Fort William,

  Kolkata,

  India,

  0900 Hours

  As the bright rays of a new morning illuminated the New World, Major Siddhart Singh strode through the grand corridors of Fort William, his dark hair swaying gently with each measured step.

  The air was tense, the usual hum of activity replaced by a charged silence. Everyone they passed stopped to stare, their whispers barely audible yet laden with curiosity and judgment. The only constant was the rhythmic sound of boots striking the polished marble floors, an unyielding march toward an uncertain reckoning.

  Major Siddhart, once lauded for his unorthodox brilliance on the battlefield, now bore the heavy shadow of accusations: insubordination and perhaps even more damning charges that hinted at treachery or reckless defiance. Yet, despite the weight of it all, he walked with unwavering resolve, his head held high. Not once did he lower his gaze, no matter the muttered criticisms or scrutinizing looks.

  The two soldiers flanking him, impassive as statues, did not attempt to speak. Their silence offered no solace, no insight into the fate that awaited him. But Siddhart's mind was far from still. It churned with memories of the battlefield, replaying every decision, every risk he had taken. Had he gone too far? Were his actions acts of necessity—or rebellion?

  Nonetheless, such contemplation would get him nowhere as he knew his actions during the battle had drawn both admiration and ire.

  The battlefields of the New World were unlike any they had faced before unpredictable, brutal, and unrelenting. In those moments, the line between right and wrong often blurred, and Siddhart had chosen to protect his men above all else. That choice had earned him both fierce loyalty and sharp condemnation.

  As they neared the imposing oak doors that marked the entrance to General Upendra's office, Siddhart took a deep breath, steadying himself. His mind flickered briefly to the faces of the soldiers who had followed him without question, who had trusted him with their lives.

  "Rules be damned," he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. "My men are worth more than chess pieces to me."

  With those words echoing in his mind, he straightened his shoulders and stepped forward, ready to face whatever lay beyond those doors.

  Soon enough the heavy doors creaked open, revealing the stern figure of General Upendra seated behind an imposing desk. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting sharp angles across the room and highlighting the myriad medals gleaming on the weary General's chest.

  The sound of polished boots on the marble floor echoed faintly as the escorts stepped forward, snapping crisp salutes before silently departing. Their departure left Major Siddhart Singh standing alone in the cavernous room, the silence amplifying the tension that hung in the air.

  Without hesitation, Siddhart snapped to attention, his hand rising in a flawless salute.

  "Major Siddhart Singh reporting, Sir!" he declared, his voice steady yet holding a slight tint of nervousness.

  The General glanced at the young man with an interested grin, clasping his hands together on the polished wooden desk. His sharp, discerning eyes studied Siddhart intently before he gestured toward the chair in front of him.

  "So, Major, I hear that you disobeyed a direct order to disengage from the Long Wang Forces."

  Siddhart hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping forward and lowering himself onto the chair with precise military discipline. He kept his posture rigid, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze locked straight ahead. Though he exuded composure, a storm brewed beneath his exterior—memories of that night flashing through his mind.

  He knew what was coming. He had replayed this moment over and over since the battle, yet he still couldn't find a better justification than the one he had clung to on that blood-soaked night.

  The General's voice, though calm, carried the weight of expectation.

  "I assume you have an explanation, Major?"

  Siddhart inhaled slowly, his chest rising as he gathered his words.

  "Sir, the Long Wang forces had been—"

  His words caught in his throat, the vivid memory pulling him back, dragging him into the past like a wave crashing against an unsteady shore.

  …

  Line of Control,

  Arunachal Pradesh,

  2 Days before Yagou Left Russia,

  The battlefield had turned into a living inferno. Explosions painted the night sky in flashes of orange and red, illuminating the twisted remains of what had once been defensive fortifications. Major Siddhart Singh stood atop a ridge, his heart pounding as the echoes of gunfire, artillery barrages, and dying screams reverberated through the valley below.

  His men fought like demons possessed, holding onto whatever cover remained as the Long Wang Forces pressed forward. The enemy's light tanks crept up the treacherous terrain inch by inch, their treads grinding against the icy rock, forcing their way through a narrow pass. Machine Gun nests, barely holding their positions raining bullets upon the enemy but it was clear that they won't hold for much longer due to the lack of heavy weaponry.

  Siddhart knew they were outgunned and outnumbered badly. The 42nd Armored Regiment and the 24th Mechanized Battalion were still hours away, and with the enemy's numerical and artillery superiority, they wouldn't last until reinforcements arrived—unless he did something drastic.

  Taking a deep breath he steadied himself turning towards Captain Rajveer, his second-in-command, who was standing beside him inside the command bunker. The captain's face was drenched in sweat despite the freezing air, his hands gripping a radio with white-knuckled intensity.

  "Sir, we've lost contact with the left flank! The Long Wang tanks are breaking through!"

  "Damn it!" Siddhart grits his teeth. They were boxed in, and the enemy was closing the noose, the natural rock formations provided some cover but it wouldn't last long—not against overwhelming firepower.

  "Shit, the villagers are in danger!" he thought to himself, as the sudden attack had caught them off guard leaving little time to gather the nearby villagers, they had barely managed to evacuate even the women and children and if the rocks collapsed it would be disastrous.

  And then, an idea struck him.

  He raised his binoculars, scanning the rugged cliffs above the battlefield. Snow. Heavy, untouched snow. The high-altitude ridges were packed with layers of frozen weight, hanging precariously, held together by nothing more than time and gravity.

  An avalanche.

  If they triggered it at the right moment, they could bury the enemy's advancing forces beneath tons of ice and rock, buying them the time they so desperately needed.

  But the General's orders were clear—Disengage. Retreat. Do not escalate.

  Siddhart exhaled slowly.

  To hell with orders. My men come first.

  He grabbed the radio from Rajveer, switching to the internal battalion frequency.

  "All units, this is Major Singh. I need our remaining explosives planted along the upper ridges. We're bringing the mountain down on these bastards."

  A stunned silence followed.

  Then, Lieutenant Raghav, the explosives expert, responded. "Sir, that's against direct orders! If the General—"

  "The General isn't here, Lieutenant. We are. Now move!"

  No one questioned him further, knowing this was the only chance the villagers had for survival.

  Soon the Final batch of HE Shells was fired to create a much-needed diversion to allow the engineers to move in and set up the explosives on the ridge.

  Within minutes, a small team of engineers scrambled up the icy cliffs, planting their remaining explosive charges along the ridges. The clock was ticking—Long Wang infantry had already begun advancing past the wreckage of their destroyed vehicles, taking cover and preparing for their final push. If the enemy took the bunker, it was over.

  Just a little longer…

  Down below, the enemy tanks rumbled forward, their turrets swivelling, locking onto the last of their defensive positions. One more push and they'd break through.

  "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Siddhart panicked at the situation, the MG's were down and they had already exhausted the last of their AT-Rockets, if they didn't blow it up now, the enemy would overrun them.

  Then, over the radio—

  "Charges are set, Sir!"

  Siddhart didn't hesitate. "Detonate!"

  A split second of silence.

  Then—

  BOOM!

  The mountains howled as the explosions ripped through the ridges, sending shockwaves across the battlefield. A deep, ominous rumbling followed, growing in intensity until it became a deafening roar. Tons of ice, rock, and snow collapsed from above, thundering down onto the Long Wang forces below.

  The enemy's tanks vanished beneath the avalanche and swallowed whole in an instant. Infantrymen barely had time to scream before the crushing force overwhelmed them, entombing them in a frozen grave.

  The ground shook violently, knocking some of Siddhart's men off their feet as the deadly cascade consumed everything in its path. The assault was crushed—literally.

  Then, silence.

  The battlefield, once an inferno of war, lay deathly still.

  Siddhart let out a slow breath, lowering his rifle. Around him, his men peeked over their cover, their faces painted with shock, disbelief—and relief. They had done it. They had survived.

  But before the feeling could settle, the distant rumble of engines echoed across the valley.

  Was it another enemy wave?

  Then, the radio crackled to life—

  "Foxtrot Actual to Major Singh—sorry we're late. Your cavalry has arrived."

  In a moment a formation of IAF Sukhoi Su-30MKIs streaked across the sky in tight formation, their sleek forms slicing through the darkness like celestial predators.

  The 42nd Armored Regiment and 24th Mechanized Battalion had finally arrived.

  Siddhart allowed himself a small, tired smile. They had held the line.

  …

  The battlefield remained eerily silent, the once-deafening clash of war now replaced by the muted howling of the wind across the snow-covered valley.

  Siddhart Singh exhaled, his breath forming a misty cloud in the freezing air. His muscles were tense, his body still thrumming with adrenaline. He knew that in war, silence was deceptive—it could be the prelude to another attack or the grim conclusion of a battle.

  The radio crackled once more.

  "Foxtrot Actual to Major Singh—confirming enemy combat effectiveness."

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  Siddhart slowly raised his binoculars, scanning the snow-laden battlefield below. The sheer magnitude of the avalanche had buried the entire enemy assault under tons of ice and rock. Wreckage from their tanks jutted out at odd angles, half-swallowed by the frozen mass, their crews entombed within. The enemy infantry that had been advancing moments ago were now either gone—lost beneath the icy landslide—or struggling, their movements sluggish, buried waist-deep in the frigid embrace of the mountain's wrath.

  A grim sense of victory settled over Siddhart. They had survived. But at what cost?

  Then, a dreadful realization struck him like a hammer blow.

  The village.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  Just beyond the battlefield lay a small settlement—a quiet, isolated village with no more than fifty families, civilians who had nowhere else to flee when the fighting had erupted. They had huddled within their homes, praying for safety as war raged around them. However, the avalanche did not discriminate between soldiers and civilians.

  Siddhart's stomach twisted as his eyes darted toward the village's location. Or rather, where it should have been.

  All that remained was an unbroken sheet of snow.

  "No… no, no, no." The words escaped him as he grabbed the radio. "Foxtrot Actual, we have civilians buried in the snow! I need immediate search and rescue teams now!"

  The reply came almost instantly, the urgency in the pilot's voice unmistakable. "Understood, Major. Diverting assets now. Standby."

  Siddhart turned to his men, his voice sharper than steel. "Get down there! NOW! Anyone still breathing, we dig them out!"

  They didn't hesitate. Soldiers, still reeling from the battle, forced their exhausted bodies into motion. Medics, engineers, and riflemen alike grabbed shovels, their frozen fingers fumbling in their haste. Others threw down their weapons entirely, using their bare hands to dig through the ice.

  Siddhart tore down the hill, his boots skidding over the snow, his mind racing. He knew time was against them. People could suffocate within minutes under such immense weight. The avalanche had not just buried their enemy; it had buried innocents.

  For the second time that night, he ignored protocol. He didn't wait for orders from the command. He didn't ask permission.

  He led the charge himself.

  …

  Minutes Later,

  The scene was chaotic. Soldiers scrambled across the icy wasteland, using whatever they could find—shovels, rifle butts, even knives—to claw through the thick snow.

  Some found nothing but silence beneath the frost. Others uncovered outstretched hands, frozen mid-motion.

  Siddhart cursed under his breath, pushing past the agony of his exhaustion. His hands were numb and bloodied, and his breathing laboured, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He ripped at the snow, feeling the weight of every second slipping away.

  Then—

  A cough. A faint, wheezing cough.

  Siddhart's head snapped toward the sound. "Over here! Someone's alive!"

  He dug faster, his fingers scraping against hard-packed ice. The snow parted, revealing a young boy—no older than seven—curled beneath a wooden beam, his tiny face pale, his lips trembling.

  Siddhart reached out, grasping the boy's frail form, his voice urgent yet gentle. "I've got you, kid. I've got you."

  The boy barely responded, his breaths shallow, his body limp. Hypothermia had already begun to set in.

  "MEDIC!" Siddhart roared.

  A combat medic rushed over, quickly wrapping the child in a thermal blanket, and rubbing his limbs to restore circulation. More survivors began emerging—women, elderly villagers, and children. Some were barely conscious, others sobbed in shock, their eyes wide with the horror of what had happened.

  But not everyone had been so lucky.

  Bodies lined the snow.

  A mother cradling her child in a final embrace, both now frozen in time.

  An old man, his weathered face at peace, though his frail form was still locked in a desperate attempt to shield his family.

  Siddhart's jaw tightened. This was his doing.

  His choice.

  And though they had won the battle, the cost was now etched into the faces of the survivors—and in the blank stares of those who would never rise again.

  Siddhart could only hope that god forgave him for what he had done to these innocent people in the name of protecting others.

  …

  Engines rumbled across the valley as the 42nd Armored Regiment and 24th Mechanized Battalion finally arrived in full force, their tanks and troop carriers cutting through the snow-laden terrain. Indian flags flapped in the cold wind as the forces secured the battlefield, their presence an undeniable statement:

  The Long Wang forces had failed.

  IAF Sukhoi Su-30MKIs roared overhead, performing reconnaissance sweeps to confirm no more hostiles remained. Apache helicopters hovered over the ridges, their infrared sensors scanning for signs of movement beneath the snow.

  From one of the lead tanks, Brigadier Arvind Pratap dismounted, his hardened eyes taking in the devastation before him. His gaze fell upon Siddhart, kneeling in the snow, clutching the frail boy in his arms.

  For a long moment, neither man spoke.

  Then, Brigadier Pratap's voice cut through the icy silence.

  "You disobeyed orders, Major."

  Siddhart exhaled, still cradling the boy as he watched medics work on more survivors. His voice was tired but firm.

  "I saved my men."

  The Brigadier's eyes swept over the battlefield, lingering on the frozen wreckage, the buried enemy, the rescued villagers—and the ones they had lost.

  A long, heavy pause.

  Then, the Brigadier gave a slow, deliberate nod.

  "Get these people out of here."

  He turned toward his command vehicle, his voice rising as he barked new orders to the arriving troops. Medical teams surged forward, assisting the wounded. Engineers began setting up field hospitals. The dead were covered, to be honoured later.

  Siddhart closed his eyes, exhaustion finally seeping into his bones.

  He had won the battle. But he knew what awaited him when he returned to Fort William.

  A reckoning.

  His defiance had saved lives.

  But the court-martial hearing would determine if it had cost him his career.

  …

  Present Day,

  The silence in General Upendra's office was as suffocating as the humidity outside. The weight of the past bore down upon Major Siddhart Singh like an invisible noose, tightening with every second that passed. He had survived the battlefield, but now he was about to face a different kind of war—one that was fought not with bullets, but with words, politics, and the unyielding hand of military law.

  The General sat across from him, hands clasped together, his sharp eyes never leaving Siddhart's face. The morning light filtering through the tall windows illuminated the rows of medals adorning his chest, testaments to a career spent in service, in leadership, in war. But it wasn't pride that rested behind those eyes—it was scrutiny, a deliberate assessment of the man before him.

  Siddhart held his breath as the General finally spoke.

  "So, Major," Upendra said, his voice calm but laced with something else—something heavier. "You disobeyed a direct order. You went against protocol. You ignored the chain of command and did what you thought was best. Do you have any idea what that means?"

  Siddhart squared his shoulders, forcing himself to meet the General's gaze. "Yes, sir."

  "Do you?" The General leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping against the polished wooden desk. "Because I don't think you fully understand the gravity of your actions. Your orders were clear: disengage and retreat. Instead, you escalated the conflict. You triggered an avalanche—an act that, while brilliant in its execution, led to civilian casualties."

  A pause.

  "Do you regret your decision, Major Singh?"

  Siddhart's jaw clenched. He had asked himself the same question a hundred times. Had he done the right thing? Could he have done things differently?

  The answer was always the same.

  "No, sir."

  General Upendra's expression didn't change. "You lost civilians that day. Men, women, children—buried under the very snow you used to save your men."

  "And I saved my unit, sir," Siddharth countered, his voice steady but edged with restrained emotion. "Had we disengaged, the Long Wang forces would have overrun us, pushed through our defences, and slaughtered my men and the village. I had two options: lose everyone or lose some."

  The General exhaled, his fingers tightening around a thick file on his desk. He opened it, scanning through the contents. The official reports. The testimonies from survivors. The after-action analysis.

  "And do you think you made the right call, Major?"

  Siddharth didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir."

  Another pause. A long, heavy one.

  Then, General Upendra closed the file with a soft thud and leaned back in his chair. His fingers drummed against the armrest.

  "Your men are fiercely loyal to you," he said, his tone unreadable. "They refused to speak against you. Your officers all gave the same response—'Major Singh saved our lives.' Even Brigadier Pratap admitted your tactics worked. But that doesn't mean you're off the hook."

  Siddhart knew this was coming. No matter how well-intended his actions were, they had gone against direct orders. That alone was enough for a court-martial.

  "Do you know what the politicians are saying?" The General continued, his voice now tinged with something akin to annoyance. "They're calling you reckless. A liability. Some are even whispering the word 'war crime' because of the civilian casualties. And you? You're being labelled a rogue officer. A hero to some, a disgrace to others."

  Siddhart inhaled slowly, holding his ground. He refused to show weakness.

  "What happens now, sir?"

  General Upendra didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached for another folder, one marked CONFIDENTIAL, and slid it across the desk toward Siddhart.

  "Your fate is still undecided, Major," he admitted. "Command is split. Some want you court-martialed. Others think you should be commended. The politicians want your head on a spike to save face with the international community. But your soldiers? Your fellow officers? They stand behind you."

  Siddhart looked at the folder but didn't touch it. "What's in there?"

  The General's lips pressed into a thin line. "Your options."

  A tense silence filled the room.

  "Option one," Upendra continued, "You face a court-martial. Best case scenario? You're dishonourably discharged. Worst case? Prison time."

  Siddhart said nothing.

  "Option two," the General went on, his gaze sharpening, "You resign. Quietly. No court-martial, no trial. You disappear, live the rest of your life in peace."

  Siddhart swallowed hard. Neither of those choices sat well with him.

  Then, General Upendra leaned forward, his voice lowering just enough to carry weight.

  "Option three," he said. "You take a special assignment. One that puts your skills to use. No court-martial. No discharge. But you'll no longer be in command of a unit."

  That caught Siddhart off guard. He had expected the first two options. But this?

  "What kind of assignment?" he asked cautiously.

  The General exhaled, his fingers tapping against the desk once more. "Covert operations," he admitted. "Black ops. Unofficial missions. You'll report directly to me and a select few in the highest echelons of command. No oversight. No red tape. You do what's necessary to protect India, but officially? You don't exist."

  Siddhart's stomach tightened. He knew what that meant. Ghost work. The kind of missions that never made it to history books.

  Upendra studied him carefully. "Make your choice, Major. But know this—whatever you decide, there's no going back."

  Siddhart looked down at the folder.

  His career, his honour, his future—all laid out before him in three choices.

  One would strip him of his dignity.

  One would force him into obscurity.

  And one would turn him into something else entirely.

  The weight of the decision pressed against him like the snow that had buried those civilians.

  But just like that day on the battlefield, he knew there was only one path forward.

  Siddhart Singh exhaled, steadying his resolve.

  Then, he reached for the folder.

  …

  The folder in Major Siddhart Singh's hands felt heavier than it should have, its contents carrying the weight of his entire future. Three choices lay before him—each a path that would change his life forever.

  His hands tightened around the file, his mind racing with the implications. A court-martial would see him dishonoured, perhaps imprisoned. Resignation meant fading into obscurity, leaving behind the men who had trusted him, the battles he had fought, and the life he had built.

  But the third option…

  His eyes flicked toward General Upendra, who sat unmoving, watching him with an unreadable expression just as he looked up and spoke, "Remember once you see this you are a part of it!".

  The silence returned between them, broken only by the distant sounds of Fort William's daily operations.

  Finally, Siddhart took a deep breath and exhaled, straightening his shoulders. There was only one path forward.

  He opened the file.

  Inside, the first few pages were routine—official documents outlining the possible disciplinary actions. But as he flipped through them, his eyes caught a different set of papers toward the back. Classified orders. Operations reports. A single sheet stamped TOP SECRET – EYES ONLY bore a mission briefing that sent a cold chill down his spine.

  Operation Snake Bite.

  It detailed an off-the-books mission—one that would send him deep into the heart of the unknown. Not as a soldier in uniform, but as something else entirely. A ghost. An operative without a flag, a name, or an identity. His orders, if he accepted, would come directly from the highest echelons of command. No oversight. No safety net.

  The target?

  His pulse quickened as he skimmed through the details. He had been following reports about the geopolitical shifts that came after the transference event—how the world had changed, how new alliances and conflicts were brewing in the shadows. But this…

  This was something different.

  His mission would take him across continents, far from home. First stop: China. From there, he would move into the unknown—the New World. A land that defied logic, filled with beings and civilizations beyond comprehension. He had read the reports from the Qua-Toyne mission, the diplomatic exchanges with these otherworldly nations. But what he saw here in black and white made those reports seem like fairy tales.

  Intel suggested that deep within this new land, something unnatural was stirring. The mission dossier mentioned rogue factions, potential bioweapons, and the fragile alliances between the Old World and the New. But it was what lay hidden between the lines that unsettled him the most.

  There was a war brewing. A silent war that neither the media nor the public would ever hear about.

  And they wanted him to be on the front lines of it.

  Siddhart looked up, locking eyes with General Upendra.

  "You knew I'd choose this," he said quietly.

  The General didn't deny it. Instead, he gave a slow nod. "You're a soldier, Singh. But you're also something more. You see the world for what it is. And you make the hard choices when no one else will."

  Siddhart clenched his jaw. His mind flashed back to the snow-covered battlefield, the avalanche, the villagers buried beneath ice and rock. The choices he had made. The lives he had taken. The lives he had saved.

  This mission… was another impossible choice. One he would have to make over and over again.

  Finally, he spoke.

  "When do I leave?"

  A hint of approval flickered across Upendra's expression. "Tomorrow morning. Your new identity, your cover, and your mission details will be finalized by then. Get your affairs in order."

  Siddhart nodded, rising from his chair.

  As he turned to leave, the General's voice stopped him.

  "One more thing, Major."

  Siddhart glanced back.

  "You won't be alone."

  The General slid another document across the desk. Siddhart picked it up, scanning the list of names. One stood out immediately.

  "Captain Rajveer?"

  Upendra nodded. "He's already been briefed. He'll meet you at the rendezvous point."

  Siddhart exhaled sharply. Rajveer. His most trusted officer. The only man who had been by his side during the worst moments of the Long Wang conflict. If he was in… then maybe this mission wasn't a death sentence after all.

  "Understood," Siddhart said.

  He saluted sharply, then turned and walked out the door.

  The weight of his decision settled in as he strode through the grand corridors of Fort William, his boots echoing against the marble floors. The whispers that followed him no longer mattered. The judgment, the accusations, the uncertain future—it all faded into the background.

  Because now, he had a new mission.

  "And it was only just beginning," he thought to himself as he walked towards the unknown smiling.

  ...

  TBC