Chapter XI:
KALTES KLARES WASSER
50m beneath the Sea Of Japan.
Below the waves, a massive, dark object was slowly gliding forward through the depths, and if Human ears were sensitive enough, they would pick up the accompanying SONAR ping... ping... ping... coming from it.
Deep within, clad in his rich black-and-gold naval longcoat, Captain Roman Alexandrovich Valius sat quietly in the commander's seat, right in the center of the main command bridge of the Victor-III Shchuka-class SSGN, K-1822 (or just "K22" as she was affectionately known by the men who called her home). Not a word was said by either Valius nor any of the crew standing or sitting at their stations around him. For the last half-an-hour, the K-22 had plowed on with its assigned course, their orders to head out to sea and wait. He could tell that something was up from the urgency and abruptness of the order, but what exactly was going on, no-one knew for sure. He and his crew began to suspect that the worst had come to pass, that war had indeed broken out, that by now, American ICBMs would be raining down on cities across the Union... or it could just turn out that all of this was a drill.
The K-22 had originally belonged to the Northern Fleet; Captain Valius himself was a native of the Lithuanian SSR. He and his crew were transferred out here to the Pacific Fleet last year as part of a revised naval strategy focusing on fortifying key areas like the Sea Of Okhotsk. However, due to various issues - logistics, politics, bureaucracy, the like - they hadn't actually made the long voyage from Murmansk to Vladivostok until that summer. Valius and his crew were made up mainly of ethnic Lithuanians, Latvians, and Estonians, and they'd had the occasional clash with the Far Easterners, but other than that, Vladivostok was an alright assignment. Indeed, it was things like this that had brought them closer together as a crew in some ways.
"Comrade-Captain," spoke one of the sailors, saluting him, cutting the tension at long last, "Comrade Myshkin wishes to speak to you."
Valius thanked the sailor and strode off, out of the bridge and up the narrow metal corridor towards the bow. Even within the largest submarines, space was always at a premium, which made the fact that the political officer got an entire cabin (even if it was still a tiny one) all to himself all the more glaring. The one assigned to K-22 was a short and ruddy individual by the name of Yakov Pavlovich Myshkin. He was sitting at his desk, reviewing papers as Valius entered.
"You wanted to see me?" began Valius.
"Comrade Captain," nodded Myshkin, "orders just in from the mainland. Highest priority. I... suppose you wish to know what's going on."
"Yes, very much so," replied Valius, "we are at war?"
"Indeed we are," sighed Myshkin, "though not with the West."
Valius was confused. On one hand, it was a great relief to know that perhaps everything he knew and loved back home hadn't yet been wiped out in a rain of thermonuclear fire; the Americans and their allies were the only ones he could think of with that kind of capability. But every answer raised only additional questions: if it was not with NATO, then with whom else could it possibly be?
"I'm afraid all information is on a need-to-know basis," said Myshkin, reading the look on Valius' face, "but... if you must know, for the moment, the attacks on the Motherland seem to be limited to a number of major cities. For now. There is no telling if more of them are coming. That is all I will say for now."
"And who is them exactly?" asked Valius.
"As I said, it's all need-to-know," replied Myshkin, "even I am not privy to that information yet. Regardless, our new mission perimeters are as follows: about ten minutes ago, three MiGs of the VVS 530th out of Chuguyevka intercepted an enemy flyer. One was shot down and its pilot, one Lt. Rodion Sokolov, has bailed out and is now adrift. More importantly, ground radar had confirmed the enemy craft went down shortly thereafter. Your mission now is to head to these coordinates and search for the downed enemy aircraft, retrieve any wreckage we may find... and if its pilot is still alive, bring him into custody."
"And what of Comrade Sokolov?" asked Valius, "should we pick him up?"
"He can wait," replied Myshkin, "we have other vessels in the area. But we are the nearest and the fastest, and therefore priority is the location and recovery of this unknown enemy craft. Understood?"
Valius did not like being ordered around on his vessel, but Myshkin represented the Party itself. He curtly nodded and left, heading back to the command bridge.
City Of Makabeus Hive (?),
Beta-Quadrant, Northern Hemisphere,
Terra Nova, Terra Nova System.
Imperial Date: 3779084.M42
There had not been much time to stop and think as soon as they had hit the ground. Once the drop pod impacted and opened up, Veteran Sergeant Gravius and the rest of his squad had charged out, bolters-blazing, swords-swinging, cries of glory and eternal praise to the Emperor blasting through their helmet audio filters. It wasn't until later, once they had met up with Brother Captain Syphro, that they finally stopped and took some time to get a bearing on their surroundings.
By then, the natives had taken the hint and had either run or were in hiding; the busy downtown area they now stood in was empty. Shops and storefronts appeared devoid of life, their windows smashed in from the fighting. Several cars and trucks stood abandoned in the street where their owners had left them. Pathetic machines, these things, Gravius noted; vehicles in the Imperium were built strong and made to last, but these ones were small, dull, and built from thin steel and feeble plastic. A single bolt would destroy one of them, provided it didn't simply penetrate one side, pass right through, and come out the other end. All of the cars seemed to look exactly like one another with only minor differences between them; Gravius' highly sensitive and attuned eyes were able to make out strange glyphs along the front of it, though it looked like it spelt out the word "TRABANT", whatever that meant. Perhaps that was the name of whatever local manufactorum had put out such disgraceful excuses for vehicles.
Makabeus Hive was a massive sprawling urban center and industrial complex and expected to be well defended, and yet the city they now found themselves in right now amounted to little more than a large town. With its mix of angular, strong but base concrete blocks and Gothic spires and edifaces, it certainly looked like any other Imperial City, but nothing like what they had been expecting. The only meaningful resistance (if one could call it that at all) had come from various and severely under-equipped groups of what looked to be local law enforcement as well as a local civilian militia. Their weapons were laughably inadequate and their resistance hopeless and disorganized, but as easy as these groups had been put down, that only raised another question: where were the rebels' real military forces? Surely they were well aware that the Imperium was coming to crush them? Did they not have even simple lasguns at their disposal? And if this wasn't the area they were targeting, then what place was this?
Perhaps one of the natives would happily oblige them. Gravius, flanked by Brothers Lucio and Selig, strode over to where two of the local "resistance" lay on the ground, their bodies cleaved in half. Earlier on, Brother Noel had carved through them with his chainsword - a weapon meant to cut through even Power Armor had chewed clean through their cloth uniforms, letting their intestines spill out onto the ground. The cut had been so clean in fact that you could almost put the two halves of both bodies together and they would look almost whole.
Gravius took a moment to study them. The first was a young man, no more than probably his mid-twenties (assuming these natives aged like the rest of the Imperium did), his blue eyes staring blankly and lifelessly and fixed in whatever horror he felt in his last moments. Blond curls of hair were visible under a drab-green peaked cap that looked vaguely like a commissar's, and the rest of his coat, jacket, and boots also somewhat resembled a commissar, save for the drab-green color and far simpler and more spartan appearance. His right hand still gripped the puny stubgun he had dare attempt to use against one of the Emperor's Angels.
Having first made sure that no more hostiles were active in the immediate area (though that might not have been necessary, given how puny and pathetic the stubguns these natives seemed to wield were), Gravius removed his helmet. He looked around him. It felt strange beholding this world for the first time without the use of his helmet auspex, but there was also an important job to be done. He lifted his right foot, and stomped on the dead native's head, crushing it completely. Bone crunched, blood and flesh squelched. When he lifted his foot again, there was fresh brain matter spread out upon the ground. Gravius knelt down, almost touching his face to the pavement, and proceeded to consume these pieces, lapping up brain and blood. These scraps provided perhaps a thin sliver of nourishment, but the real prize was whatever knowledge and memories he could glean from them.
Images and memories began to form themselves in Gravius' mind's eye. Images of the city when it was crowded and busy, what must have been a normal day, through the eyes of this native, this... Unteroffizier Rüdiger Helmann, age 27, Dresden District Command of the Deutsche Volkspolizei... wait a minute, Dresden...
Gravius looked up and around him. As he digested the native's mind, he was beginning to gain some understanding of the language. Street signs and storefronts around him began to make sense. KARL-MARX SHOP... a store named after a local historical figure named Karl Marx, whoever that was (Gravius abruptly found himself thinking of black-and-white photographs and big bushy beards - elements of Rüdiger's memories, no doubt). Haushaltsgeräte... household appliances. Geschenkartikel... gift items. Modeschmuck... fashion jewelry. Kaffeeshop... coffee shop. Bierstube... beer shop. Brühlsche Terrasse... Brühl's Terrace. Innere Altstadt... inner old city. Großer Garten... great garden. Dresden... a name... the name of this place.
"Dresden..." he muttered.
"I beg your pardon, Brother?" inquired Selig.
"The name of this town... is Dresden," declared Gravius.
Brother Lucio swore. It was clear now that something had indeed gone very wrong. Gravius remembered the Warp anomaly they had encountered before; if someone or something had deliberately tried to foil their landing, put them well off-course...
"So where is Makabeus Hive?" asked Brother Selig.
"No, nothing," replied Gravius, thinking very hard on the bits and pieces of Rüdiger's memories that were beginning to reveal themselves to him. "Cannot... find Makabeus Hive anywhere."
"Battle-Brother, what is going on?" boomed a commanding voice. Approaching them was Brother Captain Amadeus Syphro, Master Of Steeds, Captain of the Fists' Fifth Company. Syphro had assumed the captainship not too long ago, although his predecessor Honored Brother Captain Torres had still fought alongside the Fifth for quite some time, entombed within a Dreadnought, before the Daemons of the Madragoran had finally put an end to his legend for good. His memory was certainly well honored; Torres had ably guided the Fifth Company for nearly eight decades, ever since their prior Captain Tracinto had been felled by the fell traitor-cum-Khornate-champion Baranox The Blood-Haunted during The Despoiler's 13th and Final Crusade against Cadia.
All in all, it was a noble title and position that Syphro now occupied and had the challenge of living up to, and he had performed well in that role over these last few years, at least until now. But now, if this information was proven to be correct, then, for the first time in quite a while, the Fifth Company may have badly botched an important combat operation.
Staatsrat Building, Berlin-Mitte,
East Berlin, German Democratic Republic (GDR).
Officially, the leader of the GDR was an office not vested in a single person but rather collectively held by the State Council. Unofficially, the real power lay with the secretary of the Socialist Unity Party, and right now, he was not a very happy man at all.
"Herr-General," fumed Erich Honecker, speaking into the telephone, "what, pray tell, are we waiting for exactly? The 1st Guards are stationed in Dresden, if I recall correctly."
"You recall correctly, yes," replied General Mikhail Mitrofanovich Zaitsev, supreme commander of the GSFG (he wasn't in Berlin at the moment, but at Vogelsang), "which is why I've ordered that they pull back to Radeburg and join up with the 7th Panzers."
"Cowards," hissed Margot, Erich's wife who was seated right across the table from him. Whether her hearing was just that good or she was just being nosy as usual, she could hear well enough everything that was being said over the phone. She continued grumbling: "Comrade Stalin would never have let this happen!"
Erich motioned for her to please keep quiet, and then continued. "General, with all due respect, we've basically just conceded Dresden to these invaders!"
"And lived to fight another day," replied Zaitsev, "I'm sorry to say this, but if your own Volkspolizei and KdA forces were unable to contain the threat locally, then perhaps we should take some time to fall back and reevaluate our position. I'd rather know what enemy I face, and on more open and favorable ground too, then just send my men rolling blindly through the streets."
"Your comrades back home are fighting tooth and nail for Moscow and Leningrad as we speak," pointed out Erich.
"I'm not my comrades," said Zaitsev, bluntly. "And I have it on good advice from one of the KGB's top men on the ground there that these enemies are very powerful and advanced, and charging into the city now would be a pointless expenditure of further lives and materiel."
"Who?" demanded Erich, "do I know this agent?"
"My apologies, but that's all on a strictly need-to-know basis," said the General.
Erich wanted to say more, but knew that between the two of them, Comrade Zaitsev clearly had the better idea of what he was doing. This was a man who'd had over four decades of military experience, had fought the fascists at Kursk, Prague, and Berlin, and whose posting here, right at the (metaphorical) frontline for the last four years was no accident. Erich, by contrast, had spent the entire war in a Nazi prison - no mean feat surviving that, mind you, but admittedly probably an accomplishment more of personal grit than tactical acumen.
That, and Erich had already done one or two things that had really ruffled the Kremlin's feathers that year (planning to visit his counterparts over in Bonn was probably not a good idea, not while the Pershing-2s were still there), so continuing to antagonize one of their greatest military leaders was probably not a good idea. So he decided not to push the matter any further and instead hope that whatever Comrade-General here had in mind would pay off.
Border-Checkpoint, the Demilitarized Zone,
Near to Kaesong, Democratic People's Republic Of Korea (DPRK).
Why aren't you dying?!, thought Corporal Baek In-Sung, Korean People's Army, to himself as he manned the PK Type 82 machine gun, shooting madly at the thing that was now charging at them. He was supposed to shoot only in short controlled bursts, but right now, he was scared out of his mind. The ammo belt strained and tugged, half pulling the attached ammo-box towards him, and the barrel was beginning to steam and hiss from overheating.
Five more men in the squad were with him, firing away with their Type-58 rifles. The entire squad's output of firepower did nothing - the thing, whatever it was, kept going, running with a speed like a leopard, across no-man's land. Whenever its massive, heavy, metallic feet pounded down upon the ground, in some places, a landmine buried right there would explode but to absolutely no effect on the attacker. And it was not alone.
Boom-boom-boom rang the attacker's own weapon with a dull thud that sounded more appropriate to an autocannon than an assault rifle. Whatever it was, its aiming was spot on, as three of the men's bodies seemed to explode into gore and uniform tatters right before Baek's horrified eyes.
Command Bunker, near Sariwon,
North Hwanghae Province, DPRK.
Colonel Chin, IV Army Corps, scratched his chin in confusion as the radio operator relayed to him the latest news. "So the Namhan are attacking? But only in the westernmost sector, nearest to Kaesong? And... they're deploying 3-meter-tall supermen covered in bulletproof armor and armed with automatic grenade launchers? And swords?"
"It's not the Namhan, sir," spoke Lt. Choe, "our spies in the South have confirmed no military build-up. Indeed, it seems that they too are experiencing some kind of attack, also the westernmost sector. ROKAF has begun mobilizing throughout the Seoul region, but from what we've gathered, these seem more responsive than offensive."
"Then who in the Fatherly Leader's name is it?" commanded Chin.
"We... don't know," muttered Lt. Choe, "one of the patrols claimed they were being attacked as if spirits, or demons more like, had descended from the heavens above."
Col. Chin and the other man in the room, Lt. Bahk, would have balked at this bourgeois idea of angels coming down from the heavens to attack them were it not for the seriousness and honesty in Lt. Choe's face. Maybe it was aliens, like in those few Russian and Chinese science fiction movies, or those other science fiction movies that the Fatherly Leader's noble son had made (which were mandatory watching for all in the nation's governing elite) - but either way, something must have gone very wrong if even that was considered remotely plausible. Chin frowned and took a closer look at the large map spread out on the table.
"Kijong-dong is near to there," he observed, "it's largely uninhabited."
"Uh, sir, sorry, you are mistaken," corrected Bahk, "Kijong-dong is, in fact, densely populated; why, it's our peaceful and prosperous settlement! Blessed by the Fatherly Leader himself!"
Chin raised an eyebrow. Oh, right, of course, Bahk was of one of the lower grades and thus not entirely privy to the level of information that higher-ups like Chin himself were. But he also had no time to explain the reality to Bahk so he instead chose a shortcut answer: "better to sacrifice a village, even one of our best, than an entire city," said Chin, matter-of-factly, "contact the 815th and 820th. And send a general notice to all precincts throughout the Hwanghae and Kangwondo to begin mobilizing their Red Guard militias. Finally, begin alerting all border patrols in the region to begin withdrawing, to Kijong-dong."
"Are you suggesting...?" began Bahk, aghast.
Chin nodded. "We're going to lure them into the village, tie them up there, and then throw everything we've got at them - artillery, bombs, Scud missiles, the kitchen sink too if necessary."
Somewhere in the Sea Of Japan.
Lt. Sokolov supposed he had a lot to be grateful for. That the KM-1 ejector seat was able to get him up and safely away from Dasha despite the fact that she was spinning and hurtling through the air faster than sound. That his chute worked and opened up on time to pull him out of the spin. That throughout it all, he was somehow able to keep his stomach contents in (else it would now be spread all over the inside of his helmet). That the inflatable life-vest worked and was now keeping him afloat in spite of the heavy gear he was wearing. That the high-altitude flight suit was water-proof and thermally insulated enough to keep him warm. And that the blinking signal transponder attached to his suit would, hopefully, mean that a rescue boat would be along to pick him up before too long.
He lay back where he was, bobbing up and down in the ocean, looking up at the starry sky above him. Now that was safe for now, he also had a moment to wonder as to whatever had happened to the others? To Kozlov and Voronin, and of course, to their skilled adversary? He was pretty sure that his last missile had struck and surely must have dealt some hefty damage.
A flash of light in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned and looked in the direction it came from. Off in the distance, there was a light. It seemed to be flashing, but that was probably because of waves passing in front of it. If it was a boat, it would either get closer, or would gradually disappear as it sailed past him. And he was also fairly certain it could not be a lighthouse either, given how far away from land they had been when the duel took place. But it seemed to remain still, even after he had observed it for a few minutes.
Sokolov could have just remained as he was, continue floating there where he lay and wait for his rescue. But instead, whether it was curiosity or the hope that he might get rescued sooner, he decided to go and check it out. It was a little awkward trying to swim as he was, in his bulky flight suit and with the life-vest designed as it was to keep his chest and head facing up, so he decided to backstroke his way there, craning his head around every couple minutes to see what progress he was making. Little by little, stroke by stroke, the light in the distance was getting closer.
Excerpt from Christian Broadcasting Channel,
Dated Oct. 11, 1984, 10:00am PST.
"My fellow brothers and sisters... I always believed this day would come. And I been warnin' y'all this for years. But today, GOD has FINALLY SPOKEN! Set your TVs or your radios to any other channel, and you'll see for yourself the DIVINE JUDGMENT and RETRIBUTION being meted out upon cities all around the WORLD!
"Yes, GOD hath shown his DISPLEASURE with Humanity, and henceforth sent his ANGELS from heaven above to punish Humanity for our SIN! For our DEBAUCHERY! For our GODLESS SOCIALISM and GOVERNMENT! To tear down this NEW SODOM AND GOMORRAH we have created! To smite those who dare think themselves so arrogantly above His GLORY! Even now, his ANGELS marcheth, unstoppable by even man's greatest weapons! For though you may fire your slings and arrows from atop the Tower Of Babel, you can never hit GOD!
"Yes, folks, it's clear now that the RAPTURE is surely upon us! REPENT, I say! Confess your SIN! Open your hearts to JESUS while you still can! For JESUS CHRIST is our Lord and Savior, and only through him can you achieve the promise of the Heavenly Kingdom!
"And what better way is there to truly show your love and repentance before our Lord JESUS CHRIST... than to OPEN YOUR WALLETS and DONATE NOW! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, now is as good a time as any to repent, accept Jesus into your heart, and secure your place in Heaven by Our Lord's side, all of which you can do for only a small one-time payment of THREE-HUNDRED DOLLARS! Call THIS number RIGHT NOW to begin setting up your payment plan. Alternatively, we accept checks in the mail or wire-transfers through Western Union at this address. QUICKLY! There may not be much time left here on Earth! Yes folks, THREE-HUNDRED DOLLARS now, or an eternity in HELL! The choice is yours!"
