"WHO ARE YOU!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHAT DID WE EVER DO TO YOU!?" Commander Richard Sharpe yelled into the megaphone. The tide wall, everyone knew, was nothing of the sort. Flamaca-Nisomia was a landlocked country, with barely a lake to hold back. No, it was just a nickname that had become internationally known, as a way to keep back the "tides" of invaders that tried to have a stab at FN's numerous resources. Luckily, defending the Tide Wall, was FN's most elite unit, with one of the world's most efficient air forces on call. These men had no chance.
Ben Falkirk sighed as he reloaded. Why did Sharpe always insist on using the megaphone? It wasn't as if they were going to answer, and many of the invaders didn't understand a word of Flamacan or Nisomac. As he sprayed another round into the coming wave, he thought about what would happen if he didn't say those words. The motivation of defending innocence always put the troops into a sort of buzz that allowed them to hold back most forces. These guys were different, though. They seemed to genuinely know what they were doing, and seemed as though they had trained to get through walls. Enough pondering for now, he thought. He could have sworn he heard the sound of explosives being set up. They were literally trying to get through the wall. Falkirk, being the only certified artillery operator on the tour, rushed to the mortar. He needed to take out their vehicles. With any luck, there would be reserve forces waiting for an order, and their explosive stockpiles. He looked in the thermal scope. Sure enough, his hunch was right. The amphibious vehicles were still running, and it was like finding a smudge of dirt on a bright white rabbit. He loaded the mortar, set the targeting computer, took one last look at the vehicle, and fired..
