After Activation 1148 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1109 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 121-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1980 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
Willem popped around the corner, his AK braced on the wall with his thumb. Pulling the trigger for a brief old, once, twice. He popped back behind the wall again.
He had run out of ammunition for his G3 long ago, somewhere in the middle of the night with the invasion he was sure. It was all a little fuzzy if he was being honest, just heading over to the destroyed anti-ship missile launchers, trying to find people to help, getting knocked back by the secondary explosions, hitting his head on the concrete blast mufflers, losing consciousness for a few minutes, or hours, he wasn't sure.
All he knew was that when he came to again, things were very much wrong. It looked like a gunfight of some kind, bullet holes on the walls, explosive markings on the floor, craters on the concrete walls, collapsed sand balustrades, burning buildings. Then one of the African attackers, probably looking for anyone that wasn't dead and ready to make them dead.
Rifle up, waving. Shock from explosion, hard to look straight. Hard to walk straight. Hard to do anything properly, everything going wrong. Need to lie down. No. Bad. Can't lie down, have a mission. What is the mission? Not sure. Was there a mission? No. There is a mission. Has to be a mission. Someone to tell me what to do. All alone. Bad. Can't do this.
Willem gave a moan as a rifle comes out of the wall. No. Not the wall. The corridor, someone with a rifle coming through. Not a G3, AK, distinctive barrel design. Bad. Very bad. Lean against wall to the left, ok. Ready. Comes through, hand. African, camouflage new pattern, not European. Ok. Target.
Chest in view. Pull the trigger. Pull.
Chk, Chk.
Forgot to turn off the safety, fuck. Bad idea Willem. Very bad.
Flick safety off. Fumble. Need to look down at rifle. Very bad. Wrong side of rifle. Ok. Right side, safety off. Ok. Works. Yes. Good.
Look up again, African pointing rifle at me. Oh. Bad. Pull the trigger. Bang Bang Bang.
Bullets go out. He pulls his trigger too. Crack Crack Crack.
Shrapnel hits side of the face. No bullet wounds. Good. Very good. Most bullets from Willem missed. Bad. Very bad. Oh, African falls over. Good? Need to get over. Try to walk, legs not working. Too wobbly. Wonder why.
Oh, it's because of fear. Am scared. That would explain it. Interesting.
Body warm, kick over. Heavy. Need to try 3 times. Ok. Body flipped over. Body facing upwards? Blood out of chest. Shot in the heart? Lucky. Very lucky. Ok. They hear gunshots. Need to get out of here. Down corridor, probably take Willem out of base? Not sure where. All base insides look the same.
Dutch Engineering!
Hah.
Things blanked out after that, Willem wasn't sure exactly what had happened but at some point, he linked up with a few European Union forces, a Spaniard, a German, 2 British, and another Dutchman. The memories became more concrete at this point. Luckily he had learnt how to speak English and fit right in, the Spanish guy taking a bit longer but certain words like "Duck", "Grenade", "Fuck Off", were universal.
The group of them had tried to find a way out of the city, all communications had been cut off when the Africans attacked, a way to shut down external communications out of the city no doubt buying time for their invasion fleets to make landing. As it was, they needed to get away from the ports, there wasn't anything they could do to help now, unless their rifles were somehow ready to punch holes in battleships from 3 kilometers out. Which gave another problem for them to consider. They needed to get away from the missiles or explosive shells or whatever it was that the African ships carried with them. If they stayed, it was just another way for them to die.
The Special Forces that were inside the city looking for isolated EU troops to hunt down, the invasion fleet with its tanks and infantry that were going to be hunting them down, the artillery they could call in. As far as Willem knew, the closest reinforcements of any significant number they had was over 15 hours away, a mechanized battalion. It wouldn't be doing very much against a full invasion, but it might be able to buy some time. Who knew.
It was while they were talking that the British soldiers, Marines it turned out, had told them all to shut up and get down. They did so, the British were very good at this it looked like. Very professional, even if they tended to swear a lot.
An African patrol was moving down the street, probably looking for them judging by how they were searching the entire street. 9 of them, all wearing camouflage. Maybe so they wouldn't be executed if they were caught? He wasn't sure.
Still, when they were within 20 meters, the British had signalled for them to fire, leading the way with their LA85s, the G3s of the rest of the unit following soon after. The thundering sounds of weapons fire filled the street for a moment, bouncing off the walls and the glass panes, the moans of the African soldiers following afterward.
"Ok lads, let's get busy, we don't have much time." Said Greg? Or was it Fred?
Jogging over to the bodies, he shot the ones that were wounded again in the head, two bullets each. After that he stripped them of their weapons, handing out the AKs to the others, stripping out the ammunition and grenades as well.
"We don't have much time lads. Get some of this kit on you now. Our guns are too distinctive, they can follow the sounds to chase us down." Willem nodded at that, or at least tried, it certainly made sense. Dropping his G3 and its ammunition bandolier on the ground, he took the proffered AK, the ammunition and the explosives before turning and looking down the road.
Ah, that's when I got the AK.
Willem was still out of it, but he was getting better, enough for him to realise that he should be providing security for the rest of them with his new rifle. Aiming down the sight, he made sure to keep the way they came from secure, he would be shooting people that wandered in the way.
There were probably civilians out there, which was bad. If he shot civilians, he would feel pretty bad. But at this moment, he was sure the civilians were evacuating and running north, those that weren't were holed up in their homes waiting for this all to end.
He certainly sympathized with them, it must be hard being on the end of an invasion and not being able to do anything about it.
"Ok lads, let's get going, we need to head north, link up with anyone we can and maybe we can get out of this one alive." Said Fred, Greg, George. One of them.
"Yes, I'm finding this city to becoming very inhospitable." said the Spanish one, his dark skin marking him out from the very pale group. They should totally get tans, would make it so they didn't look so pasty compared to everyone else.
Strange thoughts aside, the group had begun moving their way through what looked like a very quiet city. Everyone waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The smart ones were evacuating, the explosions at the docks and gunfire all over the city, along with the communications blackout meant that there had to be something big happening. That didn't mean that everyone else was an idiot however, they still had enough brainpower to figure that being out on the streets right now was a very bad idea. Hence all the closed businesses, the locked houses, the empty streets.
They had kept trudging along, taking the alleyways and side paths after they reached the old part of the city, the one that hadn't been rebuilt after World War 2. They needed to get off the streets and make it harder for the Africans to chase after them. And if they did manage to find them, they would at least make it harder for them to actually catch them, the narrow paths being natural chokepoints where 1 man could easily hold off a dozen.
Willem stumbled along with the team, the exhaustion, the damage he likely took from the explosion making a mess of his internal organs. He was going to need to find a doctor at this rate, things weren't exactly looking good for him. Likely there was minor brain damage, permanent or temporary, who knew, his inability to concentrate on a single thing being a very big indication that there was something very wrong with him.
It had gone wrong when they were found by a patrol which had begun shooting at them almost immediately. Franz, the other Dutchman had been shot in the back of the head before they knew what was happening. The Spaniard had been shot in the arm, the rest of them diving to the ground. Willem had remained standing, his brain not computing the demand for him to go prone, seemingly interpreting it as a sort of half crouch of some kind.
Somehow he made it through without a bullet inside his brain, his legs, stomach, or any other important bodypart he needed to live.
Thanking small mercies.
The British Marines had returned fire with speed, forcing them to duck down, buying enough time for the rest of them to begin running. The next corner had been a few meters away, their salvation.
They would make it, but what about the British? Willem tried to force his brain into order, forcing it to give orders to the rest of the body. He needed to be upright, he needed his hands on the wall, he needed his rifle on his hand. So many little things, who knew that setting up a proper firing posture was this much work?
But Willem persevered, he recognized that those British were the only reason that he was still alive, he needed them alive so he could keep being alive.
Ok. Breathing in. Left hand on the wall. Check. Palm on. Check. Thumb out. Check. Put rifle on thumb. Check. Good good. Bend legs. Down. Just a little bit. Too much. Up again, a little bit. Good good. Nearly there. Right arm move down a little bit. Rifle pointing at the Africans at the end of the alleyway? Good good. Pull trigger. Crack. Oh bad. Gun recoil too much. Jerk off thumb. Bad. Very bad. Ok. Swing right arm up again, put rifle on thumb. Close thumb. Lock to wall. Ok. Good. Better. Yes. Smarter. Ok. Pull trigger again. Crack. Yes. Good, rifle jerk, not off.
Aim down. Pull trigger again. General direction good. Accurate too much to ask for. Not Willem's fault explosion's fault. Always the explosions. Bad.
Ok. British running. Yes. Good.
"Ok mate, appreciate it but you're gonna want to try and keep to cover there matey." He said. Matey? Argh Matey?
British were so weird.
Willem tried to nod, just a little bit.
Freddy dragged him along, Willem tried to stumble with him, just a little bit. Weeee.
"He's fucking sloshed."
"Brain damage mate, he's got balls, I'll give him that."
"Well let's get him back to our lines then yeah? He might even survive this, the unlucky tosser."
Willem lost track of what was happening after that.
Next thing he knew he was waking up in a hospital bed with an IV on his right arm, restraints on his body, and aches all over.
"Keep down love, we've had to operate on you, you're going to be feeling the pain for a while, here's just the thing for it." Said a voice by his side. He tried to turn his head but couldn't, there was a brace of some kind on his neck. "There there dearie, here we go, just swallow ok?" Said the voice again, a rather lovely British one. Something lifted the bed up, putting his head at an angle, a cup of water placed at his lips and a pill in his mouth. He greedily swallowed both.
"Ok dearie, just go back to sleep now, when you wake up again it's all going to be okay." Willem could only try to nod, everything going black again a few moments later.
After Activation 1148 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1109 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 121-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1980 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
A breaking news banner scrolled across the television. The smooth voice of the anchorwoman speaking in English, the television belonging to a British Bar in London.
"This is Eliza Britchell, bringing you breaking news. The Republic of Africa has launched a surprise attack against the European Union today after declaring war yesterday night. The European Union Parliament has condemned the attack as cowardly and against international law, and has begun to shift its military units to the south of Europe.
"As of this morning, the Republic of Africa has captured the Greek capital of Athens and unconfirmed reports of parts of Spain, Portugal, Monaco and parts of France. Reports are unsubstantiated at this time, however. The Republic of Africa has deployed units from parts of Tunisia, Algeria, and Morocco. The states declared themselves part of the Republic of Africa yesterday night, a shock move that has seen a majority of the African continent under the control of the Republic of Africa. As of right now, the nations of Libya and Egypt remain free of the Republic of Africa but it is no doubt just a matter of time.
"All European Union member states have been placed on military alertness and if you are part of a military unit under the codes of #838813, #2412214 and #0938113, you must return to your postings immediately for deployment. If you are under the code of #2188244, #2888172, #0009931, or #1288144, then you must return to your barracks for possible deployment.
"I will now pass this to an address by the Prime Minister of Britain."
The image of a rather skinny British gentleman came on screen, with the associated paleness, prominent knuckles on his fingers and a general air of "poshness".
"My fellow Britons, it is with great regret that I announce that the negotiations with the Republic of Africa have failed and broken out into hostilities. Athens was attacked earlier today with reports of more landings on the coasts of Spain, Portugal, and France. They have attacked without provocation, they have attacked when words have failed. In doing so they have shown us what they truly are, dishonorable curs. Make no mistake my fellow Britons, we will be honouring our vows with the European Union and sending our army and navy to serve. Britons have died already in the line of service, under the surprise attack and fighting a valiant rearguard action to ensure that those of their comrades could escape, often sacrificing themselves to do so. They will not be forgotten and my heart goes out to those families. Ready yourself Britain for we go to war. We shall show the world why we have held these isles for 10 centuries, why we have alone weathered 2 world wars from start to finish, why we are British!"
The television cut back to the reporter, this time she was standing in front of a projected image that was above that of what looked to be a fleet of ships transiting through an ocean/sea of some kind.
"And now we have live footage of the Republic of Africa's fleet brought to you by our news helicopter."
Cool image transition, through projector, into the mind of a crewman on the deck.
Much Awesome.
"What are we going to do about that helicopter?" Asked the lieutenant, his face turned up, hand shading his eyes against the glare of the sun. The helicopter with a very obvious and bright "BBC NEWS" emblazoned on its side had been tracking the fleet for hours now. The constant helicopter presence being maintained when a second had come to relieve its vigil over the fleet.
"Command says we are to do nothing, show them the might of the Republic of Africa's fleet." Said his fellow watch officer, both of them in the watch tower above one of their cargo ships. While it was not the most glamorous job, it was also one that made very sure that the fleet and the armies would have the food, clothing, supplies, and shelter that they needed. A thankless job, but one that was so very necessary given the advances of technology and the demands that placed on their supply chain.
"How are the net layers coming along?" He asked, looking through his mounted telescope at the lone ships far off to their port and starboard sides.
"The Captain says that they are going as scheduled, the net across the Mediterranean should be done in a few days. Not fast enough to stop all of their submarines, but enough." Replied his partner. He nodded, the nets were essentially massive nets made of corded steel that stretched its way for hundreds of kilometers. If a submarine tried to get past it, it would have to push through the net and in doing so, would get itself caught on the net in the first place, the propellers being caught and even damaged. The entire thing would be mined after the net was laid down, a further deterrent to the superior European submarines. If they could not compete, then they would just ban them from the arena altogether.
The entire net was also covered with naval mines, any submarines that came close would risk setting off the magnetic detection systems of the physical detonation systems. Each mine would be able to sink any ships that wandered into them, let alone a much more fragile submarine. They were made anti-tamper proof as well, divers trying to defuse them were going to find themselves turned into paste… hopefully.
A loud klaxon began to blare. The turrets mounted on the ship itself activating and spinning their 30mm gatling guns, the radar domes spinning up to detect the inbound threats. The turret systems also had a few Anti-Missile Missiles, capable of intercepting incoming anti-ship missiles and destroying them, an impressive feat when one considered that inbound anti-ship missiles tended to move at several times the speed of sound.
First their own anti-missile missiles were deployed, the bigger ones that had a range of 50 kilometers or so. They would have about 2-3 seconds to try and intercept.
he recessed missile pods in the midsection of the smaller ships ejected their hatches and a loud tearing sound filled the air. The missiles had been launched, the speed at which they left the tubes ripping apart the air in their eagerness to hunt.
Next came the second line of defences, the Shtora based systems, large boxes that essentially fired lasers that would confuse and blind missile systems that were not being actively guided from their launch point. In this case being the inbound missiles that had no doubt been launched from an aircraft that was escaping the area after it delivered its payload.
It was too bad that at the ranges they were working at, the telescoped equipped humans wouldn't be able to see the handiwork of the defence systems. That is until the 35mm cannons spun up and began their prefiring rituals, then spinning in place and roaring, flinging the shells, each the size of an arm out into the sky. The long line of tracers marking a light bridge from the barrel to the target point.
An explosion sounded out, followed by the soft whirr as the gatling guns spun down. The tinkling of the sound of the shell casings as they bounced off the deck (more like clanging for those that could still hear on the deck).
"Well, we're still alive. That's nice."
"Yes, thankfully. Even if we had been hit, we would have still made it out, we are all the way up here after all."
"Yes, yes, but the ship is still in once piece which is important."
"Oh yes... we had those didn't we?"
"Ayup. Here we go."
The silos behind them opened up, lifting their tops and revealing what looked like little domes. A little smoke or rather steam? The pressurized air coming out as a cold jet of air from the vents at the side. Then, the launch. It was slow at first, a steady whirr before a loud metallic thunk ejected the dart like missile into the air. It ignited and shot into the sky, trailing a thin trail of smoke behind it, arcing in the air and heading out tangentially from the fleet.
"Woooo. Someone is going to be having a very bad day."
"Ayup, those S300s gonna kill any planes in 150 clicks, mach 6. Dat bird is an unlucky one eh?"
Transition back out into the television.
"As we just saw, the Republic of Africa's fleet was attacked by missiles of some kind which they defeated."
The anchor stopped briefly, turning her head to the side and nodding to someone offscreen.
"This has just come in from the ministry of aviation, the entire Mediterranean sea has been designated a no-fly zone. If you wish to do so, please be aware that you are doing so at your own risk. As we have just seen, the African Republic Navy is very serious about protecting its fleet. Please do not try and antagonize them."
"Now onto more pleasant news…"
The Republic of Africa had successfully invaded the south of Europe, heading up and stabbing into the heartlands of everything west of Italy. The majority of the European forces had been stationed in Italy, predicting that if there was an invasion it would be through Sicily and up north.
Intelligence reports had told them that Africa did not have the navy to attempt a full crossing across the entirety of the Mediterranean. They either had the choice of attacking through Italy, or to head out easy route, through Egypt, Libya, Turkey and then into Europe, possibly bogging themselves down into a route for their reinforcement and supplies that would be besieged from all sides by angry guerrillas.
As it was, they had somehow constructed multiple ships from seemingly nowhere, deploying them in the course of a single day for an attack into the relatively undefended and vulnerable parts of Europe that did not have a significant military presence. Indeed, it appeared that the Africans had copied the Liberty ship idea used by the Americans in World War 2, prefabricated ships bolted together, used to transport goods en-masse.
The had somehow got what must have been thousands of tanks, vehicles and many more times that in infantry onto these ships, transporting them across and delivering them straight into heart of Europe. War had come suddenly and it shattered the complacency that had filled Europe following the Second World war. They had not fought a proper war in decades and were now being forced to go up against the might of Republic of Africa, that had been fighting for the last decade.
As it was, half of Europe would likely be under their control in a month, their army divisions hard pressed to hold back the African advance. It certainly did not help that to the South was the food production heartlands of Europe, something that was going to make the upcoming months very difficult if they did not have a reliable means to feed a majority of their army.
Thankfully there was a silver lining in this, that the US had decided to honour its obligations to NATO and deploy its armies to Europe to assist them. Bringing across divisions filled with men, tanks, aircraft and vehicles. France was still part of NATO, even if they were part of it begrudgingly. That and NATO was meant to be deployed against an invasion by the USSR, instead of Africa. The fact that it was Africa had caused a few heads to scratch in America, they had considered that maybe this wasn't exactly the worst idea, did not the USA have their own revolution against the colonial masters?
They sympathized with the Africans, in this timeline the Housing Authority had been killed in a "freak accident", as well as quite a few of the economic advisors who were huge racists. Killing them restored an equilibrium of sorts where the black and white population actually did not hate each other, all of it being engineered anyway to create divisions in society to exploit for profit and votes. The US required far too many assassinations to get working properly, a fundamental problem of their society perhaps?
Regardless, the US was going to war and bringing all of its toys with them. They would not be getting off scot-free however, the South American Federation was very much looking for something to capitalize on and their armies were readying themselves. If the US was going to leave its back wide open, they weren't going to be throwing away the opportunity that was very clearly presenting itself to them.
010 and 912 stood at the ready. Their eyes scanning the horizon incessantly for any signs of the target. Things were very much going ahead according to schedule, and they very much wanted to make sure that it was kept that way.
They had been out here for who knows how many hours at this point, each of them just standing still, gathering dust from the desert winds. Each of them would resemble sand snowmen at the rate that this was going.
"There. 11 O'Clock." Said 010. Or not. It looked like their contact had finally decided to arrive.
Truly, the postal service really did get worse as you went more and more rural. Maybe if they kept going, the delivery wouldn't happen at all. It was certainly a problem that had to be solved before they ended up dead because some food hadn't arrived.
Or maybe they should just stop trying to run deliveries this far out and just do it closer to civilization where there was air-conditioning. A thought perhaps.
912 ignited a flare and lobbed it overhead. The truck in turn, turned to their direction and began to speed its way over, the large tarp covered bulk in the bed wobbling precariously for a second. Thankfully the restraints were well tied or they would be in serious trouble. As in not completing their mission levels of trouble. Nobody wanted to annoy Hannah, she certainly gave them the most innovative of punishments. Nobody wanted that.
Unless they were masochists. Then Catherine would punish them. She had a very strange conception of what was meant to be a punishment and what was meant to be a reward.
Thankfully they were Hydra had had very little contact with the supposed leader of NOD. While they were completely loyal to NOD due to the intensive brainwashing they each went under, it didn't prevent them wondering in confusion exactly what it was about Catherine that made her the leader of NOD. Wouldn't Hannah be a much better choice?
Still, the truck was here and it was time for them to get to work.
"You're late." Said 010, looking at the other Hydra operative who was opening the side door and hopping out.
"Checkpoints are tripled. Checked the truck 6 times." Said the operative, 873 if 912 remembered correctly.
"Discovered?"
"Negative, they think that it is just a water collector."
"Good. Follow 912, he will show you where to park the truck." Said 010, turning and walking in the opposite direction.
912 did as he was told and walked directly in front of the truck, guiding it to the location that was set just 50 meters from where they were standing previously. At the location were 8 other trucks, each of them having a tarp covered payload just as the one he was leading had. Each of the trucks was arranged in a rough circle of sorts around a sand covered mound in the center.
"Ok, reverse it into here." 912 said, directing 873 to the barely visible indent in the ground. A very regular rectangle that stood out from the rest of the desert.
"Ok, now just park it." Said 912 as the truck reversed fully into the rectangle.
"Got it. What now?" Asked 873, his eagerness radiating from him. Prior to his brainwashing, 873 must have been extraordinarily active if he was still this energetic.
"Nothing. We wait for the right time and activate the device." Said 912, beginning the trudge over to where 010 was. He could at least use some company in the 30 minute wait out in the desert sun. While his undersuit did effectively regulate his body temperature, it did not mitigate the feeling of heat that penetrated through it. Especially when it was the sun and it was this hot. Sometimes 912 wondered about how the poor fellas in the various militaries that had to fight in this environment did it, only having clothes to keep them out of the sun.
Then again, even as he did wonder about it, his preconditioned mental processed shut down that line of thought. Empathy was a very bad trait for a killing machine to have, if he suddenly started to care about the people he was killing, well that made him less effective. A less effective Hydra operative was very liable to be scrapped and replaced by one that was more effective and less empathic.
"It's time." Said 010, his body turning to the little mound in the center of the trucks.
"Pull the tarps." He said into the radio embedded into his bodysuit. Calls of affirmative rang out from the Hydra operatives through the radio. 010 and 912 worked on their own truck, untying the ropes that held the tarp down before pulling off the heavy fabric. It was dumped in front of the truck, it would be a particularly bad mistake if it was caught up in what was going to happen next.
"Activate the devices." Said 010, hopping onto the truck bed and twisting a large handle set in the center. A pop of compressed air escaping a broken seal met their ears, the side panels falling out and the handle itself lifting up and folding over onto the roof of the truck's cab. 912 then pressed the correct activation codes into the small panel that was set on the side of the revealed block. It was rectangular, it was black, and it had many little seams that were set into it. Honestly, it looked a lot like a crumpled piece of cloth that had been packed into a square block. A block the size of a truck bed. Huh.
At the beeping that followed, 912 and 010 hopped off the truck. What was coming next was going to be very dangerous for them if they stayed.
Looked around, 912 could see the other operatives had hopped off their own vehicles and were waiting for the next phase to begin.
010 obliged by pressing the button on a little box that he had brought out from… somewhere. Their bodysuits didn't leave much to the imagination. Having ditched their normal clothes somewhere, 912 really wondered where exactly 010 could have fitted the box that he was currently displaying to the world.
"Don't think too much about it 912." 010 said, displaying his abilities to read minds as well. 010 really did deserve his rank as a double.
"Stand clear of the vehicles." 010 said into the radio, taking several steps back along with 912. Once everyone was clear, he depressed the button and looked expectantly at the mound in the center of it all. The thing was about 40 meters away from any of the trucks, at the exact center of the little circle.
Nothing appeared to be happening, that is until the sand was shaken off in a large explosion of dust, and a large dome appeared, rising up out of the sound. There was a large pintle-like construction at the bottom, allowing the big dome to articulate about. Which it proceeded to do before straightening again and sitting still.
From there the dome unfolded to display what appeared to be several large arms, each of them 40 meters in length, each with multiple articulating joints. The arms each extended to the trucks and each operative felt the static that was emanating from the arms, the hairs on their bodies standing up. Or trying to, the bodysuits made that rather impossible.
The little blocks then activated, a corner attaching itself to the end of the arm and the arm rotated 180 degrees so the block was not facing the sky, the arm underneath it. A second more powerful wave of static and the block unfolded to reveal an extremely thin fabric-like material that rolled its way down to the dome, several other arms each serving to support the fabric and anchor its shape in place. The entire process took roughly 5 minutes, the excruciating slowness of it all rather tough on their nerves, if they were discovered while this was happening, there would be little doubt as to the fate of the mission. That being failure.
Failure was unacceptable.
Once completed the entire thing looked like a dish of some kind like the ones astronomers used to look into the sky. It was very strange when it came down to it, made entirely of the cloth.
Of course what the operatives could not see was the other side of the fabric, that being of an extremely reflective material designed by NOD itself. They would all direct sunlight to the dome in the center of the dish, said dome then channeling the energy down to capacitors underneath it all. When it was ready and fully charged, the dome would fire a burst of this energy high into the sky at predesignated targets.
Naturally, those on the ground had no idea that any of this was happening and continued to stare rather dumbly up at the big black backside of the dish that was being presented to them.
"Everyone, guard positions." Said 010, turning around and walking to the truck, pulling out 2 rifles from underneath the seat and passing one of them to 912.
Behind them the dish continued to appear as if it were stationary, tracking the sun using the little servo motors underneath it. The lightness of the dish ensured that it did not require large amounts of power to move, the problem of course, being that the size and lightness of it all, made it very vulnerable to being abducted by gusts of wind.
The forecasts had said that the day was going to be a quiet one with little wind, but that was very much untrue from the amount of sand being blown about. If there was a sandstorm, the mission would fail, the problem being that they had no way of preventing it.
Sometimes it seemed like the world was conspiring to prevent NOD from accomplishing its goals which was irritating in the extreme.
The eve of the African invasion of Southern Europe was heralded by the destruction of the EU's satellites in space. More specifically they were the satellites charged with providing an early warning network in the event that there was a sea invasion from the North African coastline. The satellites themselves handing both in geosynchronous orbit as well as normal orbit, tracking over the mediterranean sea. There was almost a 100% coverage of the North African coastline 24/7, only a small 30 minute break on the tip of Libya being their blindzone.
On the day before the invasion, each of the satellites tasked with coverage of the Mediterranean went dark within 30 minutes of each other. A post mortem of the event, done partially with powerful telescopes that could see the geosynchronous satellites concluded that they had been destroyed with a high energy weapon of some kind. The other surfaces looked as if they had been placed under high intensity heat, heat that no doubt fried their more delicate circuits within.
Each of the satellites displayed the same damage, giving rise to the idea that the Africans had somehow done it, how they had done it was uncertain.
It wasn't until the locations of the strikes had been triangulated and one of the possible sites on the tip of Tunisia had been investigated, a team of special forces from Germany, Britain, and Norway heading in to see what had happened.
What they had found was indeed the remains of a weapon, a large laser system from the looks of it. The team had recovered pieces of the reflective material used as well as parts of the capacitors that had been thrown up when the device had self-destructed. There had been no signs of life, whoever had set it up was long gone.
The technology would go on to form the basis of much of the EU's future advancements when it came to weapons development.
Not that that was remotely applicable at the moment of course, the forces of the Republic of Africa were knocking on their doors and they were being very insistent about it.
After Activation 1148 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1109 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 121-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1980 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
João Almeida Silva, rifleman of the 9th Guards Rifles fiddled with the stock of his AKM as he stood at the ready. He wasn't exactly sure as to what was happening but he knew that they were going to be heading out through Mexico for an exercise. One that was using live ammunition instead of the practise blanks they had been using previously. In fact, all of it was live ammunition, he had seen the shells being loaded into the tanks, those weren't fake rounds, those were the real thing.
It wasn't the usual complement either, the trucks on the road behind him were all filled with crates full of ammunition, grenades, bullets, first aid packs. It was like they were going to fight a war, which now that he thought about it, was certainly an explanation of what was going on. He really hoped that he was wrong, however, a war meant that he would be at the front line, in the thick of it all.
Being on the frontline usually meant going into battle, which usually meant that there was going to be bullets coming at him. He was not very happy with that idea. He joined because they said there would be a regular wage and food, he wasn't the kind of person that was happy with the idea of going to war. He was much too concerned with not dying for that to be his idea of a good time. He didn't even want to fight, he thought it would just be all about the guard duty, and the sitting around doing nothing for hours.
The veterans had said that was usually what happened, there wouldn't be any of that glory and fighting stuff that people liked to talk about. He was perfectly fine with that, just sitting there, enjoying life as it happened around him. None of that going to war and getting himself killed stuff. Just let him do nothing.
Now… now he wasn't sure what was happening but it was probably not something good. They never went anywhere with this much ammunition, ever. It must be big. Like invasion big.
He sighed.
Well, he had been wrong before, maybe he would be wrong this time too.
"Ok boys listen up." Ah, it was the Lieutenant, he would probably tell them that it was all a mistake and they could all go home now right?
"Ok, so command has seen fit to inform me that we are now at war with the United States of America as of 0500 hours. Which is for those of you that can't tell the time is 2 hours from now. Which means, yes, we are attacking before we declare war. And before you ask no, you can't ask for leave. We're going to war, yes that means you Gonzalez, and we're going to right in the thick of it. Check your kit, make sure you aren't missing anything, we won't be turning around once everything is underway. You have 10 minutes before I want you in those BMPs." He said.
Oh. That wasn't what he wanted at all. João gave a sigh, a very big sigh. If he tried to desert now, they would shoot him before he even left the formation. He could try being sick?
"And before you get any ideas, if you try to desert, you will be shot, if you try and claim being sick, you'll be shot, if you try to weasel out of this, you will be shot. You have a job to do and I expect you to do it. Dismissed."
Oh. That was… very thorough. He sighed. It looked like he would be going to war after all and it wasn't going to be very nice at all.
He might even die.
Maybe once he was in the battle, he could shoot his foot and then get taken back as wounded? Hmm. Good idea. Very good idea actually, he should have thought of that sooner.
João nodded to himself, that was the perfect idea, he just needed to find a way to do it so that nobody would see him and shoot him for trying to get out of it.
"Oy João got all your shit?" Asked the Sergeant.
"Ummm."
"Check your shit then João, I don't want to get in the middle of it and find out that you don't have any spare magazines."
"Yes, sir." He said.
Well looked like has going to have to do some work after all. He gave a sigh, this wasn't how he thought he would be spending his weekend. He thought there would be some exercises, some walking around, some shooting, drinking, then back to the barracks.
Rifle, magazines, rations, grenades, stuff. More stuff. Lots of stuff.
João gave a half hearted check over everything. The essentials were there, everything else was just extra. He didn't try too hard, though, it wasn't like he wanted to be here.
"Ok, time's up let's go, the first 4 BMPs are ours!" Said the Lieutenant, pointing at the parked BMPs.
What fun. João loved riding in the BMPs, it was always so fun, the bumps, the cramped space, the low roof, the loud engine, the thin armour. Yes, he really did love riding in the BMPs.
Squeezing himself into the seat through the hatches that swung out the back, he groaned a little bit. João wasn't the biggest man in the platoon, but he had a little bit extra around the waist he wasn't afraid to admit.
So what if he wasn't up to standard, it wasn't like he knew he was going to war.
He sighed again, which was harder to do while inside the BMP, especially with everyone hunched over forward since their backpacks were so big. Usually, they were meant to put them on the outside hooks, but since they were going straight into battle, they couldn't afford to do that. At least the seats angled backward a little bit, it made everything so much more bearable when it was like that. They sat back to back, the idea being there was a little firing port they could unlock and shoot out of into the enemy. It meant that they were probably going to lose all of their hearing but it was meant to work or something, João wasn't too sure since he wasn't going to be able to see them anyway, the little hole just big enough for the AKM's barrel and that was it.
He sighed, it was times like this that he wasn't sure why he joined up, to begin with. Going to war inside one of these would kill anybody's motivation he was sure of it. Uncomfortable, loud, terrible. They didn't even get proper seats, it was all benches. What saved the state money made the soldier more uncomfortable. Yes, that was a good quote, he should use that sometime.
There had been gunfire outside. The distinctive bangs of the AKMs heavier than the little cracks by the American M16s, but he could still make them out. They had all trained with M16s in case they needed to use them, or to make sure the ones they captured were safe for storage. Putting a live gun into a storage rack would be a very bad idea he was sure.
The cracks were occasionally joined by the heavier thuds of the 30 millimeter guns of the BMPs and some big booms from the tanks. It looked like things were going well? He wasn't too sure but it wasn't like he really had anything to measure it by. When they went on exercise it wasn't like there were people shooting back at them, that would just be crazy.
A few explosions here and there, lots of little pop pop pop from what he guessed was ammunition cooking off inside a destroyed tank. They had been showed the footage of it, if an ammunition rack ignited, it would make those noises. They were meant to get away from it as far as they could, it could kill them just like normal bullets, but since these were cooking off, they couldn't predict where they would go.
João really didn't want to go out there, really really didn't want to. Right now they were waiting behind a little hill thing. No fighting yet, they were part of the reserve in case the ones who went first needed help. He really hoped that they didn't need help, he didn't want to die. He knew that at some point he was going to have to go up, but he wanted at least to live a little longer. Maybe even a day longer, that would be really good. He prayed a little bit, just in case.
Let all the other guys die and not me.
Short, to the point, morally wrong but who cared, it wasn't like God answered his other prayers. Still, if God decided to answer this once well he wouldn't say "no thank you". He was a coward, not an idiot.
"Ok boyos, hold onto your seats, we're going up."
Oh. This wasn't good at all.
He gripped his rifle even tighter, if he was just a little stronger he might have been able to crack the wooden handguard. This was not going to be fun. Or anything good. This was going to be very bad. Very very bad.
João breathed in, he didn't want to die. Please please please don't shoot me. Shoot everyone else, I'm totally not going to do anything. Just ignore me.
Shooting is getting louder, explosions getting louder, pang pang pang, oh god, they're shooting at us, oh my god.
"Don't worry boyos, we're rated for .50cal, just buckle up and get ready to jump out when we give the word boyos." Said the driver.
João wasn't reassured, the driver was all safe inside his metal box. They just had skin and a little bit of cloth, and they were going to have to go outside? Did he want them to die?
He could hear shouting outside. He wasn't sure what they were saying, but it was loud, really loud. They were getting through the engine noises of the BMP, the hull and everything. They were really giving it their all huh?
"Ok, go go go!" Called the BMP driver.
The ones at the back pushed down the lever that anchored the door and pushed their way out. The squad began to climb out, one by one.
João was third last, he awkwardly crouch walked along the seats until the end when he lifted himself out and saw for the first time what was outside. It was hell.
He was sure of it. He had somehow died and was now in hell. It was the only way he could explain it.
The desert was outside, he knew that Mexico had deserts up in the north. It was yellow. It was full of craters, burning BMPs dotted the landscape in front of him. Around them were bodies, little hunched forms that lay there still, so very terribly still.
He couldn't see any more after that, someone kicked him from behind (his Sergeant), and he face planted into the ground. After the mad little scramble to get himself up, he looked around and realised that the shouting he had heard before, was the screaming of the wounded. They had driven up and parked at the rear line of the advance, where the ammunition, wounded and everything else was stored.
There were so many wounded, and so many dead. The wounded were all lying there, bloody patches in their uniforms where they had been shot, bloody bandages if they had been "patched" up.
João looked away, he didn't want a reminder of what would happen to him if he was shot.
"Ok boyos, follow me, we're going to find the lieutenant and see where we need to go." Said the Sergeant.
João could only blindly nod, pick up his rifle and follow.
After Activation 1148 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1109 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 121-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1980 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
João Almeida Silva sat down, his head resting on the stock of the rifle between his knees. The past few days had been just like he thought they would be, hell. The platoon had been decimated… multiple times. At the end, there were less than 6 of them left, less because Johaves had lost his legs and Marzin had lost his left arm. They were at the town they had first dropped off at, each of them sedated and waiting for transport out. Transport that was likely to be shot at by airstrikes and artillery. João hoped they made it out alive, what was the point of being injured if you couldnt escape it all?
It was left to João to carry on the tradition of doing absolutely nothing that the platoon was so well known for.
João had grown as a person in the meantime, ducking all the time would actually get him killed in the end he realized. If he was always hiding away, then the enemy would be able to get in close enough to shoot at him. However, if he managed his risk by shooting at them before they came in close enough, well he could at the very least keep himself alive. Someone shooting at you from range was much safer than them shooting at you from up close. Admittedly it was still terrifying, but at least he was allowed to live a little longer.
João closed his eyes again, trying to remember exactly who had died. It seemed the least he could do for them, given that he was somehow alive and they were all dead. He was meant to be the one that died, not them. He was the coward, cowards were meant to die 1000 deaths while heroes died once or something, wasn't it? An important quote, he just wasnt sure how applicable it was when he was still alive and hadn't died once yet.
He didn't regret his decisions to keep himself alive, just that maybe, he could have learnt his lesson a little earlier and prevented Pablo from dying the way he did. An American had come out of what appeared to be nowhere, shouting at them as he brought his rifle to bear, his burst took Pablo in the gut and the chest, punching through his ammunition rig and killing him instantly. João had killed him by holding his rifle on its fully automatic setting and spraying in the man's general direction. A few must have hit him, João wasn't paying attention, his eyes were closed the entire time. If he was going to die, he didn't want to know about it. As it was, he had been lucky, killing the man before he could shoot again, somehow surviving. Pablo was dead, the bullets yawing inside of him enough to rip apart his heart from the looks of it. The new American 5.56 millimeter tended to tumble more than a 7.62 millimeter inside of a person. Just ripping up flesh as it went around and around, the 7.62 just punched holes in people. Bigger holes but straight holes.
Not exactly the most pleasant thing to be shot by.
And now here João was, just sitting down, trying to get some rest before his next mission, deployment, whatever it was they called it when they sent more men to die.
João was tired, very tired. The last week had been nothing but constant fighting, they couldn't even fall back to the rest area and relax either, they were meant to fight for 2 weeks before being rotated out again. Obviously, whoever thought of these rules had never been in a war before, most of his platoon was dead, whatever was left of his company barely even made up 3 squads if you were being generous. With these casualty figures, they should have been pulled back. They shouldnt have attacked at all. Was it too much to ask to just have peace?
As it was, they were combat ineffective, the entire company reduced to wrecks of men. João could see it in their faces, faces that looked too tired, too unfocused. Barely able to respond to basic stimulus. As it was, if they were sent out again, they would just be killed in a few exchanges. João was better off, mainly because he had hidden away and done the least amount of work he possibly could, keeping himself safe.
"Orders, Sergeant Silva, round up the men we need to get to point R892 and defend the Eastern Approach." Said the Lieutenant. How he had managed to survive was something that he wasn't sure had been possible. The man had led every attack and defence from the very front, somehow dodging bullets, grenades, explosions, bayonet charges. He looked as fresh as he had when they started this, something that made all the men rather jealous, the damn man looked better dressed than all of them, clean, not impacted by what they had gone through for the last week.
A monster of a man.
Another thing that was strange, he had been promoted to sergeant, something that he had not thought was ever going to happen. Then again, when there was him in the position of the oldest out of the remnants of a platoon, the rest not even being in for a year yet, it made a twisted sort of sense that he would be promoted. He wasn't sure what was meant to be happening but he knew that was there to make sure they followed orders and… something. Just making sure everyone was well dressed? That was all he could remember the squad sergeant doing for him when it came to issuing orders and the like.
There was probably something more to be done but it wasn't like there were any who had survived for him to ask his questions to.
There were little enough men that he didn't need to shout at them, then again he wasn't sure that if he shouted, that they would listen in the first place. They were too out of it to respond properly, just sitting there looking dazed. He wasn't sure he should be taking them into battle, to begin with. But he had no other option, João frowned. It was going to be much harder to survive if all of his men were dead halfway into the battle.
It appeared that he was probably going to die from the looks of it. All that effort... maybe he should have just shot himself in the leg like he had planned.
Still, he had orders, it wasn't like he could desert this far from enemy or even allied lines. He would need to travel hundreds of kilometers south to get to the jungles proper where he could hide. Of he could somehow make his way to the American lines, dodging his own snipers, their snipers, the mines and everything in the middle.
No, it wasn't going to happen.
As they got onto the BMP, a different one from the vehicle they had arrived in, that one had been destroyed 3 days ago by a Javelin missile. The Lieutenant pulled him aside and said to him, "It's going to be ok, the point is all the way West, they won't be trying to attack it when they have much better options out East. Command isn't as stupid as you think they are Sergeant, make sure the men get some rest, I don't know how long we'll be able to stay."
João nodded, it looked like the Lieutenant knew the limits of his men as well. It was a good thing, he didn't want to die because his men were exhausted and fell asleep in the middle of a battle or a watch. What they got was better than nothing, there was never a 100% chance of things happening, especially if it was not being attacked.
They would probably get a few artillery shells or something equally ridiculous headed their way, shocking everyone awake again. They needed their warm food and quality sleep, without it, they were going to break eventually. It wouldn't be tomorrow or the day after, but it would be soon.
They needed their sleep, their breaks, their food, and most importantly, needed to get away from the hell that was the front line. Being here was just going to shatter some very vulnerable men, he didn't need to be a genius to see that. They were barely functioning as human beings right now and dammit he didn't want to trust his lives to robots.
João wanted men that weren't going to just fold when the enemy attacked, he was going to fold, he knew that, but he wanted everyone to hold strong so he could live.
João settled the men down, they would be sharing the defence of R892 with 3 other platoons or rather 3 other squads from platoons that had been devastated by the constant fighting over the last week. The men could sleep at the same time, one of the other squads taking first watch, he took the chance to sit down and get some hot food into his body. It wasn't proper hot food, a ration pack that had one of those little chemical heaters in it, but it was infinitely better than the cold bars he had been subsisting on for the last week.
The constant artillery, enemy raids, deployment orders, all of it meaning that they were unable to sit down and actually cook the food inside. If they ate it at all, it would be while it was cold, infinitely disgusting as rations were, infinitely messy as the wet ones were, infinitely baffling as to why the army would order these in the first place.
Still, it was hot, something that meant that his stomach would be thanking him for putting it inside him. A few mouthfuls and he would be like a new man, just something about hot food just making life infinitely more bearable. That and a shower, but they didn't have one of those out here, R892 was an outpost true, but it was more a ring of sand balustrades around a minor elevation with a few temporary housing units installed on the top. Not the most hi-tech things, but it was enough to count as "shelter".
João carefully tilted out the hot water in the bottom of the bag, kept in a pouch next to the chemical agents, warmed by the close proximity. His issued canteen was already prepped with the hot chocolate powder, just a little water in it, and yes. A quick stir with his knife and he was drinking piping hot chocolate. Not as good as the real thing, obviously, but it was better than nothing. And right now, he wouldn't trade it for anything, the hot liquid going down his throat like new life injected into him. Everywhere it went warmed up, his stomach feeling like a reactor once it went down and curled up inside him.
He grinned, it was moments like this that he thought that maybe, someday, he would be able to return to the life he had before, the one where he was just another cog in the machine, taking life easy as it spun one gear at a time, peace allowing everything to run with a smooth clank. It was probably never going to return to that, but a man could dream. Over a mug of hot chocolate and a night sky not rent in half by airburst artillery and surrounded by the screams of dying men… well, a man could dream of many things.
He looked over at the other sergeants who had joined him, all of them looked to be his age. All of them young, fresh faced, not looking like professional sergeants, but rather ones that had been promoted once their original ones had died. They all looked just as out of their depth as he had been, still was.
They weren't saying anything and he wasn't either, they were all tired, barely functioning, if they wanted to talk they would. Most of them were just trying to emulate their dead Sergeants, trying to be a good example to their men and staying up later than usual to reassure them, show them that their sergeants were around to look over them.
João had volunteered for the first watch of the night, just walking around, a constant presence that the men could refer to. While he was inadequate, they would be looking to the stripes on his shoulders, taking reassurance from the symbol of authority that he was showing. Respect the rank, not the man.
Maybe, he would eventually be respected and feared like his previous sergeant had been. Probably not, though.
He just wanted to make it out of this alive. It made sense that he would need to make sure that the soldiers under him were still alive. He wasn't quite good enough to fight against a platoon on his own without at least a squad on his side. He was a coward, not a god of war.
João wandered around the camp, checking in one the sentries, nudging the few that were looking like they were about to fall asleep, a comforting word here, a reassuring smile there.
Yes, if this could continue, he would be a happy camper.
Verja Stakhnovic was walking down the streets of what used to be a trash filled street full of beggars, crowding both sides, cowering away from the elements that desired to tear them apart. The brutal snow of the Volgograd winters freezing them to death in a heartbeat if they weren't careful. Being caught out alone at night was a sure way to die, the best option being to huddle together in a group to keep warm, under shelter of course.
Now.
Now the street was warm, the beggars long gone. They had been given work and homes by the state following the 5 year plans that saw the USSR become more than peasants lorded over by masters in Moscow. Now they were a peoples. And Verja loved every minute of it.
She had grown up hearing of how the new clothes, the new shoes came around, it was always the officials that got to choose first. How they were left with the pickings, how they had to fight over them. It was not something that Verja had experienced for a long time. It did not mean that she had forgotten, her 8 year old self had fought desperately for those new shows, bright red and shiny. She had lost that fight, and even now, 17 years later she was bitter.
Which was why she was here now, looking at the new shoes in stock, shoes that were going to be bright red to match her mood. Comrade Nikolai Suvorov had come and opened up the doors for everything! Work for rubles, use them on the many different things that they could now buy. No more bread, bread, bread. She could now buy jeans, high heels, jackets, dresses, guns!
Comrade Suvorov promised many things and Comrade Suvorov delivered.
Sure he made some decisions that Verja didn't like, like conscription for everyone, not just the men, but it wasn't so bad. She learnt how to sew, how to cook, how to run for hours, how to stab a man to death with a bayonet. So many interesting things. It was 5 years and Verja was sometimes sad that she wasn't in the army anymore. She had so many friends there, everyone helping each other out.
It was great fun when she got to drive a BMP for the first time. For her that is. Her squad leader had been knocked unconscious when she had pressed the accelerator too hard and he hit his head. She was really sorry about that, but maybe he should have sat down like the BMP captain said he should. It wasn't her fault that he was an idiot.
She was also really fit! All that running and forced marching with those heavy packs had made her really fit. And that muscle tone… mmmm. All the boys were looking when they went for swimming training. She knew since she was watching them. The boys were really fit too… mmmm. Verja licked her lips at that, all of them were really fit and she had a good time with some of the boys from the next squad.
Never have something with the same squad the sergeant had said, it never ended well. She was a good soldier so she listened to her sergeant, never with the same squad! That didn't mean she couldn't do it with the others though. Those 5 years had been amazing. A few of the girls had gotten pregnant too, the children were given to a state care center, another thing Comrade Suvorov had thought up! When the girls finished their conscription, they could collect their children, all grown up and be a family together.
Now that Verja thought about it, there had been a lot of girls that got pregnant, maybe they were putting the men and women together so they would have babies? Nah, that's too crazy, Comrade Suvorov wouldn't do that.
He did push laws to make single mothers have more opportunities, however… he really does care about them.
If there was one thing that was really bad about the army, it was that she kept reaching for her rifle. It was always with her and now it wasn't. She missed her rifle, it was her best friend and she even slept with it… him. Still, she had bought her own rifle and he was her next best friend. That wasn't human that is. She and a few of the girls decided to move to Volgograd, share a house so rent was cheaper too. It was really smart and Verja wished she had thought of that.
Comrade Suvorov made sure that the public transport was really working too. No-one needed to drive, the trains went all over the country. They even had those fancy floating trains that went super fast, like people explode when it hits them fast. That had been something that was funny to watch now that she thought about it.
Comrade Suvorov made sure that they all had the "internet" as he called it. It was from the West so she wasn't sure how trustworthy it was, but if Comrade Suvorov thought it was good then it must be good. If they wanted to watch funny videos of people dying then they could, that one with the grenade accident never got old. They could also stay in touch, this "messenger" was great fun. She could talk with her old squad and even meet up with them for fun on the weekends. The trains made travel so easy. All of them had been conscripted together so they all left at the same time, it made everything so easy.
The army had even given her friends. Was there anything the army couldn't do?
The internet even let them complain about things. Like her boss at the factory, she was really mean and Verja made sure to say that on the internet. She wasn't sure if it worked, but somebody would read it eventually, she was sure of it.
Ooooh. Were those glitter red high heel shoes?
"Oooh. Over there!" She said, grabbing Valeria and dragging her along. She had to try those on.
Comrade Suvorov kept his promises. When the USSR was developed enough, he would let them build factories to make their own pants, and shoes, and cars, and curtains, and everything. The Soviet Commissariat of Home Depot was where everyone went to get all the new stuff. It was great! She went there with the other girls and they spent the whole day picking out furniture, curtains, wallpaper, everything.
She had the greatest time.
Then there were the little stores like the ones they were walking along down the street. They were stores run by people from the factories, just walk in and try it out. If you liked it and bought it, you supported the factory directly!
It was really great.
It did mean that clothes changed all the time too, the factories changed stuff so they could keep being popular. All the selection and all the different styles. Verja and the girls loved it.
Even if they didn't sell the factory wouldn't fail. They were still making things for the state, the clothes and stuff were just a little side thing that they did.
Verja was really impressed that Comrade Suvorov thought that far ahead in his March 1976 Central Committee Speech. When he read it, like everyone else and she waited for when it would come true. And it had! The stores opened this year and she was having the greatest time of her life.
The roads had to be cleaned up first, and the buildings, and the factories, and everything. But they had done it! Comrade Suvorov promised rewards everytime they reached a milestone in the plan and he delivered! When they relaid the roads to make them safe again, he got the trains running. When they made the buildings safe again and rebuilt many of them, he gave them all electricity and running water.
The people give and Comrade Suvorov gave back.
As she walked inside the store, Verja had to stifle a gasp of happiness. So many different shoes, so many different handbags to go with them. She had been told the little ones were all the rage in the West right now. She might try them, the high heels really brought out her legs and her butt. She made sure to check and all the boys were looking when she walked past. Maybe she might even pick one to bring home later.
She needed food first. And the food. Mmmm. Comrade Suvorov had kept his promise there too. Soo many different kinds of foods, from all over the USSR. Each city could eat so many different cuisines and it was amazing. Verja was really happy that she was in the USSR. So many delicious things out there. They even had these "food courts" where there were lots of little stalls with different kinds of foods to try out.
All for 1 ration coupon.
Those German Bratwursts were amazing, the cheesy ones. Mmmmmm.
Oh, wait, the other bad thing. With all the exercise in the army, she never needed to watch what she was eating. But now she had to check her diet or else she would get really fat. She had learned that the hard way, it was terrible not being able to eat what she wanted, it made her really sad. But if she wanted to keep up with the girls, she needed to watch her weight, which meant either more exercise or eating less. Verja had decided to eat less, she was too lazy to exercise as much as she needed to, 6 hours a day was too much.
Verja felt bad… maybe she should exercise just a little more so she could more of the food she wanted to. Yes, this was a good idea, why didn't she think of this before? Verja was glad she had Comrade Suvorov to think about the important things for her. If she was in charge maybe everything would have broken already.
The radio that was playing music in the store stopped. That was strange. The technology of the USSR had really gotten better lately. The radio shouldn't just stop like that, maybe the factory that made it had done something wrong?
"Breaking news. As of 0834 an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile fired from the United States of America breached Soviet airspace and had to be shot down before it reached the 3rd sphere of defence. The missile has been identified as a Minuteman 3 Nuclear Missile, capable of MIRV delivery. The Politburo is currently meeting to discuss what will be done regarding this attack on our Soviet. All active personnel on leave are to return to their bases for possible deployment. All reservists please standby next to a broadcast capable device for possible orders. This is Moscow Alert Center signing off."
Verja stopped what they were doing and stared, everyone else in the shop did as well. The Great Enemy had attacked them? What had they done to deserve that? The USSR just stayed by itself, they didn't even try to do military drills like they did all the time. Why would they just attack them?
"Come Verja, we need to get back to the house." Said Valeria, dragging her out of the store.
"Why?" Asked Verja, her mind was twisting with the implications, but a small part of it was still fixated on the shoes. She had lost her opportunity once, never again.
"If we get called up, don't you want to go together with everyone?" Valeria said, spinning Verja around and looking into her eyes.
"Ummm… yes?" Verja's eyes were still darting back to the store. Her shoes.
"Dammit Verja," Valeria muttered. "Still dumb as a hare." Verja took offence to that, hares were cute!
15 minutes later Verja had her shoes and was in the house along with the girls. They were sitting around the "television" in case a report came on. A few of the girls were crying, what if the missile had hit? How many of their families would be gone? Most of them were very resolute. If the Americans wanted war, they would be ready.
Verja was like that, she was admiring her new shoes, but she was holding Nikolai in her hands. She had named her rifle after her first lover. He fit her hands perfectly. She was imagining herself shooting the American pigs. She wasn't in the active army anymore, but if the American pigs wanted a war, she was ready to do her part to defend her country. Well… all the countries, she was from Ukraine but that didn't mean she didn't love Russia too.
They would wait for Comrade Suvorov to speak, he would know what to do. And if he said that they needed to go to war against the Americans. She would be ready to fight. She would lose some of her friends, she knew that, but she was ready.
She dared the Americans to come try and invade them. They would taste Soviet lead and drown in their blood. Every step in their lands would be with great sacrifice, the Soviet people did not surrender so easily.
After Activation 1148 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1109 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 121-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1980 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
"Comrade, remind me of what we are doing again?"
"We are sitting here. Doing nothing. Sitting here, doing nothing."
"Why?"
"Yuri, weren't you paying attention to the briefing?"
"Briefing?"
"Oh god. Please tell me that you know what is going on?"
"We have something to do?"
"I… I… I…"
"Ha! I am just fucking your goat Comrade. Of course, I know what we are doing here."
"..."
"..."
"Prove it."
"We are here to provide nuclear missiles in case the world goes crazy and then we kill them all!"
"... I'll take it."
The Typhoon class submarine, a secret weapon that would serve as the final card in the event that the world ended and thermonuclear war began. 20 nuclear missiles, each capable of 10 MIRV warheads each, 200 nuclear warheads all ready to engage any and all targets as necessary, capable of crippling any continent that they chose. Explosions in key cities, wiping out people, destroying infrastructure, crippling communication infrastructure, destroying hub locations, crippling ports, area denial. Explosions in large swathes of farmland, depositing radioactive fallout all over the land, all over the foodstuffs, all over the beating heartland of any continent, its people now about to starve due to the nuclear detonations. So much life would be lost, so much potential denied, dozens of years where nothing would be possible, its people dying slowly in agony, their bodies falling apart due to radioactive damage.
It was a terrible way to die, but that was why it was such an effective deterrent. Do not attempt to strike at Russia with nuclear weapons, and they in turn, would not strike back with their own designs. It would be what was colloquially known as "Mutually Assured Destruction", MAD for short.
The Typhoon class submarine was the last line in that scenario, they would not be striking first, rather they would be going last. Every few days, the Typhoon would surface from its position underneath the ocean and send out a radio antennae. They would then listen in to a predesignated frequency and if it was either silent or broadcasting a kill order, they would submerge and prepare for the worst if the backup channels were the same. The missiles were solid fuel so they didn't need to be fueled, but the protocols for their activation would be activated and the submarine would hang near the bottom of the ocean, they would then surface again a week later several hundred kilometers from their initial position to fool seekers, and if the message was still the same or silent, they would then launch their missiles at the predesignated targets all over the world.
Once that had happened, they were now free, free to live in a world that very likely would degrade into an unrecognizable mess, a mess that would resemble some kind of barbarian society where everything had gone to hell. In short, they might as well use the rifles on board to set themselves up as dictators of some kind of village, living it up while they could before they died and the knowledge of the technology died with them.
So far, there had been no need for that, there had been some close calls, of course, a few crossed signals here and there, a few deranged people offering bad orders, megalomaniacal randoms, officers going stir crazy, the cook throwing knives at people, the usual really.
Which was why the surfacing that they were currently undergoing was expected to be just the same as usual, getting the all clear, letting a few people up to breathe in the air, something that was a bit hard since there were 150 crew members on the 157 meter long craft. It was a reward that was offered for work that had been well done, a rather intelligent decision by the Captain, being able to go up and breathe in fresh air was something they all cherished and worked hard to get the privilege of doing so.
Only this time the Captain's face darkened and he started shouting, his voice coming across over the intercom installed in manual periscope room underneath them. The signals officer had just given him some very bad news.
"All hands batten hatches, surface dive!"
The words sent a flurry through the crew, they thought it was a drill, but they were a good crew. If the captain said to dive, they were going to dive. Even if that meant cutting the time on top short, they would get it back later this week… probably.
The captain in the meantime stood by the radio, communicating with somebody on the other side. Usually, this would be a very big no no, it giving away his position to the rest of the world, ready for any other ships, submarines, satellites, aircraft to find his craft. Something that he would naturally be against considering that his submarine was considered a secret weapon, only 2 others of its type having been produced at all.
"Yes, Comrade Premier. I understand Comrade Premier, we will follow your orders." Said the captain, turning back to his bridge.
"All crew, deep dive. Deepest dive." He said, his expression promising an explanation once they were down far enough to be considered safe.
It would take them a few hours to get down to maximum depth, the captain having ordered a deep dive, but not an emergency dive. If they were going down in an emergency, the air in the hull would be voided, bringing the submarine down in a matter of minutes, sending everything and everyone that wasn't tied down all over the submarine. A normal deep dive on the other hand, served to keep the submarine stealthed, the ballast being voided slowly as to prevent large bubbles that might give them away, a way to go up and down in the depths of the ocean silently.
As it was, they were descending down several hundred meters, all the way to the very limits of what the hull could withstand in terms of pressure, any more and it might buckle, killing them all. Sure the Typhoon had a double hull and if that outer one buckled, they would still be fine. But it would mean they were not exposed to all sonar signals that might which to seek them out.
A tone rang out, filling the ears of the crew, a signal that the captain was about to address them and it would be a good idea to listen in.
"Comrades, it is my pain to inform you that on the 9th of October, the day before yesterday, a nuclear weapon was launched towards the Motherland, it was shot down before it could penetrate Russian airspace. It was a Minuteman missile… from the United States of America." His voice sounded somber, the message it carried one filled with chilling implications. A nuclear missile had been fired at the homeland? From America? Wasn't the world much more at peace now?
"The Premier has told me that we will be on standby, if necessary we will launch our missiles in retaliation, we will prepare our missiles in preparation, I do not wish to use them, but if it is necessary, we will do so. The USSR has been challenged and we may have lost millions of our own if it had not been shot down, we cannot let this go unchallenged." He said. Continuing.
"Prepare the missiles for launch, we will be ready should the Premier send us word that war has been declared. In exactly one week we will surface again and await his orders."
And so it was that Russia was brought into the war, the nuclear missile sent out from the West Coast near the North of America being a Minuteman missile, capable of carrying megatonnes of TNT worth of nuclear warhead. It was a weapon designed to destroy cities, to kill millions, yet here it had been used to strike into Russia, the projected path putting it in the middle of Moscow.
That it had been fired mistakenly was something that was very much something to be skeptical over, the fact that a nuclear missile launch needed to be authorized by a high ranking officer of the military, as well as the President of the United States of America, both using their biometric codes at the same time to launch the missile.
The fact that it had happened at all indicated things were very much out of control within the United States, that they did not have control of their own nuclear arsenal. It was something that was incredibly worrying, the threats of nuclear war ringing in the minds of everyone around them.
What made it worse for them was that the US could not officially apologize, revealing that their security had been breached, the same security that was keeping their president safe. They could not afford to reveal this to the world, to let the world know that they were weak. And so they doubled down on their stance, saying that it was a mistake, the actions of overzealous generals who conspired against the President of the United States.
There would be of course the usual condemnation from the USSR, saying their actions were egregious, evil, morally reprehensible, denouncing them to the world at large. While the people of the world were universally horrified at how close they came to dying in a nuclear holocaust, it was mellowed by the fact that the USSR had not decided to retaliate in kind, opening diplomatic channels instead, earning the favour of the world's opinion.
Behind the scenes, the talks had broken down, the refusal for the US to apologize for their own failure to defend against the NOD operatives that had been discovered to be at fault. That their entire government had been like an open book for them to exploit, everything being something that they could take if they so felt like it.
With the US refusing to apologize for their failings in an official manner, of recognizing that they had failed, neither did they accept the offer to have the USSR's own operatives search out the NOD threat on their own, them having become quite successful at it. The USSR did not want to officially declare war on them, but neither could they afford to let the US get off without any form of punishment at all, it would undermine them on a global scale.
And so the USSR began what would later be known as the pilgrimage of the Little Green Men, unofficial soldiers that would be sent down to South America, assisting them in their campaign against the US itself. While at the same time assisting the Republic of Africa to an even greater extent, they would force an apology and a recognition of the dangers of NOD one way or the other, they didn't want it to be the other.
It had the potential to break out into a total war situation, the US invading the Eastern side of the USSR and Europe invading the West. Sadly for them, they were being pressed by 2 wars already, choosing to go into open war with the USSR would be suicidal and the Russian analysts were extremely confident that they would not be going to war, they didn't want to lose everything after all.
And so 1980 closed out with something close to a World War wracking the world. It had not yet fully exploded into hostilities that would drown the world, the conflicts themselves being of a rather restrained nature, both aggressors not willing to go the full length in order to maintain their positions and to bring the defenders to the negotiating table. At the same time, it had the potential to explode at any moment, the war having become something that was terrifying to the world at large, should the US or Europe make the wrong move, the entire thing could escalate wildly. If Russia was attacked again by a conventional war or a nuclear option, there was no way of predicting how they would react, a 500 pound gorilla that was ready to jump anywhere and smash anything.
Behind the scenes, NOD had accomplished its goal, war was being waged, lives were being lost and in simple terms, the world was in lockdown. The wars would not of course, turn into a full-scale engagement, rather they would be stuck in an ember state until hostilities were called off. The people of the world however, did not know that and so weapons development would continue as would social development.
Women getting full rights in many countries if they had not already, as would minorities in countries all over the world. They could not afford to have 50% of the population not under arms if a full scale invasion of the country were to commence. After all, even if they were not as strong physically, they could still hold a rifle and shoot it.
By the same token, technology was advancing by leaps and bounds, an active warzone being an ideal place in which to test the new systems. If something went wrong, they could just work it out right there instead of relying on simulations which may be terribly wrong.
The world in short, was advancing, even if they didn't see it that way.
The NOD Hydra Cell was what one might call the… proactive ones. Not based in a specific country or even a specific city like the other cells, the Hydra cell was one that spread itself throughout the world, doing the work of NOD.
In this regard they were again, different from their counterparts, going around and cleaning up the little things, making it so that NOD could at the very least advance their objectives in a reasonable manner.
Reasonable in this case being them making sure the loose ends of various operations both NOD and non-NOD were completed properly.
The maxim of "if you want it done right, do it yourself," was true no matter what was going on.
Whether it be by bribing politicians, bribing guards, killing guards, killing politicians, all the wetwork that needed to be taken care of, was done by Hydra. While they usually left things to the local cells to complete, they also were there to take care of the more public cases, the ones that needed the branding of NOD. While Hydra itself was unaware of what exactly could be achieved by the bombing of a coal power plant, orders were orders. All of it was going to lead humanity to a better future, they merely needed to follow their orders.
And so Hydra flew all over the world, doing whatever was needed and when it came down to it, die as needed. Hydra itself being filled with heavily indoctrinated humans, themselves not bound to the Commander, all recruited locally. There was an interest in the Minds to see exactly how useful unbound organics would be, the ones they had currently were too useful. A little failure always helped to spice things up.
The entertaining ones would be allowed to reincarnate into the Game, as NPCs of course.
Head 012 and Head 024, or rather 012 and 024 respectively, were seated opposite the harbour of Athens, the little cafe that they were in overlooking the entire facility. The Anti-Ship missile systems were all sitting there, very obviously in the open air, little tarps protecting them from the elements. Why exactly they were in the open was a question that had to be asked, seawater was not friendly when it came to electronics, in fact, they often destroyed them. The whole part of electrolytes in water conducting electricity being rather true in this case.
Solid salt did not conduct very well, but water and easily dissolvable crystals of salt inside electronics? That was just asking for trouble. These Europeans really did enjoy testing the limits did they not? 012 and 024 were European… once. They were NOD now, discarding everything about their past lives as they took up the mantle of the Guides of humanity. They would see humanity advanced, grown, made into what they were meant to be. They were not going to survive, they knew that, but they would do their part. They would take whatever little pleasures they could, knowing that you were going to die was certainly a liberating feeling.
024 looked down at the little pad in her hand, it detailing the exact specifications of the missiles, the Harpoon missile developed by the Americans was something that would do quite a bit of damage to the inbound fleets if they were allowed to fire. Just one wasn't that much of an issue, but when there were 10 batteries, 4 missiles a battery? Well, that changed things and not for the better.
There was a flaw that could be exploited, however, the battery itself being rather vulnerable to sudden explosions of plastic explosive. Many things were vulnerable to plastic explosive, rather strange, one would think with such a glaring vulnerability that a solution would have been worked out. Still, it made their work easier, 012 and 024 if things went well, wouldn't need to do anything at all. A big if. Things usually did not go well at all when it came to the important things. Why this was, none of them knew. Something to do with the one known as Murphy, a man that needed to die rather soon… if they could find him.
Regardless, they were here now and the pistols in their backpacks, as well as the several kilograms of explosive, would finish the work that the African Special Forces soldiers left behind after they died. The two NOD operatives did not rate the African troops very highly, they were unfortunately, a product of their military, far too direct for something like this.
As explosions erupted around the base, the two of them could only mentally commiserate with each other. They had opened up their sabotage mission with explosives to breach the base, not considering that the response would be very loud, very vocal and very direct. If they had wanted to commit suicide by NATO then they had succeeded. Still, who knew, maybe they would not be completely useless and complete their mission as it was assigned to them.
Gunfire followed shortly after, the loud cracks of the AKs mixed with the louder thud thuds of the NATO rifles. A few cracks here and there, the British? Well, that was interesting, maybe they would even kill a few when they went in. A few smaller explosions, grenades? Trying to breach and clear the standard method when one had to finish their objectives quickly, amateur mistake. Relying too much on one's training was just as big a flaw as not being trained enough. Maybe they would learn from this, assuming they were still alive afterward of course.
The pair of them sat despite the hysterical screams of the other cafe patrons, who were neglecting to pay the cashier in their rush to leave. Not that it mattered, the cashier was running as well. How irresponsible, what if someone just walked in and helped themselves to the coffee beans? Not even locking the door behind them, tut tut. 012 despaired at what the service industry had become, not even able to handle a few bombs being detonated 50 meters away? Truly, things had been going downhill ever since the television had been introduced, it was eating their brains he was sure.
BOOM BOOM BOOM
Ah, it looked like they were able to destroy what sounded like 3 batteries. How impressive. 012 had thought they wouldn't have even been able to reach the launchers on their own. It appeared that the Africans were smarter than he had thought, using the explosions as a diversion before detonating the second set at the launchers. Given how fast it was behind the detonation of the diversion, however… it was likely they had been caught, distinctly less impressive.
024 caught her partner's eye and he nodded back at her. It appeared that they were needed after all. The two of them stood up, pulling out the small 9mm Glocks from their backpacks. Checking they were loaded and the extra magazines had been placed into the special pouches underneath their jackets, the 2 of them walked over to the base, the exterior a rather ugly mess truth be told.
The explosives had included this entrance as well, the steel gate a mangled wreck lying in 2 pieces on either side of the path, the bodies of several bullet ridden guards lying around the demolished gate, a few of them being burnt by the flames.
012 picked his way through while 024 went around, no need to get her pants dirty, they had just been dry cleaned.
The two of them walked to the Harpoon emplacements, their pistols held in an upright ready pose by their heads. No surprises today. Still, the base was rather nice looking now that they were inside. There was the gardens which were very admirable one had to admit, lush green grass, vibrant flowers, the rather interesting little rock garden that was spoiled by the decapitated head, torn off its body by an explosion of some kind. Truly, these Africans and Europeans did not know how to fight properly, so messy and loud. 024 lamented the state of the European and African army, she enjoyed her nature walks and seeing nature in this state, well it was a travesty it was. A disgrace.
"Hey! What are you…" The poor guard never finished his sentence, 012 putting a bullet into his throat. A second went through his nose, the helmet at this range might allow the bullet to ricochet which was never nice.
024 approved, he died and his body was rather ugly which was true, but at least it was in one place, and arranged rather decently. Not being splayed all over the ground and taking up space and messing up garden arrangements.
As the two of them continued walking through the base, more guards came to challenge them, more guards died to them. One would think that after the first 12 guards had died, they would at least try and do it in a less open and inviting manner? Oh right. They were dressed like civilians, the guards probably thought that they were shell shocked or something and wandering through the base.
Ah, Europeans, so open and trusting. It would get them killed one day, that day being today. But for the other Europeans, they would die in some future someday, maybe even due to 012 or 024. Upon reaching the Harpoon missiles, the two of them split up, 3 had been destroyed but that left 17 of them.
Each placed a little block of plastic explosive, a timer and moved on. In case the guards suddenly decided to not be so nice anymore and shot them in the back as they were very clearly doing something to their missiles. In fact, it was probably what they were going to do, civilians generally didn't fiddle with missile systems. 024 approved, shoot on sight, not try and talk whoever it was down, that just got you killed.
When the charges were placed, the two of them left, slightly more hurried as they did so. It would not be a good idea to be in the general vicinity of the blast when explosives detonated. If the missiles went off as well… that would not be very good for anyone standing nearby, or far away for that matter. Pieces of metal going super sonic tended to ignore puny things like skin resistance at those speeds.
As the explosions went off, the two of them nodded at the sound of another job well done. They really were good at this, weren't they?
"You want me to let these 3 people into the country? But they're fugitives." The skinny man said. His cheeks quivering as he did so. A rather interesting figure of a man, bone thin but with cheeks that looked like they belonged on a man several times his size. Very interesting indeed.
012 didn't answer, 023 placed a small briefcase on the table in front of the man. 024 was dead, killed in an operation deep in the South American jungle a few weeks ago, she did well, completing her objective of assassinating an official of the South American Federation as she did so.
The briefcase itself contained large amounts of gold, very large amounts. Enough to see man set for several lifetimes if he was careful with the way he spent it. Or one very short lifetime if he wasn't. The pair didn't care, once this was done they would never see him again.
"Ummm. Yes. They are very clearly law abiding citizens, I will make sure they get through." He said, his eyes flashing with greed. The knife that went through the table next to his grasping hand however, was enough to freeze him in place.
"No, I won't betray you. Yes. Please. You can trust me." He said, his voice quivering not from excitement now but fear.
A nod from 012 was the response he got as the pair left the office. The USSR would soon experience a lapse in its ballistic missile detection umbrella, unable to tell what was coming their way until it was too late and they were forced to shoot it down. If they had been able to see it coming earlier they might be able to ask questions, and NOD didn't want that. As it was… well, they would be forced to react just as NOD planned.
As for the official, he would be dead within the week, the bars had been coated in a slow acting poison that seeped through the skin. Heart failure it would be called... until one saw the NOD symbol on the gold bars.
Another job well done.
The NOD Hydra Cell were having the time of their lives. So much as they could have the time of their lives, of course, they being brainwashed operatives carrying out NOD's plan for world domination. But, that did not mean that they could not enjoy themselves.
For example, right now, 042 and 021 were frolicking in the snow. Throwing snowballs at their opponents and having the time of their lives. There was the shouting the general merrymaking, and everyone was having fun. Lots of fun. Some of them were even building little bunkers and trying to hide, but 021 and 042 were always there, dodging the incoming snowballs, delivering their own with pinpoint accuracy and smiles to match.
Oh yes. Great fun.
For them of course. If one replaced Snowballs with bullets and shouts of joy with screams of pain.
Why were they here? Well, there was a facility directly ahead of them. It was a facility that housed several Minuteman missiles, at least 20 in fact. The very same facility was up north, where it snowed, hence the snowball analogy. The author just felt that perhaps it would be nice to not have people dying horribly for once.
Oh well.
021 and 042 had been issued a mission alongside 6 other teams to infiltrate the facility, launch the missile at Russia and then escape. 021 and 042 had drawn the long straw, they would be the diversion. Going in and picking a fight with the Americans, or in other words, making lots of noise, drawing the attention of the guards, killing the guards, getting more guards to approach their position.
The Americans had in response to NOD's infiltration of almost all of their facilities, increased the security protocols surrounding each one. 24/7 guards, electronic detection measures, cameras, centralized guard centers, radio beacons and more.
The Americans argued that if anyone were able to get past 1 line of defence, they wouldn't be able to get past the others. Just 1 would be enough to get reinforcements drawn in from all over the region, helicopters containing paratroopers, trucks filled with infantry, armoured companies, and more. America's nuclear weapons required the most stringent of defences and they were certainly ready to do all that was necessary to defend these ones.
It was unfortunate therefore that the NOD operatives had chosen the night where the greatest blizzard in recorded history had decided to make a debut. It had grounded all flights and reinforcements from outside and had changed the routes to where they were at least twice as long away as on a clear day. The armoured companies were perfectly ready to roll out, at least after their fuel pumps had been thawed out and the frozen parts given a good rubbing over. The Abrams was certainly a cranky little thing when it came to the strangest things.
This in turn, meant that the facility would only have its guards defending it, a company of US Army soldiers, equipped with the best weaponry that the US army could afford to give them. The latest model of the M16 rifle, one that could even mount a bayonet (it would still break if you used it, but it was the thought that counted), grenades, flares, even shotguns. The Army was sparing no expense when it came to protecting the site of some of the most powerful weapons in history.
It was too bad that Hydra was very good at killing soldiers. Most of their combat training was designed to directly counter that of the training of their opponents, whether it be America, Germany, the USSR, France and more. All the major powers trained their units a certain way, a certain way that would get them killed when faced up against NOD.
When a man is trained to aim before firing, it gave time that could be exploited. When a man was trained to fire at a certain range, it gave a certain amount of leeway to exploit. And the list went on. Suffice to say, the American guards were not enjoying their experience facing up against the 2 NOD operatives. They had pushed in past the gate around the facility, siting themselves within the domes of the A site, 4 missiles housed underneath it. The domes that marked the cover that protected the missiles themselves, the fueling pumps, the control stations, all acted together to give the 2 operatives all the cover that they could ever want.
The attacking soldiers were forced to advance through chokepoints that allowed the well armed NOD operatives to simply gun them down as they rounded corners or tried to squeeze past the pipes and whatnot that powered and fueled the launch doors.
They were learning, of course, after the first 10 of them died, the others became much more cautious, deciding to take things easier and engaging them from afar, trying to pin them down and allow for the air support that had been promised to make its way over and engage them that way. It was intelligent and very much the right thing to do… if the pair was the only ones infiltrating the base.
It should have rung alarm bells in the base commander's mind when suddenly 2 people were shooting his guards and allowed themselves to be herded to area A. That was simply a coincidence on a level that was not possible to replicate, unless they were doing it on purpose. Something to consider since area A was on the opposite side of the base from the launch control room, where a manual launch was possible assuming one had the codes for it.
011 and 029 were inside the launch control room, the pooling blood of the dead guards lapping at their feet. Each had a knife shoved into their throats and their hearts, no coming back and shooting them in the back at a critical point in time. That was just a rookie mistake in all honesty.
Still, to allow yourself to be drawn in by such an obvious diversion, it was such a disappointment. They had brought in an extra 5 teams to the base, expecting to need to use all of them to accomplish the objective.
Instead, they were doing it with just 2. It was disappointing, but then again, who were they to have guessed that the weather would decide to be on their side today. Usually, it was decidedly against them, sudden sandstorms when they needed clear skies, thunderstorms when they needed to fly, rainstorms and floods when they needed to hide. This good weather was certainly something they could appreciate, when they were out of the cold of course. What kind of heathen liked the cold?
011 stood over the console and began the priming procedures. While it was true that one needed very high authentication in order to arm and launch a nuclear missile, the same was not true for the fact that to simply fire an empty missile required much less stringent requirements. Indeed, as long as one had the base commander's pass then it was possible to simply "test fire" an empty missile.
The missile would be fired towards the USSR and by the time that everyone would be shouting that it was a nuclear weapon, the fact that it was empty would only ring of falseness. The Americans would be unable to justify their launching of a nuclear weapon to the USSR, the fact that it was empty having no bearing on the conversation when the public would refuse to hear of it.
011 in accordance to the master plan therefore, placed the commander's pass into the slot, turned the key, set the targets and depressed the button that would begin the ignition sequence.
029 watched the doors, it wouldn't do to have somebody come in and alert the entire base as to what was happening. Not that they wouldn't know after the missile was launched, but that was beside the point.
A klaxon rang out over the base. Indicating that there was a missile launch and everyone should get to shelter. The klaxon would ring for a full minute before the missile launched, alerting everyone that maybe… just maybe they had been played.
011 grinned, she was trusting that 029 was watching her back as she kept her thumb on the button. She didn't want to die before her mission was even complete. Once the missile was launched, she would be ready to die but not before then.
"Missile Launch. Missile Launch." The pre-recorded voice played to the entire base. The shouting outside of the room was reaching 011's ears now, it looked like 029 would need to begin shooting soon.
A deep roaring sound filled the base, it signalling that the Minuteman was finally in the air, and indeed 011 could see it from launch site, Charlie. She grinned. Mission complete.
Turning to face 029 she gave a brief thumbs up before the both of them pulled their backpacks to their front. Opening the zip revealed a very simple button and a light. Flipping the cap off the button that prevented it from accidentally activating, the pair of them depressed their buttons at the same time and smiled at each other.
The resulting detonation completely destroyed the command room and vaporized the two operatives. Small pieces of their clothing would be recovered and play a large part in the advancing US fabrics trade, notably ballistics resistance, but for now, the US had more pressing matters to deal with. 021 and 042 having seen the missile launch had done the same, deploying their backpack explosives and erasing any evidence that they had existed at all in a gout of flame. The thermite burning away all traces of their existence.
The other 5 teams, ostensibly providing the backup had not done the same, they were not involved, still outside of the base, ready to assist when needed. As it was, they had not and simply left the way they came, walking out into the blizzard to be picked up at a later date.
Hydra was operating almost everywhere in the world. Every step they took was one that furthered the goals of NOD and they had achieved their greatest victory to date. The launch of the Minuteman nuclear missile (without the nuclear charge), as well as managing to infiltrate the USSR's missile defence system and disabling their long range radar coverage without anyone noticing. In the time they could have used to call the US and ask what the hell was happening, they instead were forced to scramble their interceptors and engage the missile before it could separate and strike at different targets, something that would make it much more difficult to defend against.
In the coming months, the investigation into the wreckages of the Minuteman nuclear missile would reveal something very disconcerting. The missile itself had been a dud, there had been no nuclear warhead inside of it. They had had an empty missile launched at them, a missile that had provoked the Soviet people to such a degree that they were baying for blood. One that had seen them assist in the proxy war in Southern Europe and directly assisting in the South American Federation's war against America itself.
They had been played. In the aftermath of their decision to intervene, there was little they could do to change what had already happened. Simply saying that the missile had no nuclear device would not appease a public hungry for blood, whether or not they believed them was another issue altogether. They would need to continue their little proxy war in order to retain the unity of the USSR.
At the same time, the question of why the US had not simply said that it was an act of sabotage would run around the brains of the Soviet leadership. Perhaps they were afraid that once the knowledge they had allowed a third party to infiltrate their systems and launch a missile, that it would cause them to lose face in the world?
But didn't they already lose a massive amount of face regarding their unprovoked attack on the USSR as the world perceived it? So many questions to be answered. Questions that Hydra was happy to provide.
After Activation 1149 - Origin Universe
After Insertion 1110 - Cultivation Universe
Millennium 122-32M - 40k Universe
AD 1981 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe
Yevgeny Romanovich Orlov was a paratrooper, a very good paratrooper. He wasn't part of the special forces, just a standard paratrooper, he didn't want to be part of the black ops and whatever that entailed.
He wasn't like the other men around there, all ready and willing to wage war against the Americans, to push into Europe, to bring the world under the control of the USSR. No, he was something else entirely, he was someone that quite frankly was a patriot. He believed in the USSR, he believed in communism and he believed in what it was doing for his people.
Born in Georgia, he had grown up in what could be called a slum, yet it had all changed when the Party Leadership had been wiped out, their replacements changing it all for the better. He had seen what had come about and he had believed. What was originally a feeling of apathy, had become a feeling of joy, a feeling of wanting to be part of the USSR, to be a cog in the machine. He wished to do his part.
He had thought about how he could go about assisting when the recruiters for the air force had come by, join the paratroopers, protect the USSR they had said. He had joined immediately, he would keep those behind his back safe, his weapon ready to fight off any who might try and impinge on their society.
He had been happy, he had been doing his part, his training also including methods in which to assist with civilian construction, building bridges, roads, housing, all the parts needed to allow a society to exist. Doing his part in pushing deeper into Siberia, to make it more habitable by the people of the USSR. Building, creating, making life better.
It had all changed when America attacked, the nuclear missile being shot down before it had breached their airspace, but the fact that it had been launched at all was enough.
The entire military had gone on alert when word had arrived of what happened. All weapons units recalled for immediate redeployment if necessary, all weapons systems being activated, again, if necessary. Yevgeny had sat inside an aircraft, ready for a drop into a combat zone if it was needed, to secure an area in front of an enemy advance. Assuming of course that the missile was part of a preemptive strike, a means of opening up a wider invasion by the force of Europe or America, much the same way the Republic of Africa had decided to open their own war. Yevgeny had disapproved but understood, if one needed an advantage, they needed to grab whatever was in front of them.
Thankfully nothing had happened and the military was put on low alert. There was no explanation, but canteen news network leaked that it was because the American systems had been compromised. Something that was very worrying indeed if the Americans couldn't control where their nukes were going and what would happen if someone just went and stole the codes to launch more?
It was very worrying and the fact that the Americans were very willing to hide it rang bells in Yevgeny's head. They needed to be brought to account over it and the Premier appeared to be very willing to try. Only in the intervening months it had become very clear that the Americans were not willing to admit their mistakes, even throwing 2 of their generals under the tractor in order to hide their guilt.
It was no surprise therefore for Yevgeny to see his new orders, he had been "volunteered" as part of a "volunteer army" sent to help the South Americans in their war to reclaim their heritage lands from the Americans. They would be armed with USSR equipment, thank God for that, he wasn't looking forward to using whatever these people considered to be an assault rifle, that was for sure. As well as their vehicles, all of them ready with the latest export modifications, which meant that they were less effective than their own designs, but it made sense. They did not wish for the Americans to receive a vehicle and for them to dissect it and learn of their secrets, after all, they were secrets for a reason.
Upon landing in the South American Federation in what they called Brazil, he was very happy to note that his fears had been wrong, the South Americans were in fact very professional, something he could appreciate greatly. It would make coordinating with them that much easier, even if they were not trained to the same degree as his own men were.
To start off with, they were tasked with training some of the newer and some of the older more veteran units on how to fight. Especially on how to fight Americans with their reliance on vehicles and artillery. The best options being to dig in on the defensive in deep fortifications, or to get in close and deny them that support on the offensive.
They taught the South American Federation troops, several thousand of them until reinforcements had arrived a few weeks later, and Yevgeny was finally being sent to the "front line". Or at least, what they considered to be a front line. It was more of a malleable piece of rubber that constantly twitched backward and forward, changing a few kilometers in a certain direction each day or even hour.
The result of an attack and counterattack mentality, using the ground before them to advance and retreat as needed to avoid too many casualties.
The first thing they would need to do would be to anchor the front somehow, force a measure of stability so that they could formulate the next part of the plan. It would be difficult, but it was not as if they had any experience in life being anything but difficult.
And so it was that Yevgeny was strapped into a BMP, ready for his first combat engagement, his training being his shield, his rifle his sword. He would protect the Motherland, if he needed to force the American government to fight their own corruption, so be it.
Bullets cracked through the air overhead, to the left, to the right, all around. Yevgeny crawled along the ground, his rifle resting on his elbows, no need to get it banged up and dirty.
"How goes?" He asked. His hand tapping the man to his right. The private was tapping away at the Americans that had presented themselves in front of him. Some very nice targets. So far the Americans had been trying to retake the position from them, unfortunately for the Americans they had dug foxholes deep enough that their artillery wasn't any use.
At the first sign that something was going wrong, they dived to the ground and hid themselves away. The American pushes faced another problem, the fact that if they did push up, their artillery had already turned to rubble anything that might be considered cover. Combined with the proliferation with man portable antitank weaponry in the hands of the Russian "volunteers", to say that they had been stalled would be an understatement. The large expanses of open ground making it very difficult for the Americans to gain an advantage, especially with the forces they had committed so far. The line held, their little outpost being the lynchpin of... something. Only a platoon had been sent here, it was clearly not important.
It has been a few days since they first had relieved the South Americans that had held the position previously, their unit shattered by the constant fighting. They hadn't even looked happy when Yevgeny relieved them, just tired.
After the first few attacks, the Americans had pulled back, soft probing attacks being their only actions as of late. Losing what must have been close to a company of men for what amounted to a tiny little outcropping wasn't worth it in their minds.
"Another probe. Maybe we should call them doctors, not soldiers." Was the reply.
"They are trying to work out our defences, all the better to pick us apart. Be glad we haven't stayed in the same place. Dying isn't what I planned to do this week Comrade."
"I would be worried if it was."
Yevgeny grinned, as much as he saw war as a necessary evil, it was also some of the most exciting things that a man could do with his life. It was only in battle was a man fully in contact with himself, fully one with his spirit and body. Where the heart was pumping, the mind was racing, and death was just one wrong step away.
It was here that Yevgeny felt the most alive, life and death were both sides of the same coin, where death burned the greatest and with the most intensity, there would be life as well. Yes, as much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he truly loved the feeling of being in battle, to know that in his hands he held life and death, that in the hands of the enemy they too held the same. All that separated him from dying was luck. That he was able to hold the lives of those in his sights in his hands…
Yevgeny shook his head briefly and continued crawling. Sometimes he thought that he should requisition a notebook, write down his ramblings. It would clear his head at the very least.
Rifle in his arms, popping his head over the sandbag wall to look at what was coming. Whoooo.
It looked as if the Americans truly were annoyed with them this time. This was a probe in force, 3 IFVs as they called them, infantry trailing along behind. They were approximately a few hundred meters away, little boxes in the distance, ones he had to squint at to see properly. Still, they were within range, especially those 30mm cannons on their turrets, those would go through the sandbags like a 7.62mm through flesh.
It would be best if they tried to take those out before they came in close enough for it to matter.
He rolled and crawled back the way he came, heading back to his Sergeant.
"Sergeant, we have 3 IFVs coming on our position, they haven't engaged yet." He reported, crouching, thankfully. The rocks were not pleasant to dig his elbows into.
"Ah, the Americans are trying slightly harder today are they not? Good, good. Bring up the RPG-30, let us see how the Americans enjoy some 105 millimeter death hmm?" The sergeant said, his binoculars hanging back on his neck.
"Yes Comrade Sergeant." Yevgeny saluted, and ran off to find the squad's anti-tank specialist. The man wasn't allowed to fight head on, the RPG was too valuable to allow him to kill himself off and possibly damage the device. It was able to punch through American tanks, allowing their only operator of the RPG 30 to die would be very bad for their ability to defend against them. Not the smartest idea perhaps to send him to the front where any old sniper could pick him off.
"Nikolai! We need you up front comrade!" He called out, jogging up to him. He was looking rather glum, stuck behind several layers of sandbags and trenches, unable to assist his comrades.
The look of joy on his face as he picked up the launcher tube was enough to bring a matching grin to Yevgeny's face. Smiling over the fact that they were about to kill people, likely in extremely painful and terrible ways was something that perhaps… they shouldn't smile at. But firing a rocket launcher and causing explosions? That was something every man could smile at.
Nikolai jogged over to the front, winding his way over the trenches that the Soviets had dug while they had been waiting for the Americans to finally attack. It was a very comprehensive system, going through the entirety of the small elevation, itself raised by all the dirt they had excavated.
Nikolai knelt down, at the edge of the trench, leaning the rocket on the sandbags. He wanted a low profile as possible to prevent the Americans from picking him off. Looking through his binoculars, the Sergeant called out the target's different peculiarities that needed to be accounted for.
"No ERA, no Trophy System, no Laser System. Naked." He called out.
"Yes Comrade, loading standard missile." Said man behind Nikolai, pulling out one of the missiles from the tube it came in, arming it and then shoving it up the rear of the tube that was the launcher.
"Clear backblast!" Everyone scrambled to get away from the rear of the rocket launcher.
"Clear!"
"Firing!"
The launcher fired and the sound of the rocket tearing apart the atmosphere, the little red dot as it sped through the air, the sudden stop, the explosion, the IFV lighting up on fire. Ah yes, this was it. While 9 men probably just died in agony, burnt alive, as far as they were from the actual situation, it was enough for them to appreciate it.
A few cheers, clapping and another missile being loaded.
This was certainly it, the explosions, the life, the everything. Truly great.