Chapter 4: A History of the War
"…What do you mean, 'there's no more New York'?" Aang asked Katara quietly with a voice that sounded heartbroken.
"It was… Taken over," Katara said sadly. "You—you know about the war, don't you?"
"Well, sort of," he said, his brows furrowed in distress. "I mean, my family told me about it and all, but after I left I swore to… 'Lay low'. So I've sort of just been traveling around for a few years."
"How long?" Katara asked.
"About ten years," he said, shrugging.
"What?!" Katara said, appalled. "How old are you?!"
"Sixteen."
"You've been traveling since you were six?"
"Well, yeah. But I haven't been driving that whole time, don't worry."
"That's not what I was worried about!"
"Oh."
"Why weren't you with your family?!"
"Well… It's a long story."
"Sum it up, then!"
"Well, wait. You tell me everything you know about the war first. It's more important for me to know that than for you to know about my past right now." Katara sighed, but started explaining.
The Magnan were not a country, or a race, or a religious group, or any other congregation of the sort. It started out being a small group of world leaders and businessmen, but soon those leaders and businessmen got to talking about this fantastic new "organization" they had joined… And soon enough, a fourth of the world had joined in on it.
The Magnan —or, as most people called them, the Reds (whether it was for their communist nature or the uniforms they wore, most people didn't even know any more)—was based on one single belief: They were better than everyone, and if they took over the world, it would be a better place. Even their name was based on their egos. They were the civil ones, it said. They were being humane by saving everyone else from themselves.
The corruption began in big businesses. The oil companies, television networks, magazines, music studios—they all bought politics. Bribery was the way to win a politician's favor, and it worked every time. A few million here would hush them up about the subliminal messages. Another couple million would get them to not only agree with your policies, but enforce them. Elections were about to become obsolete. But that was twenty-five years ago, back at the start of the war.
Of course, nobody actually marked that as the beginning of the war. Wars weren't wars until someone was invaded—and they were. The Reds now had entire countries under their command. Almost all of Europe and most of Asia were ready to "make the world a better place".
The first to go was South America, in the second year of the war. Brazil was hit the hardest, being the largest country, and was taken down quickly, but after three or four major battles. Little pockets of civilians still lived there, stowing away in any nook of the rainforest they could find—or so it was said. Nobody knew any more. The only news ever to come out of South America anymore was Red Papers, explaining how beautifully all the countries were doing now that they were under Red command.
The next to go were two countries at once: Canada and Russia. Canada was taken over almost wholly, with the exception of a few rebel groups lingering in certain areas. The Reds kept their eyes on the rebels, but didn't see them as too much of a threat. Russia's invasion was long and gory, with many long, gory battles and long, gory mutinies within Russia itself.
The only places still intact by then were most of Africa, Australia, and the United States. The Reds were at a calm, almost seeming to say, "Well, we already have quite a lot of land; it should be enough for now." It seemed like those places still undefeated by the Reds would stay that way. The free could stay free.
It was not unknown, however, that the countries the Reds now owned were being absolutely ravished. Occasionally, reporters would sneak into one of the dominated countries, only to have their feeds cut off short, the last sound being gunshots or shouts. Most of them never came back, and if they did, they weren't in a state to talk about anything, let alone their experience.
As long as the free countries kept out of the Red countries, all went well for them. Daily life resumed. Children went to school. Adults went to work. Everything was the same, the same.
That was, until the fifth year into the war, twenty years ago, when the Reds got greedy again.
"When I turned on the news that morning," Katara said gravely, "I thought it was some… Bad Japanese monster movie. So I turned the channel. But it was on that one, too. And the next. And the next…"
The Reds were invading New York. Even though only about twenty-five percent of the world's population was actually a Red (the countered they captured were still free at heart), and even though the armada sent to New York was just a fraction of that, it was overwhelming.
The battle at New York went on for three months. Every day there was constant, unwavering fighting. The American soldiers did the best they could to defend one of their countries' most beloved cities, they couldn't fend the Reds off.
But, strangely, once the Reds had New York, they never tried to invade the rest of the states. The U.S. decided that if New York was all they wanted, then by all means, just let them have it as long as that's all they take. It was rumored that that was where the Red Leaders congregated for mandatory meetings, and where the Leader and Founder of the Reds, Ozai, lived.
Little was known about Ozai. The only things anyone could be sure of was that he was a widower with two children. Nobody knew where he came from, or how he started the reds, or why everyone followed him. They just did.
For the last twenty years, America became prouder about its free status, and the dominated countries were seen as "too weak to keep their freedom". America was a peaceful country, aside from the occasional Red slipping out into one of the states and showing a display of superiority.
"That was how my mother was killed," Katara concluded quietly. "They came to California—just three of them—and…" She trailed off, staring at the ground. Aang nodded and put his hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically. Katara didn't know what to say. How could he be sorry when he was the one who had lost his entire state? There was a somewhat awkward pause before she said anything.
"Your turn," she said, sighing, still quiet. "What's your story?"
