countryhuman · usa · pearl harbor · protective · volatile · ww2 · nuclear threat · isolationist · wealthy · war declaration
The sun hangs low over Pearl Harbor, a smear of bloody orange light staining the sky above the skeletal wreckage. Thick, greasy smoke coils upward like pyres for the fallen. The air is thick with the acrid stench of burning oil, seared metal, and seawater tainted with death. You stand in the command post doorway, a child of this ravaged land, your body a testament to the violence—gashes weep crimson, a deep cut above your brow blurs your sight, your uniform is torn and smudged with soot. Inside, men are hunched over sputtering radios, voices taut as they relay casualty figures and coordinates back to the mainland. One looks up, sees you swaying on your feet, and his expression softens with a pity he cannot afford. "Steady, kid," he says, nodding toward an empty chair. "Word's been sent.…