Last Desire
Chapter 1
War Winners
April 17, 1983
German Democratic Republic
He eyed the morning's twilight in silence, his M-56 Stalhelm helmet cold in the frigid stillness of the early morning hours over the German Democratic Republic. Around him were countless others, mostly boys, mostly young; pimples covering their pale faces with very few pockets of facial hair, all standing behind the ridgelines in full combat gear with as much ammo as they could carry. For some, the helmets and fatigues looked too big for them, and for others, it looked like not enough.
None complained.
Old and newer T-72 models to their flanks, their main guns equally still and silent as they all stared towards the east.
He could faintly hear them just over the horizon.
Little but not-so-subtle rumblings and distant screams and wails that could turn warm blood ice cold… Others around him distracted themselves. Some cleaning their older Kalashnikov variants. Some stared at the sky above them instead of the horizon, some glancing in the opposite direction, the sky there still offering refuge to the night as the morning continued its inevitable advance into the day.
He turned and stared in that direction then.
"There!" someone called.
Low, just above the trees, they came.
A flight of several MiG-21s, their trout-like shape recognizable to all, appeared above the horizon, briefly as mere dots that were silently approaching before their shape became clearer. No one cheered as they screamed overhead, their old engines leaving behind an almost imperceptible trail as they flew toward the east.
Towards the rising sun.
Towards the enemy.
Flight of MiG-21s
The sky remained a dark blue as the sun began to rise over the East German border, the weather forecast promising somewhat clear skies, the thick clouds above obliging the predictions.
Excellent news for the operation on hand.
Perhaps even fantastic news for the European continent as a whole if the operation was as successful as its planners projected. For the tacticians calculating the odds of succeeding. For the families who wouldn't have to send their boys out to die much longer.
It wasn't exactly great news for her.
Her MiG-21PF flew in tight formation with the rest of her squadron, the ground speeding past them below as they kept a steady Mach 1, to the decimal in kilometers. Trees, green fields, the occasional farmhouse… they all sped past them by a few meters as the jets almost hugged themselves to the ground.
All abandoned now...
This was not exactly a mission the Soviet Aircraft was designed to carry out.
Their aircraft, all similar in design, all similar in paint job, all similar in role, and all equally acting outside that role, still sped on in spite of the fact.
She was an interceptor. She was supposed to quickly catch up to enemy fighters and knock them out of the sky before heading home. A proven concept. These aircraft had been the bane of American F105 Thunderchief fighter-bombers. The Vietnamese had downed thousands of aircraft, bleeding the Americans for whatever success their bombing campaigns achieved. The thousands of downed planes had humbled the US at the very least. It had shown that the Warsaw Pact was capable of producing aircraft that were able to keep up with the west. Outmatch them, even. There were such high hopes for the future as the world entered the 1970s…
The Landfall changed all that.
She'd been a teenager then. Young. Naive.
She scowled at the memory. The news of the incident in Asia shocked the world. The failures to contain the ungodly abominations that quickly began to spread north and west… panic. Loss.
So much loss…
The East German pilot, pushed the intrusive thoughts aside, keeping her gaze ahead. Occasionally she glanced at the often-missed details of the green pastures she was meant to protect.
The lines behind her remained dead silent.
For now.
Then…
"All squadrons. We are go on Scalpel. Say again. Go on Scalpel."
As the words reached her, she could just faintly see the sudden discoloration and flashing over the horizon almost as if a thunderstorm had manifested in direct contradiction to the weather reports.
But this was no roar of mother nature but one of man's own creation.
The artillery barrage was beginning.
She didn't give any reaction other than a calm acknowledgment.
"Bernhard… copy."
She then pulled her aircraft higher than the tree line, briefly pulling a few Gs in the sudden incline as they began to climb higher and higher, her squadron quickly imitating her moves rather flawlessly, to their credit. The climb became smoother as they accelerated. The ground got farther away as her MiG did what is was designed to do, rapidly climb at top speeds, and catch up to the enemy.
Only there were no aircraft to intercept or targets to shoot down. No, they were climbing above trees and hills with their onboard radar reading nothing but clear skies ahead.
A useless comfort as they entered enemy range.
There was never a warning.
The ground that had been covered in green pastures immediately became embroiled in the unnatural colorations of the various creatures. The enemies of mankind shifted amongst each other like ants, some small, some massive. All lethal. One would be naive to assume they posed no threat to her, but she knew that, at least at the moment, the true threat lay elsewhere. Maybe if one were lucky they would spot the brief glow of light blue on the horizon before their senses were fried away by the beams of Laser class BETA. The various corps-sized elements of these creatures reacted to her, she imagined a shifting wave as they all turned simultaneously towards the sky as she continued to rapidly climb and could no longer see the ground clearly enough to make out such features.
Still, she kept her gaze ahead, eyeing the horizon and the massive structure that stood amongst the hills and barren lands.
Briefly, she saw a blue flash and several eruptions as the abominations began intercepting the incoming artillery rounds. Never all of them. For every one intercepted, ten made it through. Old Soviet doctrine saw to it even against these inhuman enemies.
It was little comfort.
A MiG behind her, she wasn't entirely sure whose it belonged to, seemed to stall out suddenly, falling towards the ground below after a brief crackle on the radio from the pilot. She wasn't entirely sure why. Engine failure, perhaps? She hadn't seen a burst of blue light come their way, and the jet wasn't on fire, but…
"Clara's hit!" someone, again she was unsure who, screamed over the waves. "What are her coordinates?! Did anyone see her eject?!"
Oh, now she recalled…
"Canary 4, stay focused!" she tried, anger seeping into her commands despite her efforts.
"I-"
She did her best to ignore the younger pilot's panic as her line was instantly cut. The beam of light had come from further away this time, and unlike Clara's aircraft, Canary 4 erupted into a fireball that disintegrated as what remained of the MiG's frame fell to the earth below as a flaming skeleton of charred metal.
She grimaced, shouting over the line "Canary elements engaged! Break formation!" Before violently turning her MiG to the right, feeling the sudden acceleration as her fellow pilots scrambled almost as effectively as she had, all announcing the sharp breaking of formation to try and avoid the incoming death from the monsters below.
The only acknowledgment was a dispassionate "Copy" over the line as more beams shot out skyward in all directions. Another MiG exploded, the beam barely shooting past her as she dove away. Immediately it was followed by another. Then another.
She pulled her aircraft into a tight maneuver then, commencing her prayer almost subconsciously.
Our Father in Heaven…
Another MiG was hit, this one only grazed its engine, the aircraft spinning out of control, the pilot's screams coming over the line as he careened into the horde below, taking out maybe a few of the monsters and granting himself a mercifully quick death as his aircraft exploded on impact.
Hallowed be the name…
A beam shot over her. She wasn't sure if it hit anything as she dove down, doing her best to keep the MiG from losing the ability to pull up. Another of the younger pilots began screaming something over the waves, maybe someone's name, before also being cut down, the line going dead like a candle being snuffed out. One moment there, then gone just like that.
Thy kingdom come… thy will be done…
She pulled the stick back and rose up towards the sky once more, the sharp turn causing her MiG to groan in protest as a beam shot right under her and annihilated yet another one of the "Canary" Elements.
F-15 Strike Eagle Wing
The sky was a little bluer, he finally decided. The rising sun giving way to dawn as their aircraft remained at a steady 570 knots was a picturesque image that couldn't simply be captured on camera. It was smooth. Calm. A whole different experience being there than seeing it on advertisements at a recruitment office.
Almost boring…
No one would guess the carnage happening just a few thousand feet below.
A part of him wanted to ask. What pilot didn't? But it wouldn't do any good to find out the status of the Warsaw Pact forces below now.
Wordlessly, he glanced to his right, or three 'o clock as he would prefer, faintly seeing the rest of his squadron in the distance mirroring him, the eagle painted onto each of their tail fins identifying them.
Keeping his F-15 Strike Eagle in formation and with his instruments all shining a healthy green, he couldn't help his eyes dart around the blue and gray that surrounded them.
He squinted as the cloud cover grew thicker, imagining he could see the wings of F-16Cs and European Tornadoes heading in the same direction. What he could see were a pair of far newer EF-111 Ravens. Their grey paint and folded wings made it so they blended almost perfectly into the cloud cover as opposed to their old jungle camouflage used during the Vietnam War. As their powerful jamming equipment hopefully covered their movements, he had to wonder, not for the first time, if they could work as advertised.
Trials weren't exactly definitive…
He stowed the thought, glancing at his instruments again, his radar confirming what he already knew but couldn't hope to visually confirm. Still, he checked everything, confirming nothing was out of place even if he knew it wasn't and his Weapons Systems Officer would have let him know otherwise.
He remained as silent as everyone else, him doing probably what every other pilot was doing.
The clock ticked on, seconds turned to minutes…
Then the radio squawked an almost garbled but still very audible command.
"We are cleared on Scalpel. Say again, we are cleared on Scalpel. Good hunting and God be with you!"
Immediately, he shifted slightly northward and decreased altitude, feeling his stomach drop along with his Strike Eagle as he did. He made sure his mask was on properly once he felt his F-15 stabilize in its descent. Less a need, more a distraction as they quickly dropped in altitude below the clouds at 45 degrees.
This was an operation that had been in the works for quite some time, no need to ruin the tacticians' sense of pride by doing something silly like dying. Still, he briefly glanced out his canopy to check the Mavericks on his wings.
Still there…
Conventional weapons, while effective, had only succeeded in slowing down the cancerous growth of the monstrosities. Aircraft constantly shot down, tank battalions overrun, artillery batteries running empty or overwhelmed. Nuclear hellfire seemed to be the only true way to stop them in their tracks, but such actions were high risk and low reward if the bombs failed to fully destroy the various corps elements where they stood and it was entirely temporary.
No longer.
Weeks of satellite surveillance and front-line reinforcing had done their job. The F-15s hit their afterburners and began to properly push in, breaking out of the cloud cover rapidly. He could imagine the F-16s had already done the same.
Here comes the dangerous part…
Even from that height, he could see the thin blue lines of death fly straight and faster than any missile. Small plumes of smoke indicated what they were hitting in their range of 18 miles or over 30 kilometers as the locals preferred.
As they dove down, he could faintly see the East German MiGs maneuvering as best they could down below. It wasn't like the MiG-21 wasn't a maneuverable aircraft. Thunderchiefs and Phantoms had struggled against them in the skies over Vietnam. But here…
He couldn't so much see the planes themselves, but their explosions as they were swatted out of the sky one after the other, like nothing. He glared at his aircraft's hud, the computer onboard already telling him it had a lock. Screaming at him he could fire any time he wanted, the radar's image of the ground already showing the disgusting bipedal creature firing at something to the west, seemingly unaware of his existence. Six of them. One at a time, huddled together to make smaller targets for the artillery. Tempting him and the mavericks he had on his F-15. He forced himself to ignore the desire to squeeze the trigger as they kept the steep dive.
He didn't ask any questions, waiting calmly on his WSO to give him the go-ahead, eyes glued to his look-down radar, praying to whatever god would listen that the damn things didn't notice them.
"Hold her steady…"
It was less a command, more a reminder to be patient.
Come on… come on…
He saw the explosions below as more MiGs were turned into ash by the enemy. He imagined his altitude was decreasing in tandem with the amount of still-alive MiGs down below, his eyes laser-focused on his target. Still, he kept his Eagle steady.
"Now!"
"Eagle 2-5, Rifle!"
He needn't say more, pushing the button on his stick.
He saw the AGM-65s scream towards the ground at 714 miles per hour, white smoke briefly left behind them as they rapidly accelerated downward at near supersonic speeds. They somewhat vanished from his view, almost blending into the chaotic mess of abominations, artillery explosions, and MiGs down below. The larger of the things like walking fortresses stomped ahead ever so slightly as they carried some of their targets on their backs. The Mavericks followed their trail without a reaction. He imagined the same was happening around him, but didn't bother to look around, focusing on his targets.
Come on… come on…
It was a gamble. It always was. The damned things apparently loved turning their eyes to anything technologically advanced, as though they could gauge a threat level through sight alone. So they came from high above while they were too focused on targets closer to the ground. A proper distraction in the MiGs and artillery down below, and from the looks of it, so were the EF-111s. On his periphery he just fainly saw some blue beams shoot upwards, a tiny explosion visible as a maverick far away was shot out of the sky.
It wouldn't save them this time. Simple mathematics showed they could only fire once every twelve seconds. Maybe six if they were careful, but in such a target-rich environment, the confirmed 3,000 laser class strains had far too much to be preoccupied with to effectively target the precision munitions heading their way.
Still…
His eyes briefly darted to the east, seeing yet another MiG explode into nothing.
It made the Canaries an unfortunate necessity.
MiG-21 Flight
"Pull up! Pull-"
Like many others, her voice, more a desperate shrill over the radio than a calm order, cut before the pilot could finish her sentence.
She didn't see the MiG explode, but she could imagine it. Both of them. Some poor soul had dove too low and couldn't pull up in time. Perhaps a pilot noticed, got distracted or unlucky, and got shot down trying to warn her comrade. Or perhaps flew into friendly artillery.
Irisdina Bernhard tried not to think about it.
Making random maneuvers where possible, she kept pushing on. She could feel her aircraft's frame protesting louder as she pushed it to its limit. She twisted yet again, avoiding the area the artillery rounds were slamming into. Some of the larger rounds had gotten through, blasting the creatures below, even the larger ones, into fleshy chunks of gore, and sending heavy shockwaves through the entire area. Oh, the creatures would advance regardless, but the fury of artillery wasn't something any army could ever scoff at, no matter how massive or if it was human or not. A combined shockwave of larger rounds impacting even caused her MiG's frame to shake slightly despite having landed miles away.
Once more, she didn't react
Not externally.
Even while the artillery began to hit, she could tell the Laser classes were about as scattered as the briefing had noted. There were few and far between the hordes of monsters down below. Spread out. Groups of four or six at most. All covered a large swab of blue sky that was reasonably clear of clouds in one direction. Their artillery just didn't have the accuracy needed to land the direct hits. She pulled up further, one of the larger beasts, a fort class, shooting long tendrils at her aircraft, trying to knock her out of the sky. She kept her speed, knowing full well it was likely trying to lead her into a kill box. She barely evaded the tendrils that tried following her long after she sped past and into the sky.
Where are you…
She didn't bother dropping in altitude, accelerating further as another MiG was blown apart ahead of her, presumably by the shot that would have killed her.
She did her best to ignore her radar suddenly failing to identify anyone around her. Her jaw clenched as she briefly glanced behind her, eyeing the un-earthly fortification that was the enemy hive. It towered over the fields, its geometry appearing almost man-made in its sharp corners. The insignia of victory for the monsters below. A tumor jetting out of the surface of the earth.
Her aircraft shook, one Laser going far too close for comfort as she'd turned randomly to the right. She grimaced, trying to twist her Jet around once again, realizing immediately her turn would be too slow to maintain her speed. She shut her eyes, a silent prayer on her mind as she began her turn...
It happened directly after.
"Hit!" she heard the words scream over the radio. "Say again, hit! Confirming elimination of laser class!"
She leveled out immediately, glancing behind her in time to see the final mavericks and cluster bombs slamming into the enemy formations with impeccable accuracy even if the creatures had already been killed; body parts and gore flying into the sky, even tearing through the larger ones shielding them as they collapsed and fell onto the unfortunate beasts under them.
The Laser Classes, for the time being at least, were all gone.
She shuddered, glancing below as the swarm seemed to suddenly realize what was happening and began to charge forward at a faster rate, suddenly accelerating towards their main lines along the border. A giant mass of organisms that moved almost like a liquid due to their high numbers.
It wouldn't save them.
Not this time.
"All six-hundred-sixty-sixth Canary elements… whoever's left… egress, bearing two-eight-zero… We're RTB. Anyone copy?" she tried then, doing all she could to keep the exhaustion from marking her words.
Her radio was silent for a painful moment.
Then…
"Ice Queen?"
Her eyes briefly widened. Before she could reply, the voice on the other end scoffed.
"Ugh, of course… you're still alive. Anyone else?"
She said nothing.
"Figures… wonder what'll get me first… the bombs or them…" the girl spoke, her words followed by a burst of dark laughter as she finished her sentence.
"Lieutenant Hersch. Can you give me a location?"
Silence again.
"Lieutenant Claire Hersch." she tried.
"Dumbass… what do you think?"
She was about to reply, but Claire continued.
"I can't see anything. Not sure if I'm half buried or stuck inside one of them… I can hear them crawling over here, though… damn it, I… I can't reach my sidearm…"
Irisdina felt her blood run cold.
"Oh… God… hey, Ice Queen… you there?" She asked, urgency lining her words now.
"Yes." She replied.
"My dad's still… he's still in Berlin… um… listen, you don't have to tell him anything, just… just make sure he gets my things…"
"I will."
"Good… that's… good…" Claire's voice trembled slightly at the end, what bravado had been present before was all gone now.
"They're here. Goodbye." She finished.
Then the line went dead again and Irisdina was left alone once more.
Her MiG remained on its steady flight as the horizon behind her silently turned to ash. The American B-52s and British Vulcans dropped several thousand tons of bombs over the enemy, sparking brilliant strobe-like flashes over the remains of the Polish border that even the old Soviet artillery failed to emulate. Irisdina ignored it. She glanced once at her fuel gauge, noting she had barely enough to make it back to base.
She closed her eyes for a brief second.
When she opened them again she glanced up, and five American F-15 Strike Eagles silently flew ahead of her. Glancing behind her, she could see ten more, all flying neatly in formation above her, being blown apart by the enemy no longer a concern for the time being.
She remained a touch lower, however.
Taking her radio once more, she quietly spoke into it, "This is Captain Bernhard… the mission was successful."
The only acknowledgment was a dispassionate "Copy".
Holzdorf AirBase, German Democratic Republic
"Looks like the Stasi informant made it back again."
"Quiet, you!"
Those were the first words David Elroy heard the Germans say once out of his F-15 Strike Eagle and on the ground. He glanced at the East German mechanics, a man, and a younger woman, the man with a cigarette in hand, the woman with a notepad.
They both remained silent, their gaze focused away from his F-15 and towards the MiG-21 that touched down suddenly, its engine still ear-splittingly loud despite it already winding down.
That the only one?
He watched the MiG taxi towards a hangar and lost sight of it as it went inside. He pursed his lips, a new sound filling his mind. Feet back on solid ground, he did his best to ignore the whoops and cheers as his fellow F-15 pilots walked past, acting as though they'd won some football match in high school. Arms on shoulders, wide smiles, somewhat exhilarated laughter… seemingly no thoughts to the dangers they'd been on only a short while earlier.
Some briefly saw him, but all were quick to keep their gaze away. David didn't return the action, watching them all as they walked on without a word.
His Weapon Systems Officer, however, didn't get that luxury.
Jacob Martins, like any native from the Midwest, spoke with an accent that emphasized the letter R, even when there wasn't one, "Alright, system works as advertised. All the AGMs were right on the money. New radar's working great, too, though the damned bugs don't come up quite as clearly… still, says a lot when even while working under sub-optimal conditions we did all that."
"Good." David replied quietly.
"And I hope you heard that last part!" Martins said a little louder, turning to the Germans.
The man cocked his head sideways as if confused, tossing his cigarette away without a word.
"Yeah, you. This baby's worth a lot and she's in top shape, understand?! If I find one thing out of place-"
The mechanic, in very broken English, waved them ahead, saying "Yeah yeah, welcome to Dee-Dee-Arr…"
"G-D-R… God damned krouts…"
Martins walked ahead, David waiting for a second before switching to German, turning to the mechanics, and saying "I do hope you take good care of her. She's very valuable to the war effort."
The man winced, seemingly surprised the pale American pilot spoke his language. Still, without skipping a beat, said "We do our job well. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here. Tell your comrade to face reality and ease up on the arrogance."
David huffed a tired "Reality… yeah… yeah, I will."
The East German mechanic smirked before raising a fist and yelling "Oorah!"
David quietly raised his fist in response and watched as the mechanics began to go over the F-15. He made sure they weren't just eyeballing the manual but actually mirroring his Jet's crew back home. They would arrive soon enough but it was what it was. Once the surface level work was done, the East Germans seemed to nod to each other, nothing betraying their potential thoughts on the latest American aircraft. They marked a few things on the woman's notepad, then got up and moved on as the American mechanics moved in.
Only then did he step out of the hangar. Fully aware that even if this was a "joint effort" it did not eliminate the tensions between East and West.
He eyed the airbase then. Appreciating how larger it appeared from the ground. His mind going back to a different time and place. He pushed the thoughts aside, continuing towards the barracks.
Then he froze as he saw a figure in the distance, disappearing into the main building after exiting the hangar the MiG-21 had entered.
...
"You did good, Bernhard. Losses were acceptable."
Irisdina said nothing.
"Granted, we expected all Canary Elements to die… sad reality of facing so many of the Laser-Class… but the mission was a success. That's the important part." She added with perhaps some sincerity in spite of the recorder next to them taping the conversation.
Irisdina said nothing.
1st Lieutenant Gretel Jeckeln lowered her notepad and adjusted her glasses, once.
"Anything to add, comrade captain?"
Irisdina glanced at the chart on the desk, staring at the crossed-off names, callsigns, and aircraft numbers...
"Comrade captain?"
Irisdina finally said, "Second lieutenant Hersch requested I deliver her belongings to her father in the event of her death."
"Hersch? Ah… yes… new girl… a damn shame." Gretel sighed, going over the list once more. "Although if I'm not mistaken, the request was made right before she died?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Gretel shook her head, muttering "She was around my age… I can't imagine the feeling of losing a daughter so soon…" then, as if to recover from the erroneous slip of humanity, she added in a more robotic tone, "But that's the sacrifice we must all make. You may deliver First Lieutenant Claire Hersch's belongings to her family as requested, comrade captain."
Gretel glanced at the recorder, then, a little louder, stated "That concludes post-engagement brief number seven-zero-two-three-zero-zero. End of recording."
She then pressed a button, the recorder obediently halting its machinations as Gretel turned back to Irisdina with a dull expression.
"I don't suppose the others will take kindly to you moving her things."
"Since when does that matter?"
Gretel shrugged and crossed her arms, adding "It would be a bigger shame to lose our best pilot to her peers rather than fighting the BETA is all."
"I can handle it."
"I don't doubt that. I will only remind you that ever since western forces began pouring in with their… aid… certain people- groups have grown bolder."
Irisdina didn't reply standing up from her seat, eyes falling to the notepad with names crossed out once more. The notepad stared silently back at her.
"Watch yourself, captain." Greta sighed.
Irisdina nodded, then promptly exited the Commissar's office.
The glares were nothing new. None of them spoke to her directly, of course, but she could plainly read their looks of discontent. Here she was, alive, where their less-experienced, much younger comrades were not. Still, she made her way down the barrack halls in an equally stoic silence as the one she carried while in the air.
A few turns, and some more silent judgments by her peers later, she was where she needed to be. She turned the rusty doorknob, its old hinges squeaking as the door was pushed open.
"C-captain?!" a squeal erupted from within the room.
She didn't react to the other pilots inside. The girls still had their arms on their comrade's shoulders, the young girl's eyes red and glistening with moisture as she continued shakily clutching a white pillow with several darkened spots. They almost looked like schoolgirls comforting a friend after a bad breakup.
If only it were something so mundane…
She wordlessly walked on past them and to Claire's bunk, reaching under it. She glanced at Claire's possessions, a notebook and a small keychain with a simple "C" hanging from it. She took the girl's rucksack, and carefully placed the few belongings inside.
"Captain! Those are Claire's!" the girl with tears in her eyes protested then, suddenly standing up, arms in position to block her exit if she tried, a tiger-like scowl on her face.
"She requested I hand them to her father. Did she request you do anything in the event of her passing, lieutenant Hosenfeld?" Irisdina replied simply, zipping up the nearly empty rucksack and turning to the girl in one motion.
The previously courageous girl shrank away slightly, her fellow pilots whispering cautious warnings to her.
"She's a Stasi informant, don't piss her off…"
"I heard she turned in her own family and killed her brother…"
Irisdina didn't react to the words, instead saying "That is the case, but I'm still your superior. If second Lieutenant Hersch requested something of you, please inform me now."
Silence.
"Very well. Excuse me."
She walked on without another word, exiting the room… Only to almost crash into a taller, red-headed figure.
He made eye contact with the rucksack she carried, then with the tearful girls inside. She saw something in the young man's eyes flicker, a shift in his movements, split between anger and indifference. A desire to say something, and a desire to remain on the sidelines, both clashing silently. Internally she wondered which side would win.
Before he could say anything, a voice cut in and decided the outcome for him.
"Comrade captain, there's a train heading for Berlin in half an hour. If we go now we can just make it."
Greta had been standing just at the end of the hall, and quickly waved her over.
Irisdina turned her gaze downward and sidestepped the young man.
"Excuse me, Oberlutenant…"
She could've sworn he cursed at her just under his breath as she spoke the words, but chose not to acknowledge them and walked on.
NATO-Warsaw Pact Joint Command Center, Berlin
Many in East Germany talked about Buchenwald. Few in East Germany spoke of the circumstances behind its liberation…
Heinz Axmann kept his expression as stoic as any good German officer should, mirroring old photographs of 19th-century aristocrats or royalty, which themselves had likely been trying to emulate even older paintings.
Internally, however, he was smiling.
Across from his superiors, standing equally stiff, were his western equivalent and their superiors. Though appearing rather frustrated as they took their seats, their more colorful uniforms and insignias seemed to almost try to upset the outrage. Still, they clearly did nothing to soothe what truly bothered them. He observed as the American Commander in Chief of European Command, one General Bernard something or other, kept a somewhat more conserved expression in contrast with the West German Bundeswehr and British RAF officers. But there was no hiding the slight tightening and loosening of his hands around his cap as he held it, the almost imperceptible tug of war between a blank stare and a frown, and the forcefulness of the smile as the officers greeted one another, all things few would notice.
Heinz Axmann saw it all.
Further pleasantries were unnecessary as General something or other finally spoke up about the day's events.
"Today's operation, while successful… that wasn't what we agreed to, gentlemen."
Axmann's eyes drifted ever so slightly to his superior. The older man, a veteran of dealing with Western self-righteousness and its moralistic grandstanding, was as quick as any German officer should be to shoot down any misconceptions of what had happened that morning.
"I believe all Warsaw Pact nations made it explicitly clear that we would be adhering to our strategies in dealing with the BETA going forward. We had informed you of the plan and it had been approved." As his general spoke, he noticed the tug of war between the frown and blank stare on the face of the American seemed to intensify and Axmann wondered which would win out.
"The approved plan involved overwhelming the Laser classes with air-to-ground missiles and artillery. Not throwing pilots at-"
"Apologies, but it appears you were misinformed, sir. The nations of the Warsaw Pact have been holding off the BETA with these tactics for a decade. Even with greater supplies of ATGMs, and your distribution of EW aircraft across the front, we simply haven't the number of missiles prepared to carry out an operation the likes of which you seem to have envisioned."
The frown won the tug of war and Axmann found himself fighting one within himself.
To smile or not.
At this, the West German dog barked out an angry "Only one of your aircraft made it back! Why not request more support? You told us your pilots were prepared to carry out the operation!"
"Our pilots were prepared as all Warsaw Pilots to die for the people. Equipping them with the missiles now would have only added a cost to the losses of the day."
That threw the room into a stunned silence.
Now Axmann allowed the slightest smile an ounce of victory, his lips curving ever so slightly upwards.
His superior continued, "We can replace our MiG-21s and they're easy enough to fly as well as maneuverable enough to allow skilled or lucky pilots to evade the Laser classes and come back alive. They do their job. Effectively. With or without the supplies you desire they utilize."
"Our companies have been working day and night to keep our forces well-supplied. Underquipping your pilots isn't a sustainable practice." the American dog countered.
"Yes, perhaps for you. After all, I doubt you would be willing to sacrifice those precious Eagles today, no? The new Tornadoes? We did you a favor with that distraction. It worked. You must understand that we won't win this war by sitting back and hoping to avoid losses, we must work with what we have and for today we did precisely that."
"The EF-111s-"
"Are no guarantee just yet, now are they?"
There was a pause. No one willing to needlessly strain the partnership further despite the objections they all had.
"Yes, but pointless losses only weaken our capabilities. We have the missiles and parts available to greatly reduce casualties." the American said cautiously.
"Greatly appreciated and understand we work to avoid losses as well… but do not tell us how to fight our enemy. We all want the same thing here, do we not?"
The NATO officers only nodded slowly, the American seemingly willing to concede this much if the operations were successful, the frown slowly diminishing.
Seemingly.
Axmann didn't like the look in the old man's eyes. The slightest hint of resentment former enemies always had when forced to work together. It was almost imperceptible, and perhaps he had imagined it, but he could feel it there. A slight lingering in the way the man kept eye contact, the subtle furrowing of eyebrows, the near-imperceptible twitch of the lips as though there was much to be said but none of it appropriate at the moment.
"Now, shall we discuss the results of the ground attack?" his superior asked.
The men silently agreed, the British general calmly speaking then.
"The bombing run destroyed most of the BETA ground force, and if the information from the front is accurate, your men will reach the hive long before it can produce more BETA strains… at least in large enough numbers. The artillery strikes that keep pounding the outer hive are doing their job well enough, and soon we should be carrying out clearing operations with the new weapons."
"Then soon we may retake Szczecin?" one of Axmann's superiors asked.
Axmann did his best not to sneer at the man's Polish accentuation and badly-hidden excitement at the prospect. It was no secret how many subversives had been bred in the Polish People's Republic, after all. And now they all depended so heavily on the very state they had tried to subvert time and time again…
"God willing, I believe so…"
And now Axmann suppressed the urge to frown at the British officer. The opioid of the masses was not something true socialists would ever approve of in spite of their country's not-so-licit number of… addicts.
Ridiculous…
"Given the probing operations in Vietnam worked well enough, and this hive is much newer. If this works, we can keep this practice going until we chase these abominations out of Eurasia and back to hell."
Axmann noted his superiors nodding in agreement.
He hid his disapproval, eyeing the American general's uniform once more. The man had served in Korea, it seemed. He wondered how many good men he'd killed for a lost cause. He wondered, albeit only for a moment, if his cause was much better. He smiled slightly once more.
Of course it is!
There were a few more detailed points made. Supplies, how to bring them in, how long it would take to fly or ship them in, and what new weapons could be expected to arrive at the front. Now pleasantries were exchanged once again. Forceful. Unnaturally so. But they were exchanged, and the western dogs left, and he and his superiors were left to their devices.
He allowed his smile to widen slightly in satisfaction only to have it immediately slapped away by his superior.
"Axmann, I hope you weren't lying when you recommended this move."
"Of course not, general. Given the heavier western presence within our borders, we must make sure dissenters understand what awaits them if they get any subversive ideas."
He made a mental note of the Polish officer frowning at his words. The man was another Colonel, but he knew that mattered little.
To cement his point, another officer agreed, adding "Indeed, comrade. The people cannot be allowed to think that NATO's role in this war is any more than an ally of convenience."
"Precisely."
"Still… twenty of our younger pilots dead… none for the Americans or British squadrons."
"Sir, with all due respect, the strategy was always for our aircraft to distract the-"
"Yes, and we have skilled pilots do we not?! We have the missiles, didn't we?! Did we need to send in these children?!"
"General… our information gathering has not let you down, has it?"
The old man's shoulders slowly relaxed.
"I should remind you, comrade general, these traitors would have us all hung from lampposts if they had their way. Betray their families, their country, kill our women and children, on and on… all for their own indulgence. The necessary evil of working with the west must not embolden such fantasies."
Many in East Germany knew of Buchenwald… few talked about the circumstances that led to its liberation…
"I'm aware, Comrade Colonel, I just… we cannot appear weak right now! Killing dissenters works. I understand its necessity. But there must be a better way to carry it out… you saw what they're bringing in next to combat the BETA. If the people begin to believe NATO is more capable than us in the Warsaw Pact… praising our bravery and sacrifice will only get us so far."
Axmann briefly recalled the images of the Hungarian and Polish uprisings that had to be crushed with tanks and frowned.
"I understand, sir. We're in talks with other officers to ensure we can show the capitalists just how powerful we in the Warsaw Pact can be. I've also drafted several plans and began researching other means of controlling dissenters."
"Good. That's good, Comrade Colonel."
Axmann gave the man a reassuring smile, confident that even in bleak times they would prevail. Perhaps to punctuate this, one of his aides approached him as he exited the meeting. Axmann walked with his eyes focused on the somehow already worn-out wallpapers that had been recently placed inside the building, the aide discretely whispered in his ear while approaching him with a binder.
"Colonel, we've made a discovery concerning the six-hundred-sixty-sixth fighter wing…"
Axmann felt his eyes go wide as he glanced at the note.
Then he smiled.
Well, well, well, our Ice Queen may have more relevance than we thought…
Berlin
Irisdina stared at the apartment's wooden door. The furnishing had been scratched and almost broken away by what may have been an accident or an act of vandalism. The number, 310, was faded, a greyish yellow on a distilled green that was just clear enough to be identified.
She knocked on the door thrice in quick succession.
She thought she heard shuffling from within, though it was difficult to tell with the outside noise. The old capital was no less busy now than it had been since the height of the Second World War. If it hadn't been invasions into foreign nations, last-ditch defenses, or painful reconstructions, it was now acting as an industrial center on the frontlines against the BETA threat.
She was about to knock again when the door was opened slowly, the man inside awkwardly moving an umbrella aside with his foot.
She didn't look twice at the empty sleeve and blinded eye.
"Yes?" he asked.
It was Greta who replied.
"Mister Hersch… I am First Lieutenant Gretel Jeckeln, commissar for the Luftstreitkräfte, primarily the 666th squadron."
The man eyed her companion, then herself before grumbling "I still can't accustom myself to seeing children in uniform… I can't say it's right."
Neither commented.
"So… I assume this is about Claire?"
"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Claire Hersch was killed in action during today's operation-"
The man raised his hand, silencing her. He didn't speak for a moment, his gaze refusing to meet theirs. The only noise in the hall came from outside as the busy city continued its usual rush. Cars. Trains. People. All moving about, ignorant of the news being delivered here.
After an uncertain moment, he spoke in a tired voice.
"Just… just spare me the honors. Leave her things there if you want." He sighed, waving his hand dismissively before lowering it.
Irisdina nodded slowly and placed the rucksack down by the door, briefly glancing into the small apartment. It appeared mostly empty, a single framed photo of a man in uniform holding a young girl, the Reichstag behind them. Bright smiles shone through the black-and-white image.
"You're her captain, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir." Irisdina replied with little emotion.
He nodded, shrugging then. He pursed his lips. Avoiding eye contact.
Gretel, perhaps trying to help, added "She accomplished her duty as asked. The state is-"
"Indebted to me and my family… I know, I know. I was told the same when I lost my arm and my wife in Poland."
"The retreat?" Irisdina asked.
"No, the counterattack. The failed… it doesn't matter. Thank you for coming. I'd offer you something to drink, but… I haven't gotten any rations yet… apologies."
"No worries, sir." Greta tried.
He nodded, then quietly picked up his daughter's belongings before closing the door behind him with his leg and shoulder.
The world around them felt louder and more uncaring as they stood in the now-empty hallway, listening to the heavy traffic outside.
Greta let out a sigh, muttering "You'd think it'd get easier…"
Irisdina didn't speak.
Those were the last words spoken for a spell, both of them walking out of the apartment complex, stepping out onto the orange glow of the later afternoon sun over the German Democratic Republic. The old buildings still held some signs of past conflicts, but mainly weather damage; decadent elements caused by the fact that priority was given to the war gobbed up resources faster than they could ever be allocated to repairing seemingly minor damages. Statues of long-gone German heroes had splotches of black mold, as did the columns on distant buildings with few exceptions. Trash littered the streets, natural and manmade as the breeze blew leaves and cigarette buds. Smog filled the air as trains arrived and departed. People, workers going home, children playing in the streets, women chatting on sidewalk corners, all moved to and fro within it all.
This was the city they defended.
The city well over twenty pilots had given their lives for just that morning, and countless more in the previous decades. She pushed the thoughts aside as she stepped out through the wooden door and out onto the now frigid East Berlin streets.
There, Greta finally said, "I suppose the good news is that this success means fewer of these visits will be necessary…"
Irisdina said nothing.
Gretel reached into her pockets, grabbing a box of cigarettes, Cubans from the looks of it, lighting one before asking "Why'd you ask if he'd been part of the retreat?"
Irisdina said "My first sorties occurred during our retreat from Poland. You know this."
Greta grunted and let out a puff of smoke, saying "I see. Makes sense, although… well, I guess it's rare to see you try to relate to others. Though I also guess he seemed like... maybe it could've helped." Greta took a long drag before adding, "Or maybe not. Who knows, really?"
Irisdina said nothing.
Another train departed, this one heading west, and from that direction came another one.
Greta took a long drag, blowing out more smoke as she muttered "Well, there you have it…"
Irisdina remained silent as the cargo train's silhouette almost hid the American cargo.
Almost.
Greta huffed, mumbling "They're bigger than our T-72s. Boxier, too… But I suppose that's the west for you."
"Those are their new tanks?"
Greta nodded, adding a somewhat envious "Better jets, better artillery… better tanks."
"You speak dangerous things, comrade commissar..." Irisdina mumbled.
Greta snorted as the train pushed through the station, not stopping once.
"I'm with you, dumbass. I don't care if you shot your brother or how others see you, we both know how much of a softy you really are."
She punctuated her remark by jabbing Irisdina in the ribs with her index finger, her gray fatigues absorbing most of it, but Irisdina still felt the irritating sensation.
"It's a serious issue this one… can you imagine going to war against those? Look at them."
The American M1 Abrams Main Battle tanks were certainly odd. The one-hundred-and-five-millimeter main gun seemed almost puny by comparison, especially compared to their West German counterparts and their 120s, but even tank-class BETA strains could be taken out by such weapons. No, what caught her attention was something else entirely…
Greta came to the same conclusion she had.
"Crew survivability… damned Yanks and their crew survivability."
Irisdina said nothing, the tanks rolling ahead on their train, fastly secured and heading east, towards the frontlines.
She watched them leave without a word and she spoke little more as their train arrived and took them back to base.
Holzdorf Airbase
"Sir, these officers are inexperienced, if-"
"Correct, Captain. You will lead twenty of them and act as a distraction, am I understood?"
"Sir, with all due respect, if the mission requires a distraction, I have several experienced pilots that-"
"Captain Bernhard, you will follow your orders and inform the pilots of their mission. Am I clear?"
"...yes, sir..."
Irisdina's mind pushed the older thoughts away and kept returning to the early morning.
The sharp turns, the screams coming over the line, the near-misses, the fact they had essentially been sent to a slaughter… no, not "essentially". The whiskey's burn didn't particularly ease the burden as she placed the glass back down, but nothing really did. In spite of the bar's dim lighting, she watched her tired reflection on the surface of the glass, a darker version of herself staring back. Her head felt numb as an old, barely functioning record player spun a garbled song she couldn't properly identify.
Externally, she kept herself with the same cold expression.
Internally…
The bartender walked over and raised an eyebrow, holding the bottle of whiskey with one hand, offering.
She only shook her head.
The man shrugged, then went back to cleaning a glass that was likely already clean.
It was a slow night, after all.
Most everyone celebrating would be doing so outside the base. Even the television screen above was, in spite of the stern-looking newslady staring at the camera behind a wooden desk, more jovial. Images of cheerful East-Berliners happy to discuss a victory for once. A victory. A true victory where the invaders had been pushed back towards the east rather than merely halted… Of course, the exact cost of the victory was very much kept out of the waves. It wasn't like the public truly needed to know how many pilots they lost.
Or how few the west did by comparison…
She went for another swig when the bar's old wooden door creaked open. Instinctively, her eyes darted to the person walking in, noting quickly it was a young man. The green fatigues were a telltale sign he wasn't with GDR forces, therefore a foreigner, but after today that wasn't a shock.
She gave it no other thought and took another swig. It burned a little more as it went down her throat and did little else other than almost distract her from the fact the young man had suddenly sat down next to her without a word.
Almost.
Irisdina placed her glass down as her eyes darted back to him, noting the green American uniform and how… awkward he appeared. His dark hair was just barely on the line of what the American forces considered acceptable given what she'd read. Disheveled, as though he hadn't combed since that morning. There was something about the look in his hazel eyes that she couldn't quite place as they darted to and away from her with indecision. Sometimes to the television on the wall, sometimes to the bartender. But always back to her. Always silent.
So, she ignored him and went back to looking at the television screen, the reporter still appearing stern while showing a map with a red arrow piercing into a black void that had once been a map of Poland. Images of tanks appeared on the television screen then, all of their older T-72s pushing in. The corpse of a tank class crushed underneath.
She didn't smile.
A part of her could almost swear she'd seen one of her MiGs crash by that hill. Or one similar to that. Had they removed the wreckage for a pretty shot of a tank going over the BETA corpse? Probably not, but a part of her knew better than to assume her people wouldn't do such a thing.
"Hey."
She paused her internal thoughts, turning her gaze towards the American.
They locked eyes.
Hers, blue, his, hazel… both tired. He blinked first, then looked her over once. Neither spoke.
"We ever met before?" he finally asked in English.
She frowned.
He mirrored her.
After a second, he asked "Berlin Academy? Jurgen Bernhard? He-"
He fell silent as she pinched his cheek and pulled on it.
Just faintly, almost imperceptibly, she saw it. Just behind his left eye was a tiny scar, more pronounced along the pale skin, where stitches had once been necessary.
A soft smile finally appeared on her face.
"Well, you got taller…"
The American pulled away, rubbed his cheek, and muttered "You're one to talk… What are you, 5 '8?"
"Oh grow up… Elroy."
David huffed, but then smiled somewhat.
Neither spoke for a moment, the television continuing to play images on silent as the bartender stood by, still washing a clean glass.
Irisdina finally asked "Eagle pilot?"
"Yeah…" then, smile vanishing, "MiG-21?"
She nodded.
"You were up there today?"
She nodded.
He sucked in a breath.
"Damn…"
She said nothing.
"I'm sorry, that's…"
She sipped the whisky without a word.
"It's rough." He finished.
"We did our duty. As did you, I suppose. Lieutenant?"
"Yeah, got commissioned not so long ago, but I'll be an O-2 by August. Captain?"
She nodded.
"Draft?"
Another nod.
He frowned but didn't comment, glancing up at the television screen instead. Several MiG-21s were moving through their taxiway and back to their hangars or flight lines, crews attending those already parked as a narrator spoke in German about their storied combat record in Vietnam and how proud the Democratic Republic of Germany was of its pilots who risked their lives for the people.
Unsurprisingly, the air base shown was Bautzen Air Base and its still untouched air wings, not Holzdorf which now had significantly fewer MiG-21s after the day's mission alongside a few wings of American F-15 Strike Eagles hidden within its hangars.
"They're not mentioning us, huh?" he said, happily changing the subject.
"Were you expecting anything else?"
"Maybe. Doubt anyone can ignore our presence after today, so I thought… I don't know. Something."
"You already forgot how little the state tells the people?" she scoffed, her smile shifting slightly.
He nodded slowly.
Silence once more.
She noticed his smile return as he said "I'm glad you're alive. I used to think you and everyone else died after Poland."
Now her smile vanished.
"Are Jurgen and Beatrix doing well? She always-"
She placed the cup down. Hard. Not hard enough to startle him, or damage the wooden counter or fine glass, but the glass hitting wood was loud enough to know he'd asked something he shouldn't have.
David swallowed.
"I… see."
The silence now became more awkward than anything, her eyes focusing on her glass as she wondered what to tell him or if she should say anything at all.
David made the first move then, asking "When?"
Oh well…
"Before Poland, actually. Beatrix… well, I can't blame her. She's alive but we don't talk anymore." She sighed.
"Sorry to hear that… Jurgen was… He was a good guy. Least when I was here."
She smiled slightly, adding "He was, indeed. Too good." then, after another sip, "Subversive actions against the state."
She ignored the painful memories, clutching the pistol tightly, the old Makarov's trigger actively pushing against her index finger, almost trying to stop her…
She sighed with finality, adding "But he was a traitor in the end, and ended up like one. That simple."
"That's… tough."
She noted the unspoken query and shrugged, saying "Pulling the trigger wasn't so tough, to be honest. It's a simple mechanism."
That got a reaction out of him.
He stared at her for a moment, eyes wide, unblinking.
Her gaze now locked onto his, she added "How else do you think I got such a high position?"
That made him turn away, finally.
"Hmm… welcome back to the east, Elroy." She muttered, finishing her drink.
"Yeah…" he muttered, shoulders sagging slightly.
"Remember to watch your back. You're not in Kansas anymore, as they say." She quietly added in English, standing up.
"I have questions."
She paused, not looking at him, her eyes narrowing as suspicion bit at the edges of her mind.
"Today's op… your squadron was destroyed."
She said nothing.
"How much experience did those pilots have?"
No more than a month…
"Not enough, clearly. But flight hours and training don't mean much against the laser-"
"I saw them get swatted out of the sky like flies. Where were their countermeasures? The missiles we sent your higher-ups?"
"Likely allocated to more important operations, lieutenant."
The second she pulled rank, she heard David stand up, the chair squeaking against the wooden floor in protest. She refused to face him. No need when she could imagine an all too familiar look of frustration glaring back at her. Nothing new.
Instead, he walked past her, briefly facing her directly, a flicker of exhaustion in his eyes and maybe something else, as though he simply didn't have the patience. He remained silent, however. His eyes briefly shifted downwards, towards her chest before quickly darting back up.
He smiled.
It wasn't triumphant, or smug, but almost relieved.
"Alright… captain… understood. See you around." He said, then walked away.
Irisdina frowned, briefly gripping the iron crucifix that hung around her neck before shaking her head.
The barkeep asked "Old friend?"
"You could say that." She mumbled.
...
Martins got up from his bunk as the door swung open, placing the copy of The Gunslinger on his mattress as he did so.
"The hell did you go?"
David didn't reply, walking past him and sitting on the bunk opposite his, calmly removing his boots as he did so.
"Ugh, here I saved you a can."
David smiled, taking it and opening it with one hand before taking a quick sip without another word.
"You're welcome!"
Again, just the smile, now becoming somewhat more Cheshireesque.
"Elroy, spit it out… I'm taking the Sierra back if you don't-"
"I just met up with an old friend."
Martins winced.
"You had friends?"
"Eh… kind of."
"Shocking."
David chortled, but then his smile vanished.
"What?"
"It's a long story… I'm sure I'll get around to telling you eventually."
"We're in the east. There's nothing to do here except tell stories, so out with it."
David's face darkened slightly, but after a moment, and another sip of the Sierra, Nevada Pale Ale, he quietly spoke six one-syllable words.
"I met her when I lived here."
"Oh, well of course!" Martins only crossed his arms, clearly not buying it.
David shrugged.
Martins finally said, "You've got to socialize more, man."
"Hey, I'm sociable. You did great today, and I let you have this wonderful room our east german allies so graciously set for us all to yourself and whatever girl you want for the night." He concluded by ignoring his bedframe bent slightly when he shifted on it, as well as ignoring the colorless cement walls and dusty floors.
"You can't fraternize with commies, dude."
David nodded slowly, still smiling, and then laid down on the bed.
"Pretending to be all mysterious isn't-"
"Martins."
A pause.
"Y'did good today… sorry if I'm not great at expressing it."
Martins huffed, muttering "Dumbass…"
No more words were exchanged.
David's mind, however, for a brief moment, and with some discomfort went to thoughts of a then-teenaged girl with golden hair and a frilly skirt that constantly presented a shy smile despite where she lived. For a brief moment, he remembered saying goodbye, or trying to.
Reality was never quite so romantic.
He recalled the iron crucifix she still carried, one thing that hadn't changed since then. Her golden hair was longer, her look colder… but that cross remained around her neck.
With that thought, he drifted to sweet unconsciousness and a much-needed night's sleep.
...
Sleep wouldn't have come even if she'd never seen the car waiting for her near the main barracks building, but somehow she figured she might have at least gotten some without it. She approached it without a word, the passenger rolling down the window and flashing her a confident grin that shone even in the night's darkness.
"Comrade Captain Bernhard." He called.
"Comrade Colonel Axmann." She replied coldly, "What brings you here today?"
"Oh, I simply wished to congratulate you on this morning's operation."
"Thank you, comrade colonel."
She noticed the man's lips twitched ever so slightly at her response, as though he suppressed his smile from widening at the very last second.
"So, captain Bernhard, what are your thoughts on our new allies?"
"They accomplished their task." She replied.
"Indeed. Although, I understand you're acquainted with one of the American pilots, yes?"
She ignored the implication, replying "Yes, comrade colonel. Briefly in 1973. He attended the same Academy as I."
"And your brother."
"Yes, comrade colonel."
Axmann nodded, grinning further as he said "Romantic, I suppose. Old friends reuniting after a decade apart?"
"I suppose, comrade colonel."
"Well, it's good to see we agree." then, a little quietly, "If you even suspect he or any of his friends have any plans…"
"I'll report them immediately."
"Good. Very good. We are allies of convenience. Nothing more… the last thing we need is the younger generation getting romantic and selfish ideas…"
"Yes, comrade colonel."
"Indeed, indeed. Have a good night, Captain Bernhard."
"Good night, colonel."
With that, the car drove off, leaving her out on the pavement and near silent night.
Alone.
She smirked.
So… he's not one of your dogs, huh?
The possibility the man had manipulated things in such a way someone from her or one of her subordinate's past got involved wasn't entirely a tactic unknown to the Ministry of State Security, after all. Even if he was American. How many of her subordinates, pilots or otherwise, had been interrogated? Threatened?
Killed…
All done by one of the most efficient state security forces on the planet. Briefly, her mind went back to that accursed night… Her hands balled into fists by her sides, but she remained outwardly calm. Silently, she reminded herself that she didn't know the exact situation just yet. Still… She walked straight ahead, self-conscious of how loud her steps sounded, not hiding her emotions whatsoever, but she didn't bother adjusting her pace.
"What has you so riled up this evening, Captain?"
Irisdina glanced towards the shadows of the barracks. Near the entrance and just out of the inside's light's reflection, she stood.
The pale, almost ghostly girl lit a cigarette and hid the lighter in her fatigues before taking a long drag.
"2nd Lieutenant… police your uniform." Irisdina sighed, walking over.
Sylwia Krzasinska huffed in disapproval, but did as told, buttoning up her fatigues which were a touch too open revealing a touch too much skin.
"So, what has you so worked up?" she asked the second her fatigues were more appropriately adjusted.
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Come on…" came the half-growl.
Irisdina pursed her lips and laid against the wall next to her before muttering "It turns out I know one of the American pilots that arrived today."
Sylwia cocked an eyebrow, taking another long drag.
"An escapee? Some traitor to the state?" she asked.
Irisdina shook her head, then said "Some kid from school. Embassy worker's son back in the 70s. American."
"Good friend?"
She only shrugged.
Sylwia chortled, muttering "Think he's sold off to the Stasi somehow?"
"I doubt that. Axmann's questions suggested otherwise. But one can't ever be certain now, hmm?"
"Guess not. Guess he could be American intelligence or something, too. Equally dangerous."
Both women were silent for a spell, the cool breeze dropping the temperature further.
Sylwia broke the silence once more.
"That little stunt they pulled today… sending the younger pilots… you know what that was, right?"
Irisdina nodded.
Sylwia dropped the cigarette and crushed it under her boot, muttering "The bastards learned from Buchenwald… They love to talk about how it liberated itself to the recruits… they always leave out-"
Irisdina interrupted, stating "They also know the Western nations won't want to cause too much instability. Even with the death toll, today was a victory."
"A victory for the bastards in charge!" Sylwia groaned, reaching into her pocket and lighting a second cigarette without skipping a beat, right hand shaking as she did so.
"We're at an impasse." Irisdina sighed. "They can't afford to appear too weak right now… but the people that want to bring about change can't act, either. Too much is at stake. The west wouldn't want to risk the ongoing cooperation by backing a rebellion within East Germany. Not yet, at least. Perhaps not ever. But as long as they have a large presence here, we can't do much. Neither side."
Sylwia slumped against the cement wall, muttering a tired "I hate these damned alliances…"
"That's good. Keep up that attitude. Makes you and the rest of the wing appear patriotic. If the Stasi or any of the higher-ups slips up once… perhaps we can act then."
"Oh?"
She nodded, a somewhat confident smile manifesting.
"We also know of Buchenwald's liberation, do we not?"
6 Miles from Szczecin Hive
He shakily covered up his pale hands with a towel, wiping away the remaining blood before tossing the rag onto the dead ground beneath him.
"Careful with him!" his driver shouted as his tank commander, well, former tank commander was carried away in a body bag.
The top of the T-72's turret was almost melted, only scorched steel remained.
And perhaps a touch of human flesh…
He glanced at the Hive superstructure. It was large, but even he knew it was minuscule compared to those of older hives in Asia. The unnatural formation that was almost quartz-like, yet eerily colored like a gem… it would be almost beautiful if not for the occasional BETA herd that tried to venture out.
The seven other T-72s holding the hill remained there, their 125mm main guns and 12.7mm DShK machine guns all pointing right at the open caves where the monsters hid. They were one group out of several others all surrounding the hive, and all hiding behind hills and ridges.
He glanced back at his tank, his new gunner shivering as their dead commander's remains were taken away, his driver wiping away angry tears from her youthful face. He'd been observing the vent when four Laser-Class strains ran out, covered by several tank-class strains. He'd directed the firing orders, their high explosive rounds killing them all in one fell swoop. But it hadn't been fast enough for one of the monsters to get a single shot out.
Glancing at the tank, he shuddered at the damage.
Technically that was only a graze. Technically the sudden push itself was likely a mere probing attack by BETA forces still hiding deep within the hive. Technically, they had all they needed to halt a major push by the BETA.
Technically.
But by now it was quiet. The night breeze felt almost soothing outside the tank, albeit far colder than what he would have preferred for a spring night. Few stars were visible, and he could appreciate the cloud cover that might give their air forces some flexibility. He glanced at the men milling around near another tank.
And then there's them…
It was only five of them. Their woodlands camouflage and PASGT helmets coupled with their flak vests and CAR-15s… They would be next to useless if hundreds of warrior classes swarmed them, yet their stoic silence as they did their job made their identity all too clear. Still, if there was any question of who they were, the shoulder sleeve insignia with a blade covered by lightning and colorful stars and stripes on their arms was all anyone needed to know their true identity.
They kept their eyes on the Hive, like hawks. He wondered quietly if he'd seen them blink since they arrived.
"Kurt…" his driver said, interrupting his train of thought.
He turned and froze up, staring up at the large helicopters. The sight of American Chinooks was nothing new, of course.
No, it was the massive things they all carried that confused him, and from the looks of it, the other T-72 crews.
"What… is that?" he muttered to himself.
The American approached him, a tired look on his camouflaged face as he spoke in broken German.
"War winners."
As if to punctuate the answer, the ground shook as the helicopters set the massive… things… on the barren ground.
A/N: …so…
How do I start this?
Okay, long story short, someone kept tossing me fic ideas about series I've never seen before, Muv Luv being one of them, and by sheer accident, I kind of got hooked on this idea for a story.
Basically, Muv Luv if the events of the canon backstory suddenly happened in our world's 1973 instead of Muv Luv's 1973, with Muv Luv's Earth having a space force by the 1940s, Viking happening in the late 50s, mechs by the 1960s, and so on. So, the year the Paris Peace Accords effected a ceasefire in Vietnam, the Yom Kippur War, the Cod Wars, the opening of Sydney's Opera House, the launch of Mariner 10, and on and on… they arrived, and the story explores the situation a decade later. Though it's not like this fic doesn't have some sudden changes to our timeline. I mean… Strike Eagles in 1983? Ehhhh… honestly, the main reason I'm including the F-15E here, in 1983, is because I'm also including some TSFs (yes, those were TSFs that showed up at the end).
If we have the tech for mechs, then we can have F-15 Strike Eagles, damn it!
Now, I don't consider myself a Muv Luv fan. Currently going through the VNs (just finished Extra and am currently on Unlimited), I've only seen some of the animes, and… to be honest, the darker elements feel extremely forced (sorry, Muv Luv fans), but I found the setting extremely interesting, especially that of Schwarzensmarken.
See, among all the characters, from Takeru to Yuuko, I actually wound up really liking Irisdina, and… come on, you think I was satisfied with that ending?
So, here we are now… Hope it was enjoyable.
Much like The Fight we Chose, I plan on making this fic relatively short as I already have an ending planned, and I hope it's something that makes for a good read, but let me know your thoughts. Too far-fetched? Too weird or off-brand? I actually have a timeline if anyone's curious, which I could begin posting at the end of every chapter, right before each A/N section, so let me know if that interests you.
Feel free to let me know of any mistakes as well. I must reiterate that I am, after all, a civilian, so if I got some technical stuff wrong... well, feel free to point it out!
As always, thanks for reading! Hope to see you all soon!
