C64 Iron And Imperium

Alaric exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. He reached for his goblet, swirling the deep red wine before taking a slow sip.

"Then tell me, Falkner… why should we waste our resources on a losing war?"

The Foreign Minister bowed his head slightly.

"Because if we do nothing, Your Majesty, we risk emboldening the Imperator further. The more he takes, the stronger his empire becomes. If we sit idle while he reunifies Spartanum, we may find ourselves staring down his legions in the future."

Alaric considered this, his fingers drumming against the armrest.

"You make a fair point. But I will not send my finest steel and men to die for a doomed cause. If Lotharingia wants our support, they will have to settle for scraps."

Falkner nodded.

"Then what shall we provide?"

The king smirked.

"Send them a shipment of 160 outdated fighter biplanes. They will be obsolete against Spartanum's new fighter models whose blueprints Im still waiting on to be acquired..."

The king muttered clearly displeased that his spies have failed so far to deliver the bleuprint of TX1 Falcon Into his hands.

"... but they can at least harass supply lines. And provide them with 2,000 units of surplus infantry equipment. Enough to placate them, but not enough to make a real difference."

The king continued as he did Falkner bowed.

"As you command, Your Majesty. I will draft the arrangements immediately."

As the Foreign Minister turned to leave, Alaric's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"One more thing, Falkner. Send word to our spies in the Imperium. I want to know exactly how far along their war preparations have progressed. If the Imperator is planning something beyond Lotharingia, I want to know before the world does."

Falkner nodded once more.

"It will be done, Your Majesty."

As the minister departed, Alaric leaned forward, staring at the intelligence report once more.

"Enjoy your games while you can, little boy,"

He mused under his breath.

"One day, you will find that even the mightiest storms can be tamed."

...

May 1

The soil was tough, the earth hardened by years of peace that were now crumbling beneath the weight of the war machine.

My hands gripped the shovel as I drove it into the dirt, skin receiving healthy doze of vitamin c burning under the midday sun.

A cigar rested between my lips, the smoke curling upwards as I exhaled slowly. Around me, the legioneers of the First Infantry Legion dug alongside my personal Death Squad, their exoskeleton armor armored figures a contrast to my own bare torso that looked liek It had been sculpted by Hepheastus himself.

Whispers rippled through the ranks as the young and the old alike stole glances in my direction. It was one thing to hear about an Imperator leading from the front, another to see it with their own eyes.

"Is he really digging?"

A young legionnaire, barely eighteen, whispered to his companion, his voice laced with awe. He had been assigned to the First Infantry Legion only a month ago after signing up on his birthday, a fresh recruit still wet behind the ears.

"Of course he is, fool,"

A centurion muttered, pausing only long enough to wipe sweat from his brow. The veteran legioneer, built like a war beast, had served through the last campaign and bore the scars to prove it.

"That's why he's the Imperator. He doesn't just order us into the mud, he's right here beside us."

Another grizzled centurion, grinned as he rammed his spade into the ground.

"And here I thought you young pups had read your history. The first Imperator did the same. If the man wants trenches, he'll damn well dig them himself."

The younger legioneers watched in silence as I worked, my hands less blistered than theirs thanks to the genetic restructuring serum making my skin tougher, my sweat mixing with the dirt but the work I did was four times theirs at least.

As for why I was doing It? Well, because at heart I was a bonafied army grunt just like them, plus It was good for publicisity the reporters with the cameras rolling were proof of that.

And If I expected them to fight and die in these trenches, then the least I could do would be to be part of their struggle, no matter how small.

A gust of wind carried the scent of freshly turned soil and cigar smoke across the field. Somewhere in the distance, the rhythmic pounding of hammers echoed as fortifications were reinforced, the war machine in full motion.

The clanking of mechanized armor rumbled nearby, engineers working tirelessly to prepare for the battles ahead.

The Imperium had always been Intended for war, and now, it was sharpening its claws once again.

"Hey, Imperator!"

A bold young recruit called out, his face flushed with the reckless energy of youth.

"Why the hell are you out here with us poor grunts? Shouldn't you be in some grand hall planning our next conquest?"

I exhaled a cloud of smoke and leaned on my shovel, fixing him with a smirk.

"Because, boy, plans mean nothing if the men can't trust the one making them."

Laughter rippled through the ranks, but there was an undertone of respect in it. The young recruit, embarrassed but smiling, nodded before driving his shovel back into the dirt.

Klaus who was also digging trenches nearby chuckled, nudging Jacob.

"Bet you a week's rations the kid pisses himself the first time he hears artillery fire."

Jacob snorted.

"I'll take that bet. These young ones have more fire than you think."

A few feet away, another group of fresh faced recruits, barely a month past their eighteenth birthdays, labored with fervor.

Their eyes gleamed with anticipation, their muscles burned, but they pushed on, eager to prove themselves.

War was no longer an abstract tale of glory told in the barracks, it was now something they could taste in the dirt and sweat around them.

Then, with the swift grace of a shadow, Lucillia landed in the trench beside me. Her appearance had changed since her augmentation, her hair now bore streaks of emerald green, her eyes tinged with a depthless black.

She was taller too, standing at 165 centimeters, her figure curvier and firmier than ever. Despite her cold demeanor, her mere presence stirred whispers among the Legionnaires.

She dusted herself off and turned to me.

"An invitation to the Second Black Sun Kingdom's Naval Treaty has just been delivered to the Minister of Foreign Affairs."

Hearing this, I paused, sinking my shovel into the ground with a deliberate motion. My dog tags swayed between my broad chest, catching the light as I straightened, muscles flexing from the exertion.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Lucillia stealing a glance. She was subtle, almost imperceptible, but my augmented senses picked up on it.

Smirking, I turned slightly unable to fight off the urge to tease her.

"Like what you see?"

I teased, purposefully flexing my arms.

She scoffed, turning her head away with practiced indifference.

"What do you think, idiot?"

She muttered under her breath, barely audible. But I heard it. I snickered, shaking my head. Hmmm from the looks of It by the end of this year she should fully awaken.

"An invitation, huh?"

I mused, rubbing the sweat from my brow.

"Alright, let's go pay a visit to the Black Sun Kingdom, the current overlord of Gaia."

...

May 2.

The TX1 Falcon roared through the sky, its twin engines humming with controlled power as the now Squadron Commander Pebbles eased the stick, adjusting formation.

He glanced out of his canopy at the transport plane flying in the center of their protective formation, Imperial One, the modified Spartanum transport plane carrying the Imperator himself.

The sun glinted off the freshly painted kill marks on his fuselage, reminders of past engagements. Flying beside him in Second Flight, his former wingman Hammer, now a flight commander in his own right, crackled through the radio.

"Still getting used to this whole 'commanding my own flight' thing, Pebbles over"

Pebbles smirked.

"Told you it'd happen eventually. You're a natural over"

Before Hammer could reply, a new voice came through their encrypted channel, sharp, clipped, and unmistakably foreign.

"Imperial One, this is Black Sun Kingdom Royal Air Force. You are entering our airspace. Maintain current heading. We will escort you to your assigned airfield. over"

Pebbles switched frequencies to address the incoming squadron.

"Acknowledged, Black Sun. We're holding formation. See you at the airfield over"

As the new planes closed in, he got his first good look at them Spitfire Mk 1s, the current cutting edge air craft of the black sun kingdom.

Pebbles silently assessed them as they took position on the flanks of Imperial One. The contrast between their aircraft was stark.

The Spitfires were sleek, single engine machines, built for speed and agility, their long elliptical wings built to carve through the skies with unmatched grace.

In contrast, the TX1 Falcons were twin engine brutes, heavier, sturdier, designed for survivability and firepower.