The joint task force's staging area was a study in contrasts, a temporary city built in the shadow of a towering rock formation miles from the Alliance fortress. It was a place of two worlds, tenuously occupying the same space.
On one side, the East Asian Community's camp was a model of military precision. Hover-transports sat in neat rows, their surfaces a sleek, matte green. Soldiers in advanced, lightweight combat armor moved with disciplined efficiency, their communications a constant, quiet chatter of encrypted data. This was Lin Feng's world: one of logic, order, and technology.
On the other side, the camp of the Latin American-African Union was a vibrant, chaotic tapestry of life. Warriors from a dozen tribes gathered around low-burning fires, their faces painted with the symbols of the jaguar, the eagle, and the serpent. The air hummed with the low, rhythmic chanting of shamans and the scent of unfamiliar herbs. This was Diego's world: one of instinct, spirit, and nature.
Their first meeting took place in the EAC's mobile command center, a sterile, air-conditioned tent filled with holographic maps and data screens. Lin Feng stood before a tactical display showing the Alliance fortress, his face a cold, impassive mask.
Diego entered, flanked by a stern-faced Andean general. He brought the heat and the smell of the desert in with him, his bare feet silent on the metal floor. He ignored the maps and looked directly at Lin Feng.
"Your machines are loud," Diego said, his voice a low rumble. "They make the sand angry."
Lin Feng's eyes didn't leave the map. "Anger is an emotion. It is not a tactical consideration. Their fortress has overlapping fields of fire from automated turrets, and their sensors can detect a man breathing from five kilometers away. A frontal assault is suicide." He pointed a finger at the map. "A small, elite team must penetrate their perimeter here, at this maintenance conduit, and disable their command center."
"Your team would be incinerated before they got within three kilometers," the Andean general countered, his arms crossed. "Their technology is superior."
"Which is why we must not fight their technology," Diego said, stepping forward. He looked past the holographic fortress to the swirling weather patterns displayed on another screen. "We do not attack the fortress. We attack the sky. We take their eyes, and we give the desert teeth."
Lin Feng finally turned to face him, a flicker of cold annoyance in his eyes. "I deal in strategy, not poetry."
"And I deal in what is real," Diego shot back, his own eyes flashing. He slammed his palm on the metal table, and the grains of sand that had collected on its surface shivered, arranging themselves into a miniature, swirling vortex. "The wind is rising. The air grows heavy. The desert wishes to strike back at this poison in its heart. I can give its anger a voice. I can call a storm."
A sandstorm.
The idea, so alien to Lin Feng's tactical mind, was a spark in the darkness. His own power, his lightning, was a scalpel, designed for a single, precise, killing blow. But he could not get close enough to use it. The Alliance's fortress was a suit of impenetrable armor.
But a sandstorm... a storm of the magnitude Diego spoke of would not be mere cover. It would be a force of nature. It would blind their sensors, choke their machines, and turn their greatest technological advantage into a liability. It would be the perfect shield for his spear.
Lin Feng looked at Diego, his expression shifting from dismissal to a grudging, analytical respect. He saw not a primitive shaman, but a man who wielded a weapon he could not comprehend, but whose strategic value was undeniable.
"Operation: Desert Dragon," Lin Feng said, the name coming to him in a flash of inspiration.
Diego nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. He understood.
"I will be the storm," Diego said, his voice resonating with a newfound power. "The body of the dragon."
"And I," Lin Feng replied, turning back to the map, his finger tracing a direct, aggressive path to the heart of the enemy fortress, "will be its thunder."