The images were grainy, shot on a sand-pitted cellphone and uploaded through a dying satellite link by an Al Jazeera correspondent before the Alliance enforced a total communications blackout. But their horror was crystal clear. The footage, broadcast on a twenty-four-hour loop by news agencies outside the Alliance's sphere of influence, showed the Jackal mechs firing into the dunes. It didn't show the Desert Folk charging; it only showed the brutal, one-sided response. It was not a battle. It was a massacre, and the world was forced to watch.
The outrage was a tidal wave that crashed against the walls of international diplomacy. And in its wake, two powers were forced to act.
The emergency summit was not held in a room, but in the cold, sterile space of a holographic projection. In Shanghai, Director Chen stood before a shimmering light table. Opposite him, two thousand kilometers away in the Amazonian Nature's Guardian Zone, the regal figure of Queen Xhosa, the elected leader of the Latin American-African Union, materialized. Her face was a mask of cold fury.
"They pour steel and poison into a holy place, Director Chen," she began, her voice a low, dangerous rumble. "They slaughter a people who did nothing but protect their home. The Pan-European American Alliance calls it 'securing a resource.' I call it by its true name: an invasion. An atrocity."
"Your indignation is justified, Your Majesty," Chen replied, his tone calm and measured. "But indignation will not move their machines. The reality is this: their control of the Ain Al-lah mine will give them a strategic, military, and economic advantage that will be insurmountable within a decade. They will be able to dictate terms to the rest of the world. Your people, and mine, will be the first to feel that pressure."
"And you wish to replace their boot on our neck with your own?" a man beside Xhosa, an Andean general, interjected, his voice sharp with suspicion. "The East Asian Community is not without its own ambitions."
Chen met the general's holographic gaze without flinching. "Our ambition is survival. And sovereignty. The Alliance has proven they respect neither. Alone, we can protest. We can issue sanctions they will ignore. But together..." He paused, letting the weight of the word settle in the space between them. "Together, we can intervene. We have the numbers. You have the... unique talents of your people. We can force them to the table."
Queen Xhosa was silent for a long moment. She looked at the faces of her own advisors, then back at the calm, pragmatic man from Shanghai. She hated this. She hated the cold calculus of war, the necessity of aligning with a power whose technological expansion she deeply distrusted. But she hated the image of blood on the sand more.
"A joint military operation," she stated, her voice hard as stone. "Limited scope. Full resource and intelligence sharing for the duration of the engagement. And when it is over, Director, we will discuss the fate of Ain Al-lah as equals."
"As equals," Chen agreed, giving a slight, formal bow. The unwilling pact was sealed.
In the pouring rain of the Shanghai training ground, Lin Feng stood motionless as a dozen combat drones were disabled and fell from the sky around him. Mei-Ling approached, holding a waterproof datapad. "We're moving out," she said, her voice all business. "You've been assigned as Vanguard Commander for Operation: Desert Dragon. You'll be leading the EAC's elite Awakened unit."
Lin Feng simply nodded, his eyes devoid of emotion. It was a mission. A target. That was all he needed to know.
In the heart of the Amazon, Diego knelt, his palm pressed against the bark of the Heart-Tree. Queen Xhosa stood behind him. "The cries of the desert have reached us, Diego," she said, her voice softer now, filled with a deep sorrow. "The Earth calls for its defenders. You will go east, and you will lead the children of the forest and the mountains. You will be their voice. You will be their fury."
Diego looked up, and in his eyes, a fire of pure, righteous anger burned. It was not a mission. It was a sacred duty.
Two commanders, a world apart. One a blade of cold, tactical steel; the other a storm of nature's wrath. They were about to be pointed at the same target.