December 8, 1941
It was a warm afternoon in the heart of town. The sun cast long shadows over the cobbled streets, where vendors displayed their goods—bundles of vegetables, woven mats, dried fish, and jars of vinegar. Children ran barefoot along the roadside, their laughter rising above the wooden clatter of passing carts. Women exchanged greetings as they walked home from the market, their baskets brimming with rice and salt.
The scent of simmering broth, tobacco, and dry earth lingered in the air, stirred gently by a breeze that caused the Commonwealth flags hanging from shuttered windows to flutter. On the surface, it felt like any other day—but there was a weight in the air, a stillness beneath the noise, as though the wind itself was holding its breath.
Then, from the municipio, a tinny voice broke through the static of the town's lone radio.
"The Japanese aircraft have launched a surprise attack on the American naval base in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii—"
At first, the announcement was barely heard, nearly drowned out by the calls of merchants and the creaking of wheels. But the words struck like a sudden chill. Voices quieted. A woman paused mid-step, clutching her child's hand. A man lowering a sack of rice stopped halfway, head turned toward the sound.
The people began to gather—slowly, warily—around the radio. Some stood with arms crossed, others with hands pressed over their mouths, eyes fixed on the small box as if expecting it to explain the weight suddenly pressing on their chests.
"Citizens are advised to remain calm and await further official announcements."
The announcer's voice, clipped and urgent, echoed across the plaza. The silence that followed was louder than any shout. A priest near the church whispered a prayer. Rosaries were pulled from pockets. A few men exchanged uneasy glances. Young soldiers posted near the flagpole stiffened, their fingers twitching along their rifle barrels.
Then came the sound—low, steady, and unfamiliar. Like a swarm of bees in the sky, only heavier.
Eyes turned upward. Moments later, a piercing whistle tore through the air.
And then, the ground roared.
An explosion ripped through the town's edge. The earth shuddered. Glass shattered in nearby shops. Screams broke out as people ducked for cover. A plume of smoke rose behind the church's bell tower, black and thick against the blue sky.
For a heartbeat, the townspeople stood frozen, their bodies gripped by shock. Then, the panic hit—feet pounding the ground, hearts thundering in their chests. The first wave of destruction had already shattered their world. The familiar, peaceful town was now drowning in smoke and fire, the horizon blurred by the thick black cloud rising from the explosion.
As they ran, the ground trembled beneath their feet. The air crackled with the sharp scent of burning wood and steel. But in the distance, another sound rose—a deep, ominous rumble, growing louder by the second.
And then, through the smoke, a shadow fell across the town.
Something far worse was coming...