OR2-EP1: Perun Awakens (3)

Two officers entered the room, they looked McNeil up and down, yawning as they sat down in front of McNeil and began to question him according to the relevant regulations. In their opinion, there was no need for this investigation at all, especially when the soldiers themselves had fled back from the front line after nine deaths, it would be a torture to question these poor men again and again. If McNeil had done anything questionable, it was nothing more than the fact that he had openly made a telephone call to the outside world from within the barracks, but that was nothing like a felony. The Marines had found the owner of the other phone number, a researcher at a research institute in Zurich, Switzerland, who was currently attending a conference in London, and who was more interested in academics than in current affairs, so even if McNeil really was a spy, he probably wouldn't have considered selling information to such a nerd.

"I hope we make this quick." One of them said lazily.

McNeil's biggest fear was them asking about his personal history. He knew absolutely nothing about it, and the black-robed man with a penchant for pranks hadn't provided him with the appropriate memories - which was too bad. All it took was for the army to do a little digging into McNeil's past to find something fishy and determine that something was wrong with McNeil's mind. In an age where superpowers have become magic and come into the public eye, the army has reason to suspect that he's been manipulated into becoming a puppet, and that his fate awaits him when he's sent back to his homeland to be sliced up and studied. Fortunately, the officers sent to investigate weren't interested in such questions at all, they were just passive-aggressive and asked about trivial matters that didn't matter, not even caring about how the battles on the front lines were actually taking place.

"This cell phone ..."

"I picked it up on the battlefield when all the communication tools I had on me were all damaged or lost." McNeil rationalized, "In fact, I searched the rubble for a long time before I found it, as most of the bodies were blown apart, and I'm sure that the devices those dead men carried with them in life were wiped out along with them. You know, I had to understand how I was going to get out of there; it was Russian territory."

"Good point."

The previous owner of the cell phone was an ordinary Ukrainian, nothing worth investigating in depth, McNeil was just lucky enough to pick up a communication tool that would allow him to flee the battlefield and clarify his location, an act that couldn't be more reasonable, after all, other soldiers sometimes blatantly robbed local civilians, which made McNeil's approach rather conservative. The U.S. Army and Russian Army don't seem to place much value on soldier discipline, at least not when the Army intervenes when soldiers take out their frustrations on civilians in the vicinity of where they are stationed. If they broke the law, it was up to the United States to bail them out and bring them back home for trial. The trial was usually a mere formality, and no one was ever really punished severely for crimes committed overseas.

"But it seems that after that battle, you chose to flee the battlefield straight away-"

"All of my comrades and officers were dead, and having lost contact with friendly forces I was even less sure what my next plan was." McNeil didn't see dissatisfaction on the other's face, so he continued to feel free and bold to make up lies according to his own experience to cope with the inspection, "The enemy is dominant in that area, and in case I am captured by the enemy, perhaps they will realize the other operations recently carried out by our troops ... In any case. There's no advantage to attacking blindly, and I don't even know where the enemy is."

"Gee, we're just asking as a matter of routine, there's no need for you to be so nervous." The other officer laughed, "We're both from New England, and you're not Dixie, so we don't have to be harsh."

The term was long overdue - McNeil wanted it gone for good. Dixie was a term with strong overtones of North-South rivalry, a conflict between whites of the North and South that had become apparent again with the coming of the New Ice Age, when immigrants from the North had shaken up the Southern states and upset ranchers who wished for nothing more than to live their own peaceful lives. The traditional life in the southern states was that everyone had a plot of land and a gun, all other issues were irrelevant, and it was not unusual to point to Austria and call it Australia. Times have changed, this climate change is irreversible in the short term (and seemingly in the long term as well), and the traditionalists in the southern states have been forced to accept this reality, but that doesn't mean they're going to take kindly to uninvited guests.

McNeil had already seen this antagonism in the barracks, especially when soldiers started swearing, which they inevitably did along with the other's home state, and then the name-calling would develop into brawls, with soldiers from different regions fighting to the death, often requiring the intervention of the officer's force in order to resolve the issue, provided the officer himself wasn't involved. In the eyes of these men, defeating hillbillies from other regions was more important than defeating the Russians.

In less than two hours, McNeil was released with nothing to lose except his cell phone, which was confiscated. However, this was ultimately unpleasant for him, as he had again lost the only tool he had at hand to communicate with the outside world. Contacting friendly forces was just an excuse, McNeil didn't care about that, he knew that sooner or later he would be in the next battle, there was no point in wasting his energy on friendly forces. He was more interested in learning about the outside world than these friendlies who fought all day, all the rules of this new world were completely foreign to him. The unknown brought fear, and fear brought hesitation and bad judgment, and these consequences were fatal to a qualified commander. He was still a soldier and not a commander, then he needed to find a way to climb up the ladder, just as he had achieved a special status within the army through his relationship with Governor-general Herzog.

He returned to his barracks and, feeling a little bored, went to the gym to work out. McNeil was very good at keeping himself fit, and he had insisted on exercising every day even when he was a general, whereas the reason he had finally decided to stop these daily activities was because he had later found out about brain cancer. The thought that he himself had lied in jest about old Jack having brain cancer gave McNeil some pangs of conscience. He was still concerned about the old man, and if he ever got the chance to go back and visit his new friends, he was going to Paris to continue his service to the old man. The old man had done him no more than take him in when he was desperate, and it was McNeil's own problem to return the favor. Others might consider the deal a loss, McNeil did not, he valued inner peace over the gain or loss of the money at hand.

After finishing his three-hour practice, McNeil, who had just stepped out of the house, was shivering from the cold, and he was beginning to regret that he had sweated so hard when it was still freezing outside. Although the U.S. soldiers appearing in the movie are all models with a standard body image, the reality of the U.S. army is not lacking in fat people, McNeil has already seen dozens of seriously overweight soldiers here, and there is no half of these people with a mild character good people, which makes McNeil a little disappointed. Loyal and honest fat people can make people feel at ease, big and strong men will only make people feel fear.

By the afternoon, Tom took the initiative to come to McNeil and discuss with him the arrangements for the weekend. For some reason, whenever McNeil saw the other man, an old cartoon called Tom and Jerry always appeared in his mind.

"Does war also talk about vacations?" McNeil felt a little amused.

"No one has declared war, that's a fact." Tom laughed too, "Okay, I know it's self-defeating - but the Russians are only waging this war with the help of their allies in the Eastern Ukraine, it's an internal Ukrainian problem, and none of us have taken the initiative to declare war. There's no mission for us on the front line now, so we might as well go to the rear and rest while we're still free to do so, or we won't get a chance later."

"I almost thought vacations would be a distant memory."

McNeil's life was monotonous, and he had inherited James Solomon's almost puritanical morality (with the exception of his enemies) and lifestyle, believing that only austerity and labor could make a man more conformable to God. This style of doing things was brought about by one of GDI's founders, General Mark Sheppard, who was originally born into a conservative family in a southern state, but managed to have his thinking infect most of his contemporaries as GDI commanders. This created a conflict between the GDI army and the Council, which must not have expected Sheffield's influence to be so far-reaching that nearly a century later the army would still be filled with followers who upheld this strange creed.

It was human nature for soldiers to go out and enjoy themselves, and McNeil, who did not consider himself a saint, wanted to take advantage of the new war before it broke out to get busy and go out on the town. Early the next morning, he and a dozen other soldiers left the barracks and walked to a nearby station before taking a bus to the nearest city. Stepping out of the bus McNeil was disappointed to find the streets devoid of any pedestrians, and he and Tom passed several streets in a row without seeing any people. A thick layer of snow covered the road, the city slept in a white dream, peaceful and silent, as if all life had disappeared in an instant. There were no stray cats or stray dogs, no animal could survive here if this cold winter became the norm.

"What is this?"

"Isn't this the norm in the city?" Tom looked at McNeil quizzically, "New York is pretty much the same-"

"Where are all the people?"

"Who cares."

Michael McNeil, feeling the cold more and more, wrapped his white army coat tightly around him and marched down the snow-free path along the road, walking into a store by the side of the road. The shopkeeper slept at the counter, snoring loudly, afraid that his visitors would not hear him. McNeil ignored the still-dreaming Ukrainian and went straight around the counter to a nearby shelf. He didn't know what the current exchange rate was, and just from the numbers labeled, the prices of the goods seemed a bit high. If the Ukrainian currency was devalued to the same extent as Zimbabwe's had been back then, the currency figures themselves had lost their value.

McNeil noticed a strange phenomenon: the store surprisingly did not sell any food. In that case, he wasn't sure what the need for such a store was; for diners like McNeil, the desire for food took precedence over other needs. The owner of the store, who had been in a deep sleep, woke up, and looking at McNeil, who was looking around the store, he spoke a long series of words that McNeil could not understand, in a puzzled manner. There was no doubt that the shopkeeper didn't speak English, and McNeil didn't seem to be able to communicate with him. He waved awkwardly to the shopkeeper and left the store backwards, looking like a thief.

Bald-headed Tom stood in the doorway waiting for McNeil, who didn't look as shivering from the cold as McNeil did.

"Hell, these places don't sell food." McNeil complained.

"Just be content, how can there be random stores that sell food these days ..." Tom said to himself.

McNeil was surprised and after ten minutes he finally realized what Tom meant. After they crossed the empty intersection, they were greeted by a long, endless line of people in all kinds of coats, moving forward in the cold wind, carrying all kinds of packages, probably ready to buy a lot of things at once and then bring them all back. Michael McNeil caught up with an elderly woman wrapped in a turban at the end of the line and called out to her to get her attention. When the old man turned his head, McNeil was so shocked by the sight that he fell backward and fell to the ground. What met his eyes was nothing less than a skeleton with a layer of skin on, an illusion created by the devil. Getting up from the ground with difficulty McNeil left the group and took a few steps forward, observing the appearance of the others in the group. Unsurprisingly to him, the skinny, skinny citizens looked hideous and horrific; even the statues of Satan and gargoyles on the churches couldn't have been more real than living, breathing human beings.

The citizens walked forward woodenly, they paid no attention to McNeil and Tom who were whispering from the sidelines, perhaps they had adapted to the stares, or perhaps they simply hadn't heard any judgmental remarks.

"God, what is this ...," McNeil looked at Tom, hoping for an answer. Tom avoided his gaze and stammered:

"Don't look at me ... I only heard about the famine in the Ukraine from the news, I didn't realize it was this bad ... I haven't had a chance to come back and rest since I got here."

A citizen collapsed without a word. He stretched his withered hand forward as if to grasp something. The citizens behind him were oblivious to this as they continued to walk forward, stepping over their dying compatriots to advance, heaving that hand into the snow. No one looked down at the soon-to-be corpse of the middle-aged man or dragged him out of the line.

Michael McNeil couldn't help himself. He had seen all sorts of disasters but not famine-exactly, the rapidly dwindling population due to Tiberium and the war had made famine all but impossible. The soldier in the white military coat took a few steps forward, intending to drag the unknown dead or alive body out of the line. But a strong hand pulled him back. Enraged, McNeil turned back to the visitor and met lifeless gray eyes.

"It's no use." The young officer, also wearing a white military coat, said hoarsely, "You can't save them, hundreds of people starve to death alive every day."

The officer was about McNeil's height and had short blonde hair which made his head look like a square brick. The look usually conjured up images of might and dominance, and nothing like that could be found in the officer before him. He passed by like an ordinary citizen indifferent to everything, commenting painlessly on what was going on with his customary indifference, and then walking away again, full of concern. McNeil was about to get angry when the two silver horizontal bars on the other man's shoulder patch made him cave in. He was just an ordinary soldier who hadn't been enlisted long enough to offend a captain.

"Sir." McNeil and Tom reluctantly saluted the officer, then turned and slipped away without looking back. Neither of them wanted to deal with these officers; it was impossible for an officer to appreciate the feelings of a soldier. The Captain made no attempt to catch up with the duo, he simply glanced a few times in the direction they had gone and turned his head to continue along the line. Citizens who couldn't wait for the next batch of food would only become ashes in the crematorium, this was a cold fact that no one could change.

Food was scarce to the point where rationing was enforced on everything, and the profits from smuggling food outstripped most other industries, and many merchants took the plunge and began hoarding food and selling it at high prices. Thomas Thomas told McNeil that some officers were also secretly engaged in these transactions, working with local Ukrainian traders to make huge profits. Sometimes these officers would arrange for ordinary soldiers to do odd jobs for them, and that's how the information leaked out. However, no one chose to inform on them, and there was an unspoken tacit agreement to keep the illegal trade running smoothly. Since they were the beneficiaries, no one would let go of the opportunity to make extra money.

Several Ukrainian policemen passed by their eyes, and these policemen went into a nearby residence and dragged a body out of it. They took the body to a truck and drove away from the scene. From a distance, McNeil could smell the lingering odor of decay.

"This isn't a city; this is a coffin." Another layer of frost formed on McNeil's stubble. "How did Ukraine get like this? This is the breadbasket of Europe, and if Ukraine has fallen so far, the rest of the world might as well have ..."

However, the U.S. military is quite well supplied with food. Had anyone else seen what was going on in the city and told McNeil about it, McNeil would not have believed it in any way. Even if he had learned a few days earlier that the new solar-oriented agriculture had been hit hard by the onset of the new ice age, he had not associated it with famine. Famine? Are you kidding me, there will be no famines in the modern world, much less in Europe or North America.

Facts are sometimes so unreasonable: what happens doesn't go away just because it's illogical. Whereas a detective novelist needs to think through the motives and methods of a crime, a murder in reality is likely to be very simple and crude.

Tom would at first explain a few things for McNeil, then he too fell silent. No one could have been blind to the tragedy, and neither had envisioned the situation deteriorating to the point where ordinary civilians would not be able to survive. The cause of this outcome was of course an act of God, and the arrival of a new ice age was not going to be changed by the will of mankind. Neither could the clerics who loudly propagated this change as God punishing mankind change the situation; they did not keep the dying alive, bring the dead to life, but only used the opportunity to snatch the last piece of bread from the hands of the dying.

"It's better in the home state." Tom sighed, "At least we don't have famine there."

"Really?" McNeil asked half-heartedly.

"Really, I've never seen a famine ... I'm not sure if there is one in your home state."

There was a homeless man sitting in front of the clothing store in front of him, and McNeil came to look at him and realized that the man had been frozen to a popsicle. He called for the police who were patrolling the neighborhood, and the police officers, with seven hands, lifted the ice sculpture into the truck that was transporting the body and thanked McNeil for promptly informing them that there was a dead man in the area.

"Hey, it's tragic and we should prevent it from happening again." McNeil spoke to a police officer who used a strange accent of English, "These are probably the toughest of times."

"Anyway, thank you for defending our country ..."

McNeil laughed a few bitter, token words of humility, and walked with Tom into the specialty store next door that sold cell phones. They may have actually been defending Ukraine, yet civilians were starving and freezing to death alive by the thousands, so what would be left for the Ukrainians?

McNeil needed a new cell phone and the one he had picked up had been confiscated by the officer. Luckily, the salesmen at the cell phone store spoke English, and they recommended a number of new models to McNeil, but the hype meant nothing to McNeil. He valued practicality and picked only the cheapest one. Like last time, what he needed now was a means of communication, and as long as he was able to keep in touch with Egon Schuller, the follow-up would be much simpler. Professor Schuller, who was able to attend international conferences, obviously had more resources than he, a fourth-class bipedal multi-purpose humanoid animal who was still working as a common soldier in the Marines.

The two men walked out of the cell phone store just as they ran into a few drunken soldiers heading to a nearby alley to continue their fun. Looking at the unreliable looking signs in the alley, McNeil took a few alert steps back and left the scene with Tom. He never expected these soldiers to continue to go to nightclubs for pleasure when there was already a war going on at the front.

"They've got some serious money." Walking to another mall, McNeil and Tom talked about these same unreliable soldiers.

"No, what's really happening is that prices have gone down. You see, a loaf of bread can now be traded for a Ukrainian girl." Tom said seriously to McNeil, "It's not a joke, it's reality ... or you'll starve to death."

"Jesus." McNeil's mood became so bad that he lost all confidence almost immediately. Winning or losing is irrelevant when fighting in a land like this, and the civilians who have lived here for generations can't see the results anyway.

TBC

Chapter Notes:

Although we have no way of knowing how much the average annual temperature dropped during the new ice age, and since even people in southern Japan can only wear long sleeves all year round, I'm afraid the situation won't be very optimistic for Ukraine.

Since Russia had already lost the Far East War to China, at this point Russia did not openly invade Ukraine as it did in reality.