June 1944
The world continues to reel from the shock of the successful American nuclear test in Alaska. President Noah Grace spoke before Congress today, saying the nuclear test justified his country's isolationist policies. He also added that the policies were intended not to show cowardice, but restraint.
The League of Nations issued a condemnation of the test today supported by the ETO nations and China, expressing fears of sparking an arms race. The Philippines, a major ally of the United States since its independence, voted against it. Japan abstained.
Meanwhile, an extremely unusual turn of events in the Northwestern parts of Japanese-occupied Manchuria, with unconfirmed reports of Japanese occupation forces fighting alongside Chinese partisans against an enemy described as 'monstrous.' Neither the Chinese nor Japanese governments have issued a response.
"Oh! Counselor Mahler, good afternoon."
"And to you. You must be very excited for your graduation."
"Thank you, sir, I've got big plans for my future. The Medical University here has granted me a scholarship and I hope to start this autumn."
"Speaking of which, I was asked to ask you if you were interested in a career with the United European Defense."
"The army? No...not interested. I'm not one to leap at the opportunity for guns and glory..."
"Ah, but there's an increasing demand for medical roles. The League of Nations is increasingly sending the UED to...international peacekeeping roles in the Pacific and we need people to help research and treat the diseases we encounter there."
"...Did my father put you up to this- no. He's not the type to endorse anything pan-European."
"As it happened, yes. Your father was the one that asked me. It seems there's some tension going on on the other side of the Russian Wall and they're likely to reinstate his commission."
"I knew it. He wants me to go into the army with him."
"You don't seem so enthusiastic about it."
"He's always been very insistent that I join the military, and it was only because of what happened after the Great War that I didn't end up in the Reichswehr Academy. My mother's been supportive, but only quietly..."
"Don't worry. I'm sure you'll find a career in the UED very rewarding."
Autumn 1951
Somewhere in Central Europe
"Eliminate him."
The moment the wall-crawler began barking its orders, I dropped to the floor and rolled underneath the old truck under a hail of machine-pistol fire pelting my body.
Blood trickled and soaked into my now-tattered uniform as I seethed and growled from the pain burning across - and into my flesh. My arms were wrapped around my body in some semi-futile attempt to keep me from bleeding out into a dry husk on the dusty concrete floor.
But it was neither my reflexive instinct nor my newfound regenerative powers keeping me alive as much as the cold, almost bureaucratic chatter of the wall-crawlers as they observed my apparent demise.
Target incapacitated. Estimated bleedout time 120 local seconds.
Confirm death status.
Target has fatal wounds in several critical areas. Movement is already handicapped. Bleedout is imminent.
I briefly wondered how much solace it would have been to others to know exactly how much time they had left to live before I worked up the strength to withdraw my machine pistols.
Finish him off. This one is an unknown like the ones inside, it may regenerate.
Affirmative. One will be enough.
One of the wall-crawlers quickly drops to the floor, its footclaws making a distinctive clack against the concrete as it draws its pistols. It watches me with its six independently-focusing eyes, and I watch it back through the sights of the machine pistol I'm aiming at it.
I clench my jaw and squint as I pull the trigger, sending the wallcrawler stumbling back in a hail of high-caliber laser bullets before rolling out from under the truck in its direction.
My vision immediately races to the ceiling as I get up, where 505-East's squadron looms ready waiting to avenge their fallen comrade.
Target is active and mobile!
And still alone for now. Eliminate him, make it quick and clean.
Streaks of bright-red and yellow lights crisscross the room as the gunfight dislodges months of dust gathered on the rotting machinery. The wallcrawlers leap between ceiling, wall, and obstacle to try to catch me behind whatever cover I can find. They can fight in three dimensions, an advantage balanced by the constant chatter between them playing in my mind as if we were training.
I draw my machine pistols against them. Having only two eyes I can only focus on one at a time, but they seem to tug their ends of the laser sights like fish tugging line.
Their more insect-like demeanor shows as soon as they stop. A short burst of fire from the machine-pistols follows the laser sight straight to their targets, and they fall limp to the ground, spasming before going still.
Yet each of their deaths only makes the firefight more intense, with fewer targets to keep track of, they adapt more to hiding tactics.
As silence and dust begin to settle in the garage, I quickly deduce from the lack of 'chatter' - and the bodies in their death throes littering the floor - that I've killed all of them.
Except one.
I hear the clacking of foot-claws on the ground, but the gunfight echoing through the garage has dulled my senses. I turn to face my guess the source of the sound only to be punished for my mistake with a cold metallic prodding at the back of my head.
Out of reflex I put my hands up as the last of 505-East's team presses its machine pistol to the exact point where my spine meets my skull.
"A shame. I thought you would have put up a challenge." 505-East-1 says to me, in a guttural growl that my brain can process into human tongue as well as any interpreter. "Unfortunately, we have more important matters to tend to."
For once, the certainty of death did not unsettle me. After so many brushes with death and fates possibly worse, I had grown impatient as to why I hadn't just gone quietly.
I take what I expect to be my final rusty breath as I loose the grip on one of my machine pistols, letting it fall to the floor.
The wallcrawler's machine pistol suddenly detaches itself from my neck as mine hits the ground. Fire races across the left side of my head as its machine pistol discharges a single burst...another wound to add to the rest.
Rather than fall, I turn again, this time to face my opponent. I can almost immediately feel a tingling, cooling sensation against the side of my head as the wound begins to heal. It is a sensation not aided by the fact that the wall-crawler is on the floor, snarling in pain as it tries to get up.
The creature had apparently fallen from a bullet wound to the gut. A fairly powerful one, to knock it off its feet without it noticing.
The braces around its arms have prevented it from dropping its machine pistol. It quickly draws the other one toward me but can barely switch on the laser sight before a similar sized wound suddenly explodes from its shin.
"Next time." it seethes, as it scurries away from me, limping up a wall and out of an old ventilation shaft. Realizing my opportunity at last I aim my remaining machine pistol up at the vents and pull the trigger.
The gun responds with a solitary click. It is empty.
"Leave that one. You have done well, but we do not seek that one, yet."
That does not deter me from aiming it at the Captain, who now looms from the doorway to the garage. He does not wear the bandana around his bloodied face.
He smiles an intimidating grin, having watched the events unfold.
And in that smile there comes a realization so horrifying that my first instinct is to deny it before trying to fight it.
I pick up the machine pistol I dropped and try to fire it at the Captain, only to find it is also empty. Just as well, he does not flinch.
The only 'option' left now was to run, as I swiftly turn tail and bolt outside the giant doorway of the garage into the light of the day.
The Captain does not pursue. He doesn't need to. He can find me wherever and whenever he wants to.
"All you need to do now is take care of our mutual problem. Then can you return and we shall prosper together."
I am unable to look back as I race down the driveway and into the street, from frantically rubbing my forehead to try to erase the dried blood that the Captain marked me with before my 'initiation.' I manage clear a few city blocks before fatigue finally catches up with me.
It is not a draining, natural feeling brought on by my injuries. It almost feels as if I were somehow scheduled to endure this after the previous gunfight.
The shattered window of an old storefront invites me to take shelter away from the patrol routes and outposts. It is an invitation I oblige by climbing in and sneaking behind some tall shelves. After putting my empty machine pistols to the side, I remove my upper coat and discard it. It is too tattered to provide its second master with any more protection from the elements or enemy fire.
For once, I have time to think. More specifically, time to accept the Captain's revelation. An apt feeling, given that this building used to be a bookstore. Close to the front, the moisture from the snow slowly decays forever the printed thoughts of authors, philosophers and scholars that have either died or no longer exist as human.
It was easy to ascribe my waking from what was supposed to be my last slumber as a sentient being to chance. But I clearly had not survived this long without a purpose...at least not a purpose apparent to me.
The wounds across my exposed arms and torn undershirt have already healed into faded scars. Only dull throbs remain under the layers of increasingly-pale skin and muscle where the embedded pulse rounds flicker their last.
They served as reminders of my initiation into the ranks of the Cloven, and the more it made sense the less I found my emotions able to cope with it.
They had taught me their skills and handiwork by forcing me to watch their massacre at the facility. Then by luring the wall-crawlers to this facility they set up my first practice, one that I passed with almost top marks. My last task is to eliminate the 'threat' that had saved me from swift death only minutes ago.
The only mystery that remains now is why I am to continue fighting the aliens as before...but I suspect I shall find that out in due time.
I cross my arms tight under my chest and slump forward, trying to hold back tears. I am no longer supposed to preoccupy myself with such superficial matters as self-preservation.
Rather, I should already know how to react when I discover a member of the species I used to be.
"Sergeant... Sergeant, is that you?"
The Captain had intended me to discover their sniper. Instead, such an example had entered the bookstore through the backroom and discovered me.
I turned to face him only to stare into the endless black vortex of the shotgun he aimed at me in return.
TO BE CONTINUED