Falcon City.
Atop the hundred-meter-high "river embankment."
Soldiers of the Falcon Kingdom crouched behind fortifications, waiting in grim readiness.
Several days earlier, The Alliance had announced that it would bomb Falcon City tonight, but it had not said which direction the air raid would come from.
There were only thirty-two anti-aircraft guns in all of Falcon City. Eight had been transferred to the royal palace in the city center, leaving only twenty-four scattered across the alloy wall stretching dozens of kilometers. The density of firepower was easy to imagine.
The officer responsible for the southeastern sector was Horet. Until a month ago, he had been a squad leader in the king's guard.
However, with the front lines under growing pressure, large numbers of officers from the retainer troops had been transferred into the regular legion ranks. In just one month, he had risen three ranks in succession, becoming a centurion in the city defense force.
His career had been smooth sailing, something that should have made him happy, yet he could not summon even the slightest optimism. Instead, his heart was filled with worry.
Until last month, his salary had been enough to keep his two wives and entire family fed and clothed. Now that he was a centurion and his pay had more than doubled, his large household could barely afford food and warmth.
This was an oasis, after all.
Even if every wastelander in the world went hungry, the people here should not have had to worry about food and drink.
It was all because of this damned war.
To drive away the gloom in his heart and force himself to stay alert, he walked onto the position and shouted at the top of his lungs.
"Everyone, stay alert! Keep your eyes wide open! The Alliance's aircraft will