"Pre-emptive war might fall within the framework of international law."

- Noam Chomsky

Gaia, "New Scandanavia", Northwestern New Pangaea. September 13th, 2038. 1200 hours.

The heavy snowstorm blanketed the jagged peaks of New Scandinavia with a near-blinding whiteness, whipping flurries of snow across the sky and casting the terrain below into obscurity. The engines of two Finnish AH-6i "Little Bird" scout helicopters roared against the howling wind as they flew side by side through the treacherous mountain range. Part of the 7th Control and Reporting Unit, these helicopters were tasked with scouting the area for potential threats. Following recent attacks on colonies in the Americas, Europe, and India, the Nordic coalition had mobilized its forces in full, determined to protect their fragile foothold on Gaia.

The mission was a grueling one, requiring constant vigilance. Inside the lead helicopter, Lieutenant Jukka Mäenpää gripped the flight controls tightly, his knuckles white beneath his gloves. The snowstorm battered the small craft, causing it to shudder with each powerful gust. Visibility was reduced to a few meters, forcing Jukka to rely almost entirely on his instruments.

"Paska, Steady...steady," Jukka muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm.

Beside him, Second Lieutenant Kosti Harjula was bent over the navigation console, his brow furrowed in concentration. The lack of GPS and rudimentary radio communications made their task daunting. Kosti continuously adjusted their course, using old-fashioned maps and triangulation to keep them from straying into dangerous terrain.

In the trailing helicopter, Lieutenant Pasi Mäkeläinen's voice crackled through the radio. "Eagle One, this is Eagle Two. Still no sign of hostiles on thermal. This storm is hell. We're running low on fuel. Should we return to base?"

Jukka glanced at his gauges before responding. "Negative, Eagle Two. We’ve got fifteen minutes to find something. If nothing shows by then, we’ll head back."

"Understood," Pasi replied, though his tone carried a hint of frustration.

For the next several minutes, the two helicopters weaved through the mountains, the relentless storm testing both the pilots' skills and their aircraft's endurance. Then, Kosti's voice broke the tense silence.

"Lieutenant! Thermal's picking up something—multiple heat sources. About 1.5 kilometers out, moving fast."

"Copy that," Jukka responded. "Eagle Two, we've got a reading. Moving to investigate."

Both helicopters banked towards the signal, their engines straining as they cut through the wind. As they closed the distance, the thermal signatures resolved into a group of large, horned, four-legged creatures moving swiftly across the snow. Even through the swirling storm, their thick, shaggy fur and massive builds were unmistakable—these were the yak-like creatures responsible for the deadly attack on the Tyresta Forest construction site months ago.

"Eagle One, visual confirmed," Pasi radioed. "Targets match previous reports. They're heading south—straight for New Scandinavia."

"Copy, Eagle Two. Standby," Jukka said, flipping a switch to attempt communication with the base. "Command, this is Eagle One. We've identified hostile entities moving towards New Scandinavia. Requesting immediate reinforcements. Over."

Only static greeted them, the storm's interference rendering communication impossible.

"Damn it!" Jukka slammed a fist against the console.

"What now?" Kosti asked, his voice taut with unease.

Jukka took a deep breath, weighing their options. Finally, he made his decision. "We can't let them reach the colony. If we wait, it’ll be too late. We're engaging."

"Engaging?" Kosti hesitated. "Jukka, we don’t have clearance for this. Our mission is recon!"

"And do you want New Scandinavia to end up like New Mumbai or New Europa?" Jukka shot back. "We have rockets; we use them. End of discussion."

Kosti bit his lip but nodded, preparing the weapon systems.

"All right, Eagle Two, we’re going in," Jukka said over the radio.

"Roger that," Pasi replied grimly.

The helicopters descended, flying low and slow to maximize accuracy. Jukka gripped the controls tightly, aligning his targeting reticle with the moving group of creatures. His finger hovered over the trigger on his joystick.

"Locked. Firing!"

With a press of the button, a barrage of Hydra 70 rockets streaked from the pods mounted beneath the helicopter’s stub wings. Trails of smoke cut through the storm as the rockets raced towards their targets, exploding in fiery bursts among the herd.

The initial explosions sent snow and debris flying in every direction. Several creatures were caught in the blasts, their massive bodies torn apart by shrapnel. Those on the fringes of the explosions staggered or tried to flee, but more rockets rained down, each detonation adding to the carnage. Blood stained the pristine snow, pooling around the mangled remains of the yak-like creatures.

In the second helicopter, Pasi and Usko joined the assault, their rockets striking the scattering survivors. Some of the creatures tried to fight back,...by letting out guttural roars to the sky, but they were no match for the relentless firepower.

After less than a minute, the helicopters had expended all 72 of their rockets. Smoke and steam rose from the battlefield below, mingling with the snowstorm. As the dust settled, the devastation became clear—dozens of lifeless bodies lay sprawled across the bloodied snow, their once-threatening advance reduced to chaos.

"Targets neutralized," Jukka announced, exhaling a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

"Eagle Two, status?"

"We're clear," Pasi confirmed. "Looks like the survivors are retreating. Heading back the way they came."

"Good. Let’s get back to base before we run dry," Jukka said.

As the helicopters turned back towards New Scandinavia, a heavy silence filled the cockpits. The mission had been a success—potentially saving hundreds, if not thousands, of lives—but the sight of the blood-soaked battlefield lingered in their minds.

"Do you think we did the right thing?" Kosti finally asked.

"We stopped a massacre," Jukka replied. "Sometimes, doing the right thing doesn't feel right."

With that, the two helicopters disappeared into the storm, leaving behind a battlefield that would stand as a grim reminder of the war's escalating stakes.

Stratusburg steppe, Southern Griffonian Empire. September 13th, 2038. 1900 hours.

The cold night sky over the Griffonian Empire's airspace was clear, with stars glimmering above and scattered clouds drifting lazily. The clock struck 7 p.m., but the air was alive with tension. Flying in thick and strict formations, thousands of Griffonian Imperial soldiers soared through the sky. Their wings flapped in rhythm, creating a mesmerizing cadence of flight. Beside them, the shadowy forms of massive airships floated like ominous titans. These flying behemoths, the pride of the Empire's engineering, were adorned with steel plates, golden crests, and rows of ballista mounted on their sides. Each airship flew a banner of the Empire—red, yellow and black, marked with the imperial griffon sigil.

The soldiers were armed with the best weapons their kind could forge. Long swords gleamed under moonlight, their edges sharp enough to cleave through bone. Repeater crossbows hung from their sides, designed for rapid fire. Some carried newly introduced black powder boomstick—primitive yet deadly, with barrels etched with imperial symbols. They felt invincible, the culmination of Griffonian ingenuity and might. To them, their wings and weapons were a testament to their superiority. The thought of facing the mysterious 'new species' filled them not with fear, but with anticipation.

Among the soldiers was Private Nightquill, a young griffon with a heart brimming with dreams of glory. Once a farmer tending to cockroach farms on his father’s land, he had traded his simple life for the promise of riches and adventure. The allure of plunder and victory had driven him to enlist. Tonight, he flew alongside his legion, feeling both excitement and a gnawing dread he dared not admit.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a trumpet. The commander general, clad in gilded armor and draped in a flowing silk robe, floated above the legion. His voice, deep and commanding, echoed across the formation.

“Soldiers of the Empire!” he roared. “Tonight, we march to punish those who dare trespass on our sacred lands. They have stolen our resources, mocked our sovereignty, and challenged the might of Griffonia. Show them no mercy! Teach these inferior beings the true power of the Empire!”

A thunderous "URAHH!" erupted from the legions, shaking the air. The soldiers' eyes gleamed with determination as they tightened their grips on their weapons.

But the rousing speech was cut short when strange shapes appeared in the distance, emerging from the clouds.

Nightquill squinted, trying to make out the objects. They were sleek and gray, shaped like birds but without flapping wings. Trails of light gleamed off their metallic surfaces as they moved with unnatural speed. Confusion spread through the ranks.

“What… what are those?” Nightquill muttered to himself.

Before anyone could answer, a thunderous roar pierced the air. One of the objects released a small, fiery cylinder that streaked toward the lead airship. The griffons watched in stunned silence as the projectile struck its target.

The explosion was deafening. Fire engulfed the airship’s hull, tearing through steel plates as if they were paper. The force of the blast sent debris raining down on the soldiers below. The once-proud titan groaned and began to fall, its fiery wreckage illuminating the night like a falling star.

Panic rippled through the formation. More of the objects appeared, their engines roaring like monsters from a nightmare. They circled the griffons' formation, releasing metallic cylinder that found their marks with terrifying precision. One by one, the airships exploded in fiery infernos. Shrapnel and burning wood rained from the skies, accompanied by the anguished cries of dying griffons.

Nightquill stared in horror as the flagship, the largest airship in the fleet, was struck by two strange projectile. The resulting explosion split the vessel in half, its broken remains plummeting to the ground below.

“Fight back!” the general bellowed, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “Use your crossbows! Bring them down!”

The soldiers obeyed, firing bolts and boomstick rounds at the the objects. But their weapons were futile. The steel monster moved too fast, their sleek forms disappearing into the clouds before the projectiles could reach them. Some griffons attempted to charge them directly, their powerful wings propelling them forward. They never got close. The steel monster responded with bursts of light, the tracer rounds streaking through the night like fiery serpents.

Nightquill watched in horror as his comrades were torn apart mid-flight. The tracer rounds punched through armor and flesh with ease, leaving behind trails of red mist. Feathers, blood, and broken bodies rained from the sky.

The general, still rallying his troops, was suddenly struck by a burst of gunfire. His body disintegrated in an explosion of gore, his golden armor falling to the ground in twisted fragments.

Nightquill, overwhelmed by fear, tried to escape. He climbed higher, hoping the clouds would shield him. But his desperate ascent was cut short when a stray missile shrapnel tore through the cloud bank and struck his wing. The force of the impact mangled his limb, sending him spiraling downward.

“Help me!” he screamed, his voice drowned out by the chaos.

But no one came. His comrades were too busy fleeing for their lives. As the ground rushed up to meet him, Nightquill’s mind raced with memories of his father’s farm and the simple life he had left behind. He closed his eyes just before impact.

His body hit the ground with a sickening splat, blood pooling around his broken form.

The battlefield was a scene of utter carnage. The grassy plains below were stained red with blood, littered with shattered armor, broken feathers, and dismembered limbs. Smoke from the destroyed airships mingled with the clouds, casting an eerie haze over the area.

The once-proud Griffonian Empire had suffered a devastating blow. Their mighty air legions lay in ruins, their airships reduced to smoldering wreckage. For the survivors, the rain of blood and broken feathers would forever mark this day as the beginning of the Empire’s downfall—a moment when their arrogance met the unrelenting might of humanity’s war machines.

Gaia, New Punjab, Southwestern New Pangaea. September 13th, 2038. 1500 hours.

The desert stretched endlessly, its golden sands shimmering under the blazing sun. The convoy of Hamza armored vehicles trudged across the barren expanse of Gaia’s southern desert, their steel hulls glinting in the sunlight. Each vehicle roared through the silence of the desert, kicking up massive plumes of dust that trailed behind them like ominous storm clouds. The air was thick with heat and the acrid scent of engine oil, a stark contrast to the serene and untouched landscape.

The Pakistani 9th Armored Scout Platoon had been deployed far from their colony, deep in uncharted territory claimed by their government. Their orders were clear: search and destroy all enemy positions. The recent attack on the Indian colony had thrown humanity into high alert. Every nation on Gaia began fortifying their colonies, preparing for war. For the Pakistani forces, this meant dismantling any alien infrastructure that could be used to stage an invasion or sustain enemy troops.

Captain Eraj Meghwar, a hardened veteran of Jammu-Kashmir conflict with sharp eyes and a grim demeanor, led the operation. His orders were unwavering—destroy Infrastructure, demolish farms, and ensure no structure remained standing. The goal was to cripple any potential enemy supply chains and deny them the ability to threaten human settlements. This was not a mission for negotiation or leniency; it was a brutal exercise in preemptive warfare.

As the convoy crested a dune, a small town emerged in the distance, its outline faintly shimmering in the heat haze. Eraj peered through his binoculars, his sharp gaze scanning the settlement. It was quaint, almost picturesque—a town seemingly lifted from a classic Western movie. Wooden buildings lined a dusty main street, and beyond the town, apple orchards stretched out into the desert like a stubborn oasis. A narrow railway ran into the town, a steam locomotive idling on its tracks. The town was an unexpected find in the arid expanse.

“Looks like a Wild West movie set,” remarked one soldier, his voice crackling over the comms. “All they’re missing is the tumbleweeds.”

“Focus,” Eraj snapped. “That’s infrastructure we can’t allow them to keep. Move in.”

The vehicles rolled forward, their engines roaring as they approached the outskirts of town. Eraj ordered the .50-caliber machine guns mounted on the vehicles to open fire, peppering the town with suppressive fire as the troops advanced. The wooden buildings splintered under the barrage, their primitive foundations reduced to rubble.

Dismounting from their vehicles, the soldiers fanned out, their rifles at the ready. They moved methodically, kicking open doors and clearing buildings. The Equine residents, caught in the chaos, scrambled for safety. Some attempted to fight back—armed with crude tools or improvised weapons—but they were no match for the disciplined soldiers and their advanced weaponry. A few daring Equines lunged at the humans, only to be gunned down without hesitation.

One such Equine, a burly stallion, charged at a soldier wielding a pitchfork. He was met with a burst of gunfire, his body crumpling to the ground. Beside him, a mare shielded a foal, trembling as she pleaded for mercy. When the soldiers approached, she attempted to resist, only to be shot in front of the child. The foal’s cries echoed through the carnage, a haunting reminder of the cost of war.

Eraj’s orders were executed with ruthless efficiency. The train station was demolished with RPGs, the locomotive reduced to a smoldering heap of twisted metal. C4 eplosives were planted on water wells, collapsing them into the earth. The apple orchards—lifelines of the town—were set ablaze, their thick smoke billowing into the sky. Soldiers moved through the fields with flamethrowers, ensuring no tree was left standing.

Inside the town, buildings were ransacked and then torched. Any Equine attempting to interfere met a swift and merciless end. Eraj personally oversaw the destruction, his expression cold and unyielding. He knew the importance of this mission; sentimentality had no place here.

In one harrowing moment, a soldier dragged an elderly mare from a building, her frail body trembling with fear. She clutched a small satchel of apples, her only possession. The soldier snatched it from her hands and tossed it aside before pushing her into the growing crowd of captives.

By the end of the operation, the surviving Equines were herded into the town center. They huddled together, their faces etched with fear and despair. Many wept openly, their cries mingling with the crackling of flames and the distant rumble of retreating vehicles.

One Equine, a young yellow stallion, broke from the group in a desperate attempt to escape. He didn’t make it far before a single gunshot rang out, his body collapsing into the dust. The soldiers barely reacted, resuming their tasks with cold detachment.

Author's notes : Listen guys, I have no personal hatred towards Applejack cousins.)

Eraj surveyed the gathered Equines, his expression unreadable. When a soldier asked what should be done with them, he simply replied, “Leave them. We’re not executioners.” He didn’t care about their survival; his decision was pragmatic. Ammunition was too valuable to waste on unarmed prisoners.

As the convoy departed, the town burned behind them, its once-thriving orchards reduced to ash. The Equines watched in stunned silence, tears streaming down their faces as their home was consumed by flames. For a brief moment, they believed they were safe—spared from death.

But the reality was far crueler. With their wells destroyed and their crops incinerated, the survivors faced an agonizing death from starvation and dehydration. The railway’s destruction cut them off from aid, leaving them stranded in an unforgiving desert. By the time Equestria reestablished contact with Appleloosa, most of its inhabitants were dead, their skeletal remains a grim testament to the horrors of war.

The devastation of Appleloosa marked another chapter in humanity’s brutal campaign for survival. The Equines learned that mercy was a fleeting illusion, and the humans were willing to go to any lengths to secure their place on Gaia. For Eraj and his soldiers, it was just another mission—a necessary step in a war that just started.

Author's Note

Inspiration from the countries in this setting.

Equestria = British Empire and America.
Yakyakistan = ancient Vikings.
Crystal Empire = Canada.
Griffonian Empire = Prussia, Russian Empire, Roman Empire.
Kirian Dynasty = Qing Dynasty.
Buffalo tribes = Native American.
Zerba Tribes = Tureg, Zulu, native Australian.
Minotaur = Polynesian.
Yeti = Central Africans.
Hippogriffia = Madagascar, Boer south Africa.
Centaur = Mongolian, Kazak, Tajik, Afghan.
Diamond Dog = New Yorker subway resident.
Klugentown = Singaporean.
Polar Bear = Native Alaskan.
Abyssinian = Ethiopian.
Maregypt = Ancient Egypt.
Saddle Arabia = ancient Arabias.
Olenia = Karelian, Finland.
Penguin = New Zealand.
Dragon = average Detroit.
Eastern Tribes = Malay.

I'm going offline for a week, I have college stuff to do, I'll upload again on February 7th