nodded as a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not bad for a bunch of newbies.”

“They’ll have enough time for one more strike before nightfall,” the second-in-command added. “We can soften them up even more before our welcoming party on the beach.”

Cahyono's eyes narrowed as he studied the Orc fleet. “Strange formation they are adopting,” he muttered, gesturing to the crescent-shaped arrangement of the ships. “Whoever’s in charge hasn’t scattered them, lucky for us.”

His second-in-command frowned and leaned closer to the screen. “It almost looks like some kind of encirclement tactic. See how the tips of the crescent could trap any ships that try to break through?”

“For anti-air, though? Doesn’t make sense,” Cahyono said, still studying the pattern.

“Wait a second,” his second-in-command interrupted, pointing to the center of the crescent. “This might not be anti-air. I think it is a formation to do with dragons.”

Cahyono raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“Look. Think about it, the way dragons attack are similar to helicopters, right? They hover in place and spit fireballs or cast spells, sweeping over their targets. This crescent would trap them in the middle, allowing spellcasters, archers, and ballistas to attack from all sides.”

Cahyono considered the explanation, nodding slowly. “Makes sense. But wouldn’t a dragon just break out of the formation?”

“Most likely yes, but don't forget dragons fly slower than jets, especially when they’re hovering. It’d take them time to gain speed.”

“I see,” Cahyono grinned. “Looks like they didn’t account for fast movers like our jets.”

His second-in-command chuckled. “Yeah, I’m betting whoever is in charge is probably cursing and swearing at the Air Force right now.”

————————————————————————

“RAWRRR!! LITTLE RATS!!”

Jiak the Skull Krusher cursed as he took in the sight of his ships burning around him. Flames licked the charred remains of ships that he had painstakingly built up piece by piece, now burning, sinking, or drifting helplessly. His fists clenched around the armrests of his skull-adorned throne, and glared up to the skies, seeing the “dragons” circling above his fleet, like vultures waiting for a chance to grab a tasty green snack.

He could almost feel their eyes on him, mocking him, taunting him from the skies.

"Inform all ships ta push faster! we need ta get ta land before more uv dose fly'n kreatures kome back!" Jiak ordered as his voice boomed across the deck, and the shaman at his side bowed before relaying his command through his enchanted crystal orb.

Jiak’s brow furrowed as he glared upward once more.

"Wot are dose vile fly'n beasts? Some kind uv dragon?" he demanded, still fixated on the unnatural creatures that had reduced his fleet to ruins.

"Warmaster, I have no idea," The shaman shook his head, "I kould not detect any trace uv magical powa 'n im an' dey do not look like any dragons i know uv."

Jiak’s frown deepened, and his sharp tusks grinding against each other. “Tell 'da shamans ta kast a shimmer'n spell ova 'da fleet, an’ use instant transport magic ta speed us up. Jiak want us invisible and faster! Now!”

The shaman hesitated with beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Warmaster, 'da spell will only hold for less dan a span uv a turn uv 'da glass. It will not kova 'da fleet all 'da way ta land an’ us'n both instant transport an’ 'da shimmer'n spell will 'haust all 'da powaz uv 'da shamans!"

Jiak’s eyes flared as impatience overtook him. “Tell da fleet ta close up. Dat will reduce 'da amount uv powa needed ta kova 'da whole fleet. Now move!”

“But, Warmaster…” The shaman protested.

“I said enough!” Jiak snapped. “Do it!”

“Yes, Warmasta...” The shaman stammered, bowing low before scurrying off to relay the orders.

Jiak turned back to the burning horizon. He had built this fleet through blood and betrayal, and no flying beasts, dragon or not, would stop him from reaching the shores.

————————————————————————

The sailor beside the Admiral let out a sudden cry of alarm, pulling the Admiral’s attention away from the map he had been studying.

“What is it?” the Admiral demanded.

“Admiral! The enemy fleet…” The sailor’s voice faltered as he stared at the screen. “It’s gone! All that’s left is wreckage from the airstrike.”

“What?” The Admiral climbed out of his seat and stood over the sailor. “Show me!”

“Sir, one minute they are there, the second they just vanished!” The sailor said, rewinding the footage, revealing the Orc fleet bunching together, then a faint shimmer in the air. And suddenly, the ships vanished. The Admiral played the clip in slow motion, studying the odd distortion.

He keyed his comms, “P-1, do you have eyes on the Orc fleet?”

[What do you mean?] The pilot’s voice crackled through the speaker. [Aren’t they below-… wait. Where did they go? When did I go off course?]

"Never mind," the Admiral replied. "P-2, what’s your status?"

[They suddenly disappeared beneath us,] the Phantom-2 pilot responded in his deep bass voice carrying frustration. [It looks like they used some kind of cloaking spell.]

“Roger that, tango, out,” The Admiral cut the line and pondered his options before turning to his tech. “Switch to infrared.”

The tech nodded, switching the camera mode to infra, which the screen flickered to a dark gray as the sailor adjusted the settings, but still, there was nothing.

“No signs of the fleet, sir,” the tech confirmed with tension rising in his voice.

“Then where the hell are they!?”

"Admiral, I've found them!" Another sailor pointed out dozens of ships like shapes highlighted in white against a gray background.

The Admiral stared at the tactical screen, feeling the weight of the situation. The Orc fleet had not just vanished, they had shifted, teleported, right past his naval blockade. His fingers tightened on the handrails as the sailor’s discovery played out on the monitor.

“Damn it, they’re using some teleportation spell to outmaneuver us,” he muttered to himself in irritation, as the plan he had already set up failed. “This is gonna be a bitch to fight!”

“Admiral, they’re heading for an unsecured beach near Guna,” another officer warned. “With that spell, the time estimation of them hitting the shore went from three hours to less than one hour at this rate.”

“Is that the area where Delta Company is nearby?”

“Yes, sir. But they're outgunned.”

"Send them an immediate warning!" the Admiral barked. "I want Delta digging in now. We can’t let these bastards land without a fight."

"Already done, sir. Delta’s been informed. They’re mobilizing."

One of the sailors spoke up. “Sir, I doubt the Orcs can maintain such a large-scale spell for long. That kind of magic must have spent a lot of their juice to stay hidden, especially after teleporting their entire fleet.”

“Then this is the perfect time to hit them before they can recover,” The Admiral as he leaned over the tactical display and keyed the comms, issuing orders swiftly. “Send No. 2 Squadron in immediately. Engage the fleet and force them to break cover. Have No. 3 Squadron hold position ten kilometers back. We’ll let the Phantoms soften them up, then hit them hard when the spell drops before targeting the Scabbard-class transports first, those are priority. Without them, their ground assault falls apart."

"Understood, Admiral. Orders relayed!” The sailor snapped to attention, relaying the orders swiftly as the Admiral returned to the tactical screen where the fleet’s icons shifted into motion, his mind already calculating the next move.

"It’s going to be a race against time." He checked the countdown to sunset, just an hour left. This is the same moment when the Orcs would arrive on their lands, and would likely aim under cover of night, but if he could cripple their transport ships now, their forces would be stranded offshore, easy prey for his air squadrons.

If not, then the Liberation army would be waiting for them.

"Let’s see how long that magical trick of theirs lasts," he muttered grimly as his eyes fixed on the approaching enemy.

————————————————————————

Dozens of military trucks rumbled down the road near Guna, their engines roaring as they came to a halt in front of a sprawling beach. The rear tailgates dropped, and soldiers in digital camo swiftly disembarked, hopping out and forming up in the fields. Once their cargo had been dumped, the trucks rolled out and returned to fetch the next batch of soldiers.

"Alright you maggots, listen up!" a Corporal yelled over the crashing waves and pointed toward a rise overlooking the sea. "Grab your entrenching tools and start digging! I want proper firing foxholes here, here, and here!"

"Yes, Corporal!" the recruits shouted in unison, scrambling to grab their tools and begin digging.

"Come on, chop chop!" The Corporal yelled as he strolled among the recruits digging foxholes. "Your lives depend on the foxholes you're digging! You'll fight in them, take cover in them, sleep in them, even shit in them! So make sure you dig them nice and deep!"

“The enemy is coming!” He continued as he yelled encouragement to the frantically digging recruits. “This is no longer a drill! This is real action!” He pointed toward the sea. “Hundreds, maybe thousands, of green-skinned scum are heading our way to kill and rape us! But don’t worry, today is a great day to purge these aliens!”

"The sky is clear, we got a nice breeze here, and a great view of the sea," he stood over the rise watching his platoon of recruits, "It's practically a perfect shooting range built for us here!"

"HOORAH!" The recruits roared as they dug faster with renewed energy, piling sand and soil over the sides of the holes.

"You boys will hold this stretch of the beach," the Corporal continued, "Platoon 1 will be on your left flank and Platoon 3 on your right! We will defend this beach with everything you got!"

————————————————————————

As Delta Company began making defenses of the beach, one of the recruits stood in the trench he had dug, eyeing the ocean through the narrow firing slits. He carefully dropped some gun oil onto his bolt carrier and gave it a good wipe, before reassembling it back into his rifle.

He cycled the bolt, making sure the action was smooth and squeezed the trigger, then dry-fired the new AF-1 Rifle, making sure the mechanism was working.

Carefully, he pulled the bolt back and loaded two five-round stripper clips one after another into the open chamber. With a practiced motion, he closed the bolt and set the weapon to safety.

"Sarge," he called to the sergeant, who was resting against the sandy wall with his eyes closed. "Think we can win?"

"Of course," the Third Sergeant replied without hesitation. "We’ve fought larger numbers before. Plus, we've got these new rifles, fresh off the drawing board. We’ll be the first to use them."

Standing up, he turned around and faced the ocean, where he looked at the sun dipping low on the horizon, minutes from setting, the same moment their enemy would arrive.

“And lucky for us,” he added as a grim smile formed on his face, "we already have our target practice coming our way."

————————————————————————

Lieutenant Colonel Ciaphas Cahyono stood beside the jeep while scanning the horizon with his binoculars, trying to spot the enemy fleet. Overhead, two Thunderwings roared past over his head, racing toward the distant sky. Lowering his binoculars, Cahyono glanced up at the fading dark shapes in the sky with a frown deepening across his face.

"The Admiral says the enemy fleet bypassed the Navy using teleportation and is now cloaked?" Cahyono asked, turning to Specialist Sergeant Pice, who leaned casually against the jeep with a pair of shades.

"Yup," Pice replied with a nod. "Our naval strategy didn’t pan out, but their cloaking spell should be temporary. We can spot them with infrared or wait until the magic wears off."

Cahyono raised his binoculars once more, following the Thunderwings as they shrank into the horizon. "It's almost time. Is everything in place?"

"Yes, sir," Pice confirmed. "All four recruit companies are dug in, and Delta Company is standing by as the reserve. The big question is whether the Orcs will scatter their fleet or hit the beach in one concentrated strike."

Suddenly, bright flashes lit up the horizon, casting an eerie glow over the purplish sky. A short while later, distant rumbles of thunder rolled in.

"Looks like the Air Force has engaged them. Let’s hope they can take out as many ships as possible," Cahyono remarked.

Pice smirked. "Good chance to test the recruits. Nothing like live fire training for them. Plus, it'll give us a chance to see how these new Magic Guns perform in combat."

"How's the artillery setup coming along?" Cahyono asked, lowering his binoculars again.

"We’ve got six batteries of 120mm mortars on stand-by. Each battery has three mortars, spread out behind the companies for fire support," Pice reported. "The problem is, we don’t have enough ammo for prolonged engagement. Each gun has only roughly 60 mortar bombs, but we’ve got plenty of starburst shells to light up the night sky for the troops to see."

"The mortarmen may need to relocate the mortars depending on where the Orcs land," Pice added. "So, I went ahead and attached some trucks and jeeps to their batteries, just in case."

Cahyono nodded in approval before snapping his binoculars back up. "There! They came out of hiding behind their magic."

Pice quickly raised his own binoculars, eyes narrowing as he spotted the mass of black dots against the horizon, silhouetted by fire and smoke. "Damn," he muttered. "We really need to figure out that cloaking spell, invent technology out of them. It’d be a damn game changer."

————————————————————————

"Fasta!" Jiak roared over the crashing waves, "Land kan be seen! once we have landed, we will no longa be at 'da mercy uv dose fly'n monstaz!"

"Warmasta!" One of his bodyguards called out, pointing upward, "More fly'n monstaz!"

Jiak snarled and turned to the shaman standing beside him. "Shaman! Use all yer powaz an’ blow da fleet ta shore now! If not, our Boyz will all die ere!"

The shaman nodded resignedly and muttered into his crystal orb. Before long, a sickly green glow enveloped the ships, and they lurched forward, accelerating unnaturally toward the distant shoreline. One by one, the Shamans throughout the fleet began collapsing from mana burn, blood streaming from their noses and ears as they burned through their life force.

The leading galleys glided up the sandy beach with bone-crunching force, sending unsecured warriors crashing into each other, shattering limbs. The ships behind, being slower to steer away, rammed into the ships already breached on shores, creating chaos and causing more casualties among the Orc crew.

Soon every ship settled down on shore, and cries of the dying could be heard over the waves.

Jiak grinned, baring his tusks. "We made it! Now, get off da ships!"

But before the command could fully sink in, several whistling sounds could be heard over the waves, growing louder and louder. Jiak frowned, glancing up in confusion just as something shrieked past his head.

BANG!

In an instant, half of his skull throne behind him exploded, sending splinters and bone fragments showered over his head.

"Wot iz dis?" He roared, glancing up from over the wooden railings of his ship.

The sun had set, yet despite that, the area around the beach where Jiak's fleet had landed was brightly illuminated in an unnatural light by mage fire or balls of glowing orbs hanging in the sky.

He did not expect to encounter any resistance on the shore and now his shamans were mana drained and made useless by the shimmering spell used to cloak the fleet.

"How did da Soft Skins know we were kom'n?" Jiak snarled in disbelief. "Kould 'da attacks from 'da fly'n monstaz be part uv their trick?"

His rage boiled over. "Charge! Attack da Soft Skins!" He leapt from his ship and slapped the flat of his blade against the bewildered Orcs. "Get off ‘da ships! FOR DA HORRRDE!!"

The Orcs around him, emboldened by his fury, rallied and charged up the beach, shrieking their war cries that echoed across the sand.

"WAGHHHH!"

"WAGGGHHHHHH!"

"WAAAAAGGGHHH!"

The magical lights overhead lit their path, but with each step, the distant flashes of gunfire grew closer. A buzzing, whizzing sound filled the air, like a swarm of angry bees. One by one, Orcs fell silently to the ground, as if their lives had been snuffed out in an instant. Others screamed in agony as limbs and torsos were ripped apart by unseen forces.

A louder whistle cut through the chaos, followed by an explosion of flame and sand erupted in the area Jiak stood. The shockwave hit him like a battering ram, bowling him off his feet and to the ground.

Spitting sand from his mouth, Jiak stumbled to his feet and shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. He turned to rally his troops, only to be consumed by another massive explosion.

When Jiak came to, he found himself in the center of a smoking crater. All around him, his warriors lay shredded, lifeless. One Orc at his feet was still alive, barely, a guttural shriek escaped him as his bloody guts spilled from the gaping wound where half his body had once been.

Jiak stared at the carnage, his mind numb, before the area around him erupted in flames and explosions once more.

————————————————————————

"Watch your front! Make your shots count!" The commanding officer yelled over the deafening roar of AF-1 rifles. His throat burned from inhaling the thick, acrid blue smoke that clung to the air. "Aim low, aim low!"

The AF-1 rifles, powered by magical propellant, had a punishing recoil far stronger than the modern chemical-based firearms. During trials of the guns, it was found that the force of the recoil tends to kick the muzzle up slightly. Therefore during training, the instructors drilled into the recruits to fire low to compensate for the powerful recoil.

The officer pressed the stock of his Magic Rifle against his shoulder and peered through the sights, waiting for the strange magical smoke to clear. He adjusted his aim slightly, leading his sights on an Orc attempting to dash across the beach. He aimed at where he expected the creature to be within seconds.

As the smoke thinned, he locked onto his target and squeezed the trigger, and was rewarded immediately with a painful kick in his shoulder followed by a thunderous crack split the air, and a dense cloud of magical smoke billowed out as the 8.25 mm steel-jacketed Mithril bullet, weighing 13.3 grams, ripped through the darkness like a red laser.

It took almost a second to traverse the 300 meters between the rifle and kiss the upper torso of the charging Orc he fired at.

If it had been a standard 7.62 mm round, it might have barely scratched the Orc's stone-tough hide. But their thick hide proofed no resistance against the spinning bullet made out of a magical steel from another world as they tore through the creature’s chest wall and shattered its upper ribs, before the projectile mushrooming and fragmenting into pieces upon impact, sending one shard spiraling downward, punching through the back and leaving a gaping, fist-sized exit wound.

The other shard continued on at a slight angle and ricocheted upward, ripping into the left lung before lodging in the scapula.

The Orc toppled backward with a cut-off warcry, collapsing into the sand with a wet gurgle. The spent fragment exiting his back and struck another Orc behind him, bruising its abdomen before both of them went down in a tangle of bodies.

Momentarily dazed, the second Orc sat up and rubbed the impact point on his body where the spent bullet had hit him, rose to his feet, and let loose a furious roar. Before he could charge again, another bullet struck, obliterating half of his right arm, leaving it dangling by the threads of his bicep muscle and skin.

Howling in anger and pain, the Orc staggered back and crashed into the sand. He picked up a discarded saber and slashed off the remnants of his crippled arm.

Gritting its teeth, the Orc growled and continued his charge, albeit slower than before, while leaking blackish blood from the open wound. But the Orc ignored his injury as he joined the rest of the horde in rushing toward the human defensive lines.

The maze-like barbed wire barricades funneled the Orcs into a killing zone as they tried to navigate through. Some of the Orcs attempted to climb over the razor-sharp wires, only to get caught and tangled, while others hacked and slashed at the barriers.

The defenders made good use of this situation and poured fire into the amassed Orcs, pinning them down. Soon, a small mound of bodies formed around the barb wires, where some Orcs took over under the fallen bodies of their own kin.

At the rear of the Orc forces, dozens of crude looking catapults were heaved into position, and massive stones were hurled through the air, though most missed their mark, crashing down on the heads of their own warriors. A few found human targets, killing them instantly, but the majority of the stones fell short, causing chaos in the Orc ranks.

Standing atop a boulder for a better view of the battle, Jiak the SkullKrusher growled in frustration. Despite their overwhelming numbers, the Orcs had made no progress and couldn't break those soft skins defenses!

"Has Elda discovered wot spells dose tri-cursed Soft Skins are us'n?" Jiak snarled, turning his furious gaze on the Elder Shaman beside him, who is covered in a hooded cloak made of animal skins. Mysterious symbols were painted with blood adorned all over the cloak while chaotic tattoos that make eyes crawl could be seen on the shaman exposed hands.

But what made the Elder Shaman appear more strange is that he seemed shorter and more slender than an Orc, yet larger than a Goblin, as if a humanoid was underneath the large hooded cloak.

"Warbearer Jiak," The Elder Shaman raised hus palm in a greeting with a low raspy voice, "Elda have no idea wot powa or magic da Soft Skins wield. Da spirits... are konfused."

"Konfused?" Jiak leaped down from the boulder, landing with a heavy thud that cracked the ground beneath him. "Jiak dinks ya betta talk ta 'da spirits more. Dose ‘booms booms’ are stomp'n' our clansman by da dousands an' yet clansman kouldn't even reach ‘da ‘umiez!"

BOOM!

Suddenly, an explosion erupted nearby, tearing through the surrounding Orcs. But Jiak stood firm as his thick hide protected him from the blast, while the Elder Shaman remained unscathed as he was protected beneath a shimmering magical barrier that covered his whole body.

"...I'll try ma best, Warmasta."

————————————————————————

"Load starburst!"

The command rang out across the rear defense line, and the gunnery sergeant’s voice leaped the seven-man mortar crew into action. One of the crew members quickly grabbed a shell with a white-painted nose and a crudely drawn star on its side and tossed it to the Assistant Gunner, who positioned himself at the mortar tube.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" the sergeant yelled, and every man in the crew instinctively covered their ears.

The Assistant Gunner dropped the shell into the tube, then quickly stepped back, hands over his ears and mouth open to help absorb the shockwave. A deafening thunderclap echoed through the night, the concussion squeezed their chests for a moment and left their heads ringin despite their precautions.

In the distant sky, a brilliant star burst into existence, suspended by a tiny parachute, flooding the battlefield with harsh, glaring light like a miniature sun.

"Switch to high explosives!"

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Lieutenant Colonel Ciaphas Cahyono and Sergeant Major Pice stood by their jeep, watching as the Orcs got slaughtered on the beach, illuminated by the brilliant light of parachute flares dropped by the mortars.

"Better than I expected," Pice commented. "This batch of recruits is hitting their marks, even without tracers to guide their fire."

"Might be the AF-1 rifles," Cahyono replied, still peering through his binoculars, set to night vision mode. "I’ve heard reports that they have magical effects that enhance a human’s hearing and eyesight. Seems like the Orcs landed in a two-kilometer stretch of beach. What do you think their numbers are?"

"Ten, maybe fifteen thousand," Pice guessed. "They took a serious beating when they beached in that mess."

Cahyono nodded thoughtfully. "I'm pulling in the other two recruit companies from the north and south. We’ll box them in."

"The mortar batteries are performing well so far," Pice observed, tracking the explosions in the distance. "Most of their shells are landing right on target."

"They better be," Cahyono said with a dry smile. "This live-fire exercise is costing a fortune. We managed to pin them down with mortar fire for now, but once we run out of supplies, the Orcs will definitely make a breakthrough through the lines. They still outnumber us by the thousands."

Pice nodded grimly. "We just have to keep hitting them while they’re still confused. Since they’re packed so tightly among the beached ships, I took the liberty of calling for an airstrike."

Cahyono looked over at him and nodded in approval. "Good call. Now, we need to advance and push them back into the sea." He raised his binoculars, pointing toward the largest cluster of beached ships. "Prep Delta Company for an assault. We’ll hit them there."

Pice acknowledged the order and reached for the radio mounted on the jeep. As he began relaying the Colonel’s orders to Delta Company, he glanced back toward the beach, where the distant rumbles of war filled the night air.

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"Alright, Delta dogs! We’re going over the hill and straight into those green skins!" The commanding officer roared over the dim of gunfire and explosions. "Attach bayonets!"

This detachment of Delta Company was packed with battle-hardened veterans, many who had fought in the bloody defense of New Guinea during the infamous New Year Tragedy. With a metallic clink, the soldiers drew their sword bayonets and secured them to their AF-1 rifles.

The light from the starburst parachute flares overhead cast a hungry glint in the soldiers’ eyes as they stood in loose ranks among their platoons. The Platoon sergeants and corporals traveled up and down the ranks, checking weapons and ensuring their men's weapons were loaded and bayonets properly fixed.

"Company! Form up in line formation!" Barked a corporal. The individual platoons started to spread out and not long the whole company quickly formed a single long line following his order. "Advance!"

Like the ancient musketeers, the whole company marched forward in step in a single row, climbing over the gentle slope and three sharp whistles pierced the air, signaling the recruits inside the foxholes to cease fire.

The young soldiers watched as the veterans marched past them and cheered, shouting encouragement to them as they advanced towards the Orcs.

"Compaaaany... Halt!" The Commanding Officer bellowed, and the men nearby echoed his command, and the line came to a stop and crouched down.

Above them, the night sky suddenly exploded with light again as the Air Force's Phoenixs and Thunderwing squadrons arrived again. Using the burning wrecks as markers, the aircraft unleashed a volley of thermobaric warheads into the Orc fleet, setting the majority up in massive fireballs that cast the battlefield in a fiery glow.

When their ammunition was spent, the fighter jets and attack helicopters circled around, wagging their wings in a salute to the army on the beach before retreating back to base.

Then, as planned, a heavy barrage of mortar fire followed and transformed the beachhead into a hellscape of fire and shrapnel, making it into the largest firework show for the Imperial Liberation Army who had front row seats to watch.

As the last echoes of explosions slowly faded, one of the Corporals stood up, raised his whistle to his lips, and blew hard. The shrill sound cut through the night air, signaling the charge.

"OOORAAAAAH!"

Hundreds of soldiers of Delta Company let loose a bloodcurdling battle cry. They surged forward, covering the remaining hundred meters in seconds and rifles blazing as they opened fire on the dazed and disoriented Orcs.

The battlefield, illuminated by the still-glowing starburst shells and burning wreckage, was as bright as daylight. The soldiers fired at the Orcs, who, now fully exposed, shrieked and rushed forward with crude spears and swords.

The army line stopped as the surviving Orcs came out from craters, sand dunes, and even from burning shipwrecks. They rushed out in small groups of threes or fours, only to be mowed down by a hail of magic bullets.

Some Orcs played dead, lying motionless until the soldiers were nearly upon them, and they jumped up with savage war cries to cut down the unlucky. But their ambushes were short-lived when bayonets and rifle fire ended them just as quickly, leaving piles of bodies strewn across the sands.

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Jiak endured the earth-shattering explosions that engulfed him while his ears ringing from the thunderous noise following after the explosion. He blocked out the guttural screams of his dying kin as their bodies were torn apart by the relentless barrage.

When the explosions finally ceased, he opened his eyes to a hellscape, and his heart pounded with fury.

Pushing himself up from the blood-soaked sand, he peered through the smoke and flames to see a dark line of figures had emerged from the haze, their rifles roaring with fire and thunder, and the Orcs fell around him, crumpling to the ground as the deadly hail of magic bullets tore through their ranks.

"Warmaster, our kin iz dy’n rapidly," the Elder Shaman muttered in an eerily calm voice, standing unscathed under a shimmering magical barrier. "We should escape ‘n a hurry."

Jiak snarled, refusing to submit. "No! We must fight!!!"

Hearing their Warmaster’s cry, the remaining Orcs rallied and roared in response, filling with desperation and rage. They charged forward, blinded by fury, rushing headlong into the firestorm that awaited them.

But the roar of gunfire only grew more intense as they advanced. Each step forward felt like wading deeper into death. The smoke thickened, and the stench of burning flesh filled the air. Jiak’s vision blurred, and in an instant, the world around him erupted into a blinding inferno. Flames engulfed everything, the sky, the ground, his kin, all swallowed by fire and ash.

And then, silence.

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It was not long before the majority of the Orcs were wiped out from the advancing line of fire and steel. Desperate, some tried to break out from the center, attempting to flank the sides, only to run straight into the defensive line where the recruits awaited, who gleefully shot down any Orcs who dared approach.

The Corporal raised his hand, signaling the advancing lines of the soldiers to halt. The line dropped to the ground, either prone or crouched down, and continued to fire at the survivors. The Corporal pulled out his tablet and swiftly navigated to a tactical map.

He keyed into his comms and spoke in his steady voice, "Magnum Zero Nine, this is Dog Pack Seven, fire mission. Request grid One Zero Niner Four dash Seven Six Two Niner. Immediate fire for effect on my mark, Dog Pack Seven, over."

[Dog Pack Seven, Zero Niner, roger that, fire mission received. Rounds on the way, Zero Niner out.]

A tense few seconds passed before the whistling of mortar bombs screamed over the army line, followed by a deafening explosion as they rained down on the remaining Orcs.

The battlefield was engulfed in fire and destruction once more, as hell itself visited upon the survivors.

————————————————————————

The thunder of artillery had finally ceased, leaving only the crackling of fires and the distant crash of the ocean. A Corporal led a platoon of soldiers of Delta Company down the ridge toward the beach, and his boots crunched through the churned-up sand. Smoke still hung in the air, but the enemy Orcs were nowhere to be seen.

"Looks like we gave 'em hell," one soldier muttered, his voice muffled through his helmet. "Can’t imagine anything left after that satisfying bombardment."

The Corporal grunted in agreement but kept his eyes on the horizon. He wasn’t so sure.

"Stay sharp," he ordered, scanning the devastation. "They’re Orcs. You think they’ll stay down that easy?"

Another soldier chimed in with a nervous chuckle. "Maybe they just swam off, eh? Took one look at us coming and bailed."

"Or they’re lying in wait," the Corporal said sharply, silencing the murmurs. He motioned for the army to fan out as they approached the edge of the sand, where blackened craters scarred the ground.

"Wait," one of the soldiers said as he kneeled beside a hole. "These craters, they seem wrong. Mortar hits don’t look like this."

Corporal stepped closer and furrowed his brows. The craters were shallow, perfectly round, and there was no shrapnel or debris scattered around them. No scorch marks, either.

"Not from our artillery," he muttered with suspicion creeped into his tone.

"You think... magic?" a soldier asked.

The Corporal stared at the strange shapes and answered. "Teleportation. They’re not gone. They just moved somewhere with magic."

The soldiers fell silent as they realized what that meant.

"Report to command!" The Corporal barked, "The Orcs could be anywhere nearby, or worse, somewhere on this island!"

————————————————————————

Somewhere in New Guinea, a few thousand remaining Orcs stood in confusion within the ruins of a city as their guttural voices echoed off the towering, crumbling buildings. Steel and glass structures reached toward the sky, broken and twisted from months of neglect.

Jiak stomped forward with his heavy boots cracking the asphalt beneath his feet as his red eyes filled with anger and frustration swept over the strange human architecture.

“Wot ‘n da twin gods’ names happened?!” Jiak bellowed as his voice boomed across the ruined cityscape.

"I used high-tia teleportation magic, warmasta.” The Elder Shaman stepped forward cautiously. “We were be'n overwhelmed an’ would have been wiped out by ‘da bombardment if we stayed."

Jiak growled and his massive fists clenched. “Jiak don’t kare about 'da numbers! jiak like a gud fight an elda took dat away! dis isn’t about survival, dis iz about honor!!” His voice rumbled with the disappointment of a warrior denied his bloodlust.

But as much as he hated retreating, he knew the Elder Shaman spoke the truth. The decision had been necessary, even if it tasted like ash in his mouth.

The Warmaster’s gaze shifted to the towering structures around them. Tall, useless, fragile, he sneered at the way these soft skins built their cities.

“Fools. Dey waste dere strength on fings dat krumble. No sense 'n it. But...” Jiak suddenly grinned, “...dis will make a fine base for us. Whateva dis land iz, it’s ours now.”

He turned to his guards. “Find 'da rest uv our kin. Dey’ll have scattered when we ported out. Round im up. I want every last wun back ere an ready ta fight again.”

The guards nodded and barked orders to the others, sending groups out into the shattered streets.

Jiak then turned his attention to the Elder Shaman. “Elda. Get yer magic ready. Set up a cloak'n field wit' 'da remain'n shamans. Make sure da 'umiez don’t sniff us out before we’re ready. And… prepare for ‘da Ritual on ‘da next moon.”

The Elder Shaman bowed slightly. “Yes, Warmasta.”

Jiak nodded, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the sun's position in the sky and his grin widened.

“Gud. Now we prepare... an’ when ‘da time komes, we’ll make ‘da 'umiez regret lett'n us live.”