Istanbul, European Federation – October 2035

  Footage recovered from an online database.

  The video opens with the shaky frame of a fisherman, his voice urgent as he calls to someone off-screen. His colleague, phone in hand, turns the camera toward him. The early morning light casts a soft glow over Istanbul in the distance, the city’s skyline barely visible through a light mist rising from the water.

  At first, it’s peaceful—nothing but the dark blue of the Bosporus stretching out before them. Then, something shifts.

  A shape appears, faint at first, beneath the water’s surface. Egg-shaped, metallic, and growing larger as it rises slowly from the depths.

  The water begins to tremble, the surface rippling. Bubbles start to churn up from the deep, bursting upward in a frothy cascade. The hum of something heavy reverberates through the air, low and unnatural. The camera shakes as the fisherman, now visibly tense, steadies himself against the railing, eyes wide.

  The object rises further, its surface glinting faintly in the first light of morning. As it nears the surface, the vibrations increase, sending small waves crashing against the boat. It’s rising faster now, almost ready to break through.

  The fisherman pulls his colleague’s arm, shouting something unintelligible, but the camera swings back toward the water. The outline of the Tripod white glowing eye is visible for half a second before the livestream is cut.

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  Emre Aslan serves me yet another glass of tea as we sit on the terrace of a café in a quiet neighborhood street, the morning sunlight soft and golden over the rooftops.

  "Honestly, it's a miracle we were even there to begin with," he says, taking a sip, eyes focused on something far away. "Our unit was one of the last to be pulled from the mountains or the Syrian and Russian borders and sent toward Greece. The last Cobra squadron, if I recall. We were stationed at a train depot in Ahmediye, some kilometers west of the city. Didn’t need the official briefing from our superiors. We were all watching footage on our phones inside the cockpits, waiting for the fueling to finish."

  His voice grows heavier as the memory comes back.

  "Tier 2 and 3 tripods just surging out of the Bosporus Strait. Attacking Istanbul. And the army? They were stuck with their foot in their mouth. The only ones trying to stop them were the plice, random housewife reservists grabbing anti-aircraft guns—firing at the tripods without a care about the targets behind them."

  He pauses, his fingers tapping on the edge of his glass, as if the memory still lingers there, haunting the present.

  "I’m sure you can guess how well that worked. The highway going west out of the city was packed—cars bumper to bumper, people on foot, all fleeing Istanbul. First time anyone tried to head west, despite K?rklareli, near the Bulgarian border, about to fall. If Istanbul fell, or if reinforcements stopped coming because of the tripods, the entire Thrace plateau would be lost. Not only would millions be literally encircled by the Crabs, but they’d have access to the Mediterranean."

  Emre takes another sip of tea, his eyes narrowing slightly as he relives the memory.

  "We neared the city, and that’s when we saw them. The tripods. Huge things, some a kilometer tall or more. They didn’t care who was in their way. Firing their beams at anyone who tried to slow them down."

  He pauses, shaking his head, then continues.

  "Most of our heavy equipment was stuck to the west, as I said. So, there were police officers, regular civilians—firing MP5s at them, thinking it would do anything. Meanwhile, we had our entire squadron, 16 Cobras, some like mine armed with 8 Hellfires, while the others had to get in close—knife fighting range just to fire rockets. We were their last hope, but it felt like we were holding the line with a toothpick."

  He shifts in his seat, staring out across the street, almost as if he can still hear the sounds of the chaos in the distance.

  By the time my gunner a kid named Eren had fired his second Hellfire at one of the beasts, the missile penetrated its armor and the thing just exploded, collapsing into an apartment block. The blast rattled our helicopter, but we kept pushing forward. I had to get lower—closer to the ground. The nearest tripod was just a few kilometers away, and I was well within its beam range. The radio was filled with yells as people shouted orders, information's and warnings.

  "Gentlemen, this will be our last dance. Let's win some time for our countrymen. Every second you keep them busy is one more life saved on the ground. It's been a pleasure!"

  Our commander's voice was calm, almost cold, as he spoke over the radio. His words didn't offer the comfort we needed, but in a twisted way, they made everything clearer. There was no turning back now. I could feel the weight of his words settling in, sinking into my chest like a stone as I made my peace with god.

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  I glanced over at Eren, in the seat in front of me behind my flight instrument. Couldn't see his face only the back of his helmet and that stupid anime girl sticker her put on the back of it just to mess with me. Just 22 years old, but the kid seemed focused as that Japanese schoolgirl winked at me. I knew he was from Istanbul, couldn't remember what neighborhood do. That gave me some kind of comfort—some sliver of confidence.

  Ahead of us, in the distance, a frigate was caught in the strait—its massive hull surrounded by the long, sweeping legs of a giant tripod. It looked like those kids drawing of a giant squid attacking a pirate ship, its limbs encircling the ship with crushing force, like an anaconda trying to strangle its prey to death as its arms tried to breach the doors.

  I watched the scene unfold, the sight of the frigate struggling under the weight of the tripod’s grasp. This was our last dance, I thought. And in a strange, almost surreal way, it gave me some peace. It didn’t matter if we made it out alive or not. At this point, we had one job—to keep them occupied, to give the people below us a fighting chance. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

  Eren opened up, firing 20mm shells at the tripod. It was hard enough to fuck it up but not to penetrate the ship and who might be inside of it. Fired at it for ten seconds as we flew about 10 meters from the water. I lifted the stick as the tripod seemed to retreat back into the water and we flew over the ship.

  A few minutes later as we were lining up for another pass over old town, one of my wingmen screamed over the radio, but his words were cut off as I saw his engine explode. His helicopter spun out of control, crashing into the city below. The comms were chaotic, but I had no time to dwell on it. I was just ten meters above the roof of an old house, dangerously close. I looked down, making sure I wasn’t about to slam into anything while Eren scanned for the next target.

  Then, I saw them—ten or so cats, huddled together in a patch of overgrown grass, their eyes wide with terror. I almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, but there was no time for that. Eren fired another missile, this time aimed at one of the larger tripods. The thing was one of the ‘half-brains,’ as we called them—red markings, a clear sign of some form of intelligence. It didn’t even flinch when the Hellfire launched. Instead, it swatted the missile out of the air like it was nothing, costing it one of its arms in the process, but it was still standing. That’s what it was built for.

  "Go for its legs!" I screamed over the radio as the tripod, now just six kilometers away, turned its attention toward us.

  I could see its small, spinning arms whirring to life, rotating at what had to be 500 rpm. I knew what was coming next—the laser beam. We’d be toast if we stayed there any longer. Without thinking, I yanked the stick down, dropping the helicopter toward the ground.

  We hit the earth hard—landing in a garden, our main rotor tearing through the branches of a tree. I could feel the vibrations in my bones, the whole helicopter shaking, and I prayed to God it wouldn’t explode on impact and send us careening into the neighborhood. But at least we had cover. Solid cover, for now.

  Sweat poured down my face, dripping from the end of my nose, mixing with the stink of fear and engine fumes. My gloves were soaked, fingers slipping as I clutched the controls. Eren was yelling something in panic, but I couldn’t make out the words—didn’t need to. The only thing that mattered now was survival.

  I took one last breath and made the call—peeking up over the edge of the garden wall. Like I was playing peek a boo with a 5 000 kilo aircraft.

  Tripod was focused on something else. Couldn't see what it was firing at on the ground but it gave us time to close the distance and have eyes on one of its legs between buildings.

  Eren screamed at me to steady the aircraft as he did his job with the laser designator. I saw the Hellfire missile leave its rack before shooting up in the air. Sharp kid had used the top down attack mode, in a bid to penetrate its leg from top to bottom. Did it work well. The tripod lost its balance and landed sideways. Paralyzed as it seemed to lose its power. Next missile was in its head as it struggled to stand up.

  We’d been at it for an hour, running on fumes, flying low through the avenues to stay out of their line of sight. The tripods were relentless, but so were we—dodging, weaving, trying to stay ahead of the oncoming storm. I was down to my last missile, the engine sputtering and the fuel light blinking red. My focus was razor sharp, but exhaustion was creeping in. The strait was a floating graveyard; Countless ships were burning and sinking, their oil floating on the water or burning on top of it. Lost half our black sea fleet that day. And most of it is because the other half was at sea. Then I heard it, crackling over the open frequency.

  At first, it was just noise, static and chaos. But then, a voice emerged. I couldn’t make out who it was, the accent throwing me off. It was urgent, calling for me specifically. My name. And then I realized—someone in my squadron was repeating the transmission. I caught the words: “You need to drop altitude—right now.”

  Without thinking, I complied, yanking the stick down, my heart pounding as the ground rushed up. I didn’t know what I was heading into, but the command was clear. That’s when I saw it. Out of nowhere, an F-15 appeared, barreling straight towards me. Time seemed to slow as I locked eyes with the copilot in the back seat. The Israeli markings on the wings were unmistakable. The F-15 was banking hard, just ten meters away, its engines roaring as it passed so close I could almost touch it.

  I barely had time to react. The moment stretched on, but my tunnel vision had gotten so bad that I hadn’t seen or heard it coming, let alone noticed the comms for their entry into the AO.

  Syrian Sukhois, Israeli F-15s, F-16's and F-35s, Iranian F-15s and F-4s, Saudi and Jordanian jets—all converging on the city. The sky above Istanbul became something unrecognizable, like a twisted model UN, as every nation with the means descended, each with their own laser-guided bombs ready to bring the city to its knees.

  I could hear the roar of the engines, the hum of the approaching aircraft, and the rush of wind as they cut through the air. The airspace had become a warzone—an open battlefield where alliances had no meaning, only firepower.

  The one who already had dropped their laser bombs were flying in low altitude in a bid to target the tripods with their guns and their armor piercing hydras. Those things had not been used since the cold war. But the airforces needed something for jets to fire armor piercing rockets at tripods. They worked well. I saw an Iranian tomcat bank left and right over the rooftops of the houses before zeroing in on a tripod, firing a salvo of rockets before retreating back to the clouds as the tripod collapsed.

  By the time I made it back to our FOB at Ataturk airport to refuel and rearm I felt like I had exited a bath house. Just removed my helmet and stared at nothing. I didn't even bother with the procedures, order had been restored in Istanbul. I had seen war before but I had never been this shaken. Couldn't get the strength to climb out as the ladder was put against my window. Eren jumped out like a monkey. Climbed out before climbing back up to my level and kissed my forehead.