Under the cover of naval bombardment, four Viper transport planes swiftly broke through the defenses along North Island's coastline, deploying a total of twenty-five suits of power armor at the airport.
Facing these heavily armed, vicious foes, the security company responsible for airport protection was routed almost the moment fighting began. They were defeated in a single exchange.
Muzzle flashes flickered incessantly around the airport perimeter, while trails of bullets crisscrossed the runway like impenetrable nets.
Huddled behind a square wall of sandbags, the platoon leader in body armor pressed his helmet tightly against the bags, not daring to raise his rifle above cover and return fire.
Not far beside him, a medic was treating a wounded man lying on a stretcher.
The casualty had lost half a leg in an explosion. His pale face was covered in sweat, and he gasped desperately like a stranded goldfish.
Gritting his teeth, the platoon leader roared into his radio.
"The outer defenses have collapsed! Their firepower is too strong! We need reinforcements!"
The other end of the radio was a chaotic mess. He waited for a long while without receiving any reply, hearing only a string of explosions.
"Damn it!"
The platoon leader cursed, clipped the radio back onto his shoulder, then crouched low and poked his rifle out from behind cover, spraying wildly toward the source of the enemy gunfire.
Yet before he could even fire two shots, two thick tracer rounds whistled past his barrel and slammed into the ground before him.
The shells were at least twenty millimeters wide. They ricocheted skyward the instant they struck the ground, but the roar of impact made his head ring.
Pebbles kicked up by the rounds splattered across his face. He cried out in pain and fell backward onto the ground.
"Ah—!!"