Summoning America

Velt Mountains

Located to the north of the Esperanto Kingdom and separated from its southern cousin — the Hoover Mountains — by Kenshiva valley, the Velt Mountains served as home to a village of Annonrial workers. Dispatched by the Resurrection Management Agency, these agents conspired to complete several objectives, from the study of demons to the capture of a Ravernal Revival Beacon, hidden deep within the walled kingdom. 

At the center of this operation stood a winged man in crimson armor: Blancmar Darkshield. He paced around in front of an audience of his colleagues, kicking cold, tundra dirt around as he suffered a breakdown over the Americans’ untimely arrival. “How did they get here?! How did we not complete our mission before then?! How in the Emperor’s name are we supposed to secure the beacon now?!” He bellowed, looking to his peers for an answer. 

They remained silent, as did the nearby Oni, shackled by their necklaces. 

“Damnit…” Darkshield trembled, fearing retribution from his superiors. Although his track record was consistently adequate, it gave no grounds for promotion or reassignment to a more comfortable position. Now, his record was about to be tarnished by a task that he could never hope to complete. “General Bahara,” Darkshield said, gathering his composure, “What should I do?”

Bahara lumbered forward, stopping in front of Darkshield and kneeling before him. “Your Divine Excellency,” the Oni said monotonously, stuck in a trance induced by the necklace he wore, “I recommend you first submit a report that exaggerates the enemy’s firepower. According to the files, these ‘Americans’ are closely followed by their aircraft and land-based war machines. Although we have not seen evidence of their aircraft, we likely soon will. By inflating their numbers, you can create a reasonable excuse for your setbacks, and can request more personnel and funds.”

Darkshield smiled in relief, no longer shaking from fear. “Brilliant!” He yelled ecstatically, clapping Bahara’s shoulder. “This is precisely why you’re the general! How incredible!” He then turned to his colleagues, pointing to a couple of them. “You and you, get started on a report immediately. Stress our circumstances and add some flare, but make it believable! Bring it to me when you’re done.”

“Understood, sir,” the two men began carrying out their new orders. 

Darkshield then returned his attention to Bahara. “Now, general, do you think we can secure the beacon?”

“Yes.”

Darkshield raised his eyebrows in surprise, half expecting the genius tactician to say otherwise. “Oh? How do you propose we do that?”

“Your Divine Excellency, I propose we conduct a multi-pronged assault on the Esperanto Kingdom. The longer we wait, the more the enemy can reinforce. Therefore, I recommend we strike from the valley once more, using that assault as a distraction. Meanwhile, a smaller force will attack the northern gate using a Gaulus to create an opening.”

Darkshield nodded along, finding wisdom in Bahara’s strategy. “Everything you’ve said is so far perfect, but how do we avoid detection from the Americans? We must assume that they can see any movement along the plains and prepare accordingly.”

“We can counteract this by traversing through the forests along the base of the mountain. An elite cohort of warriors — Oni obsidian knights and orc kings — can navigate the terrain quickly and reach the walls by the time our other assault commences.”

Darkshield’s eyes shone brightly. Barely able to contain squeals of excitement and joy, he readily approved Bahara’s plan and set it in motion.

——

March 15, 1640

Central District, Kingdom of Esperanto

From atop the balcony of the guest house, Ambassador Meyer gazed at the lively city as citizens celebrated the return of the Emissaries following an official announcement from the king himself. The setting sun illuminated the entire kingdom, as if caressing it with its warmth. Below, marines filed out of their residences, eager to enjoy some relaxing down time. 

Meyer smiled, seeing everyone enjoying themselves. He felt content, knowing that he helped establish excellent relations with yet another kingdom. He felt relieved, finally able to make peaceful contact without worrying about existential threats, such as the evil mage Mauli and his minions in Calamique. 

He knew that the locals were certainly more happy about relations than he was — King Esperanto most of all. Over the past couple of days, he and his staff helped King Esperanto lay out the foundations of several agreements, the most important of which dictated the guaranteed security of the kingdom. Of course, a prerequisite for this was the establishment of a military base near the coasts and near the kingdom itself, but such conditions didn’t bother the king at all. 

The virtuous king expressed no desire for expansion throughout the vast, resource-rich continent, seemingly content with the land set aside for the kingdom. Perhaps the reason for this lay in the fact that the partitioned land was a hundred times the size of the kingdom’s current borders, but Meyer didn’t think too deeply on this. Even the lightest of concessions — relative to other nations — can be considered by the people of Esperanto as incredible victories, solely due to their constant suffering and fight for survival. 

American demands were received particularly well once technology was brought up. Already, spare radios were distributed to the kingdom’s leadership, facilitating expeditious contact between various districts. Even a group of local musketeers received training on American weapons. Already gifted with expert marksmanship, these sharpshooters saw their abilities improved tenfold by the upgrades in equipment. One of them, a man named Zabir, even demonstrated capabilities on par with men in the Navy SEALs and in Delta Force. 

Meyer was glad the locals didn’t take these gifts for granted. He could have taken advantage of the locals, but they had nothing to offer to begin with, aside from minor relics such as the throne and beacon — all of which they were willing to hand over. Such prices were well worth it in their eyes, and the few doubtful locals who disagreed with the king’s decisions were more or less respectful, opting to wait and see what happens next. 

Meyer wondered what would ensure stability in the region, but was interrupted by a voice from behind. 

“Mister Ambassador,” Baker said, “We have a situation.”

——

Baker’s marines sat in the castle’s war room, groaning and grumbling. They returned from their short-lived downtime, responding to an urgent summons from their commanding officer. Also present were a dozen of Mortes’ officers and Zabir’s musketeers, ready to receive orders to defend their homeland. 

“Looks like everyone’s here,” Baker muttered. He cleared his throat and readied a projector — much to the surprise of the locals. A map flared up on a section of the wall. With a laser pointer, he brought attention to certain regions of the map, circling them. “I’ve just received a priority alert from my friends in the skies. They detected a massive buildup of forces along the other end of the Kenshiva Valley, much larger than the previous one. We dispatched reconnaissance aircraft earlier to investigate and have requested support from the USS America. Unfortunately, reinforcements will take almost three hours to arrive. This means we will have to hold them off until then. If we’re lucky, the enemy won’t begin their offensive for more than a few hours, and our friendlies can hammer their camp from above.”

Baker placed his left hand in front of him, palm up. “On the other hand, they begin their assault as soon as possible. It will still take them time to traverse the valley, but we should be able to make it to the Kals district in time and begin fortifying it. The enemy forces consist of about ten thousand goblins, two thousand orcs, five hundred orc kings, and at least fifty obsidian knights. I’ll coordinate troop movements and positions once we reach the Kals district. Any questions?”

Nobody reacted; everyone was ready to run to the Kals district. 

“Alright then. Mister Ambassador, I’ll have Vargas keep you company. Everyone else, let’s get moving!”

——

A line of JLTVs thundered away from the Central District, loosely followed by hundreds of Mortes’ knights on horseback. They quickly made their way past the layers of walls, only impeded by the tight choke points that separated the kingdom’s districts from each other. After half an hour of driving, the JLTVs finally arrived at the Kals district. Upon reaching the outer walls, they immediately began setting up, taking positions along the bastions and preparing heavy weapons. 

By the time Mortes’ men arrived, the Americans were already finished with their preparations. Mortars, machine guns, and launchers were ready to be utilized. Tanks and infantry fighting vehicles were lined up outside the gate, barrels pointed at the entrance of the valley. 

Thanks to an early warning from Baker, a demolition team had even managed to place explosives along the valley’s entrance. Although the team had little time to determine optimal spots to trigger a rockslide, they compensated by doubling down on the explosive material they placed. They were then ordered to wait for sufficient blockage to build up along the entrance before detonating their explosives, hoping to use both bodies and rocks to block the monster advance. 

With bated breath, the defenders kept their fingers on their triggers. 

A single drone hovered in the air by the entrance, operated by Nakamoto. “One hundred meters… Fifty meters…” He narrated the position of the enemy’s vanguard from the valley’s curve. “Ten… five…”

“Engage!” Baker gave the order. 

Four thunderous booms heralded the beginning of the defenders’ strike. 120mm flechette shells impacted the mass of flesh in the distance, rending the lightly armored goblins in the front. The massive shotgun blasts were subsequently followed by rockets and a continuous blanket of gunfire. A few cannon and ballista pieces also contributed to the fight, scoring a handful of kills here and there. 

The Emissaries’ wrath was unending, with squads and vehicles timing reloads such that a constant stream of metal was directed at the valley entrance. The sounds of gunfire and explosions drowned out the sounds of screaming goblins, who were demoralized and panicking. The fortunate few who escaped the worst of the devastation attempted to retreat, but were pushed back by a wall of their own kind, leaving no room for movement. Mercilessly, the goblins were pushed into the meat grinder. They were cut down, their numbers whittled down to half that of their original unit. The bodies of five thousand goblins now piled up along the entrance, creating a significant barrier that impeded both the demons’ advance and the Americans’ weapons. 

The sounds of gunfire suddenly stopped, providing a brief respite to the horde of demons. Their relief, however, was extremely brief. Innumerable detonations engulfed the mountainsides flanking the valley, sending rocks cascading down onto the trapped goblins below. The demon army suffered massive casualties, losing most of their frontline troops to the combination of explosions and crumbling mountainsides. Although relatively unscathed, the rear of the demon formation — which consisted primarily of orcs, orc kings, and Oni — were now trapped, unable to proceed with their assault. 

Baker moved a pair of binoculars away from his eyes, satisfied with the result of their operation. “Nakamoto, keep your eyes on them. If they start to retreat or break through the debris, you may authorize artillery fire on their positions.”

“Got it, sir.”

Baker then allowed his men to stand down and refresh. All they had to do now — unless the demons somehow figured out how to break past tons of rock — was wait for reinforcements to mop up the stragglers. To Baker’s confusion, he saw a red flare pop up in the distance, toward the northern wall. 

He searched for Mortes, who he eventually found scrambling to give orders to several knights. “Captain Mortes!” He called out. 

“Captain Baker?” Mortes squinted at the American, who was waving in the distance. “Thank the heavens! You’re just the man I needed to see.”

“What’s going on?” Baker asked. “What does that red flare mean?”

Mortes looked at Baker with horrified helplessness. “The northern gate is under attack!”

——

Author’s Note: 

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