The occupation of Western Russia had been uneasy for most of the locals while newcomers from the west swarmed into their homeland with a hope of becoming a productive citizen for the Reich. However, the lack of proper planning made the idea of economic prosperity into a pipe dream. Both the Russians and western Europeans found themselves in an uneasy coexistence as the Reichskommissariats tried to look for a solution to their problems.
Everything changed when Adolf Hilter died and was followed by the chaos of the German Civil War. The lack of support was quite apparent as the garrisons found themselves overwhelmed by the various uprisings across the vast lands of Russia. If it was not the locals themselves, the various leaders within the ranks were also taking a stand against each other.
Helmut took another swig at the bottle in his hand, trying to cope with these difficult times. Being a clerk that was almost killed in a bombing attack did little to comfort him. A resurgent Russia was now on their border and poised to strike. There was nothing to stop the vengeance of its people now that communication to Berlin had been cut off. He did try to ask questions about the matter, but the only words he received from his superiors was the same old "Streng Geheim" answer.
Whatever happened to the thousand-year Reich? Where was the economic prosperity that was promised? Why was there factionalism when there should have been unity? He was scared and rightfully so. His head turned from his desk to a window on his right, only to see the border checkpoint into Russia.
Once upon a time, he would have seen the occasional Russian bandit come through to buy goods from the Reich or a criminal jump the border in the land's anarchy. Now it was replaced by the sounds of Russian music and military drills. This newfound tsar of Russia was coming and vengeance was long-due for his people.
Initial reconnaissance from the long-range aircraft was enough to force an expedition from Russia's finest. Although it was tempting to explore across the Pacific to their hearts' content, the threat of German forces in the west demanded full military attention. Whatever leftovers were spared from the west now found themselves taking place in the ports of Magadan.
Nikolay Uhktomsky remembered years back when things were different. Fascists and mercenaries turned on each other before the White Army beat both of their forces to the brink. This port was once a battlefield and had buildings with bullet holes to support its existence. No longer did it export goods to the Japanese or bring enthusiastic Americans to fight for their money. Now it was assembling several divisions and what few destroyers Russia managed to produce.
Three knocks hit the door as the foreign minister turned towards his guest. He had been waiting for him. "Come in."
The young man entered the room and saluted him upon arrival. "Sir, I had been requested to your office as ordered."
Nikolay chuckled at the strictness in his address. "You may relax, Corporal Gleb Dolokhov, I am not General Volkoganov. Do you know why I sent for you?"
"No sir," He admitted, "I have no idea why the foreign minister would ask for me."
His eyes looked down to see his file before his desk. "You were once part of the Ural Guard and had it not been for you, the integration of former prison guards and convicts would be far more difficult for the government. That is why I have brought you here, Gleb."
The man's eyes shifted towards him with curiosity. "Is there some kind of mission for me?"
Good, he got the idea. "Yes. His majesty is quite curious why communications with the United States has been lost; however, intelligence has provided very concerning information about its current status."
"Oh, I understand, but how can I even be of use to you? I am just a soldier and don't know any English."
There was another already waiting in that room until that very issue had been mentioned. "No worries, you will be accompanying several members of the CIA. They will help you out in getting accustomed to the language while they learn what happened to their country."
"The CIA?" Gleb wondered.
The minister looked at his file. "Yes, you should be familiar with them. After all, you did have a few run-ins with a few agents back in the Southern Urals, Tomsk, and ultimately Chita when we found you."
"How did you know?"
He adjusted his glasses. "Mikhail has his connections. Go meet your group. You'll be the first to set off before we send the expeditions in."
Heinrich hated to admit it, but ever since the White Army was winning, food had been growing plenty in number. The former breadbasket of the Soviet Union was supposed to be producing more food in Russia; however, the ineffective Reichskommissariat Ukraine did little to produce enough food. Now it the irony was on them instead of the Russians who endured the era of warlords.
The former German soldier walked into the bar as he sought out a drink. These locals would always give him an evil eye, but would accept his money. Had he been closer to western Russia, they would have lynched him on the spot. Thankfully, Magadan was relatively nicer to handle people like him.
When he made his way towards the bar filled with a few patrons, the manager looked at him and spoke in clear Russian. "Hello, good sir. What do you want today?"
"Hand me your hardest drink." The man said, but his accent gave him away. Heads turned and their eyes widened as they recognized his origins.
"What are you doing here, fritz? Don't you know that Germany is in the west?" The insult was well-deserved as the bartender reached for a few bottles of beer, "Get the fuck out."
Heinrich wanted to assure him that he had no ill will against him. "I am willing to pay."
He shook his head. "Where did you get the blood money? Did you kill a man for it? Did you steal from a family on your way here? Is there anything else you want to take from us?"
"Sir, I don't want no trouble."
"You sure brought it with you that's for sure."
Two men from his left had slipped off their stools and slowly approached him. "Did you hear? Get out?! We don't want you here. It's bad enough our own brethren embraced fascism, but a Nazi has no right to defile this place."
Heinrich glanced around the dirty bar. "It must be a tragedy to consider a bar holy ground."
It was enough to incite a violent response as the German found someone's knuckles smash into his face. The German was knocked back onto the counter with his collar being pulled up by one hand and his hair by another. "You have a lot of fucking balls to say that to us. Maybe if you died in the west we wouldn't be in this place?"
He was met by another fist, leaving bruises and blood all over his face. All he wanted some peace and quiet with some alcohol. Yet, Heinrich could not find anyone willing to accept him.
The door's bell jingled as two people entered the room. An American commanded the room. "Let him go."
His attackers were surprised by his sudden arrival. "Who the fuck are you?"
"It's none of your business. Let the German go and we will be on our merry way."
"Like hell, it is," One of the Russians cried out, "We are just getting started and this kraut is going to get what's coming to him."
"Release him, right fucking now!"
Heinrich looked towards the entrance to find the American reach behind his back as his companion watched. "Say it nicer."
"We could do it the easy way or the hard way. It would be hard to explain to Ukhtomsky about this silly little matter."
"The foreign minister?" The two men holding him had released their grip on him.
He nodded his head. "The German is part of my entourage. Now get your hands off of him.'
A moment of silence fell over them before the grip loosened and they tossed him in their direction. "Your lucky, kraut."
"Vito, carry him."
The other man walked up to Heinrich and carried him out of the bar while the American followed after him. They walked along the sidewalk, as the tension and the blood flow calmed.
"Heinrich, you can't be walking around without one of us." He knew what he meant. His nationality was part of his damning existence ever since his unit pushed a bit too hard into Russia, "We have vodka at home, why go here?"
Humans were social people. No matter how much you try to isolate them, the desire to be with others was just there. Being this far from Germany did little to comfort him as the CIA agent followed him back to their apartment. Part of him wanted to celebrate the moment where he could leave this country and find some form of solace in foreign lands. If his father was here, he would call him a coward for not confronting the so-called sub-humans.
Radar stations had produced strange results for the people of New Victoria. Queen Victoria VI was perplexed by the information as her captains explained to her about the state of the situation. She had expected a threat to appear from the east; however, they reported that there were aircraft flying in from the west. How this was possible could never be answered. No one could have known.
The door to her war room was open as three of her soldiers walked in. "Your majesty, we apologize for the intrusion."
Eyes from her officers had glared at these men with harsh intent, but she needed to know more. "It is fine. What news do you bring?"
One of the soldiers handed a small slip of paper to a table full of several radios. "Switch to that frequency and raise the volume for everyone to hear."
Victoria waited as the radio operators did as they were told. A few minutes later, the radio sparked to life on a high volume. There was silence at first, but then it began in a foreign tongue. Whoever was speaking was not talking in the language that everyone was familiar with. Yet, it was deemed important enough to garner her attention.
"We managed to intercept a radio transmission from the flying aircraft. We are looking into the matter at hand, but we certainly believe it is from Russia." He said.
One of her captains in dark red turned towards her. "What could they be doing here? They have never come this far from their shores."
The queen considered many possibilities. Yet, this was an unknown that had changed everything. "That is true. The aircraft came this far from the west and perhaps we should be vigilant with these newcomers. Something is happening and we need to rally the defenses of our island if they intend to do the same to us like the people across the waters."
She looked into the eyes of every soldier in the room. They all knew what she meant. There was a society of raiders on their doorstep with one of the largest navies in the region, more than enough to overcome her forces. The only saving grace was the superior leadership her forces commanded, but so much can be done from her island without the removal of her hated enemy.
Victoria pondered about her strategic situation the more she looked at the map. If their neighbors could be removed, permanently, it would provide some room for development. The only possible allies she could seek out were the Haida Confederation and the countries inland, too far from the shores to be of any help. Something needed to be done about the society of raiders. "Fetch my admiral, there is something I want to try out."
Cheese and biscuits were passed around between the CIA agent and his European company. The strange disconnection from Langley and the rest of the United States had disturbed him. Whatever task he had here, there was just no way for him to come home. He had to make do with his new life and his contacts within Mikhail's administration provided nothing about the current status of the states.
Sitting across from him was Heinrich with a beer bottle in hand as a cigarette between his lips. Ever since his rescue, he just needed something to cope with his lonely social issues. Hawkeye could only pity the poor guy for simply surviving his encounter with the WRRF. The eastern front was a complete clusterfuck for everyone involved. It did not matter if you lived in West Russia or Far East Russia, no one escaped from it. Even the Germans did not fare any better.
Vito stepped out of the kitchen with an entree that was always expected of his people. "Fettucine for everyone! This will make everyone happy!"
Hawkeye chuckled. "You Italian people really love your pasta."
"Of course, otherwise our German friend would get angry that he has to eat sausage one more time."
The remark seemed to spark a response from Heinrich. "Talk shit about our sausages and I'll talk shit about your fucking cannolis."
Vito placed the food down and drew his switchblade. "Try me."
It was time to end this issue once and for all. "Would it be horrible of me to put pineapple on pizza?"
The Italian and the German turned their heads at him, focusing their attention on him. Both speaking in unison. "Yes!"
Someone knocked on the apartment door. As the comical moment came to an end, Hawkeye approached the door with his hand behind his back. His pistol ready for any possible outcome. "Who is it?"
A Russian spoke up from behind the door. "Uhktomsky sent me. He said I was to join your outfit."
Hawkeye turned the doorknob and slowly creaked it open to find a man in a green uniform. Even though Imperial Russia loved to talk about how they are different from their Soviet counterparts, they were willing to adopt some of the same ideas in some details. "Who are you?"
"Gleb Smirnov, a former member of the Ural Guard. I was integrated back when Chita was a small province."
This man was surprisingly well-traveled and definitely well-adjusted to stumble upon that many warlords in so little time. It definitely matched his files. "Welcome to your team."
The shores of the Broken Coast were buzzing with rumors. It was said that the skies were filled with screams of the angels as a lone flier caught the attention of the raiders. Graven received news that it came from the western seas. His scouts did make a few runs to that part of the world, but few ever came back. Now this phenomenon had piqued his interest.
He rose from his throne to see his warriors gather around the tables filled with food, an assortment of chems, and accompanied by mostly scantily clad women. They wanted to hear his response, knowing full well he would act upon those intentions with brute force. His right-hand man stood up from his stool and approached him. "What is your command?"
Graven's voice had erupted from behind his mask. "We have newcomers from the west, it seems. Whoever they are, shall see our ships in despair. Pirates, send letters to all of your greatest warriors across the coast. It is time."
Tables began to thunder with men smashing their fists as they cried out with joy for the news. It had been a long time since they had a proper raid against any poor soul who would be targeted. Then his hand ceased the cheering for a moment.
"First, we will assemble our fleets to deal with the enemy in the north. Then we encircle the bitch in New Victoria. Then the north will be ours. There will be nothing for those westerners to see except our power."
The cry for blood had begun and all that was needed were the bodies.
LanzCorporalAssWipe: Tsar Reich is so out of place in my opinion.
bezerker928: Indeed.
Legionnaire123: I will do so.
Reichsmarschall: The date the Russians were ISOTed is somewhere between 1973-75.
darkwolf54326: God Save the Tsar.
Guest: Thank you for the review.
Guest: Yeah, it's in a bit of a limbo as of right now. Trying to organize a decent premise for Artyom to arrive in the R6S world is a lot harder than it seems.
Assistant Elite General Matteo: Bound to be discussed in the future.