Time, time does not care—care who will die and who will live. Time: intangible, unknown. What is time?
Kyle questioned himself every day ever since he was chosen to lead the entry force of his employer.
He walked steadily forward, donning a trench coat that covered his body while a gas mask shielded and protected his face.
Behind him was the 2nd Panzer Army. Flanked by two of his advisors, the massive force moved across the French plains, ready for combat.
What stretched before him should have been the calm French countryside. He should have passed beautiful German cities; the grass should have been green and the trees alive with vibrant colors. But that was not what lay before his eyes. Instead, he walked upon ash-covered ground. Trees burned. Cities were reduced to nothingness. The sun could not penetrate the radiation clouds smothering the earth. The sound of massive shells pounding the land echoed in the distance as spaceships descended from above. This was not the Europe they remembered, nor the beautiful Earth they once knew. It was hell made manifest. This was the last war—the most destructive war in history. No one could escape the grasp of the blooming fires of war. There was no neutrality, no good or evil—only one side against the other.
It was World War Three.
"Sir, the enemy 3rd Mechanized Army is advancing from the north. How should we respond?" An Oberst approached him on a hoverbike, handing over a paper report.
Weak radios could not pierce the jamming mites both sides had released into the air; only powerful radio emitters could burn a path through the interference. Kyle issued his orders swiftly: the 2nd Panzer Army would move north to confront the enemy; the 182nd Airborne Battalion would sever their supply lines; the 46th Mechanized Army of the South would advance from the left flank; and the 6th Royal Navy would bombard the enemy from the sea.
He had seen many wars—old-world wars, wars where destructive magic existed, wars fought in shadows. He had seen them all. But this… this was a war that revolted even him. The orders were relayed without delay, and he boarded his personal tank.
He commanded the advance, and immediately the 2nd Panzer Division surged forward, accelerating to intercept the enemy's mechanized forces.
Suddenly, a massive siren wailed from the eastern horizon. Kyle shouted in horror, but it was already too late—the warning had come too late.
A blinding flash followed seconds later by a thunderous sonic boom signaled the detonation of a nuclear weapon nearby. To the east lay Refugee Camp Nova, established to shelter the innocent. It was annihilated in an instant. The realization drove commanders into fury, their eyes bloodshot as rage overtook them.
Driven by madness, the army advanced. Strategy soon became irrelevant. Tank crews fought on even as their vehicles were torn apart. When evacuation alarms sounded, when fire engulfed their machines, they continued firing shell after shell. In less than ten minutes, the enemy mechanized army was erased from existence.
Blood covered the battlefield. Kyle believed he would one day grow accustomed to the sight, but war offered no such mercy. Even after a century—after a time when he, when they all should have died—the war endured, and he still could not fathom the scale of death it had inflicted.
The year was 2115. On January 27th, Refugee Camp Nova was struck by a 50-megaton nuclear bomb, obliterating everything within a 50-kilometer radius and killing ten million refugees. Earth's population now stood at 790 million: 100 million active personnel, 400 million sheltered in bunkers, and 290 million hiding across the globe.
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"This is war. This is a war that must be won," Kyle declared to the assembled officers in the command center.
"Sir, the transportation device is operational. We are ready to launch Operation Xavier," shouted the commander-in-chief of the army.
Kyle nodded. He spoke first in a low voice, then with thunderous resolve: for every man killed, for every woman widowed, for every child orphaned, for every city destroyed, retribution would be returned a hundredfold if necessary. Their enemy had stepped upon the dragon's tail. Humanity had endured two world wars, and it would not falter now. They were the people of Earth.
The command center erupted in a unified salute and cry.
Kyle ordered preparations for invasion. He declared unrestricted warfare upon the enemy's planet—nuclear, chemical, biological, weapons of mass destruction. Any instrument of devastation was authorized. If it caused destruction, it would be used.
The year was 2115. On July 4th, the nations of Earth began their unified invasion into the enemy's timeline. The battle that would determine victor and vanquished would be fought there. The outcome remained unknown.
Yet to understand how this calamity began, one must traverse timelines—through histories not only of humanity, but of others as well. And this very life of his started with a sentence he would never forget: "Hello, Kyle. On behalf of the Confederation, congratulations on passing the test. Please prepare for teleportation," said an old man with a gentle smile :)