Rival of Atlantis

II

Third Era

99th Universal Cycle, Year 7,884

19th Month, 4th Day

23rd hour-20Minutes

Ammia

KING GREIROIN STUDIED THE surface of long and wide flat glass. Sitting above the conjugated metal making up six legs, the glass, which turned out to be some LED screen, projects a map representing the supercontinent that will be later be known in the name of Pangaea. Every territory which is colored was carefully marked from the known Alps, peaks, mountain ranges, to the rivers cutting through the vastness of lands. His eyes were scanning the blue parts that represents water and is looking for something that he knows was not there.

Sitting on a perched seat at the head of the table, he looked around at the other twelve men squeezed in the room with him. These men are in combat suits like those that the crew of the Maine is wearing, but theirs were colored in light blue, blending with the color of the walls around them.

"Last known location?" The King asked no one in particular.

A soldier ranked as Overlord, equivalent to general or admiral in our present time, gave the King a look. It is only a rare occasion that the leader of Ammia convenes with topics involving military. He was still young with a muscular built and could be more capable than any soldiers sent to the war if not only fated for the throne. Aging only  23 solar cycles or years, he inherited the reign and was pit in the feud against Atlantis in a rivalry that he does not even know when and how exactly did it began. The Board of Overlords sent the Maine in a mission to finally mark an end of the long rival and King Greiroin was more than glad about it. Kings came and went and he felt electrification on the tip of his fingers for being the king that will put an end on the rival.

"Last known location?" He repeated the question with a remarkable stresses on some syllables. It may have been heard like a roil of thunder in the confines of the room and some of the high-ranking military men showed signs they almost jumped.

"Athemaic Sea, your grace," one of the overlords was forced to answer.

The Athemaic Sea, is what would be later known as the Tethys Sea, a body of water formed when Pangaea is splitting into major continents. Aside from the great body of water surrounding the supercontinent and the rivers wounding through the landscape, it is the only major body of water.

The King looked at the flat screen, hoping to see some blip materialize, but none did came. The Maine have been his final hope of eliminating their rival, Atlantis, now she is lost somewhere on the vastness of water unable to rain down destruction on their sworn enemy in a rivalry that they just inherited.

"Reports confirmed that Atlantis is on the final stage of fueling their silos," one of the overlords task in intelligence gathering said. "I think, your grace, you might want to know. With the Maine lost in depths of the seas, we may be facing annihilation."

"How many and which silos were being fueled?" The king asked, his eyes still on the map and still expects that a blip will materialize any moment.

"All of them," the overlord answered with a hint of worry in his voice. "Our spies think they are aiming most of them at us, some to our allies."

That made the king look up from the map as if he cannot believe what he had just heard. The silos were armed with armaments that are like missiles and are equipped with something similar to our present day nuclear warheads. If all silos are being prepared for an imminent attack that means over a hundred bombs are on their last stage of preparation, and it is more than enough to annihilate half of the supercontinent. Ammia and her allies are facing total destruction in little punch of buttons.

"Any other guess why would Atlantis prepare every silo they got?" The king looked sick all of a sudden.

"No other reason than to finally sweep us and our allies, your grace."

"Assemble squadrons of planes," he looked at one of the overlords. "I want synchronized bombing done to the heart of Atlantis."

"A synchronized bombing is to be done, your grace," one of the overlords uttered in haste. "And with your permission, your grace, we still have one last of the invention. I suggest arming one of the bombers with it."

"And this bomber armed with the last of our invention is headed where?"

"To the heart of Atlantis, your grace."

"Oh yes," the king roared with a hint of fun lingering at the corner of his eyes. "Do that. I want this over after the new universal cycle dawns on us. I want those silos destroyed with no chance of flying any of their armaments."

"Assembling the squadrons right away, your grace," the overlord confirmed and he stood without permission then just left the room.

                                                                                        -ROA-

BORDER COMING UP AND IT is a fine morning, kids," the squadron leader announced over the communication system that uses same concept as those of the coded radio transceivers. "Be wary escorts!"

"If they are fighting, we are killin'" the escort leader pronounced with hints of cheeriness as if surgical air strikes are fun thing to conduct.

The squadron is made up of sixty-one planes that included bombers-wherein one is the leader, fighters and escorts. Each plane is piloted by a main and sub airmen and is accompanied by two weapons masters that control all the firing of weapons. The pilots and the crews wear same suit like the seamen in the Maine but donned helmets that looks like a gas masks with a long beak, making them look like wingless birds. The bombers look like sister copies of the present day US Air Force Spirit Bombers. The fighters and the escorts are smaller versions of the said model. From the ground, there is no way of telling which of the planes are escorts and fighters because of the variances in their altitude. An observer have to study the formation later to identify them.

The squadron is tuned up on a single channel, all except the leader who uses a dual-standby communication system; one for the entire squad and the other for a channel that links all squadron leaders and is monitored by a command center somewhere in Ammia. The communication system is wired to the pilot and crews’ helmet and use a hands free technology. The men in the formation got nothing to do but just talk and communication system does the rest, all except the leader who have to toggle switches to jump from a channel to the other.

"L1" one announced over the communication system as the squadron broke their diamond formation. "Guarding your left, squad leader."

"R1 here," another voiced uttered. "I and my boys are spreading up the curtain."

In a matter of seconds, two lines were formed at each side; each line has ten escort planes get ready to die for the bombers. Weapon systems were armed as they prepare to unleash destruction from any resistance that is expected to come from the ground. The Atlantean will sure give everything they got to knock the bombers down. It is the escorts' duty to neutralize every resistance and their job is the most dangerous.

"F1," a voice said as sixteen of the fighter planes took the forward position and form a circle of a shield when facing the squadrons. Their task is to neutralize threats that are expected to come up the air in a form of the enemy's squadron. "Deploying your iron curtain."

Each passing second, the formation is fast becoming the shape of a nail, the bombers simply fall in a single file between the two lines of the escorts. The formation of the squadron is a fortress and the bombers are well-protected.

"Sweepers," a voice announced as five of the fighter planes intentionally slowed down to be left behind and formed a straight line. Their mission is to protect the back from other fighter planes. "We got your back."

"Big thank you to you, S1," the squadron leader acknowledged the sweepers and looked ahead through the transparent windscreen. His mind came wondering whether the other squadrons are already done or is currently facing resistance.

Eight squadrons were dispatched to conduct surgical strikes on the silos. Each squadron has twenty bombers, but theirs carries the motherlode, weapon that took at least 300 years to finish, that will be used for the first time in history.

Atlantean border came up and a deadly silence settled over the communications system. None of them spoke, afraid that as if the enemy will hear them. All were wary of enemies that may come from everywhere. In a matter of seconds, hell may break loose.

They came up for miles from the border and each passing milestone, the chilly tentacles of fear embraced the heart of the squadron leader. He is wondering if all the fated men in the squadron are feeling the same. A moment, he wanted to patch through the communication system to cheer up the whole squadron, but he felt something is not right.

It has been miles since they entered the airspace of Atlantis, and no one dared to fire single shell unto them. There was not so much of a hail over the communication systems asking them turn around, land somewhere, or will be fired upon. It is like they were lured into a trap. He expected a fight, it's not that he wanted it, but that is what it is supposed to be. When the offer is so good to be true, it will always be a bait.

At that, he decided he will not wait out for the plan to unfold. He has to do something. A few punches on the console before him, and the communication system patched him through another squadron leader.

"H1 reporting," he said over the communication system. "They seem to be making the task easy for us."

"H2 over here," a crisp voice came in the communication system. The other squadron leader who is taking a second batch of planes a few miles west of their position seems at ease. "We might not lose a single plane today."

"Be on your guard," a voice from the central command. "They may hit us anytime."

"Five of my sweepers were down!" A voice who did not say who he is. "I'm hit! I'm hit! I'm going down!"

So it begun, he thought.

Little did they know, that their mission will change the fate of the planet forever.