The entire city of Channing was on high alert.
A military aircraft was making its landing at the Channing International Airport.
Hundreds of soldiers from the special forces aligned themselves into neat rows at the airport. Each soldier was dressed in full battle gear.
None of them could tear their adulatory eyes away from the aircraft that had just landed. There was a sense of eager anticipation in the air.
Nathan Cross made his way down the aircraft's stairs after he had exited. His black combat boots creaked with every step he took.
“Attention!”
“Salute!”
The strident voice of the officer pierced through the air with a note of authority and discipline.
The troops raised their right hand uniformly to give their salutes while greeting him concertedly, “Welcome to Channing, Sir!”
He was their general, whose actual name was Nathan Cross, although they liked to refer him as the Ares of the North.
That was because he had never lost a battle in his distinguished military career, since the day he had joined the army as a young chap.
His track record for the past five years had been jaw-dropping when he had led the troops to several significant victories in the north.
He had repeatedly defended the borders from invading enemies.
The country owed it to his tactical genius and strategic astuteness for the peace and prosperity that it was enjoying today.
With a tall and muscular physique, Nathan Cross was an attractive man. His luminous eyes sparkled like diamonds in the dazzling sunlight.
Nonetheless, he seemed a little displeased. Knitting his brows together, he muttered to Colin Dunne, captain of the National Guards, “Didn't I tell you to keep a low profile?”
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