Aleksandr Smirnov's soft guitar played over the vehicle's radio as the four reunited Misfits rolled forward into the dark forests of the Valeian mountainous border at nightfall. Vic sang along to the song in an off-pitch tune as he held onto the M2 Browning on top of the Warhound, scanning the forest around them for the fabled 'Grimm', Remnant's fairly hostile demon fauna.
'Forward, KamaZ!' was a rather funny song to be listening to while on a trip like this. Especially considering they were in somewhat the US equivalent to a Kamaz truck, the Mastiff MRAP. It wasn't a one-to-one like the US's Deuce-and-a-Halves or HEMTTs might've been, but the extended passenger and cargo bed with an armored roof over their heads gave off the same vibe. Especially since they were now rolling up the side road of a mountain, the only thing separating them from a tumble into the abyss to the right of their vehicle being a few concrete barriers that barely reached the halfway point of the transport's wheels.
Vic dipped back into the truck, gagging a bit. His sister patted him on the shoulder and watched him sit himself down as he rubbed his face, with Paul snorting and Paula giggling as they recalled that, indeed, the young man before them had a fear of or just a sickness in regarding to heights. He swallowed empty, looking a bit pale, then pulled out his canteen and took a sip.
Diana at the front laughed, but let the song play instead of starting up a conversation, simply driving their War Truck up the road and praying that nothing would fuck with them on either ascent or descent. Vic and Vicky both remembered Afghanistan, too, having travelled up and down the same roads those brave suicidal fucks from the Supply Companies of the Soviet Army had travelled with the Warhound. From Kabul to Herat and back, to Kandahar and so on.
They'd only been in-country that one year during the Pandemic, just before the NATO withdrawal from the country. It had been enough to see everything go to shit, obviously, but at least they got their butts up and managed to put down some bastards trying to assault the airport. Meanwhile, Paul and Paula had been stuck back home in the HDF before 2022, then left the moment Russia's collapse had come about.
The stories the pairs had told each-other on the trip over were heartwarming, Diana thought. She swore to herself as they went over a bump and she almost felt the truck slip off the side of the hill. She grit her teeth and called out, "Sorry! Sorry! Christ, Vale's road infrastructure outside the city's dogshit, I tell you..." as she managed to bring the vehicle back on the normal road.
"Jesus, Sarge, talk about driving like a woman," murmured Vicky, causing the three others to burst into laughter. Despite her smile, Diana flipped the bird Vicky's way, causing the girl to laugh too as they rolled forward. She was, however, laughing a little at the quip as the vehicle continued rolling. Aside from 'Forward, KamaZ!' other Soviet-Afghan War songs with a slightly melancholic tinge played over the radio. 'Soldat', 'kombat', 'Don't Tell Mom I'm In Afghanistan'.
Truth be told the first two were closer to Chechnya than Afghan, but alas. Paul began a discussion as they moved, "Hey, Vic. Did you hear you could probably make your own new firearm if you want? Beacon has a whole suite of tools for this kind of stuff in their workshops if you wanna. Could even tune and modify the PKM for any type of cartridge you can make here."
"Been thinking about getting myself a custom-made BR55HB more as a joke than anything," Vic snorted as he leaned back, "Big ol, 9,5 round too if I can make it..." and he looked over to see a few lights in the valley below. Distant lights, obviously. Yeah, he wanted a Halo Battle Rifle. That felt like pretty bog standard for him, honestly. He'd been a Halo nerd ever since he was a kid.
"Of course, the Halo nerd asks for a weapon like that," Vicky chuckled, then hummed, "Hey, come to think of it... What weapons did team RWBY have?"
"We'll ask them when we get back. I'm actually curious myself," Paula replied as she felt them finally reach more even ground. The roadway went down and toward a path in the forest that was wide enough for cars and carts to move through, sort of like an old medieval pathway. Meaning possible bandits. Vic was quick to man the fifty again as the others readied up.
They did see ruins, surprisingly. Hidden amidst the forest, covered by greenery, but present, stone structures that rose out of the ground stood among the treeline. However, what came next caused them to pause. Diana hit the brakes when a wreck came into view, with the group aboard nearly flying forward. She looked back at them and said, "Folks, you... Probably oughta take a look-see at this."
When they dismounted out of the vehicle, all four had to almost do a double-take at the sight. Overturned in the ditch and stripped of almost all important parts, its tires rotting and its flatbed shot to hell. Vic, who was on the turret still, whispered, "That's a fucking KamaZ..." as Vicky approached it. She jumped down into the Ditch it was stuck in and examined it.
Quickly, she yelled back, "The cab's empty! And I mean that, it's completely stripped of everything from seats to dash parts and wheel! Christ, it's like the Gypsies found this fucking thing!" which garnered actual, hearty laughter out of the lot. She did, however, find something. Pulling it out of the ground, she said, "I did find a rusty Kalashnikov though!" before she turned and walked toward them, asking, "It's from the Soviet-Afghan War, I think. Going by the wear..." only to pause as, from between the rifle's rotting bits, fell a notebook.
She blinked, picked it up and opened it, reading cyrillic on the yellowed pages. She sighed deeply and climbed back aboard with the others, handing the notebook to Vic, who'd dipped back down into the truck. He hummed, sat down and started to read it as Paula took his place on the gun. When he got through the first couple of pages, he said, "Well, you weren't wrong, sis. This is a Soviet-Afghan War diary... Dated 1980 at its earliest."
"Fuck. That's an oldie," Vicky murmured as she watched her brother start to read it. A vehicle from the '80s, whose crew had been transported here with it much like the Romanian squad had been. Concerning, honestly, if not surprising. How far back did the summonings here go anyway, a Paul and Vicky thought as the transport moved on past the broken hulk.
"Yeah, no shit..." Vic murmured as he pruned through it, noting various details, like the men's service, the date and time of each entry in this half-written journal and the fact they'd been around for a while. It was strange to find a piece of history like this in the middle of an entire other planet. Especially after dying, Vic then thought as he read through more and more. Mentions of loved ones, girlfriends that left them... The standard, really.
"KamaZ, meaning a supply vehicle," Diana mused, veering a little left on the road while her thoughts wandered. She asked almost rhetorically, "The hell would it be doing on a side road like this? Especially in a ditch," before she looked into the rearview mirror, watching the rusted corner of the truck fading among the trees. It was a rather sobering and soothing sight all the same, honestly. Nature reclaiming human creation.
"I saw bullet holes and claw marks in it..." Vicky murmured, then asked her friends, "Think they got lost like us?" as she cradled her PSL. She knew a lot of KamaZ drivers died during the War in Afghanistan. The group watched more ruins rolling past them for a moment as their mind stuck on the fact that a vehicle from the '80s was currently side-down in a ditch, probably stripped for parts, not before being hammered by the Grimm, it seemed.
"Could be," Paula shrugged, but she seemed to tense.
"No HEAT warhead marks though, meaning the Mujahideen they were fighting probably didn't hit them with that," Paul, however, intervened as he cradled his own Minimi close, poking it out of one of the firing ports just in case the enemy would be trailing them. That enemy being, apparently, wild demon animals according to Port's classes. Paula nodded, swiveling the turret around and scanning the trees, too.
"Going by this diary, they'd been in Afghan since they were young," Vic offered, causing the group to pause. He furrowed his brows and clarified, "Bout as young as us in KFOR. The driver and his buddy used to run supply between Kabul and Kandahar... Last entry's talking about winding up here, though. They were shot at on the usual route when their convoy was ambushed. The Driver was sleepless after like three nights of continuous patrol. Careened down into a valley and he and his buddy died in the explosion. Woke up here. That's where it ends. 1st of June 1985."
"Jeez. Poor bastards..." Diana murmured, gripping onto the driver. She looked back at Vic as the man opened the last pages of the leather-sown diary and found a black and white picture of the two men. A man with black hair and a mustache and his polar opposite, a bald guy with thin brows and a smile. Both were clad in telnyashka striped tank tops and carried weapons and kit on them. Behind them was their overturned KamaZ.
"Eh, could be worse. Could've actually been Mujahideen or Taliban," Paul offered, a bit miffed.
"True enough..." Vic snorted darkly. He tapped Paula on the leg and told her, "Hey, I'm getting back on the gun," as he stowed his gear away and put the diary in a side pouch. If even one of the men survived, he was sure they'd appreciate having their comrades' stuff back. Paul nodded at that, while Vicky held close her PSL still, eyes scanning the trees as darkness was coming.
"Alright."-Everyone. Vic mounts the M2 in place of Paula, then paused as something appeared in the distance. The fain trails of smoke rising high into the sky and the distant scent of meat on the grill meant they had a settlement. Somewhere to shack up for the night, they figured, smiling as they retracted their weapons from the hull. The walls looked like they were made out of stone, medieval even, with the people staffing them and the turrets tracking them made to blend into the architecture.
"Village, up ahead. Weapons stowed, folks. Let's not scare them..." Diana had ordered it, just in case. She gave a wave and a thumbs up to the people on the wall and was sort of surprised to see the wooden doors slide open on their rails, revealing the defensible inside of the Western Medieval-looking village. Inside, people milled about on the paved road and watched with a hint of surprise as the M2-armed truck rolled on in. Many smiled at the sight, others waving them to a parking spot.
When they found their parking spot, they were surprised to see what seemed to be bikes owned by couriers, not to mention other lightly-armored vehicles. Lead to the third parking spot from the left near the wall, they parked as gently as they could, then shut off the engines. Diana looked back at them and told them, "I'll go ask the Innkeeper if we can stay the night," before revealing a fanned-out deck of Lien with a smirk, "You kids explore. Pairs."
"Noted," All of them replied.
The group then dismounted with the woman, examining the place. Their vision panned around from the inn and bar to their left, named 'The Red Soldierboy' by its owner and with a picture of two familiar men on the wooden sign, to various market buildings, houses and the people walking around, smiling, laughing, drinking. Many were youths, clad in interestingly familiar, yet fairly-different clothes. None seemed to really care about the four armed individuals and armored truck they'd rolled in with. That, or they were just surprised and happy to see people again.
They heard a Bike's engine sputter to life and looked right, to see a Biker girl don her goggles and pull her hood and mask over her face. She gave a quick wave to the troops, who replied in kind, then smiled visibly behind the mask and gave a thumbs up, draping her courier bag over her shoulder and kicking the bike into gear, honking the horn to get people to move out of the way.
The Troops were a bit uneasy, obviously. Vic hummed, feeling his pockets for a couple of things. First was the journal and picture of those two Soviet truckers from Afghan. It was still there and the truck was only a few dozen miles away from this village, meaning it might well have been the case that both men survived in this place. His hand then shifted a pouch lower, where a certain something clinked. He sighed deeply, then looked over at the sign of The Red Soldierboy and pulled out the picture. He blinked, looked between the two, then snorted and stowed it, telling the team, "Wait for me and Diana to come back, wouldja, folks?"
A bit of surprise played on the team's faces, but his sister and the Hungarian twins nodded. He then walked forward and into the place, a beautifully-made, fairly well-lit wooden interior with the scent of cooking food and good liquor striking him the moment he went in. He looked over at the bar and took his helmet off as he saw him:Certainly older by four decades, but still the same, the old bald man from the picture stood there, wearing a worn telnyk and the Afghanka pants from his old days as a service member.
Two crossed Kalashnikov rifles stood above the counter, next to a taxidermy knockoff head of what seemed to be one of the famed Grimm. He was cleaning glasses when he noticed the infantryman with the PKM slung on his shoulder, then smiled and waved him forward. Vic sighed, smiling, too, then walked up to the man and said in Russian, "Hoping I am not intruding, comrade."
The smile on the soldier's face grew as he spoke, "Not at all! Shit, I'm glad to hear my mother tongue after so many decades! I didn't expect a Romanian to be the one to speak it, though..." And he chuckled, rubbing the back of his bald head, "We can switch to English, or Basic as they call it here. Better if I don't force you to speak it too much, bratukh."
"Alright, if that's what you want," Vic nodded. He set his gear down beside his stool as he sat down, then offered a hand in greeting, which the man shook. He introduced himself, "I'm Victor. Victor Toma. Romanian Armed Forces. You might've seen my squad Sergeant wade in here just now, probably looking for the Innkeeper," to which the man nodded.
"Good to meet you, Victor," The man greeted with a smirk, setting the glass aside and leaning against the counter. He spoke calmly, "And yes, I met Sergeant Diana. Pointed her to my current boss. I'm Pavel Kaschak, by the way. Starshiy Serzhant in the Army, but I'm retired now," his voice sounding fairly familiar, almost like that one actor who voiced the Red Line Major in Metro:Last Light. Pavel, of course, offered him a drink.
"Nice to meet you, Pavel," Vic replied kindly, then pulled out the picture and diary from his pocket and offered them to the man, surprising him. He told him, "I think these might be yours," as he watched the man and nursed the drink, what seemed to be a fairly good brew of local whiskey with a hint of honey. Market must've been selling the good stuff and he could see some whiskey barrels in the back, behind the counter door.
"Oh..." Pavel's somewhat jovial face dropped, a hint of sadness now taking over as he looked at the items. He spoke, "Yeah..." before taking both in his hand. He told Victor, "These were actually my buddy's. Anatoly. He got taken out by the Grimm while we were making a run for it. Tore him limb from limb..." then he tilted his head to the left, toward the outside.
"... I'm really sorry," Vic winced, then sighed. A lot of dead and dying friends, it seemed.
"It's alright," The man sighed and set the stuff aside behind the counter. He added, "I'm sure he's better off not being here, anyway," while watching Vic take a sip of his drink. A smaller smile grew on his face when he saw that the Romanian was, in fact, enjoying his drink. It was good, Vic thought in response to that possible thought of Pavel's, so of course he'd enjoy it. He liked Whiskey.
"Take it you're not a fan of Remnant...?" He, however, inquired about his comrade's thoughts.
"Eh," The barkeep shrugged, "Has its ups and downs, but I don't think he would've liked it, being as big a hardass as he was," and that got a short laugh out of a couple other patrons and Vic. He added with a smile, "Locals are great friends if you're looking for it," Then he waved at a couple regulars at the bar, who waved back to his happiness. He then continued, "Plus selling the local gunsmith the idea of building Kalashes for the Guards helped me and the current boss of this place start the Inn. Started it in memory of Anatoly, too, since he wanted to make a place like this back in his home town when we got back."
Vic hummed, noting that, yes, quite a few of the guards seated around were carrying Kalashnikov-pattern weaponry, though made locally. He hummed, then shrugged that off and asked, "Anything you wanted to do when you got out?" as he took another sip from the glass of Whiskey, enjoying every drop. Both men seemed to notice that the other had that look, the look of the men who went through War. A little more mutual respect grew between both of them.
"Just live my life with my family, really. I've seen and done enough..." Pavel offered, then snorted and added, "It's why I'm glad I finally got to marry here, heh."
"Oh? Who's the lucky lady?" Vic smirked.
"Heh. My boss, who do you think?" Pavel grinned back, which got a snort out of Victor. Of course, he started the place with his woman. He saw their picture on the fireplace. A beautiful Faunus woman with blue eyes and silver hair and built well. Lean and muscly, but not grotesquely so. Vic gave a nod of approval to Pavel, who grinned and let out a short laugh.
When he calmed down, he asked, "Anyways. What're you doing here, bratukh?" as he watched the Romanian finish his drink. Offering to take the glass, he told him, "I think you and your comrades are now talk of the town with your armored truck and all and I figured the gossip's good for business a while ago," then he flashed a grin as he was handed the glass, which he started cleaning.
"Heh," Vic nodded, then leaned onto the counter and took one of the peanuts on the bowl beside him, all while calmly examining the liquor wall behind Pavel as he replied, "Well, I and the others, Sarge included, are on our way to retrieve some of our other comrades that wound up in here..." Then he furrowed his bro and realized, "Speaking of, you wouldn't happen to have seen anyone like these, eh?" as he pulled his phone out to show him pictures of the KFOR crew, the entire dozen or so of them gathered up, including him sat next to Vesna with a smile.
Pavel squinted, taking a good look at the picture, then sighed. He replied, "No, I'm sorry, Victor," before watching the Romanian deflate. He explained to him, "I haven't seen many people from Earth here, or at least not in this general area. You might be the first in like eight years..." And he gauged the Romanian's face. It was a mix of sadness, disappointment and a deep, deep-seated depression the likes of which Pavel had only seen in men who lost it all.
"Damn... Alright. Eight years?" The sad soldier sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah. Last ones I saw were apparently 'Russians'," He shrugged, as if 'Russians' were a weird thing for him. Admittedly understandable, seeing as they were probably used to just calling themselves 'Soviet' instead of Russian or Ukrainian back in his day. He added, "Was told by them the Union fell back in the '90s when I asked," as he set the glass Vic had used to drink back amidst its siblings.
The man, however, gasped as Victor perked up, asking quickly, "Russians? Male, female...?"
"Male..." He was really sad to dash his hopes twice. Seeing the Romanian's shoulders sag, he told him, "Sorry, tovarisch," before clarifying, "Wearing desert camouflage, too. And driving around in something they called a 'Tigr'," while scratching his chin. One of the strangest new vehicles for Russia to employ, though he supposed the Americans were coming out with that newfangled 'Humvee' he kept hearing whispers about.
"A TIGR MRAP?" Vic blinked, despite his previous sadness. He scratched his chin, murmuring, "Huh, talk about weird. Then again, Syrian peacekeeping operations are still ongoing, but have been taken over by the nascent Republic if what Paul told me was right. Have been for almost a decade at this point, after all..." before sighing deeply, "Rebellion in Syria against a Pro-Russian leader, followed by the creation of a terror group that almost worked like a state."
"They mentioned ISIS, too..." Pavel nodded, recalling them. He spoke warily, "Is the Union actually gone? Like... What year are you from?" as his mind thought of his parents, of what they must've thought of him going missing as he did. Terrorists, the collapse of the Soviet Union, the deaths of so many and the intervening mess that lead to Russia becoming a dictatorship. Awful.
"2023. And yes, the Union is gone. Russia is, too..." He replied, then noted the older man stare at him, confused. He clarified, "Look, they started a war with a fellow former Soviet Republic, namely Ukraine, in 2014 and it all culminated in the 2022 invasion. By 2023, Russia collapsed from within when the President offed himself," then he showed him pictures of articles from those days.
"Blyadh, I was born in Ukraine," Pavel murmured, staring at the images of the fighting between Post-Soviet states. He added, "That's awful," while looking his newfound friend in the eye to note that that war was probably the reason he was searching for his comrades, too. And that Blonde girl he was sat beside, the two of them smiling as if they were two birds two awkward to admit their feelings of love...
"Yeah... At least you guys won," Vic offered kindly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Still. Brothers fighting brothers never should've happened..." The man replied wisely, then sighed deeply and added, "I forgot to ask, who's the pretty Blonde Russian next to you in that picture?" with a smile. He saw the boy pause for a moment, looking at the picture in his phone with a melancholic gaze that Pavel immediately realized. He blinked and immediately wanted to apologize.
"... A very close friend..." The Romanian replied after a moment's pause, stowing his phone.
"Ah... Apologies, comrade," Pavel nodded, awkward, "Didn't mean to hit a nerve," Then sighed, bit the bullet and decided it was best to ask, "Did she...?"
The Romanian nodded, then sighed again, "Before me and the others. We found her in a mass grave with her unit during the Collapse," He explained, causing the man to blank, eyes widening. He continued, "She'd fought in Ukraine, against her will, like all of them... Died a few miles from home when her homeland collapsed into strife, all because of a mad dictator with delusions of grandeur."
"You two seemed cute together..." Pavel quipped, then saw Vic's face actually turn a little red. With a smile, he added, "Hey, chin up, though. She may be here, too," before patting him on the shoulder. He prayed that the two young lovers would manage to reunite, if for nothing else than the universe showing a degree of kindness for the two of them. It was cruel, because he could very much tell the two had been deeply in love.
"Maybe," The soldier didn't sound convinced, but the door to the 'Boss's room opened and Diana walked out, smiling. He stated, "Thanks, anyways, Pavel."
"No. Thank you for returning Anatoly's journal, Victor, and enjoy your stay," The older man replied kindly, smiling still at the boy as he leaned against the counter. He offered with kindness in his words, "I owe you and your friends a drink," then he pointed at Vic's pocket, at his phone, and stated, "Bring her here when you find her, too, eh? So we can celebrate with a shot each and you can tell me what happened in the past forty years."
"Heh... Yeah. Later, Pavel," Vic smiled and waved.
Then, he and his NCO walked out to their team.