Europe has fallen and the Axis have taken over most of the free world save for the few remaining governments that fled to the Americas. All is not well with Hitler on his deathbed while those under his rule intend to control their end of the Third Reich. Japan consolidates its gains in Far East Asia and the surrounding countries. Africa is broken up between the Axis alliance as Asia finds itself as a chaotic mess of fallen nations in an era of anarchy.
The worst to have suffered these events was the Soviet Union. The vastness of Russia is now broken up into small bands of warlords, but any attempt to reestablish civilization is burnt away by fleets of Luftwaffe bombers flying overhead to kill all in its wake. Despite the downfall of the old world, there is the promise of the faithful and the horror of the ambitious that may decide what the future holds for the former Soviet Union.
After the war, the guards of the Gulags and its prisoners found themselves at odds with each other. Before the attempts of bloodshed, an Orthodox priest had managed to bring the two unlikeliest people to come together in these dark times. This level of cooperation was unheard of as their neighbors found themselves bordering an elite group of soldiers called the Ural League. With divisions made up of former Soviet soldiers, prison guards, and criminals, they appeared to be the only source of order in the aftermath of the Great Patriotic War.
Neighboring this small country is the wealthy anarchy-communes of Orenburg. One can find their lack of disorganization distasteful, but their desire for complete freedom is there. Militarily weaker when compared to its other neighbors, these small villages of anarchy-communists do their best to share their country's wealth among each. However, this thinking is what keeps this weak state from forming a strong centralized state against the other powers looking for control.
Bordering these two nations is the bandit state of Dirlewanger's Brigade - a group of bandits made up of Kazakh raiders, rapists, and Nazis - all lead by a deserter of the Waffen SS. They hold the greatest infamy throughout the southern Urals whether they raid the neighboring villages for food, supplies, women, or bloodshed - they are a recognizable threat throughout the land. Few could stand against the warlord and his group of trained murderers as they raid, pillage, and plunder. Not even the famed soldiers of the Ural League could remove them off the face of the earth.
The southern Urals has its share of heroes, bystanders, and murderers. However, there are rumors of a more powerful entity in the east. Something stirs at the Black Mountain with refugees telling stories about how villages mysteriously disappear in the middle of the night. There are occasional sightings of trucks moving across places that Dirlewinger's Brigand dares not follow. Ancient mines are opened and smoke rises from factories that were long-abandoned in the Great Patriotic War.
Evil has settled in that land with masked soldiers carrying the markings of the 22nd Motorized NKVD. Their occupation has not gone unnoticed by its neighbors, but the fate of Russia now lies in this region.
Who would dare to bring an ounce of hope to a land that had nothing left?
War may never change, but where it takes place may change the world.
In the southern borders of the Ural League, small elite units were scattered across the vicinity of the province to alert the division when the bandits attacked. Patience was one of the many things that Dirlewanger was not known for and the battered forces of the league knew this when a raid was called and his troops kidnapped and killed those in his way. It demoralized many who were in the ranks, but the worst of it was that they had to mix units together to retain their combat effectiveness in the field.
A sentry stood on guard from his post as the other men in his squad had taken refuge that night. His eyes looked down upon a village he was ordered to protect. Several soldiers were not enough to defend it, but he heard rumors from the higher-ups. Apparently, the commanders were going to ease the pressure of duties by speaking with the council of Orenburg. Although they were fellow Russians, their priorities of freedom over security was a major concern since they refused to centralized their government and establish a standing army. However, it was not the only rumor as he heard tales of officers forming militias from the flocks of refugees entering the country.
Feodor Egorov's thoughts were interrupted that night by the cries of bombs shattering in the distance. The Luftwaffe was at it again with their usual bombing strikes. The old man placed his Mosin in his lap while flashes flickered in the distance. In a way, he was thankful that they were bombing the southern border. Dirlewanger's Brigade would have to navigate through a bombardment before they properly make any attempts to raid this village.
The league had recruited him for his expertise in surviving the harsh terrain of the Urals, but what they had in mind was a mystery. Perhaps their young men needed his experience to have an advantage over the bandits and by some miracle - the members of the NKVD.
Oh, how the days of the Soviet Union were better than it was now. The feeling of freedom from the watchful stare of the tsarist regime and bragging about it against the fallen imperial aristocracy. Then dark times came when the Germans invaded their motherland and took the capital for themselves. He remembered the days during the West Russian War with the remaining government going out of its way to liberate their country from the corruption and evil acts of the Nazis.
Now? Those days were over. What remains of resistance were destroyed as his country fell into disarray. Nothing would ever be the same.
A blue light flashed near the village, but it wasn't an explosion. The former Red Army soldier had waited patiently to see what had occurred. There was a stranger standing at a place where everyone left abandoned. He looked around in confusion underneath his helmet while weapons were dangling from his person.
Feodor stood up and raised his rifle, but he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. "Comrade Feodor, did you see something?"
He looked over his shoulder to find a younger man in his ushanka. Then proceeded to reply with the nod of his head. "Yes, Alexei. I see movement in the trees, southeast from the village's position."
"Is it the brigade?"
"No. The brigade has some actual markings to distinguish themselves from the other bandits. It might be a lone burglar, but let's wake the others up and take him in for being out of curfew."
Alexei quickly acknowledged his assessment with a mere grunt. "Understood. Sergei, wake everyone up. I think we might have ourselves an infiltrator!"
He rolled his eyes. "I didn't say that."
"No, but it does stir the men out of bed."
"Be careful not to cry wolf too much." Came his warning.
The courier was completely confused at what had just happened. Doctor Mobius had just warned him about something that occurred at Big Mountain and as soon as he entered the Think Tank, he was plunged into this strange place. Whatever trap those insane scientists had developed, it had succeeded in kicking him out of the Mojave. To make it worse, he had to tighten his grip on his coat now that he was walking around in the middle of winter.
In one hand, Medicine Stick was thankfully not buried in the snow. As he looked around, a small settlement was waiting for him in the distance. Perhaps if he started to ask questions about where he was, he could get his bearings on his situation. After all, it wasn't the first time he got caught up in a situation where he couldn't do much about it.
The closer he approached the settlement, the more he noticed signs of civilization. Signposts were kept up, but the courier found a detail that irked him. None of them were written in good English, but were somehow a bastardization of the English letters. "Where am I?" Those words had every good reason to be spoken.
Before he had the chance to enter the town, the young masked courier heard a stick crack on his left. As soon as he turned his head, dozens of strangers surrounded him with foreign weapons he had never seen before. They had to be pre-war weapons in hand without any signs of makeshift designs to prove otherwise. The courier had let go of his weapon and raised his hands while one of the men approached him with his bolt-action rifle lowered.
The man was older than everyone else who surrounded him - kinda reminded him of Father Elijah, but far more level-headed. When he spoke, there was a language that unlike any he had ever stumbled upon and he didn't know what to say. "Sorry, I didn't hear a word you just said."
His assailants became confused as they lowered their weapons before the old man said one word that appeared to click in. "You… American?"
Did they just confuse him with someone from the Enclave? Whatever it was, the courier did his best not to lash out at the old man. Perhaps they had never met anyone who lived on the West Coast. "Henry. My name is Henry."
The old man gestured his hand towards himself. "Feodor."
So they were introducing themselves to each other? Well… it was better than getting gunned down.
Gunfire echoed out in the darkness before Henry heard a bullet whistle past his head. The courier looked around to see these strange people drop to the ground and remove their barrels away from him and towards their assailants. The old man named Feodor had grabbed his rifle and handed it to him while shouting in his native tongue to fight back. Rifle and sub-machine gun fire echoed out at the figures behind him.
When Henry took shelter behind a tree, he saw the other strangers do the same. Then he looked out from the safety of the tree to see men wearing grey uniforms and patches full of skulls on their arms. Some charged on horseback with more foreign weapons, but were cut down by the chaos. Then the courier raised his rifle and aimed it at his new assailants, watching one of them widened his eyes when he found out he was targeted. With the pull of a trigger, the man had fallen into the snow as his blood soaked the frozen ground.
There were more enemies than he had friendlies and they were beginning to encircle them in an enfilade of gunfire from their side of the trees. The courier reached for his helmet and activated his night vision, only to see red figures move throughout the darkness. Bringing his rifle to bear, the man's ability with a gun were beginning to cut down their number with precise and accurate shots. Some recognized him as a threat and aimed their barrels in his direction.
One of the weapons rang through the darkness like saw as he huddled back behind his tree to hear bullets flying past him and peppering his cover. However, he was not the only one they were shooting at as one of the foreigners beside him was struck by this hailstorm of death. He landed in his arms while choking on his own blood. His eyes looked up at him before Henry couldn't help, but calm him down. "Hey, it's going to be alright. It's going to be okay." The dying man had stopped moving with his eyes looking straight into his soul.
Someone shouted at him, but he didn't know what to do. Despite the language barrier, the warning closely resembled to the English version of a grenade. When the small explosive landed beside him, a soldier jumped to his aid and landed atop of it. One moment later, his body was lifted off the ground for a few seconds just to return back to the dirt.
Henry couldn't help, but feel like he was responsible for their deaths despite the fact they surrounded him with guns raised. This needed to be rectified as he slipped his lever-action rifle over his shoulder and pulled out his semi-automatic rifle. The young man pressed forward and fired away with his VATS identifying targets that were hiding or attempting to return fire. The enemy began to become demoralized as started to flee the engagements, but few ever could when their foe's bullets chased after them.
Silence filled the settlement outskirts as the courier approached the survivors of the firefight. They had taken several wounded and dead men as casualties, but the old man was not among them. Instead, he stood over the man who dived for the grenade. A solemn expression of sadness was all he could offer, but he noticed his presence and approached him. "American… Feodor find… speaker… should help…"
He nodded his head to the foreign man. Just where the hell was he that they didn't know English?
Author's Note: So I just played a game of Hearts of Iron IV that included a mod called The New Order: The Last Days of Europe. The level of detail feels just as good with Old World Blues mod. Having played the TNO demo and the Fallout overhaul, these two ideas met and incited me to create this crossover. There is a possibility that this fic might be shorter compared to my other fics, but I'll have a slight jab at it.