Operation Black Dawn, 1995
Mission 21 - United Nations
October 1995/December 1096
Aftermath of Operation Chernobog Freedom
"The United Nations is, for lack of a better word, bipolar. On one hand, when it's good, it's working through humanitarianism, rescuing those in dire straits, and keeping law and order. On the other, it's militaristic, brutal, and ruthless in its quest to restore order, and chews through anything that opposes it. Whichever you lump the United Nations into, I am sad or glad to say it isn't going away soon."
- Stephen Colbert (in an interview), 1995
Zima [Peterheim Middle School - Self-Governing Group] - Unknown Area - Dated December, 1096
When Zima boarded the machine that landed atop Peterheim, she expected something a lot more, well, unhelpful. Yet, when she was directed to go to the top by the soldiers in green, she did so without hesitation... and nothing happened.
The men who brought her and her fellow students out of Peterheim were extremely odd people. Their green masks cast eerie shadows on their faces, and their polite demeanor only served to make her more uncomfortable. When she glanced at their uniforms, she saw the words 'RGSDF' inscribed on their shoulders in Ursine, which she assumed to be the name of their organization. On their helmets were the letters 'UN' on the side and what she presumed to be Victorian at the front.
Glancing out of the window, the machine she was on was escorted by other ones. On their large, stout bodies with spinning blades were words in Ursine, 'Russian Ground Self-Defense Force' they read.
That was the acronym on the men's uniforms. They were most definitely military, yet they couldn't be part of the Ursus Imperial Army. Rather than wearing full black like the Imperial Army, they wore a distinctly dark multicolor hexagonal camouflage pattern of gray, black, and green. And on their armor were tricolors of White, Cyan, and Red on them.
The soldiers' eyes darted from child to child, their gazes cold and calculating as they scanned the area. Normally if Zima saw somebody with a firearm, she'd assume Sankta given their affinity with firearms. Yet the lack of glowing halos was what tipped her off. Whenever the Sankta needed to appear, they did so with shining halos and wings, illustrating their proficiency with firearms, most of the time at the cost of insurance companies covering for damage.
Yet these soldiers instead had no features, barely letting their faces leak out with green masks that only let their eyes peer out into the world, and even then, some wore goggles, blurring their line between android and human. They were very polite, which discomforted her. They brought to her mind images of robotic figures who were polite only due to their programming. She once watched a play about this, Andrey's Autonomous Androids.
Zima felt a chill run down her spine as she watched the soldiers. Their presence was like a weight pressing down on her chest. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were watching her, evaluating her. She tried to avoid their gaze, but it was difficult. Their eyes were icy and cold, and their green masks and helmet obscured what humanity they have.
She just felt something off about them.
Not helping was the atmosphere. Within the machine, it felt like a coffin, choking and cold. The children inside it fidgeted around, terrified even if their new rescuers have saved them from something worse, and refused to give them eye contact. Likewise, the soldiers tended to themselves more. The whirring of the blades gave her a feeling of dread that stomped out any relief she had. It was as if she had walked out of a frying pan only to land in a fire.
The mood shift when meeting both Reunion and the RGSDF was like a sudden plunge from the golden warmth of autumn into the icy depths of winter.
Reunion was very brutal and upfront about their intentions, they boasted crude makeshift weapons, and they wore either white or black, and their soldiers were aggressive and boisterous. In many cases, revenge-heavy and murderous, like rabid dogs with a grudge.
In contrast, the soldiers who rescued the children were polite and subdued, their intentions mysterious and ambiguous. They were armed with more standardized, purpose-built weapons and wore camouflage uniforms, their faces obscured by masks. Their uniforms only bore flags and the acronym of their military, and they had not yet revealed their motives. Not even a re-assurance, just a quiet evacuation ride.
As much as Zima wanted to be grateful, she just couldn't shake off the feeling these soldiers gave her. Their steel-eyed gaze and subdued colors gave them a very frightening look and a very commanding presence. She could see its effects throughout the interior of the machine, even in the nobility children.
They could barely look at the soldiers for a second before forcing themselves to turn away sheepishly, often to the bemusement of the soldiers. A part of Zima wondered if it was because they simply didn't speak to each other. Yet at the same time, she didn't want to comment, for fear of being put down. One may say it's paranoia, but Zima thought it was logical.
After what happened in Peterheim, nobody bothered to talk to each other or provoke the wrath of people who had the advantage over them. Everyone was almost at each other's throats, waiting to be rescued. At the very least, the food supply held out even if they were still unable to relax the tensions there. Yet even there, they dared not do anything risky lest they risk Reunion making an example of them.
She wasn't sure if these soldiers would do the same, so she - and the other nobility children - tried to make themselves less visible. Maybe later she could try something, and hopefully, they would find common ground due to the rescue by then.
For now, she just held her tongue, her heart pounding in her chest.
Glancing around the interior, she noted its extremely gray makeup, with only the seats being of any color, and they were dark red. What signs she could read in Ursine were safety warnings. Some were about the spinning blades, while some were odd to her. Some talked about 'Exposure to NCID' in both Ursine and Victorian, with the accompanying picture depicting a person covered in green, hexagon-shaped splotches.
As far as she could tell, NCID was an extremely toxic substance. It's almost not too dissimilar to Originium.
Come to think of it, were any of these soldiers using Originium?
She was snapped out of her question by a voice speaking from a speaker. Overpowering the noisy whirring of the machine as the voice spoke.
"This is your pilot speaking," The voice spoke, a thick Columbian-esque accent slipping through their pronunciation of Ursine. "We'll be landing in two minutes. Kids, we congratulate you on your first flight experience with United Airlines," He snickered at that, before coughing and continuing. "We wish you the best of luck, and welcome you to Camp Tiber."
Zima was surprised. Camp Tiber? An oddity of a name for sure. To make sure she was at this 'camp', she glanced at the window nearby that peeked out. To her surprise, the ground was visible, revealing a large sprawling camp. She saw movement on the ground as men and vehicles alike shuffled in and out of camp, some drabbed in barely visible gray, while others were drabbed in well-visible tan.
Her eyes widened as she realized that this might indeed be where she might be staying for a long time, if not for the rest of her life.
One part of her didn't know how to feel about that. The other part was just thankful that the nightmare in Peterheim was over, even if she was cozying up to total strangers.
She turned away from the window to look at her classmates and school peers.
Drabbed in their tattered school uniforms, they looked with anxiety as the machine began to descend, making the ground visible. The life in the camp contrasted with the surrounding area being so dead and barren was jarring, but Originium was known to devastate lands, so if anything, Zima could only ask why they were not mobile. The risk of catastrophes was high when you were in an immobile city, bar certain lucky nations.
The whole area looked like a graveyard, with rainy and windy weather giving her rural vibes. It was akin to a babushka's shack, located on the outskirts of the Ursus territories.
But...
She didn't have time to finish what she was thinking before the machine touched down on the ground, and the ramp that led outside and inside opened up, letting Zima see what was outside.
Greeting the ramp were men dressed in white, covering their whole body and covering their faces with what appeared to be an Originium contamination mask. They stepped back and widened the area, except for one of them, who made a motion, and then men who appeared to be their bodyguards came. Zima froze as she saw what appeared to be Reunion heavy shield troops.
She relaxed when they put their visors up, displaying prominently human eyes. Yet, what stuck out to her was that everybody who was part of the 'rescue force' had no distinct features that identified their race.
Given their propensity for firearms, Sankta would be in the question... usually.
This was not normal.
The shield-bearing troops had a strip in the center of their shield that had Victorian lettering on them, albeit entirely in a digital form akin to a digital sign. She watched in surprise as the Victorian lettering changed to Ursine lettering, reading 'MILITARY POLICE' on the digital strip now. She now saw the Ursus Imperial Constabulary in them, yet despite that... they were massively different at the same time.
When they spoke, they spoke in Old Victorian. She couldn't understand it, but at the same time, their status as military police meant they were asked to escort the children.
Sighing, Zima stood up and faced one of them.
To her surprise, they turned to one of the green-drabbed RGSDF soldiers, both of them speaking in Victorian. When they finished, the RGSDF soldier stood up and glanced towards the children.
In Ursine, he shouted to get everyone's attention. "Listen, children! These men will escort you to your temporary habitational facility!" He shouted, scanning the area while pointing his thumb at the shield-bearing soldiers.
"Once you are out of the aircraft, you will be offered a protective mask! Take it and join the shieldbearers later! When you are all done, follow the shieldbearers carefully! Do not attempt to deviate from the route, do not attempt to run away, and do not attempt to assault them!" He shouted, turning his head back to the ramp. "There will be no questions! All of you, get up, and move!" He shouted, as the children, in a panic, stood up and nodded frantically.
As the children began to huddle around each other, Zima couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about the soldiers. They spoke Ursine, but they identified as Russian. What did that mean?
Zima couldn't help but wonder about the soldiers' identity. They spoke Ursine, but they identified as Russian. What exactly was a Russia? Zima knew that Ursus was a vast and diverse nation, but she had never heard of a Russian minority. She would have expected to hear whispers and denunciations of such a group, but she had never heard anything.
The soldiers' identity was a mystery to her.
After the 'Russian' soldier finished, he turned to the shieldbearer, who then switched to speaking in Old Victorian.
"They're all yours. Get them to the provisional housing." He said.
Nodding, the leader of the shieldbearers responded. "Si. Gracias, paracaidista." [1]
Zima watched as the shieldbearers turned around and marched out of the vehicle. As the children followed them, men in white stopped each one of them, and gave them an Originium mask. They did not speak Ursine, but she watched as they followed the physical instructions the men gave them. Some of them even turned around the children, intent on tightening their masks.
To protect against Originium, she supposed.
It was her turn, and when she marched forward, a man in white handed her the mask. When Zima looked at him, the man stretched what appeared to be an imaginary representation of the mask, putting it face-first and then letting the strap over her head later. Zima did so, putting the mask on face-first, then putting the strap on the back of her head.
Nodding, the man turned her around and handled the strap that clung to her hair and neck. She felt it tighten, grimacing as the mask clung to her face further. But it was for her own sake, she supposed.
When the tightening stopped, she was turned around again and the man looked at her in the eye, before turning to his partner and nodding.
"Deze is vrij om te gaan." [2]
His partner nodded and pointed his thumb at the shieldbearers who had other children huddled with them. He turned to Zima.
"Ga, de militaire politie wacht op je. Haast je." [3]
She barely understood what was said, given that they spoke neither Victorian nor Ursine, but still walked towards the soldiers anyway. She managed to get a spot that offered her the opportunity to see around her. When she paid attention, she noticed that there were men and women of all colors and uniforms staring right at them.
Some of them were equipped with what appeared to be cameras, some were writing down on a notepad, and some of them were equipped with rifles. It made her uncomfortable knowing that she and her fellow children were the audience of amazement, especially after they had just essentially recovered from what could be described - at best - as the worst time of their lives.
"Any idea what's going on?" One of the children asked, looking beyond the shield wall and to the people who were gawking at them. "They're just... staring at us," He continued. "Where are we?"
"Yeah, what is this place?"
"Does everyone have firearms around here? Are they Sankta?"
"...Sankta? Don't look like it."
"Why're they using Reunion shieldbearers? ...Actually, are they even Reunion?"
The once-silent crowd of children turned into chattering as they began to question their surroundings. Men and women dressed in all kinds of colors began to come out of the woodwork and gawk at the children from the sides, with most choosing to stay away. They bore the colors of either gray, tan, or green, and some even wore white or black.
Some of them were surprised, if because she could tell by the looks on their face, others merely... making a cross sign with their right hand? And some just shook their heads, seemingly solemnly. A part of her genuinely couldn't tell if it was because they looked bad, or because this was their first encounter with survivors from Chernobog. After all, if someone came to rescue them, then they obviously knew about the horrible things going on in
Zima's attention snapped back to their position when the shieldbearers slammed their shield on the ground and yelled something in Victorian, causing the people gawking to step back further.
"MOVE ALONG, FOLKS! NOTHING TO SEE HERE!" One of the shieldbearers shouted, though Zima couldn't understand it. "RETURN TO YOUR POSTS IMMEDIATELY! THIS IS A CIVILIAN MATTER, MOVE ALONG!" When Zima leaned to look, she saw that the shieldbearers slammed their shields on the ground and banged their shields. Her ears rang for a moment as they hit their shields with their batons.
"MOVE ALONG! I REPEAT, MOVE ALONG! THIS IS A CIVILIAN AFFAIR! RETURN TO YOUR POSTS IMMEDIATELY!"
Zima's eyes darted to the shieldbearers, their all-black uniforms giving them a dreading and commanding presence. But it was their armbands and symbols that truly caught her attention.
Gray armbands with white Victorian lettering spelled out "OAS" in a chillingly simplistic military font. A diving eagle, painted in ominous black, adorned their uniforms and shields, its beak diving down as if attacking.
Zima's heart skipped a beat. What did it all mean? What was this "OAS"? And what organization did these shieldbearers belong to?
She felt a shiver run down her spine as she met the gaze of one of the shieldbearers. His eyes were cold and calculating, his expression devoid of emotion. He held his shield high, the diving eagle emblazoned on its surface gleaming in the sunlight.
Zima felt a strange sense of foreboding wash over her. These shieldbearers were not ordinary military police. They were something else entirely. Something more sinister.
She hope-
"Oi," one of the students commented. "They're moving. We better follow them."
Zima watched as the shieldbearers lurched forward, their shields forming a menacing wall around the children. She felt a chill run down her spine. What were these creatures? Saviors? Military Police? Mercenaries? She didn't know, and she didn't like not knowing.
At the very least, they might be mercenaries aping the appearance of the armies of Terra. But something about them told her that they were more than that. Something far more dangerous.
The walk began in the form of a slow traffic jam as the shieldbearers occasionally stopped to check if the children were all following, causing intermittent halting, which infuriated Zima mildly. The students marching along were like confused herds of sheep, not knowing what to do, as the shepherds - shieldbearers - kept stopping
"Huh," One student commented as they walked slowly. "What's that? Is that a... hand?"
Zima looked in his direction and was surprised to see a building in the shape of a hand in this... camp. It held what she assumed to be a global model of Terra. Yet at the same time, she couldn't tell what shape the globe held. Its appearance was ominous, that of black and red mixed together in what could only be a paint job fitting a villain aspiring for world domination. And outside of it, soldiers in black and gray marched in training, an air of authority surrounding them.
Yet, next to the hand-shaped building was a much simpler, semi-circular duo of buildings, each colored a pale yellow that aired a certain aura of heroism from it. Only one side had a door, while one had no door. On the outside, it had a blue flag waving from it. It also had a garrison nearby of soldiers dressed in tan and green who stood outside, in a circle-formation with their gun barrels touching the ground.
From a distance, Zima could see them glancing at her and her fellow kids. She shivered before turning forward, view blocked by the large bulky armor of the shieldbearers, and the children marching like sheep being herded. In normal situations she'd feel terrified, but, at least they weren't the Imperial Constabulary.
If you asked Zima what she thought of the place, looking at it, she felt a sudden sense of... relief, as the suffering in Chernobog ended. The days and days of being starved by Reunion in a cruel form of revenge, or being arrested and executed by the Imperial Constabulary on flimsy charges during one of their active Infected Purges came to an end.
But a part of her couldn't shrug off dread and anxiety. The men and women who all came to stare at her and her peers - they didn't feel native. Their stares pierced her soul, and when she looked back, she saw people who were just new to this place. She saw something alien in their eyes and expression. She wasn't good at reading people, but that alarmed her.
When she thought back to the people who stared at them... They were just all sorts of odd. Some of them were far younger than expected of an Imperial Army soldier, yet some of them looked like they were on the verge of retirement, stuck wearing the uniform that clung to their life. Whatever the case, she couldn't shrug off the feeling that they were just equally confused as her.
But, what could this camp be like-
"¡Oye, falangista!" [4] Zima snapped her head nearby after hearing an Iberian accent, and when she whipped her head around she stumbled across a scene near one one of the hand-shaped buildings. what appeared to be two groups of differently-dressed soldiers of different affiliations.
On the right, blue shirts, black pants, and blue caps stood off against men in gray uniforms and red berets to the left. The men on the right had armbands with an orange-yellow-orange color scheme, while the men on the left had a white armband with an ornate 'X'-shape. The men in blue dressed like they belonged in a political party, while the men in gray looked like they belonged in nobility.
None of them were equipped with firearms, with Zima assuming they were either support or off-duty. "¡¿Qué?! ¿Te parece bien, morir por un ideal patético? ¿Te parece bien lamerles el culo a tus señores de las Naciones Unidas?" [5] He boomed, with his fellow soldiers laughing, only to retract when one of the blueshirts raised their hand into the air, palm out.
"¡Jódete, carlista, que perdisteis la guerra!" [6] One of the blueshirts shouted, barking at the grayshirts, before being repeated by the rest of the blueshirts in the group. The grayshirts stepped back as the blueshirts advanced forward. "¡Perdisteis ante los rojos! ¡¿Por qué luchar por una corona muerta?!" [7] He shouted, as more blueshirts joined in with the men on the right. Some of them wore purple-yellow-orange armbands, and some wore red and black armbands with what appeared to be Victorian lettering that read 'C.N.T.' and 'F.A.I.' "¡La única razón por la que aún sois algo es porque hacéis el chupapollas ante Kane!" [8]
"¡Te parió una puta, franquista!" [9] One of the grayshirts replied, advancing forward as more red-beret-donning men joined the leftmost group. "¡Tu inútil causa republicana se murió al nacer, y el tocacojones Mola llevó al reino glorioso a la mierda!" [10] Another one shouted as the red beret men shouted and clamored. In response, the men and blue began to push back, marching three steps closer. "¡A vuestra república deberían haberla pisoteado! ¡Y hasta debería haberos asesinado Stalin!" [11]
"¡¿Qué dijiste, gilipollas?!" [12] One of the blueshirts - this time wearing a purple-yellow-orange armband - replied. "¡Sigues luchando en nombre de una corona marchita e irrelevante, que dejó de ser relevante en los cincuenta! ¡No has tenido ni un puesto, ni un favor, y ni siquiera te has ganado un titular!" [13] He boomed, with the feeling reverberating those to the right as the crowd of men in blue drowned the scene out in a cacophony of clamorous yet enraged chants.
"¡A España la arruinó el carlismo!" [14]
"¡En el trono no hay nadie, alma cándida!" [15]
"¡Y tu madre fue una zorra!" [16]
The grayshirts began pushing back, moving even while the men in blue were clear on cornering them and shaming them.
"¡A Stalin lo apoyó Franco!" [17]
"¡Nuestra victoria la robaron los bolcheviques, putos globalistas!" [18]
"¡¿Por el amor de Dios, vuestro caudillo está hecho a perder y aún seguís muriendo por él?! ¡Para putos ya os tenemos!" [19]
Zima watched in shock as a grayshirt picked up a rock and threw it at a blueshirt with a red and black armband. The rock hit the blueshirt in the head, and they fell to the ground. The blueshirts became enraged, and the fight quickly escalated. A blueshirt with a purple-yellow-orange armband punched the grayshirt who had thrown the rock. One of the grayshirts tried to kick a blueshirt with an orange-yellow-orange armband, but a red and black blueshirt punched him in the face.
A blueshirt ducked as a grayshirt tried to punch him, then kicked him in the groin. Another grayshirt punched a blueshirt in the back of the head, but the blueshirt kicked him in the chest, sending him slamming to the ground. Another blueshirt tried to punch a grayshirt, but the grayshirt ducked and punched him in the liver. Another grayshirt put a blueshirt in a chokehold, while the blueshirt reached for a rock. Zima also saw a grayshirt and a blueshirt wrestling in the mud, punching each other in the face.
Zima's eyes widened in horror as a grayshirt picked up a rock and bashed it into the back of a blueshirt's head. The blueshirt fell to the ground, and the grayshirt continued hitting him. The grayshirt slammed the rock into the blueshirt's head again and again, cracking his skull. Brain matter spilled out of the blueshirt's cracked skull, and the grayshirt continued to brutalize his corpse.
The sight of the grayshirt brutalizing the blueshirt's corpse brought back memories of the streets of Chernobog before the Reunion uprising. Zima felt the urge to vomit. She was about to lose her lunch when she saw something incredible.
The blueshirt turned around and caught the rock with their two hands, even though parts of their brain matter were spilling out of their cracked skull. The blueshirt kicked the grayshirt to the ground and kicked him in the chin, shattering his teeth and jaw. The grayshirt was pacified. The blueshirt looked around and saw that the brawl was still going on. The blueshirt decided to cut their losses and retreat. They dashed away from the fight.
Zima couldn't believe what she had just seen. A blueshirt who she had just seen being executed with a rock to the back of their head had risen back up, despite all signs telling her that they were dead. There seemed to be no sign of Arts, as the men were simply fighting like barbarians with their fists, hands, and whatever was around them. The other soldiers simply stopped and stared. Even though they had every chance to move away, the slowness of the escorts and children gave Zima ample room to watch the violence.
The scene before her eyes that seemed to move away slowly was the descent of men who seemed to be part of this unified military force into violent savagery over what seemed to be a simple argument, even if she could barely understand Iberian. Oh, she had heard Iberian accents before on the television, but she had never actually spoken or understood Iberian. And yet...
She was snapped out of her thoughts when a gunshot rang out, and the culprit was revealed to be a blueshirt who was not in the raid, holding a pistol up into the air. On her side, the children instinctively ducked and covered their ears as the shot rang out. But not Zima, who could simply stare as the fighting came to an end. When it ended, some of the men she stared at had horrible injuries. Some had their faces bleeding because of vertical and horizontal gashes, some had their uniform coated in blood of either their own or the enemy, and some had their bones jutting out of their body.
She could only stare as the brawl came to a stop, and immediately the blueshirt who fired the gun shouted.
"Policía Militar, ¡llevároslos!" [20]
Immediately, some of the shieldbearers diverted, with at least four of them going to the brawl. A fifth one was supposed to instantly accompany them, but he stayed behind to speak to his comrades. "Bring them to the shelter! Go!" He shouted, before turning around. The shieldbearers began to line up in a formation, and slammed their shields down, before hitting them.
The blue and grayshirts were going to face the riot police.
"Vital Alert, 10-10 proceeding in campgrounds. Altercation in progress. Neutralize and detain." She heard from one of the radios of the shieldbearers.
"Copy. Neutralizing and detaining." A shieldbearer responded, before bashing their baton against their shields.
The shieldbearers then charged in like a rampaging horde, their batons and shields flashing in the sunlight. They rained down blows on the blueshirts and grayshirts alike, without mercy. The sound of batons hitting flesh filled the air, and the smell of blood and sweat was overwhelming. Zima watched in horror as the shieldbearers beat the men to the ground, one by one.
The brutality of the shieldbearers reminded Zima of Reunion and the Imperial Constabulary. She had seen both groups commit acts of violence against those who opposed them. But she had never seen anything quite like this. The shieldbearers were like wild animals, driven by a bloodlust that Zima couldn't understand.
Zima's heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach churned. She wanted to turn away, but she couldn't. She was mesmerized by the violence, and horrified by what she was seeing.
She was snapped out of her morbid curiosity by the shieldbearers who escorted them, who banged on his shield with his baton.
"Move along, kids! Nothing to see here! Just rowdiness going on in camp!" A shieldbearer escorting the children shouted, before pointing his baton in the direction where the children were supposed to march to. "Move along, goddamnit!" He yelled again, with the children beginning to shuffle a lot more quickly. Better get moving than stare at the beatings, and then face execution.
Zima snapped her head forward and tore her eyes away from the pacification of the fight, and began to march forward along with the children at the behest of another shieldbearer. The feeling of wet soil on her shoes and mud everywhere on her legs was overridden by a desire to not get beaten. After all, if these men were perfectly willing to crush their own paramilitary's skulls with their batons, bludgeon offenders with their fists, and slam their shields into the paramilitaries who's not to say that the children might do the same?
In fact, to her, the only saving grace she had was that the other men did not cheer on it, in contrast to Reunion's murderous hate for anything that doesn't fit their cause. But even then, the brutality told her more about these men than she would have liked to know.
For a moment, her mind flashed back to Reunion, as they beat and slaughtered those who were not loyal to their revanchist cause. Denouncing the oppressors had been their modus operandi, as was brutal and violent murder, with some torture sprinkled in between. Yet, while these men may not have those traits from Reunion, she didn't speak up even then, out of fear that she might face a sword to her head.
She had learned already to never infuriate the men who had the weapons, lest they invoke their wrath. Seeing students beaten for resisting by both Reunion and the Imperial Constabulary had already planted that idea into her head.
Relief and dread warred within Zima's heart.
Reunion was finally gone. She could no longer hear their blood-curdling screams or the sickening sound of their machetes cleaving through flesh. But the brutal fight and pacification of the blueshirts and grayshirts had shaken her to her core.
She flashed back to Reunion's occupation of Chernobog, the devastation that followed in their wake, and the vengeful beasts that slaughtered anything in their path. These shieldbearers and their associated allies were different, though. They were more rigid and robotic, but perhaps even merciful, as evidenced by their rescue of her non-infected Ursine ilk.
But the way they pacified their own men with such brute force told her that they did not tolerate internal strife. Perhaps like Reunion, perhaps not. It all came down to who the weapons were pointed at in the end.
But when it came to pacification, shieldbearers were like rabid animals. And the paramilitaries of gray and blue shirts? They terrified her too.
Men from both sides refused to go down, even when they were past their expiration date. They could survive horrible injuries that would kill even the strongest man. One of them had their brain matter bashed and their skull cracked, but they still survived. By all medical and clinical records, they should have been dead. But they were not.
What kind of monsters were these men?
How could they have such a high tolerance for pain? What lay underneath those uniforms? Men, or demons in the skin of men?
Zima was horrified. She had never seen anything like it. She didn't know what to make of these men. Were they even human?
The dread that washed over her was unlike anything she had ever felt before.
She knew that these men were not to be trifled with. They were dangerous, and they were not to be underestimated.
She had to be careful.
She had to be very careful.
The marching in the mud took her thoughts back to what was in front of her, even with dread creeping in. It wasn't every day that Zima would feel scared at something worse than the Imperial Constabulary. Yet these men escorting her - the shieldbearers - managed to instill a sense of dread that topped the feeling of encountering the Constabulary.
When she looked up, she saw a large, white warehouse in front of her that seemed to be where they were heading into. The warehouse had no markings or lettering on it, it stood in stark contrast to the darker buildings in the zone around it, and it felt... fresh. As if it was very recently constructed. In front of it were men in white, wearing the same Originium protection masks that were given to Zima and her ilk. The shieldbearers and children stopped at the door, then the shieldbearers accompanying them moved into a different formation, splitting off to guard the men in white.
Two shieldbearers were left with the children, and both of them had stepped forward to meet with the men in white. One glanced back at the children, before coughing and speaking to one of the men in white.
"Ya están aquí los niños. ¿Les vamos a dar un cuarto a cada uno?" [21] he said, though she could not understand them. "Ojalá." [22] the other shieldbearer replied. "Ya bastante mal lo pasaron, y necesitan un lugar de descanso." [23]
Perhaps she could learn Iberian someday, just like the nobility children were taught Victorian to fit in with the high society.
One of the men in white nodded. "Bueno... los cuartos van a estar separados por género, pero se agruparán por habitación. Cada una de ellas tiene ducha propia, con instrucciones en ruso. Al fin y al cabo, creemos que es lo más próximo a su idioma propio." [24]
"¿Y la ropa? No queremos que se enfermen." [25]
"Tenemos uniformes de los zapadores de la ONU. Sí, son feos y están en marrón, pero es lo único que podemos darles, aunque les haga parecer niños soldados de la URSS. Stalin estaría orgulloso, pero mejor no pensar en cómo los utilizó de guardia de honor en el Kremlin, el malnacido." [26]
The shieldbearer frowned. "Joder. Ojalá tuviéramos algo mejor, pero eso es lo único que les puede dar algo de calor. A ver si no les importa parecer algo extraños." [27]
He turned to look back at the children and then pointed his baton at the door.
"Entrad, que hace frío ahí fuera." [28]
The children shuffled in, their eyes wide with fear. Zima's heart sank. She had been hoping that these men would be different from Reunion, but now she wasn't so sure.
She opened her mouth to speak, but a nearby student quickly clamped his hand over her mouth. "Don't," he whispered. "They might kill you if you say anything."
Zima nodded; her throat dry with fear. She could feel the cold sweat trickling down her back. Where were they being taken? A prison? An execution chamber? She didn't know, but she knew that it couldn't be good.
She glanced around at the other children, all of whom were just as scared as she was. They had all been through so much, and now this. It wasn't fair.
She wanted to fight back, to scream and shout and run away, but she knew it would be useless. These men were armed and dangerous. They would kill her without hesitation.
She felt a wave of betrayal wash over her. She had thought that these men were here to help them, but now she wasn't so sure. They could be just as bad as Reunion.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She had to stay strong, for the sake of the other children. She couldn't let them down.
But it was hard. So hard.
Zima's heart sank as she realized that these men might be just as bad as Reunion. She felt a wave of despair wash over her. She was trapped, and there was nothing she could do.
But then, just as she was about to accept her fate, one of the men in white tapped her shoulder and handed her a package. It was a plastic, synthetic material that felt kind of heavy, but holdable. It had sharp angles and seemed to be tightly sealed. What was this?
"Vamos, que necesitáis algo de comer." [29] He said. "No quiero que os muráis de hambre, ¿vale?" [30] He slightly pushed her aside, nodding and turning to look at the other children in line, apparently intent on giving them food.
She looked down on it as she continued walking and read what it had said.
'Type 23 United Nations Synthetic Ration - Humanitarian Ration' it said, with a white-blue-red flag with a blue star greeting her on the front of it. A small star near it had some text that read Manufactured in Omsk! and Made with synthetic ingredients. Synthetic ingredients? She asked herself that, but continued reading it.
'Vegetable Omelette flavor'.
Vegetable omelette...
The markings were in Ursine, presumably to ensure that she could read it.
A part of her suddenly felt the urge to vomit, yet at the same time, there was a glimmer of hope from the fact that she was given a ration. Most would not even consider feeding their prisoners. Imperial Army especially. But, she was a little relieved. Perhaps these men would be different.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she finally entered the compound, before immediately being greeted with warm air, which snapped her out of her thoughts again. The facility was large. Extremely large. Lined across the walls were individual square-shaped rooms, with their own doors. Numbers were lined across each door. Numbers like 066, 098, and 101 were dotted across the doors.
Now, this eased her fears, even if a little. Why else would the warehouse have individual rooms? If they wanted to pacify, they'd huddle them into a single room. Or they'd simply keep them in a secluded spot. But this?
This just meant to her that they were giving her some breathing room.
Suddenly, in the middle of the warehouse, a lanky, masked, and unarmed man dressed in an RGSDF uniform addressed the children as they entered the warehouse by waving at them, before pointing at what appeared to be his mouth. It seems like he has something to say.
He began by coughing a little, before revealing that he had a megaphone in his hand. Amusingly, he tapped on the microphone for a second. "This thing on?" He asked in Ursine, still tapping at it while the children suddenly began chuckling. Even Zima couldn't help but smile.
"Oh goddamnit!" He yelled. "The buttons and settings're all scrambled!" He howled, as the children escalated their chuckling. Sheepishly, he looked back at them. "Oh, I, uh... Just you hold on! I'll be right there with you, kids!" He replied, before turning his attention back to his megaphone. "Stupid goddamn GloboTech Audio..." He muttered.
The children continued to chuckle, but there was also a sense of relief in their laughter. After all, they had just survived a harrowing ordeal, and here was a man who was trying to help them. Even though he was having some technical difficulties, it was still a welcome sight.
"Oh my, it seems as though commoners will always make errors, even in glorious military service," One of the richer children snickered. "You think he was raised in a backwater area?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," another of the richer children nodded. "But it's even amazing how a man like that can achieve membership in any form of military. The Imperial Army has to break men, train them to become tougher, and never miss anything. This? I'm surprised he's still even a member."
"I just think he forgot to ensure it was on before speaking," A less well-off child surmised, a smirk on her face as the man fumbled about with his megaphone. "I do that all the time. Especially when I'm giving a presentation."
"Yeah, really," Zima interjected, tearing open her ration package while talking. She rifled through it while selecting the words to add to her sentence. "He's just human after all," Zima said, chuckling. "We all say the wrong things when it's the absolute worst time."
"Normally," One of the nobility children interjected, looking at Zima. "I would refute that and argue that soldiers would have to be absolutely pristine and disciplined," He said, raising his pointing finger before taking a deep breath and continuing. "However, I am willing to turn a blind eye to this," His expression changed to a grimace after saying that, before turning to face the ground. "Especially after Reunion..."
He didn't finish the sentence as a poor kid tugged on his arm and patted his shoulder. "It'll be alright. We've made it out. That's all that matters."
"Aye," The noble child responded, a melancholic smile on his face. "I agree."
The man continued to mess around with his megaphone, glancing at the children intermittently, even if only to see them snickering at his misfortune. Sheepishly, he raised the megaphone back to his face.
"Alright, kids!" He shouted; megaphone raised as the children all chuckled at him. "Get ready, because we're going to assign you rooms to stay in for a while!" He pointed to one of the rooms, "No mixed-gender rooms though! We're trying to sort y'all out, alright?" He said, before raising his hand. "Calling Group One, boys!" He shouted, pointing at three boys at random. "Step right up, step right up! We've got rooms of three!" He speaks. One of the kids selected to go points at himself in confusion, as if he thought he was wrongly selected.
The RGSDF man sighed and pointed at him again. "Yes. That means you, pointing-at-self." He said, before the child stood next to two other Ursus students. The soldier pointed at one of the rooms.
"Your room is 101. Keys are inside the room," he says, with the children nodding and making their way there. He turns his head back to the children and shouts again. "Group Two! Girls!"
Zima, meanwhile, couldn't help it, and let out a huge sigh of relief. The ration she managed to get had a delicious biscuit that tasted like honey, with a satisfying crunch to it too. The biscuit was large, round-shaped, and had the pattern of a star in the center of it. She felt like a kid who had just discovered the secrets of the universe.
She wondered if they had more honey biscuits. They tasted really good, even for a humanitarian ration. Hell, she was surprised they were considering humanitarianism in the first place.
But, overall, she was happy to be alive to enjoy it.
It was finally over, and she could finally get to rest.
In the long run, it was alright.
TRANSLATION FOOTNOTES (From Iberian Spanish to English, accounting Woolseyism):
[1] - Yes, thank you, paratrooper.
[2] - This one is free to go.
[3] - Go, the military police are waiting for you. Hurry.
[4] - Hey, Falangist!
[5] - What, you're okay with dying for a pathetic ideal? You're okay with licking your UN overlords' asses?
[6] - Fuck you, Carlist, you lost the war!
[7] - You lost to the Reds! Why fight for a dead crown?!
[8] - The only reason you guys are still a thing is because you suck up to Kane!
[9] - You bitch, Francoist!
[10] - Your useless republican cause died at birth, and the ass-kissing Mola drove the glorious kingdom to shit!
[11] - Your republic should have been trampled on! And you should even have been assassinated by Stalin!
[12] - What did you say, asshole?!
[13] - You're still fighting on behalf of a withered and irrelevant crown, which ceased to be relevant in the fifties! You haven't had one position, not one favor, and you haven't even earned a headline!
[14] - Spain was ruined by Carlism!
[15] - On the throne there is no one candidate!
[16] - And your mother was a bitch!
[17] - Stalin was supported by Franco!
[18] - Our victory was stolen by the Bolsheviks, you fucking globalists!
[19] - For God's sake, your leader is a failure and you're still dying for him?! We've got enough whores for you!
[20] - Military Police, take them away!
[21] - The children are here. Are we going to give them a room each?
[22] - Hopefully.
[23] - They've had a hard enough time, and they need a place to rest.
[24] - Well... the rooms will be separated by gender, but will be grouped by room. Each has its own shower, with instructions in Russian. After all, we think it's the closest thing to their own language.
[25] - What about the clothes? We don't want them to get sick.
[26] - We have UN sappers' uniforms. Yes, they are ugly and in brown, but that's all we can give them, even if it makes them look like USSR child soldiers. Stalin would be proud, but better not to think about how he used them as an honor guard in the Kremlin, the bastard.
[27] - Fuck. I wish we had something better, but that's the only thing that can give them some heat. See if they don't mind looking a little strange.
[28] - Come in, it's cold out there.
[29] - Come on, you need something to eat.
[30] - I don't want you to starve, okay?
For the Spanish dialogue, I give my thanks to my Spanish translator and friend, Dark TIE, from Galicia. Also on the Discord Server as lungmen fire department mf. I give my thanks to him for putting his time on my line, he's studying translation in Spanish and English.
Author's Notes:
Welcome, one and all! Railroading back to the main story, we're going to be dealing with how the UNGDI impacts the world. I'm going to be honest, I consider myself extremely weak when writing emotionally, so I had to solicit writing advice from friends and AI. I'm studying Journalism and am the active opinions editor in my local school blog, so I'm trying my best to distance myself from extreme emotions, but this bites me in the ass as I find it extremely hard to relate to my emotionally active peers. This is also why I write dull statements, because I'm used to emotional dullness.
Regardless of that, here's a chapter that deals with the United Nations from the perspective of a Terran that managed to get into the camp proper. The United Nations is an absolute mixed bag. They're simultaneously the most liberal yet illiberal faction, preferring to whittle down internal problems through placating welfare or buying out opposition, while also using military force to liberate and stabilize or pacify and destroy areas. They're the ultimate political machine, a well-oiled oligarchy. And with people as apathetic as Terran infected, the UN might find they're like a duck to water in ensuring a massive support base.
Nod has some of these shades, but they're from a different context, that of insurgency. And the Humanitarian faction of IDAP, the Humanitarian Groups, and the GloboTech remnants? Well, they're more for business, but they're also the civilian arm of the UN and Nod.
Also, the shieldbearers - they're lifted from Mental Omega's Riot Troopers. They're basically the United Nations' military police. I'll get to rewriting the older chapters to show more unit diversity, as I have an entire unit list dedicated for this entire fan fiction. You might see units from a certain mod, or a different universe, so be warned of that.
After all, this universe's WW2 had RA3 Harbingers, RA1's World War, and some RA2 technology.
Well, that being said, I hope you all have a great day now.
See you all next chapter, after I'm done rewriting some of the older chapters too.
Discord Invite: 4m8QfQUE4n