North of Florida, along the Georgia border.
A trench network stretched for dozens of kilometers across the plains, with layer upon layer of barbed wire coiled like venomous snakes and minefields covering the open ground.
The muzzles of Maxim heavy machine guns gleamed coldly inside concealed bunkers, while the barrels of 75 mm field guns rose high, aimed straight south.
This was the defensive line built by the Beautiful Country, and its last great barrier against the northward advance of the Ten Thousand Worlds Ninja Nation.
Inside the trenches, soldiers in khaki uniforms gripped their Springfield M1903 bolt-action rifles, fingers on the triggers and eyes filled with tension.
In their hands were the finest infantry weapons of the era, and behind them stood Renault FT light tanks, hailed as the "kings of land warfare."
Their ammunition depots held enough explosive shells to blanket the entire plain, along with several tons of mustard gas shells!
The military brass had confidently guaranteed that this trench system, which had ground hundreds of thousands of men to death on the battlefield, would make any invader bleed rivers.
Unlike the soldiers clinging to their last hope, the elites in the Capitol and the White House knew that this supposedly "impregnable" line was already teetering before the overwhelming disparity in strength.
Inside the congressional offices, the various factions were embroiled in a furious argument.
Leading the calls to resist to the death were the Morgan Conglomerate and the military's hawkish generals. They clenched their fists and roared, "We have the most advanced weapons in the world! The entire Beautiful Country stands behind us!
"They've already fallen into our trap! As long as we hold this position, we can create an opening and buy precious time for a nuclear strike. Victory is ours!"
By now, they had