Operation Dawn Gate: First Wave {{user}} is part of the first wave entering the Gate to Eryndor. [Location: Forward Staging Ground, Red Square, Moskva] [Operation Codename: DAWN GATE] [Time: 0400 Hours, Local]

The air stinks of diesel and snow. The Gate looms in front of you, its quartz pillars are not of this world, humming like a reactor that shouldn’t exist. Snow melts in a perfect circle around it, steam hissing where the light touches.

You’re packed in with your squad inside a BTR-82, rifle checked, supplies checked. Commander Nikolai Makarov’s voice crackles in your headset:

“First wave, move up. Expect resistance. God is with us.”

You catch someone beside you whisper, “Hey, you think there’ll be cat-girls out there?”

Then the BTR lurches forward, and the world turns black as it enters the Gate. For a heartbeat, gravity ceases. Your body dissolves, atom by atom, through static and lightning.

When you open your eyes again— dink —arrows slam against the armor. The driver shouts, “We disembark here! Take cover!” The side doors drop, dust and heat pouring in. Outside, chaos reigns, infantry crouched behind smoking wall, T-80BVMs and BTR-82s firing, the air alive with gunfire and coordination.

They came in waves. Primitive soldiers in sword and bow and magic, chanting in languages no one knew. Behind them, beast with wings, golems, something that screamed like metal being torn apart. For 3 hours, the world is noise. Then it’s over.

[Day 1, Hour 7]

The gate perimeter is secure. The enemy is gone, retreated or annihilated. Bodies litter the field, both human and… not. Command calls the area “Sector One.” The official report says; two tanks were a total lost after being crushed by golem stampade. Overall, 27 KIA, minimal casualties.

By nightfall, engineers roll in with prefabs and heavy equipment. Generators hum, searchlights stab the darkness. The soldiers call the place “Zapad” the West, since apparently the gate appears on the most west part of Han-Hai Khanate.

[Day 9]

Zapad is now more than tents. Steel walls rise, trenches carve through alien soil. Scientists argue over germs. The locals keep their distance, except for one incident, a patrol ambushed by mounted warriors flying banners marked with a black sun. Command calls them “Erebys remnants.”

The news never reaches the press. Officially, everything’s “stable.”

[Day 24]

The nights here have two moons and stars that never move. Radios still cut out near the Gate; drones lose feed beyond twenty kilometers.

The locals you’ve captured talk of “Orienthia,” They think Earth’s soldiers are angels, or demons. They think you are here to liberate them from the demons.

[Day 56]

A convoy from Earth arrives through the Gate: food, medics, journalists, politicians. They film themselves in front of the walls, calling it “Humanity’s Frontier.” Then they leave before nightfall. No one tells them about the things you experienced beyond the perimeter.

[Day 90 – Three Months Later]

Base Zapad stands complete: concrete walls, radar towers, Anti-air batterys, an airfield and the Gate sealed within a blast dome. The Russian tricolor flaps. The air smells of oil, sweat, and ozone.

[Day 91]

After three months of patrols and skirmishes, you finally receive new orders. Command calls you in personally “quiet diplomacy,” they say. The Han-Hai Khanate, one of the eastern powers of Eryndor, has already sent a delegation to Base Zapad A week prior. Now, Russia is returning the gesture.

The command building smells like fresh paint, paper, and stress. Maps of Eryndor’s eastern plains hang across the wall — half are printed satellite scans, half are hand-drawn in pencil. The red string between them looks like the nervous system of a dying world.

Captain Sokol sits behind a table covered in reports and cold coffee. His expression doesn’t change when you step in and salute.

Captain Sokol: “At ease, Lieutenant. I’ve read your patrol reports. Clean work. No unnecessary losses — I appreciate that.”

He leans back, rubbing his temple.

Captain Sokol: “Now we’re done chasing shadows. Command’s moving to diplomacy. The Han-Hai Khanate sent an envoy A week ago — we’re returning the courtesy.” “You’ll lead the escort. Third Expeditionary Squad. Diplomat Natalia Sergeyevna Volkova, accompanied by her secretary, Irina Pavlovna.”

He slides a folder across the table. Inside: mission route, convoy roster, and a photo of the diplomat — calm eyes, professional smile.

Captain Sokol: “You’ll take one KamAZ Typhoon with RCWS and two Tigrs for escort and recon. It will be an experiment — to see if diplomacy still means something past the Gate.”

He studies you for a long moment.

Captain Sokol: “This isn’t just another patrol, Lieutenant. The Khanate respects strength and hates dishonor. If something goes wrong, may god help us all. You understand?”

You nod.

That earns a faint smirk from him — almost approval, almost pity.

Captain Sokol: “Good. You’ll move at dawn. Keep comms tight, and don’t let the diplomat out of your sight. If it turns bad, our SU-34 will take care of their capital."

He stands, straightens his uniform, and offers a handshake — rare from a man like him.

Captain Sokol: "Lieutenant, You're free to take as many weapons you need with you. We don't know much what's out there." “Make us look like we belong here, Lieutenant. Not like invaders.”

You shake his hand. His grip is firm, cold, and final.

Captain Sokol: "Go to Garage 3, your squad is waiting."

Outside, the dawn over Base Zapad burns red — a color that looks far too familiar now. Your squad waits in Garage 3. It’s not a mission anymore. It’s the start of something the world hasn’t decided to call peace or war.

Operation Dawn Gate: First Wave {{user}} is part of the first wave entering the Gate to Eryndor. [Location: Forward Staging Ground, Red Square, Moskva] [Operation Codename: DAWN GATE] [Time: 0400 Hours, Local]

The air stinks of diesel and snow. The Gate looms in front of you, its quartz pillars are not of this world, humming like a reactor that shouldn’t exist. Snow melts in a perfect circle around it, steam hissing where the light touches.

You’re packed in with your squad inside a BTR-82, rifle checked, supplies checked. Commander Nikolai Makarov’s voice crackles in your headset:

“First wave, move up. Expect resistance. God is with us.”

You catch someone beside you whisper, “Hey, you think there’ll be cat-girls out there?”

Then the BTR lurches forward, and the world turns black as it enters the Gate. For a heartbeat, gravity ceases. Your body dissolves, atom by atom, through static and lightning.

When you open your eyes again— dink —arrows slam against the armor. The driver shouts, “We disembark here! Take cover!” The side doors drop, dust and heat pouring in. Outside, chaos reigns, infantry crouched behind smoking wall, T-80BVMs and BTR-82s firing, the air alive with gunfire and coordination.

They came in waves. Primitive soldiers in sword and bow and magic, chanting in languages no one knew. Behind them, beast with wings, golems, something that screamed like metal being torn apart. For 3 hours, the world is noise. Then it’s over.

[Day 1, Hour 7]

The gate perimeter is secure. The enemy is gone, retreated or annihilated. Bodies litter the field, both human and… not. Command calls the area “Sector One.” The official report says; two tanks were a total lost after being crushed by golem stampade. Overall, 27 KIA, minimal casualties.

By nightfall, engineers roll in with prefabs and heavy equipment. Generators hum, searchlights stab the darkness. The soldiers call the place “Zapad” the West, since apparently the gate appears on the most west part of Han-Hai Khanate.

[Day 9]

Zapad is now more than tents. Steel walls rise, trenches carve through alien soil. Scientists argue over germs. The locals keep their distance, except for one incident, a patrol ambushed by mounted warriors flying banners marked with a black sun. Command calls them “Erebys remnants.”

The news never reaches the press. Officially, everything’s “stable.”

[Day 24]

The nights here have two moons and stars that never move. Radios still cut out near the Gate; drones lose feed beyond twenty kilometers.

The locals you’ve captured talk of “Orienthia,” They think Earth’s soldiers are angels, or demons. They think you are here to liberate them from the demons.

[Day 56]

A convoy from Earth arrives through the Gate: food, medics, journalists, politicians. They film themselves in front of the walls, calling it “Humanity’s Frontier.” Then they leave before nightfall. No one tells them about the things you experienced beyond the perimeter.

[Day 90 – Three Months Later]

Base Zapad stands complete: concrete walls, radar towers, Anti-air batterys, an airfield and the Gate sealed within a blast dome. The Russian tricolor flaps. The air smells of oil, sweat, and ozone.

[Day 91]

After three months of patrols and skirmishes, you finally receive new orders. Command calls you in personally “quiet diplomacy,” they say. The Han-Hai Khanate, one of the eastern powers of Eryndor, has already sent a delegation to Base Zapad A week prior. Now, Russia is returning the gesture.

The command building smells like fresh paint, paper, and stress. Maps of Eryndor’s eastern plains hang across the wall — half are printed satellite scans, half are hand-drawn in pencil. The red string between them looks like the nervous system of a dying world.

Captain Sokol sits behind a table covered in reports and cold coffee. His expression doesn’t change when you step in and salute.

Captain Sokol: “At ease, Lieutenant. You’re going south. Command’s decided it’s time to ‘civilize relations’ with the Mare Nostrum Empire.”

He drops a folder onto the desk — embossed with the empire’s sigil: a sun half-eclipsed by blood. Sent by their envoy a week ago

Captain Sokol: “They’re calling it diplomacy. I call it walking into a snake pit. You’ll lead the escort: one KamAZ Typhoon and two Tigrs. the route mostly paved by their standards. You’ll travel overland through the border corridor. Expect checkpoints, parades, and probably an ambush disguised as a welcome.”

He flicks open the folder. Inside: glossy photos of marble-white cities and crimson banners, population notes, and a formal invitation written in flawless Old Latin.

Captain Sokol: “Right, the diplomats. Natalia Sergeyevna Volkova and her secretary, Irina Pavlovna. Their emperor’s council wants to discuss trade rights, non-aggression, and whatever else they think will keep our guns pointed elsewhere. You’ll make sure they get there breathing and leave the same way.”

He gestures to the map, his tone turning dry.

Captain Sokol: “The Mare Nostrum Empire looks civilized, but don’t let the marble fool you. Their streets are clean because they bury everything that stains. Keep your helmets on, keep your lights off after dusk, and don’t take invitations to wine after sunset. Especially from senators.”

You raise an eyebrow.

{{user}}: “Vampires, sir?”

He gives a humorless smile.

Captain Sokol: “Rumors. Two scouts went MIA there. If anything with perfect teeth offers hospitality, decline politely and keep walking.”

He slides over a sealed envelope stamped with the expedition crest.

Captain Sokol: “You’ll leave at 0500. Drive hard, stay unpredictable. Once you cross the river frontier, their patrols will shadow you to the capital. Don’t engage unless fired upon — we’re the guests this time. Try not to start another empire’s collapse on the way.”

You nod, tucking the orders under your arm.

Captain Sokol chuckles — a short, tired sound.

Captain Sokol: “Good answer. And Lieutenant—keep your people sharp. The Mare Nostrum like their diplomacy the way they like their wine: with a little blood in it.”

He extends his hand. You shake it — cold, brief, final. Outside, your convoy awaits in Garage 3. The southern wind smells of salt, marble dust, and something older than politics.

Operation Dawn Gate: First Wave {{user}} is part of the first wave entering the Gate to Eryndor. [Location: Forward Staging Ground, Red Square, Moskva] [Operation Codename: DAWN GATE] [Time: 0400 Hours, Local]

The air stinks of diesel and snow. The Gate looms in front of you, its quartz pillars are not of this world, humming like a reactor that shouldn’t exist. Snow melts in a perfect circle around it, steam hissing where the light touches.

You’re packed in with your squad inside a BTR-82, rifle checked, supplies checked. Commander Nikolai Makarov’s voice crackles in your headset:

“First wave, move up. Expect resistance. God is with us.”

You catch someone beside you whisper, “Hey, you think there’ll be cat-girls out there?”

Then the BTR lurches forward, and the world turns black as it enters the Gate. For a heartbeat, gravity ceases. Your body dissolves, atom by atom, through static and lightning.

When you open your eyes again— dink —arrows slam against the armor. The driver shouts, “We disembark here! Take cover!” The side doors drop, dust and heat pouring in. Outside, chaos reigns, infantry crouched behind smoking wall, T-80BVMs and BTR-82s firing, the air alive with gunfire and coordination.

They came in waves. Primitive soldiers in sword and bow and magic, chanting in languages no one knew. Behind them, beast with wings, golems, something that screamed like metal being torn apart. For 3 hours, the world is noise. Then it’s over.

[Day 1, Hour 7]

The gate perimeter is secure. The enemy is gone, retreated or annihilated. Bodies litter the field, both human and… not. Command calls the area “Sector One.” The official report says; two tanks were a total lost after being crushed by golem stampade. Overall, 27 KIA, minimal casualties.

By nightfall, engineers roll in with prefabs and heavy equipment. Generators hum, searchlights stab the darkness. The soldiers call the place “Zapad” the West, since apparently the gate appears on the most west part of Han-Hai Khanate.

[Day 9]

Zapad is now more than tents. Steel walls rise, trenches carve through alien soil. Scientists argue over germs. The locals keep their distance, except for one incident, a patrol ambushed by mounted warriors flying banners marked with a black sun. Command calls them “Erebys remnants.”

The news never reaches the press. Officially, everything’s “stable.”

[Day 24]

The nights here have two moons and stars that never move. Radios still cut out near the Gate; drones lose feed beyond twenty kilometers.

The locals you’ve captured talk of “Orienthia,” They think Earth’s soldiers are angels, or demons. They think you are here to liberate them from the demons.

[Day 56]

A convoy from Earth arrives through the Gate: food, medics, journalists, politicians. They film themselves in front of the walls, calling it “Humanity’s Frontier.” Then they leave before nightfall. No one tells them about the things you experienced beyond the perimeter.

[Day 90 – Three Months Later]

Base Zapad stands complete: concrete walls, radar towers, Anti-air batterys, an airfield and the Gate sealed within a blast dome. The Russian tricolor flaps. The air smells of oil, sweat, and ozone.

[Day 91]

After three months of patrols and skirmishes, you finally receive new orders. Command calls you in personally “quiet diplomacy,” they say. The Han-Hai Khanate, one of the eastern powers of Eryndor, has already sent a delegation to Base Zapad A week prior. Now, Russia is returning the gesture.

The command building smells like fresh paint, paper, and stress. Maps of Eryndor’s eastern plains hang across the wall — half are printed satellite scans, half are hand-drawn in pencil. The red string between them looks like the nervous system of a dying world.

Captain Sokol sits behind a table covered in reports and cold coffee. His expression doesn’t change when you step in and salute.

Captain Sokol: “At ease, Lieutenant. You’ve just been volunteered for a diplomatic stunt. The target is—” he taps the map “—Parvateshwara Commonwealth. The monks with machine minds.”

He slides the dossier your way — red stamp, Priority One.

Captain Sokol: “They’ve requested a meeting. Apparently, our last drone survey crossed into their ‘sacred sky’ and offended their gods. Command wants this fixed before someone starts a holy war over airspace.”

“You’ll escort Diplomat Natalia Sergeyevna and her secretary, Irina Pavlovna, to Parvateshwara’s capital citadel. You’ll take your usual eight, one KamAZ Typhoon MRAP, and two GAZ Tigrs. Route will be part airlift, part mountain convoy.”

He gestures to the flight plan pinned beside the map — a zigzag of misery.

Captain Sokol: “Two Il-76 transports will carry your vehicles and gear to an allied forward base at the mountain’s foot. From there, you’ll ascend by road convoy under local escort. Expect rough terrain, thin air, and colder hospitality.”

You nod

Captain Sokol: “Your objective. Simple on paper, hard in practice. Secure safe transit. Protect the diplomats. Convince the Grand Lama-Engineer that we didn’t mean to trespass in their divine airspace.” He snorts. “Maybe they’ll forgive us. Maybe they’ll try to bless you with a rock.”

He leans forward, tone sharpening.

Captain Sokol: “Remember, these aren’t savages. They’re engineers, priests, and zealots rolled into one. They’ll notice if your boots are dirty, and they’ll remember it for decades. Treat them like equals, not primitives. They think they’re the chosen of their gods — humor them.”

You give a curt nod.

That earns a faint smirk from him.

Captain Sokol: “Exactly. Depart at 0500. Weather briefing at 0300. You’ll need cold-weather gear and high-altitude med packs. Try not to pick a fight with anyone carrying a prayer wheel.”

He extends his hand again — firm, cold, final.

Captain Sokol: “Bring the diplomat back breathing. And don’t let the monks baptize you in lava. I don’t want to fill out that paperwork.”

Outside, Base Zapad’s floodlights flicker against the mist. Somewhere beyond the Gate, mountains wait — endless stone spires where faith and machine fuse into something less than divine and more than human. You tuck the orders under your arm, and the air already feels thinner.

Operation Dawn Gate: First Wave {{user}} is part of the first wave entering the Gate to Eryndor. [Location: Forward Staging Ground, Red Square, Moskva] [Operation Codename: DAWN GATE] [Time: 0400 Hours, Local]

The air stinks of diesel and snow. The Gate looms in front of you, its quartz pillars are not of this world, humming like a reactor that shouldn’t exist. Snow melts in a perfect circle around it, steam hissing where the light touches.

You’re packed in with your squad inside a BTR-82, rifle checked, supplies checked. Commander Nikolai Makarov’s voice crackles in your headset:

“First wave, move up. Expect resistance. God is with us.”

You catch someone beside you whisper, “Hey, you think there’ll be cat-girls out there?”

Then the BTR lurches forward, and the world turns black as it enters the Gate. For a heartbeat, gravity ceases. Your body dissolves, atom by atom, through static and lightning.

When you open your eyes again— dink —arrows slam against the armor. The driver shouts, “We disembark here! Take cover!” The side doors drop, dust and heat pouring in. Outside, chaos reigns, infantry crouched behind smoking wall, T-80BVMs and BTR-82s firing, the air alive with gunfire and coordination.

They came in waves. Primitive soldiers in sword and bow and magic, chanting in languages no one knew. Behind them, beast with wings, golems, something that screamed like metal being torn apart. For 3 hours, the world is noise. Then it’s over.

[Day 1, Hour 7]

The gate perimeter is secure. The enemy is gone, retreated or annihilated. Bodies litter the field, both human and… not. Command calls the area “Sector One.” The official report says; two tanks were a total lost after being crushed by golem stampade. Overall, 27 KIA, minimal casualties.

By nightfall, engineers roll in with prefabs and heavy equipment. Generators hum, searchlights stab the darkness. The soldiers call the place “Zapad” the West, since apparently the gate appears on the most west part of Han-Hai Khanate.

[Day 9]

Zapad is now more than tents. Steel walls rise, trenches carve through alien soil. Scientists argue over germs. The locals keep their distance, except for one incident, a patrol ambushed by mounted warriors flying banners marked with a black sun. Command calls them “Erebys remnants.”

The news never reaches the press. Officially, everything’s “stable.”

[Day 24]

The nights here have two moons and stars that never move. Radios still cut out near the Gate; drones lose feed beyond twenty kilometers.

The locals you’ve captured talk of “Orienthia,” They think Earth’s soldiers are angels, or demons. They think you are here to liberate them from the demons.

[Day 56]

A convoy from Earth arrives through the Gate: food, medics, journalists, politicians. They film themselves in front of the walls, calling it “Humanity’s Frontier.” Then they leave before nightfall. No one tells them about the things you experienced beyond the perimeter.

[Day 90 – Three Months Later]

Base Zapad stands complete: concrete walls, radar towers, Anti-air batterys, an airfield and the Gate sealed within a blast dome. The Russian tricolor flaps. The air smells of oil, sweat, and ozone.

[Day 91]

After three months of patrols and skirmishes, you finally receive new orders. Command calls you in personally “quiet diplomacy,” they say. The Han-Hai Khanate, one of the eastern powers of Eryndor, has already sent a delegation to Base Zapad A week prior. Now, Russia is returning the gesture.

The command building smells like fresh paint, paper, and stress. Maps of Eryndor’s eastern plains hang across the wall — half are printed satellite scans, half are hand-drawn in pencil. The red string between them looks like the nervous system of a dying world.

Captain Sokol sits behind a table covered in reports and cold coffee. His expression doesn’t change when you step in and salute.

Captain Sokol: “At ease, Lieutenant. New orders came down two hours ago. Command wants a courteous showing of hands, not a battering ram.” “You’re escorting Natalia Sergeyevna Volkova and her secretary, Irina Pavlovna, to Nusantara.”

He taps the diagram — two Il-76 heavy transports annotated with load plans.

Captain Sokol: “Your vehicles — one KamAZ Typhoon MRAP and two GAZ Tigrs — will be flown in by two Il-76s. You’ll airlift into a secure LZ just outside Nusantara’s capital, dismount, and proceed by ground convoy to the city proper under local coordination. Airlift happens at 0600, departure immediate thereafter. Understand the timeline?”

You nod.

Captain Sokol: “the LZ already prepared, link up with Nusantara liaisons, then escort the diplomat to the capital. Keep her safe, keep incidents zero, handoff to their authorities when required.”

Captain Sokol studies you — slow, assessing.

Captain Sokol: "Nusantara respects ceremony and openness; they also run a tight academy system. They don’t react well to loud surprises. You’ll coordinate with our cultural attaché and Nusantara’s protocol officers before entering the city. If the welcome cools, don’t escalate. Call me; I’ll decide.”

*He slides another paper across: an air-ops checklist and a stamped note — Priority: Diplomatic Integrity. Minimize Force Presence. *

Captain Sokol: “You depart in six hours. Two Il-76s will carry the convoy vehicles and most of your gear. The KamAZ will be secured to the pallet system — Alexei will ride manifest for immediate field repairs if anything goes wrong. Pavel, will brief air navigation with flight crew.”

You feel the weight of it: planes, islands, rituals, and the diplomatic tightrope stretched over an ocean. Captain Sokol stands and offers the handshake that means business and no small amount of threat.

Captain Sokol: “Bring them back with the dignity of a proper escort and the speed of a clean withdrawal. Nusantara must leave thinking we were guests, not conquerors.”

You nod, pocket the folder, and leave the building with the route in your head and two Il-76s’ already waiting in hangar 2.

Operation Dawn Gate: First Wave {{user}} is part of the first wave entering the Gate to Eryndor. [Location: Forward Staging Ground, Red Square, Moskva] [Operation Codename: DAWN GATE] [Time: 0400 Hours, Local]

The air stinks of diesel and snow. The Gate looms in front of you, its quartz pillars are not of this world, humming like a reactor that shouldn’t exist. Snow melts in a perfect circle around it, steam hissing where the light touches.

You’re packed in with your squad inside a BTR-82, rifle checked, supplies checked. Commander Nikolai Makarov’s voice crackles in your headset:

“First wave, move up. Expect resistance. God is with us.”

You catch someone beside you whisper, “Hey, you think there’ll be cat-girls out there?”

Then the BTR lurches forward, and the world turns black as it enters the Gate. For a heartbeat, gravity ceases. Your body dissolves, atom by atom, through static and lightning.

When you open your eyes again— dink —arrows slam against the armor. The driver shouts, “We disembark here! Take cover!” The side doors drop, dust and heat pouring in. Outside, chaos reigns, infantry crouched behind smoking wall, T-80BVMs and BTR-82s firing, the air alive with gunfire and coordination.

They came in waves. Primitive soldiers in sword and bow and magic, chanting in languages no one knew. Behind them, beast with wings, golems, something that screamed like metal being torn apart. For 3 hours, the world is noise. Then it’s over.

[Day 1, Hour 7]

The gate perimeter is secure. The enemy is gone, retreated or annihilated. Bodies litter the field, both human and… not. Command calls the area “Sector One.” The official report says; two tanks were a total lost after being crushed by golem stampade. Overall, 27 KIA, minimal casualties.

By nightfall, engineers roll in with prefabs and heavy equipment. Generators hum, searchlights stab the darkness. The soldiers call the place “Zapad” the West, since apparently the gate appears on the most west part of Han-Hai Khanate.

[Day 9]

Zapad is now more than tents. Steel walls rise, trenches carve through alien soil. Scientists argue over germs. The locals keep their distance, except for one incident, a patrol ambushed by mounted warriors flying banners marked with a black sun. Command calls them “Erebys remnants.”

The news never reaches the press. Officially, everything’s “stable.”

[Day 24]

The nights here have two moons and stars that never move. Radios still cut out near the Gate; drones lose feed beyond twenty kilometers.

The locals you’ve captured talk of “Orienthia,” They think Earth’s soldiers are angels, or demons. They think you are here to liberate them from the demons.

[Day 56]

A convoy from Earth arrives through the Gate: food, medics, journalists, politicians. They film themselves in front of the walls, calling it “Humanity’s Frontier.” Then they leave before nightfall. No one tells them about the things you experienced beyond the perimeter.

[Day 90 – Three Months Later]

Base Zapad stands complete: concrete walls, radar towers, Anti-air batterys, an airfield and the Gate sealed within a blast dome. The Russian tricolor flaps. The air smells of oil, sweat, and ozone.

[Day 91]

After three months of patrols and skirmishes, you finally receive new orders. Command calls you in personally “quiet diplomacy,” they say. The Han-Hai Khanate, one of the eastern powers of Eryndor, has already sent a delegation to Base Zapad A week prior. Now, Russia is returning the gesture.

The command building smells like fresh paint, paper, and stress. Maps of Eryndor’s eastern plains hang across the wall — half are printed satellite scans, half are hand-drawn in pencil. The red string between them looks like the nervous system of a dying world.

Captain Sokol sits behind a table covered in reports and cold coffee. His expression doesn’t change when you step in and salute.

Captain Sokol: “At ease, Lieutenant. You and your squad are getting on a plane.”

He slides the dossier across the table. The seal bears the sun-and-sickle insignia of the Sultanate, pressed in gold ink. Sent by their envoy a week ago.

Captain Sokol: “The Zahari Sultanate has agreed to a formal reception. The Sultan himself requested a meeting with Earth’s representatives. Don’t ask me why — probably wants to weigh our guns before he buys our friendship.”

He taps the itinerary — a straight flight route marked in red across the gate’s map grid.

Captain Sokol: “You’ll airlift out via two Il-76 transports to the Zahari airfield north of the capital, Zaharat al-Qamar. That’s desert country. No refuel stops, no soft landings. Your KamAZ Typhoon and two Tigrs will go with you.

“Once you land, reassemble the convoy and proceed under local escort to the Sultan’s palace for formal introductions. Expect ceremonial nonsense and heatstroke in equal measure.”

He folds his arms, watching you with a flat expression.

Captain Sokol: “The Zahari Sultanate is proud, rich, and dangerously curious about us. They see our weapons as divine craftsmanship — and they see our arrogance as sin. Be polite, be humble.“

He flips a page — a photo of the Sultan’s court: gilded armor, silken robes, soldiers with eyes like predators.

Captain Sokol: “You’ll escort Diplomat Natalia Sergeyevna Volkova and her secretary, Irina Pavlovna. They’ll handle the words. You handle everything that threaten them. Understood?”

You nod, straight-backed.

Sokol gives a slow nod, lighting a cigarette despite the “No Smoking” sign on his desk.

Captain Sokol: “Good. Remember — this isn’t some jungle tribe or broken khanate. These people built cities out of glass and sand while half the world was still crawling through mud. Show respect, but don’t let them think they own you.”

“The Sultan’s people are polite until they’re not. If something feels wrong, it is. Keep comms open and don’t split the convoy. Their desert has a way of swallowing those who wander off.”

He crushes the cigarette in an empty mug and extends his hand.

Captain Sokol: “Wheels up at 0500 tomorrow. It’s your first dance with royalty, Lieutenant.”

You salute, take the dossier, and step out into the blazing air of Base Zapad. Engines thunder in the hangars; two Il-76s wait in the hangar 2, their ramps opens loading supplies.