|The inactivity of this forum.|
|Thu Apr 02, 2015 11:06 pm by Burkman|
|It's depressing to see how inactive it has been recently. I mean, everybody is pretty much primarily posting in the never ending thread now and there's not enough people here to make this place really booming. We need to find some way to bring more people here before this place just fades into nothingness...|
I know for a fact that a lot of boards out there are thriving because of how many people are there. We just need to get back into the game and pull people here. However, where we obtain these people might matter, because we don't to end up pulling in douches like those at Selkath.
I understand that people are busy these days, but it doesn't seem like they're rarely at their computer anymore. I know most of you are still dicking around with your computer. I don't know how we …
[ Full reading ]
|Happy New Year!|
|Wed Jan 02, 2013 2:56 pm by Scott|
|Happy New Year OT! We may be dying... BUT WE'RE STILL HERE! We had an... interesting year last year. Vice Admin Burkman is taking a long earned vacation and Uly is stepping into his position. Well... I'd have more to say but I've got other things to do atm... and oh yeah... to quote Callin... "GET A MIC YA BUM!"|
Posts : 3160
Join date : 2011-04-22
Location : New Hampshire.
|Subject: Desolation. Sat Jul 23, 2011 3:43 pm|| |
Note: If you see MACR instead of Marc, leave it be.
< France, 2015>
Crackles of fire and wails of helplessness were the only audible things in the city of Paris, save for the muttering of impatient rescue teams sifting through a large pile of rubble and fallen towers, the result of an attack set forth by the nation of China. Dead bodies piled in the streets, casualties of a conflict that could have been avoided. Babies cried for their dead mothers, others wailing for the Lord. The slow, rhythmic footsteps of the invading army had gone by, well after the atomic explosion that had ended the bustling city of lights. Destroyed tanks stood as martyrs for the cause of the French, the metallic bodies now crawling with refugees who sought out for some sort of shelter.
Lieutenant Allen Harper of the United States Marine Corps stood on the edge of a destroyed tower, protecting the boundary that had been put in place with the announcement of martial law. Of course, being far away from where the bomb had detonated, he was safe from nuclear particles. Grasping his M4 Rifle closer to his chest, Allen Harper gazed across the destroyed outskirts, which had been saved from the nuclear missile. Only the Chinese had ransacked the city, killing women and children, no mercy what so ever in their ambitions. Allen’s mind replayed the past events of the recent year, which was well in its latter months.
The United Nations had sanctioned a group of rogue terrorists from the nation of Qatar, who had detonated a horde of ballistic missiles onto the city of Jerusalem. The Marine Corps had been deployed in Qatar, aiding the fall of their tyrannical government that had stood in Qatar for many years. Protests had sprung in Saudi Arabia, due to the “handing out of oil to the Westerners” that Saudi Arabia had been doing with a surplus of oil reserves having been found.
Pakistan, who the United States had turned their backs on for harboring a major terrorist five years before, turned to the Chinese for aid. China, allies with Russia, agreed, but at the cost of removing all United States troopers in the nation. President Garrett Florence, who had been elected by two-thirds of the United States nation three years before, had been impeached with the criticism of neglecting his position of Presidency. Protests erupted all through the United States, who had been stricken with a thirty-percent unemployed rate and taxes that went through the roof. Many froze to death in the winter, after the Saudis agreed to stop handing out oil and raised the price of a barrel of oil to three-hundred dollars per.
Spain, who had given all of their debts to the Reformed Citizens Bank of Portugal, was facing the strain of having a country hold trillions of their dollars. Portugal enforced the debt onto the Spanish, who abruptly taxed their citizens’ income, every single dollar and penny. Civilians rebelled, knocking down the regime. Martial law was declared, and had ruled for about eleven months with no end in sight.
Africa, having been conquered by nations overwhelmed with the ideals of revolutionaries like Marc Iund, who proposed to the nation of Italy to start a campaign against the weak continent who cried out for help. Iund, an admitted nationalist and progressive liberal, pushed for a universal government, believing if Italy would take over Africa, a piece of the puzzle would fall into place. Italy sent hundreds of battalions into Africa, occupying it with a treaty that was signed in the summer of 2013.
China, a country with a growing nuclear arsenal, flexed its military muscles by charging its army to Laos to quell a war with Cambodia that had erupted from seemingly oblivion in the winter of 2011. China bombarded their capitals with ballistic missiles, finally making the governments kneel down to China. Russia, a partner with China, agreed to the temporary abolishment of the country of Mongolia, who stood as a bumper between the two countries. Mongolia agreed for a sum of five trillion dollars, which was eventually cycled back to the Chinese and Russian governments. China used this money to form a warhead that would, in an operation known only to the Premier of both countries, take out the city of Paris in a single blow, something that would ignite exactly what the Chinese wanted to fuel their ambitions of a worldwide conquest – a Third World War.
<Doha, Qatar, 2013>
“RPGs on the rooftops!” A yell coming from behind Sergeant Frank Erickson was only audible before a massive grenade smashed into the United States offensive charge. Night fueled its fire trail, which crashed into an armored vehicle, inadvertently hitting the marines surrounding it. Sergeant Erickson tried to push his way forward, through the huddle that the soldiers had caused. With faulty commanding coming from the Pentagon, which had gone under massive budget cuts, the offensive was in a hurtful shape.
Sergeant Erickson had fought in the five month long campaign on Qatar, which was a hothouse for terrorist activities that had inflicted the world. He had seen everything imaginable in one of the smallest countries in world; large deserts, bustling nightlife, and the death of thousands. Al-Qaeda, a prominent terrorist group that had lost steam since the death of their leader, fought amongst some veterans of Afghanistan, which had been redeployed to yet another sandy Middle Eastern country for yet another fight against terrorists that had promised a flaming death to the United States. Erickson had seen two tours of duty in Afghanistan, as well as the small conflict with the country of Iran, whose president was shot by a traitor amongst his ranks, ending the war prematurely. Their nuclear arsenal was taken away by the UN, making the Middle East a safer place.
Frank Erickson tried to leave free of the huddle that charged toward the capitol building, clutching a fully loaded M16 Rifle, the standard issued rifle that he had kept throughout all of his tours of duty. RPGs rained down from the top of skyscrapers, raining death on the assault. Shouts of death and injury rose from both sides. Jets, allied with the USMC, shot a salvo of missiles down onto a large skyscraper with squadrons full of terrorists in it. It toppled, bringing fire down onto the ground and igniting the city of Doha on fire. Erickson shouted support, even though the pilots could not hear him. He broke free of the huddle of troops, regrouping with a group of five soldiers, all unknown to him. They wore the similar, friendly looking sandy brown armor, like Erickson wore. Each carried the same rifle as Frank, with the M9 sidearm on their hips.
“…Flank the left side; we got machine gunners takin’ out any tangos that try to infil.” A large African-American soldier shouted, over the sound of gunfire and a spreading fire. “You,” The soldier turned to Erickson. “You’re going to cover me. I’m going with Lopez here,” The soldier turned to a soldier of Mexican nationality, guessing his last name. “And we’re gonna take out any of these bastards.”
“Yes sir.” Erickson swiftly nodded his head, a bullet barely missing hitting his shoulder. The six moved out, moving past a concrete barrier put up by the Marines in a desperate attempt to draw civilians away from the fight. Many had disobeyed, making the barriers useless.
Private “Lopez” ran forward with his African-American counterpart, making their way to the front of the pack. Erickson knelt behind a barrier, obeying orders. He looked through the crosshairs of his scope, watching Lopez and who Erickson assumed was Corporal Sanders, a war hero from Afghanistan. Through the flames, Lopez and Sanders were hard to locate, with ash and debris falling with every airstrike. Three terrorists, aiming at Lopez and Sanders from the window of a three-story building, came into Erickson’s line of sight. He aimed, firing off three bullets. Two hit the side of the building, with the last one hitting the terrorist in the chest. He fell, his screams unable to be heard over the roar of battle. Erickson took aim one more time, but before he could take off another shot, the world around him went black.
<Washington DC, United States of America, 2015>
“President Miller, what will you do?” Reporters asked out, throwing words at the President’s press conference following the nuclear missile detonating over Paris, killing millions in mere seconds. President Walt Miller, a man in his early forties, smiled nervously at the audience. Having been former President Florence's vice president, Walt had been in office for only seven months. His hair, black and greasy for days of high stress and little time to do personal grooming shined from all of the lights.
“Please, sit.” Walt Miller smiled at the audience to appease them, seeing the reporters slowly sit down and listen. The speech was being casted on almost every channel available to the world, save for those who did not wish to see anything American.
“You may have heard about the Paris Incident, which will live in history from this day forth.” Sneers came from the audience. Walt shook them off. “The Chinese government has neglected the UN sanctions and embargos, continuing to go forward with their conquest of Asia. Our ally, Japan, as well as South Korea, have been the bright lights in the dimness of the Pacific.” Walt’s voice wavered under the immense stress. “We have sent NATO troops over to Laos and Cambodia, but our efforts failed. Now, in this dark day, the world is on the verge of disaster.”
Gasps came from the audience, half of them mocking Walt. Walt glanced up at the audience, frowning quickly. “We have sent soldiers to France to maintain order. We will work with the French government to end this abomination of an act.” Walt cleared his throat. “I will begin this effort by declaring this: The United States and its allies declare war on the People’s Republic of China.”
Flashes form cameras made Walt shut his eyes quickly, fluttering them. He walked from the stand, handing off the microphone to the Secretary of Defense. It was his turn to deal with the predators.
<First Offensive of the American – Chinese War, South Korea, 2015>
“Gunfire at ten o’clock!” Shouts erupted from behind Private Braxton Ferdinand, who found a red-clad Chinese soldier, shooting him down with a quick bullet from an M4 Carbine Rifle. Braxton, fighting in the city of Sokcho, a town that sat as a harbor controlling commerce coming from over the Pacific into South Korea. It was initiated by China, who had sent their Navy over the Yellow Sea, firing at South Korean patrol boats. It had taken only days since President Walt Miller declared war on China for the nation to attack the most powerful nation on the planet.
With declaring war on China, the economy had collapsed within hours. Oil refineries pumped their price up to thousands per barrel, and Wall Street crashed. The national debt, which had been lowered to seven trillion, had been crumbled by the Chinese cutting their bonds with America. America stopped commerce with China, cutting their economy as well. Gold has skyrocketed up to seventy thousand a bar, and the dollar fell to the lowest ever. The war that China had craved had affected the whole world, something they had waited for years to occur.
Braxton Ferdinand, who crouched low on a red harbor bridge that led to a fleet of fishing boats, returned fire as three Chinese soldiers aimed four well-aimed shots at the Private. Braxton, surrounded by NATO troops, shot back. One of the soldiers, harnessing an AK-47, fell to the ground, a pool of blood forming around his body. In front of the harbor bridge, a large, brick building containing multiple Chinese soldiers that perched on the window sill. Braxton lay prone on the ground, moving forward as some Chinese went around the building to fight closely with NATO troops. A well-aimed shot from Braxton made a Chinese soldier in the brick building fall to the flooring, dead on impact to the chest. Braxton felt triumph, moving forward as he held his Carbine Rifle closer. A shout came from the roof of the brick building, and a green grenade fell before Braxton. Rising immediately, Braxton hurled the grenade back inside of the building. It detonated, scattering remains of Chinese soldiers around the area.
“Tanks, Oscar mike to the left!” An American Private shouted, making Braxton turn to face it. The tank was a Juggernaut, a new model that was given to the world by a group of German inventors. It was stolen by the Chinese, who turned the tank into a warmonger. It was painted red, with guns protruding from its sides, menacing to any onlookers. It fired three torpedoes at the harbor where Braxton stood, demolishing it. Metal crumbled underneath Braxton who felt his body give way to the downward momentum. His rifle flew out of his hands as he hit the water, which chilled him to the core. His military equipment pulled downward, forcing Braxton to abandon them in a fight for his life. Plunging even further as he struggled, Braxton finally released his armor.
Another torpedo smashed into the remains of the harbor, sinking more metal into the Korean Bay. Braxton floated up, flailing for air. Upon rising, the landscape of the battle had changed. The American-held harbor had been destroyed, and the Chinese held the high land. Braxton swore under his breath, as he swam away from the scene of the battle. His mind, clouded by a lack of oxygen, suggested traveled out of the city to cross the Pacific, which was feat for someone who had special training in that department. Braxton raised his head above water as he reached a few yards away from the battle, gasping for air in an oxygen-starved mind. A bullet cascaded from the brick-building behind him, which came crashing into the ocean with impact. Braxton scrambled to regain his composure, as a sniper most likely had a lock on him.
Braxton turned around with the sound of crumbling concrete, watching the brick building fall. The Americans had returned, hopefully turning the dark tide of the battle for the city of Sokcho.
<CNN Podcast, 2015>
“The Americans have recaptured the city of Sokcho in a brutal brigade, commandeered by General Watkins, who is in charge with the heavy task of leading the assault and defense of Asia for the American and NATO military.” A precise voice announced over the internet podcast. “In other news, the Presidential Race, a year earlier than normal, because of the shambled government, has entered its final stages. For the Democrats, Senator Edgar Dempsey from New Mexico is currently under fire for wanting an open border policy with Mexico. Although he is considered most popular with minorities and the lower class, some believe he may lose by only a few votes. On the Republican side, Governor Jacob Kryzgel from Ohio is considered most popular with the middle and upper class. He refuses to continue the universal health care law, and he plans to drill for oil here in the United States. Mister Kryzgel promises to fortify the attack on China, and aid our allies. Now, back to our twenty-four hour coverage on the China – American War.”
<Office of the President, 2013>
“President Florence, Doha had been destroyed by a rogue intercontinental ballistic missile.” An assistant murmured to Garrett Florence, who sat in his office filing and rifling through papers. His hands stopped, making him turn to the assistant.
“Casualties?” Florence asked his eyes blurry from the announcement.
“Around a hundred thousand. Most of them are NATO forces.” The assistant mumbled in the latter end of the sentence, watching Florence stare into the empty space of his office.
“You realize what this means?” Florence asked, spinning the pen in his hands. “Get me Air Force One.”
<Paris, France, 2015>
Allen Harper sat in his barracks, looking around at the poisoned and helpless who came straggling in on medical beds. Some coughed up blood, others covered in radiation and crying like they were possessed by a demon. Sitting in his brown fatigues, Allen must have looked like an enemy soldier to them. Some cursed at their medics, but others were thankful to be alive. A medic, relieved from his duty, walked over to Allen, who sat on top of his bunk bed, walked over.
“Were you there?” The medic asked, his accent suggesting he was German or Belgian. Allen rolled his eyes, drinking out of his water bottle and adjusting the warm towel on his neck.
“Of course, that’s why I’m sitting here.” Allen muttered sarcastically, grunting as his arm gave him an acute pain.
“No need to get snappy, muppet.” The medic sneered, walking away. “You should know that someday I’ll save your hind.”
“What’s your name?” Allen blurted out, as the medic turned.
“Heinrich Olson. Member of the 6th Medical Battalion.” Heinrich stated, turning back to Allen. “Yours?”
“Allen Harper, Lieutenant in the 89th Rangers.” Allen shook his head. “Sometimes being thrown in the battle first takes a toll on you.”
“Glad I’m not an American.” Heinrich sneered, shaking his head.
“Why, Heinrich? What’s so bad being on the richest soil in the world?” Allen interrogated him, dropping down from his bunk to approach the medic.
“Well, your President is a, how you say, dimwit.” Heinrich grinned. “And you’ve engaged the Chinese I heard, they’re the largest military force ever assembled. It’s a suicide mission, you’ll all die. We’ll all die.”
“I’ll see you in hell then.” Allen snickered, walking away from the medic with a heavy limp.
<Ruins of Doha, Qatar, 2013>
Sergeant Frank Erickson struggled to remember his surroundings, with radiation poisoning clouding his thoughts. His gloved hands searched around in the rubble for a pistol, or something to defend himself with. He heard the groans of other trapped soldiers, their brains unable to remember the past events. His armor was torn from falling bricks and ruins. Erickson sapped his last amount of power to try to pull himself out of his metal trap, but his attempt failed. Erickson let out a low groan, shutting his eyes for the final time.
<Air Force One, 2013 >
“Mister Choi, how are you this evening?” President Florence asked form the comfort of his private helicopter that was now over the continent of Africa, heading towards Beijing. The Chinese premier, Hideki Choi, nodded quickly. He was a short man with a seedy look, something that added mystique to his country.
“Very well, Mister Florence.” Choi spoke quick English with a slight accent. His hand appeared on the camera, looking towards Florence. “Why did you contact me?”
“I think you know, Mister Choi. I am on my way to Beijing, to speak with you in person.”
“Honestly, Mister Florence, I have no idea of what you speak of.” Choi looked quizzically, hiding his real look.
“You destroyed Doha. You killed many legions of my Marines.” Florence grinned, the screen reflecting onto his face. “Choi, I have my whole nuclear arsenal pointed right at your capital.”
“That accusation is preposterous.” Choi scoffed his eyes bewildered. “I would never attack Qatar with the intention of destroying it.”
“But with the intention of killing my Marines. You know what you really want, Mister Choi. You’re with Marc Iund, and his radical one world government extremists. I’m over Africa now; do you want me to destroy it? Make Iund bleed along with you as I destroy your country?”
“You do that, and Italy will attack you.”
Florence leaned back in his chair, looking into the deep black pupils of Hideki Choi.
“Have you ever heard of MAD?”
“You would never!” Choi swore in his Chinese language, looking exasperated.
“I could destroy this world with a click of the button. That’s something I’d never have to live with, because I’ll be in the same position as you. In the arms of the Lord.”
Choi sneered, looking to end the conversation.
“I will never admit to something I didn’t do.”
<CNN Podcast, New Year’s Eve, 2015>
“Welcome to the beginning of 2016, now here’s your news.” The gruff voice of Gerald Hernandez, who headed the Podcast every night announced. “The Chinese have pushed the NATO forces down to the edge of South Korea, driving them back with artillery strike after artillery strike. Seoul has fallen to the North Koreans and the Chinese, making China disregard South Korea as a whole. They have reportedly set their sights to the country of Ukraine, looking to join forces with the Russian Spetsnaz to attack Eastern Europe.
“President Miller has agreed to send soldiers to Ukraine and Belarus to defend the Slavic nations from the Russians and Chinese. His ideals will probably be reinforced by President-Elect Jacob Kryzgel, who defeated Edgar Dempsey in a close election this November. Walt Miller is on his way out in twenty days. Now, tell us, faithful viewers, do you think Kryzgel will make our country great again or damage out reputation and stain it, ruining our position of the world’s second largest power?”
<Iund Resort, Italy, December 31st, 2015>
“Warhawk, you got a scout on your six?” A voice that blended into the blackness of the ventilation shafts echoed softly to the ears of Warhawk.
“Negative. Move forward.” Warhawk swung his silenced rifle forward, his vision green from the goggles that hung from his masked face. A team of six from Delta Force crouched forward, listening to a fan spin in the mansion of Marc Iund, the man that fueled China’s ambitions to provoke the United States. Issued by President Walt Miller, Delta Force Team 34 moved forward in the Iund Resort.
The anticipation of a new year made squeals come from the people inside the resort, as they watched the clock countdown to midnight. Warhawk, looking through a tiny hole in the ventilation shaft, glanced at the clock. One hour left until 2016. An hour until the mission failed for Delta Force.
Six men trailed Warhawk, crouching through with minimal noise. Their mission was simple enough; kill Marc Iund before midnight. It had been given to Delta Force Team 34 by President Miller himself, just last night. They had promised to keep silent, with the penalty of execution if a word trickled out. So far, it had not been leaked. Only eight people on the planet knew the operation.
“Look out, Ripper. Potential tango on your eight. Let him pass, but if he shoots, kill him.” Warhawk warned, working his way to the right to get a good look at the room where Marc Iund held his indoor New Year’s Party.
“Negative, it’s a guest.” Ripper moved on.
“Then we’re Oscar Mike.” Warhawk ordered, moving to his left as the ventilation shaft twisted. He kept vigilant for Marc Iund, the trillionaire who fueled terrorist organizations and the Chinese government. He had gotten his money through the stocks, real estate, and political movements. Over his forty years of life, Marc Iund could have paid the now twenty trillion dollar debt of the United States.
“Warhawk, I found him.” Codename Kling pointed Warhawk to the man thought to be Iund with his sniper rifle. “Your kill.”
Warhawk looked at the man through his scope. He wore a silver wristwatch, with a sports coat and a red shirt underneath. Warhawk recognized him as Marc Iund due to the large scar on his left cheek.
“Kill him, Warhawk.” Kling urged him, watching as Warhawk settled down on his stomach to aim.
Warhawk looked through his scope, anticipation filling his mind. If he killed Iund, it would be something that would be in every school’s history books for years to come. China would be weak, and the terrorist organizations would fall. Warhawk knew this was wishful thinking. If the shot missed, Italy would surely be angered. Warhawk thought to himself they probably would be if Iund was killed. China would attack the United States with their entire arsenal, and Warhawk would be executed.
His finger sweated as Warhawk watched Iund talk with a female patron, probably trying to whisk her away to the bedroom. Warhawk knew he would have to shoot soon, before Iund moved. He teased the trigger, gripping it tighter. There was silence in the ventilation shaft, but not for long. Warhawk shut his eyes quickly, and then fired.
The bullet hit Marc Iund’s head, making him collapse onto the ground. Blood sprayed out, getting onto the hardwood flooring underneath. Iund was head on contact. Warhawk had shot his brain, and there was no hope of survival for the idealist. Warhawk urged the team to fall back before any security was alerted, moving them towards the stealth helicopter that got them there. Delta Force had struck again, this time marking history forever, for better or for worse.
<CNN Podcast, twenty minutes before New Year’s 2016>
“Um, excuse me viewers, this is breaking news.” Gerald Hernandez stammered, looking at his supervisor. He passed a sheet to Gerald, who began the breaking and historic news. “This just in, Marc Iund was killed forty minutes before now, Italian news reports. He was killed at the Iund Resort, a paradise built by him. His forty trillion dollar Iund Empire has fallen and nobody has claimed responsibility for the death. The female he was speaking to as he was killed has come forward with a back story. He was shot by a bullet in the head, which will be sent to Italian labs to determine what gun was used to kill him. His body has been taken by Italian Police. This moment will be remembered for years to come.”
<New York City, five minutes before New Year’s 2016>
Shouts came from the New York City audience, as they anticipated the New Year. Their hopes and dreams were going to be fulfilled, as many thought before the beginning of a new year. Security was wandering around, and skilled snipers were perched on the rooftops. The ball was beginning to move upwards, being propped up to the top of a large skyscraper. It would be released in two minutes, marking the New Year for a depressed nation. The last minute of 2015 was nigh, and the beginning of a year was coming. Shouts came as the clock ticked down, and the parties stopped to gaze at New York City.
A large boom came from the center of Times Square, sending smoke, shrapnel and bodies into the air. Crowds scattered as the ball dropped down confetti, and the sky rained down bodies. Television stations cut to commercial, and news stations focused on Times Square. Chaos was unleashed in Times Square.
<CNN Podcast, ten minutes into January 1st, 2016>
“Times Square has been attacked by a terror organization.” Gerald Hernandez spoke clearly into his microphone on the fast news day. “I repeat, Times Square, New York City was attacked seconds before New Year’s. Thirty have died, and likely one hundred were injured. Buildings were barely damaged in the area. The likely culprits behind the attack are al-Qaeda or perhaps, as some suggest the Chinese government. More details will pour inside our studio in the coming hours, as more is released by the NYPD and the White House.
<Presidential Offices, January 1st, 2016>
“Mister Walt Miller?” A loud voice asked from a hallway near the office of Walt Miller. Miller, who sat inside with a startled look on his face, answered the call.
“Come in.” An assistant opened the door open, seeing the ghastly look of a worn-down Walt Miller.
“President Miller? May I report to you on the Chinese-American War?” The assistant asked, his face hidden behind large, ‘80s style glasses.
“Whatever pleases you.” Walt snapped back, offering a seat to the assistant with his hand. “Please, sit.”
“Thank you sir.” The assistant sat down, throwing a large manila folder onto the desk of the President. “As you may know, South Korea has fallen to the North. Seoul was burnt yesterday, and the North bombarded any dissident cities with artillery and their military. China has given South Korea to the North.”
“I’ve been told this long before you even published that report.” Walt snarled, his eyes ragged from the stress of the last couple days. “Continue.”
“We’re now joining with Japan in Operation Pacific Surf to reclaim the South, and drive the North back to the borders of China.” The assistant glanced upward from his report. “Smart, if I say so.”
“Flattery is not needed.” Walt muttered, pretending to busy himself. “Just continue.”
“Marc Iund was killed yesterday. Italy has given the statement that Iund, who some think is the secret Prime Minister of Italy, instead of Prime Minister Berlusconi. Italy said if they find evidence of an American assassination of Iund, they will force all embassies out of Italy-Africa and Italy. They will fund the Chinese government with any surplus of money they have.”
“Iund was a danger. Continue.”
“Germany has promised troops to be sent with Japan for Operation Pacific Surf. Britain has promised, along with Austria and Canada. It seems Korea will be saved by us.”
“I’m not sure if we recapture Korea, you could say Korea was saved.”
“President Florence, please come in.” Hideki Choi opened up his arms in greeting, shaking the President’s hands. “Nice to see you once again.”
Sitting in the Chinese Palace, built by Choi last year, Florence felt weapons trained on him and his Marine guards. Choi sat down, tapping on a seat for Florence to sit on.
“Premier Choi, tell me the truth.” Florence blurted out, leaning in to look into the middle aged man’s face. “You launched that ICBM onto Doha. You killed my Marines, terrorists, women, children and civilians. Your behavior is making my army get restless to come and burn down China.”
“No need for the violence, President Florence.” Choi smiled. “I will not admit to launching that ICBM. I did no such thing.”
“Tell me the truth, Choi.” Florence shouted, now standing. “I will check your nuclear arsenal myself if I have to.”
“No such thing is needed, sir.” Choi smiled even bigger, looking up at Florence. “The ICBM was launched by North Korea. It detonated in Doha. Kim Jong-un and I planned it ourselves.”
Florence motioned to his marines to begin to leave.
“That is all I need, Premier Choi. Thank you for your time.”
The UN would get an earful about this from President Garrett Florence.
<Above the Korean Strait, January 2nd, 2016>
“Lieutenant Harper, Private Ferdinand, Private Grady, and Private Jackson, you’re deploying first.” Admiral Paul Nelson ordered, from inside the military helicopter that headed towards the remaining strip of land that South Korea held. The 75th Ranger Regiment, with its two newest members, Lieutenant Allen Harper and Private Braxton Ferdinand, headed the joint attack Operation Pacific Surf with the Japanese, British, German, Austrian, and Canadian armed forces. The Korean soil, if everything worked out, would be reclaimed in a few short weeks.
“Hooah, Admiral.” Harper muttered, his deep voice reverberating in the tightly packed military helicopter. Braxton Ferdinand, who fought in the Battle of Sokcho, leaned back in his seat next to Harper.
“I don’t miss Korea.” He muttered, touching the barrel of his rifle. Harper gazed out at the nearing Korean Peninsula.
“We won’t be in it for long.” Harper murmured, rising from his seat as the Admiral relayed orders over the intercom. “Come on, Rangers. We’ve got a country to conquer.”
<Russia – Belarus border, January 2nd, 2016>
“Captain Olsharski, are you and your men ready?” A brute Belarusian voice called out from the comfort of a trench, asking for Vladic Olsharski, captain in the Belarus Army Force.
“Let the Russians come to us, we’ll raze them down.” Olsharski shouted out, crouching down in his trench with the men of the 62nd Lubbex Company. He held in his hands a Mosberg 500, supplied by the United States Marine Corps to the Belarusian army.
“Artillery on the left!” A soldier shouted with a thick Belarusian accent. Olsharski motioned for his fire team to stay still in the trench, to avoid being detected. The sound of gunfire became audible, piercing the air. Olsharski waited for movement, while mortars exploded around him.
“Here they come!” A United States marine shouted, making Olsharski tense up. He gazed through his scope, looking for somebody to move. The rocky terrain ahead of them stirred as pebbles moved, and a Russian Spetsnaz soldier appeared, armed with a rifle. Olsharski shot, the bullet making the rifle fly backwards in his hands. The soldier fell, hit by the bullet in the thigh. Olsharski knew he’d die of blood loss. Others came over the rocky terrain, rushing forward to beat the Belarusian lines back and get into the heart of Europe. Olsharski shouted over the roar of approaching tanks, both from the Belarusian frontlines and the Russian invaders. Missiles seared the air, leaving trails of smoke behind them. Olsharski rose from the trench, hopping out. He fired three quick bullets from the sawed off muzzle of his Mosberg 500, none of them hitting the targets. American fighter jets above sprayed down bombs from above, hitting key Russian and Chinese targets. Tanks exploded in carcasses, and the Belarusian defense began.
<Deep in the Siberian Mountain Range, Russia, January 3rd 2016>
“Warhawk, got a lock on that Spetsnaz?” A British voice chimed into the internal headset donned by Warhawk and the others who had begun a secret ops mission in Russia.
“Positive. Trying to get a head shot.” Warhawk leveled the Barrett .50 cal rifle in his hands, gazing through the long-distance thermal scope. Through the snow on the Siberian Mountains, it was hard to make out a soldier without a thermal scope. It’s hard enough to get warm in this weather… Warhawk thought to himself from his bundled up self. Layers of jackets and fur coats covered his body, with a white ski mask to finish the job off. Five other Delta Force and M16 operatives were carrying out the mission delivered by Walt Miller.
“Hurry up, its bloody cold out here.” Euclid, a M16 operative, shuddered from beside Warhawk. A bullet shot from the silenced Barrett, hitting the Spetsnaz soldier with an instantaneous kill. Blood sprayed on the snow, visible from a mile away.
“Nice kill, Warhawk.” Kling, the same man who operated alongside Warhawk in killing MACR Iund muttered through the headset. Ripper, also someone who raided the Iund Resort with Warhawk, was present. The final operative on the mission was titled Yankee, a M16 British operative.
“Alright, move up.” Warhawk ordered, sliding forward along with the others. A narrow strip of ice was between the five and the next checkpoint, a small wooden house.
“Trek carefully.” Euclid warned, taking the lead from Warhawk. “We’ve got to live through this mission.”
In truth, Warhawk thought to himself, their lives were not important to either of the governments. Only the mission was important. Walt Miller had told the five about his plans to hijack a Russian nuclear facility, and detonate it. The cover-up would be a nuclear explosion occurred, due to previous irregular regulations. What Walt Miller was asking for, Warhawk guessed, was an angered Russia. This would create an aggressive and stricter Kremlin government. Troops would pull from the Belarus invasion to protect the homeland, making China break off the temporary treaty they signed with the former Soviet Union. Of course, it could also make the Russians bombard the world with their nuclear arsenal, but that was a risk the withering President could take.
“Warhawk, pick off that guard.” Yankee ordered. The nuclear facility was near, with immense security protecting it.
“That’ll make the others guard leery, too much of a risk.” Warhawk warned.
“We’ll tag them off.” Ripper suggested leveling his rifle. “Take the damn shot.”
Bullets erupted, silenced, from the muzzle of Warhawk’s sniper rifle. Russian guards collapsed in two quick seconds, making the others around him tense up and look at their snowy surroundings. Warhawk peered over from behind his hood to look at Euclid.
“Your shot, friend.” Warhawk muttered, looking at the guards through his thermal scope, just to watch. Euclid sighed, drawing his scope up to his eyes. He aimed a shot towards a heavily armed guard, who collapsed after holding his bullet wound in his chest for three seconds. Four more remained. Yankee, Kling, and Ripper both fired simultaneously, leaving one guard left. Warhawk picked him off at a distance, leaving the nuclear facility wide open.
“Warhawk, you lead the way.” Ripper opened his arms towards the nuclear facility. “Here’s the start of the next World War.”
“Wishful thinking, Rip.” Warhawk sneered as he moved forward through the rocky terrain. The other four followed, heading towards the gargantuan complex that would ignite Siberia in flames.
“Charges on the doors, Yank.” Warhawk ordered, seeing the operative throw two steel panels on the metal door. Yankee crawled back to behind the other four. Warhawk grimaced as the panels exploded, opening the door with a loud explosion.
Warhawk swung his sniper rifle across the room, seeing no thermal sights in his scope.
“Room clear. Proceed.”
According to the plan, Euclid would drop down ten buckets of gasoline onto the core reactor. Kling would throw down a lit cigar, or anything that would produce a fire, and the reactor would blow. Each operative had been equipped with two covered buckets of gasoline, which had been hooked onto their wetsuits. Warhawk gave his over to Euclid, who sloshed the gasoline down into the reactor. Euclid dropped a spot onto his yellow radioactive-repellent suit, but it was quickly removed and placed into the reactor.
“Kling, throw me a cigar.” Euclid caught the Cuban cigar from Kling, lighting it. The cigar dropped, hitting the gasoline mixture. Euclid sprinted towards his group, removing himself from the danger of the fire. It crackled once, the only time that the operatives would hear the fire. They escaped back into the mountains of Siberia, waiting for their extraction shuttle.
<Korean Peninsula, January 3rd, 2016>
The city of Daegu sat, flaming in the night sky. A battle, the longest infantry battle of Operation Pacific Surf, was being fought in its streets and in the skies. Daegu was locked in fierce battle with North Korean and Chinese forces, along with the opposing NATO soldiers. Missiles from aircraft flew down into skyscrapers, collapsing them onto the cracked pavement of Daegu. In the evening, Daegu looked like a city that had been hit by Armageddon. Korean and Chinese tanks pounded the roads, while NATO airstrikes destroyed targets from the skies.
Allen Harper, rushing down the streets of Daegu, staggered into an abandoned alley along with his squad. Shells pulsed through the air, destroying NATO tanks and damaging the high-rise buildings. Privates Grady and Jackson waited for Allen in the alleyway, scanning the area for any possible enemies. Private Braxton Ferdinand hid behind a fire escape, waiting for Lieutenant Harper to give him orders. He tightly wrapped his fingers around the trigger of his M4A1, looking for any Korean defenders. Harper slid down as he approached his squad, propping his rifle against the wall of a building that made the alleyway.
“Grady, Jackson, group up with Sergeant Lopez and the Abrams. Ferdinand, you’re staying with me.” Harper peeked out from the alleyway, looking up at the sky as a British Special Air Service helicopter zoomed by, firing down onto the Korean defenses. Shouts of agony came from the Korean frontlines as a Harrier jet launched down a barrage of missiles down, breaking up the tight line of defense the Koreans had made on the outskirts of Daegu. The NATO forces had almost taken the city, and would march forward to Seoul afterward.
A gargantuan white flare was launched up from the Korean side, and the tanks stopped firing. Harper watched from his cover in the alleyway, looking in the eyes of the Korean soldier’s only yards away. If the battle had raged only a few minutes later, Allen Harper would be dead. The four Koreans in front of him laid their guns down on the cracked, damaged-beyond-repair pavement, in front of Harper as he trained his gun on them. They backed up, glaring at Allen Harper with their bleary eyes. Their red and yellow armor was dirty from only days of constant fighting with the American and NATO forces. The Koreans had given up South Korea, but Allen had a feeling it wasn’t the last they’d attack in Operation Pacific Surf.
<Office of the President, January 3rd, 2016>
“President Miller, this is Prime Minister Ramsey of Great Britain.” The heavily accented voice rang through the ear of Walt Miller as he pressed his encrypted phone closer to his ear.
“Ah, Prime Minister Ramsey, what a pleasure to hear from you.” Walt, inside, knew those words were a lie. The leader of Great Britain always made Walt feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure why; maybe it was his large strides, his imposing, broad shoulders, and the way he made the President feel incompetent.
“Mister Miller, you know the reason I’m calling, correct?” Ramsey asked.
“Operation Pacific Surf. The Koreans have called a cease fire at Daegu; they’ve given up South Korea to the NATO forces. Admiral Moustakas told me a while before.” Miller explained.
“President Miller, may I suggest something?”
“Go right ahead, Mister Ramsey.” Walt asked a hint of question in his voice.
“My MI6 Intel agents have told me that Seoul, if we step foot on it, will be burned to the ground. The Chinese will take it as a declaration of war, and they will step on American soil. They will burn down Europe. Whatever you do, President Walt Miller, do not tell your troops to step onto Seoul soil.”
After a long pause, Walt Miller spoke.
“I will do what is best for my nation.”
<Secretary of Homeland Security’s Office, January 4th, 2016>
“Please, Mister ‘Warhawk’, sit.” Secretary of Homeland Security Hank Lipton muttered as his old body creaked, sitting down in his cramped office. Warhawk, a notorious operative in Delta Force, sat before him. The man had gone under intense physical training, making his body strong and lean. When Hank compared himself to Warhawk, he found himself being unsure of his image.
“What have you called me in for, sir?” Warhawk asked, his cleanly shaven face being scrutinized under the intense light. Dawn had barely broke, but Hank Lipton had wanted their meeting to be as secret as possible.
“I have a mission for you; a mission that is only for your ears. Do not tell a single soul about this, or I will send agents out to kill you.” Hank took in a sharp breath. “I think you are aware of Operation Pacific Surf, correct?”
“Yessir. I’ve been offered by the President to take part in it, but unfortunately Siberia called, and I had to anger the Russians instead.” Warhawk grinned. “They’ve taken kindly to that explosion, if I do say so myself.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of what the Chinese will reportedly do to the Americans if we step foot into Seoul?”
“Come up on our California beaches, and stomp on every island that is American-owned.” Warhawk stared right into the dim green of Lipton’s eyes.
“And Walt Miller is planning to fly over Seoul tonight. I have a special operation for you. It will take place today.”
“What is it, Mister Lipton?” Warhawk asked, putting his hands quizzically on his face as he slouched in the chair.
“I need you to assassinate President Miller.”
Those words rung in the air for a few brief moments, making Warhawk look at the flooring in Lipton’s office. He contemplated the decision, to be the killer of the United States president. It would speed up the inauguration of Jacob Kryzgel, who at the age of 39, was considered the savior of the United States. His vice president, Senator Hilton Donavan of Florida, who was at the age of 46, made the duo the youngest to ever step foot in the White House.
“I’ll accept. Only because it will make Kryzgel come into office faster. But I’ll need a sniper rifle that will be undetectable under radar with a better silencer.” Warhawk leaned forward, shifting his position.
“I have one under construction that was shipped to MI6 operatives to test in the mountains of Kandahar. It has worked, and I managed to make more models. There are only two here in the States.”
“Great. What time will this take place?”
“At 1:18 in the afternoon, just as the President will walk to go to his limo, where he will be transported to the commencement of the final stages of Pacific Surf. The limo will take him to Baltimore, Maryland. I need you to sit in the Eisenhower Executive Building, on the rooftops. You will need precise aim to kill Miller. If you kill him, I will ask you to leave the country and never come back, for securities sake. If you miss, I will have you executed.”
“I agree.” Warhawk uttered, looking from the small window behind Lipton, savoring his last few glances of the District of Colombia before he would be shipped off to probably an unknown country.
“Then I expect to see the President dead at 1:18.”
<CNN Podcast, January 4th, 2016>
“Welcome all, it’s January 4th, 2016, at 1:10 PM in the afternoon, here’s your headlines.” The female voice of Daphne Carry articulated the words to perfection for the very large audience that tune din to hear the podcast, waiting for their news. “President Walt Miller has reportedly told his soldiers to conquer the city of Seoul, which, if the British M16 reports are true, will make China land here on American soil. They will view the conquest as a declaration of war, and begin their assault on the Pacific Islands and the Lower 48. Everyone on the west Coast is being asked to stay alert for anything unusual.
“In other news, the Russian and Chinese forces have pushed farther into Belarus and Ukraine, pushing to the city of Kiev, and laying siege to it. Other eastern European countries are starting up their armies in case of a Russian breach. NATO forces continue to aid Belarus and Ukraine, but Russia is looking to conquer and break through the Eastern European countries to reach the city that is has promised to burn down for three years- London.
“Now, tune in here for your speech by President Walt Miller about the final attack of Operation Pacific Surf. Five more minutes until he makes his remarks.”
<Eisenhower Building, 1:17 PM, January 4th, 2016>
Snow drifted slowly out of the sky towards the roof of the Eisenhower Building, landing on the crisp new Arctic ghillie suit that hid Warhawk from the vision of the naked eye. In his hands he held the weapon that would kill Walt Miller, and would change history forever. Seeing through the zoomed din optical scope perched on the tactical rail of his sniper rifle, Warhawk could see the presidential limo, and see every crack or scratch on it. Walt Miller would be arriving any second out of the White House, and Warhawk would kill him on the spot. A single bullet would make the United States prevalent again, and would bring down the man who would make the Chinese land on American shores.
Black suited secret service agents walked out first, but they would soon be followed by the President. Warhawk tightened his grip, remembering the killing of Marc Iund. China and Italy were angered, suspecting US involvement. They had formed an alliance, along with Italy-Africa, the conquered continent of Africa run by the Italians. The explosion at Siberia, portrayed as either a nuclear natural occurrence, or an attack by Chechen Rebels, angered the Russians and fortified their attack on Eastern Europe. Somehow, Warhawk thought that Walt Miller had made this war by himself, with his senseless stealth missions and attacks. Maybe killing him was good for the country.
President Walt Miller jaunted out of his home, the White House, with a gigantic grin on his face. Warhawk released his tension allowing the sniper rifle to guide him to his target. He could see the small dimples on Miller’s face, which would soon be gone. Warhawk’s watch hit 13:18, and his mission began. His finger danced on the trigger, waiting for the moment to kill the President of the United States. The single bullet loaded into the sniper rifle would kill the man in a few seconds…
Warhawk pulled the trigger.
Walt Miller collapsed on the snow-laden ground, and blood splattered on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
The number one most reliable news source anywhere.
Posts : 3160
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|Subject: Re: Desolation. Mon Jul 25, 2011 5:00 pm|| |
Note: MACR = Marc, keep in mind.
<CNN Podcast, 1:34, January 4th, 2016>
“Loyal listeners, we have breaking news. It’s, um, quite startling…” Gerald Hernandez mumbled under his breath from the podcast office, his teeth chattering. “President Walt Miller has been assassinated. Apparently at 1:18 PM, he was shot by a foreign special ops team. A single sniper bullet has penetrated his skull, and he has no pulse. This has happened before he could commence the final part of Operation Pacific Surf.” Gerald Hernandez turned to a staff member, uttering the words is this true? He was met by a single nod. “Some speculate the Chinese or Italian black ops teams have killed Walt Miller in retaliation for the death of Marc Iund, who fueled both of the empires with money and ideals. Now, listeners, do you believe this will lead to a cataclysmic war? Paris has already fallen; may this be a prelude to the next, and possibly final, World War?”
<Outskirts of Seoul, 1:40, January 4th, 2016>
“Rangers, hold strong.” Allen Harper ordered, pressing his earpiece closer. Commands from Admiral Paul Nelson streamed in from the command post in Daegu. The orders were being replayed to all forces in South Korea, telling them to stay where they were. Braxton Ferdinand crept up from behind Allen, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“There’s Seoul. You can look but you can’t touch, Harper.” Braxton let out a muffled laugh. “Just like these Korean women.”
“Shut it, Ferdi. Go talk with Jackson and Grady. Nelson’s on the wire.” Harper stared at the city of Seoul, from the outskirts. Chinese flags were draped over every building, and infantry strolled around the streets. Tanks made huge shadows in the streets, moving at a tremendously slow pace.
“…I repeat, all NATO and Japanese forces do not advance. Stay in your position, and wait for further orders.” Admiral Nelson hurriedly repeated these words, making sure they meshed into the brain of every soldier.
To Lieutenant Allen Harper, it seemed like Walt Miller had stalled his advance onto Seoul.
<Household of Jacob Kryzgel, Columbus, Ohio, 2:00 PM, January 4th, 2016>
“President-Elect Kryzgel, please, come to Washington DC as soon as possible.” A voice rang throughout the empty house of Jacob Kryzgel on a Monday afternoon, on his answering machine. Jacob Kryzgel had already set his sights towards Washington DC.
<Emergency Presidential Inauguration, 5:49 PM, January 4th, 2016>
"I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States." Jacob Kryzgel uttered this phrase, making him the President of the United States of America. He was a man of large stature, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. He kept his hair short, hiding the singular grays in his hair. His suit and coat made him look powerful in the whipping snow of Washington DC. The population of the United States gazed at their television screens, knowing he was the salvation of their nation.
<Beijing, China, January 5th, 2016>
“Master Choi, President Kryzgel is here to see you.” A young Chinese assistant told the old man, Hideki Choi, form the comforts of his Imperial Palace. The guards at the door broke, and a man Hideki had never seen before strode in, with confidence on his face.
“Mister Choi, what a gift to see you.” The young man smiled, and took a seat across from Hideki. He wore a deep black suit, contrary to the purple robe that Hideki Choi, Premier of the great nation of China wore.
“Enough, Mister Kryzgel. No need for such pleasantries.” Choi lifted his tea cup, bringing to his face to take a gulp. “Now, what have you come to speak of?”
“Mister Choi, I’m sure you are aware of your comments on the operation in the Korean Peninsula.” Kryzgel looked right at Choi’s eyes, something Miller and Romney never did to him. This man had confidence.
“Seoul is under our control. Stepping on our soil is a declaration of war.” Choi explained, setting his tea cup down on a side table beside his throne. “The nation of China will not accept that.”
“I’m sure you realize that you stole that land from the South Koreans.” Kryzgel grinned at his remarks, realizing that Hideki was in a place of little power or leverage. “We were leading an attack to reclaim the land for the Koreans.”
Choi thought for a few moments, sipping his tea and watching Kryzgel.
“My nation owns the Korean Peninsula. We bought out North Korea in 2013, when Doha fell. I was met with strict sanctions by the United Nations after the former President Garrett Florence tattled on us for ‘attacking a United States peace operation’.”
“How does this pertain to the Korean conflict?” Kryzgel asked, his eyes glimmering.
“Let me explain, young lad. President Florence was impeached after I hid my nuclear arsenal from a UN inspection. Then Walt Miller became President, and was a laughing stock in Russia and China. His actions will lead to a new World War, Mister Kryzgel. Only we can stop it. I ask you to throw down your guns in the Korean Peninsula, and allow me to make a glorious empire once more.”
After a long pause, Jacob Kryzgel made his remarks. “I refuse to adhere to your requests, Mister Choi. Defending the South Koreans as our ally is my top priority. Your actions in Paris, Laos, and Cambodia have led me to believe you only wish for power. A world under your control is nothing I would like to live in.”
“You have insulted me, President Kryzgel.” Hideki Choi studied the young man’s body language, looking at every striking feature. “But I am willing to compromise with you. I will pay off your debt is you allow me to receive every United States territory, as well as South Korea.”
“I refuse. I will never sell off our territories for money.” Staring at Choi as he spoke, Kryzgel lowered his eyes when he finished. “Mister Choi, may we discuss something together?”
“Yes.” The Premier of China nodded his head, taking the last sip of his tea.
“As you know, Italy, Italy-Africa, Pakistan, Russia, al-Qaeda, and surrounding Asian nations are your allies. My allies, Britain, France, Germany, Brazil, Canada, Japan, South Korea, Spain, and many others believe that China and her allies are waging an attack on us. I believe we can accept that tensions rose during the Qatar invasion, correct?” Kryzgel smashed his eyebrows together, looking for Choi for acknowledgment.
“Correct, Mister Kryzgel.” Choi nodded quickly, his balding head sweating in the heat of his palace.
“America invaded Qatar because Jerusalem was attacked during Passover by Qatar terrorists. We defended our ally Israel because it was morally correct. During our final push onto Doha, the hub of the terrorists, a North Korean ballistic missile detonated in Doha, killing thousands of our Marines, al-Qaeda members, and civilians. You said that you persuaded Kim Jong-un to launch it, undetected by satellites and military surveillance. Qatar is now considered a nuclear wasteland.” Hideki Choi began to sweat harder. Jacob Kryzgel was a hard man to argue with. “Now, Mister Choi, your actions made President Romney become the second President to be impeached successfully. Then, the late Walt Miller took his place. Our tensions flared with a stand-off between our militaries in Karachi. My forces were there to stop a rebellion in Pakistan, but you were there for your own gain. We were able to walk away without a single shot being fired. Pakistan is now under your control.
“In 2014, the UN investigated claims of a large nuclear storage warehouse in Iran. NATO raided it, and Iran is now nuclear-free. Russia and China gave them the weapons, it is presumed. Then, in retaliation for leaking the numbers on China’s nuclear arsenal, you, Mister Hideki Choi, destroyed Paris with a nuclear bomb. My nation has been unwilling to use nuclear devices to plunge the world into nuclear war. Is this untrue?”
“Not at all, Mister Kryzgel.” Hideki murmured. He started to rise. “It seems you are unwilling to negotiate any treaty between our countries. You rely on past information.”
“What happens in the past usually repeats itself, Hideki Choi. I will not sign any treaty with an evil nation.” Kryzgel knew what he was getting into, but he did not reveal it to Choi.
“Mister Kryzgel, consider our nations at war. Now, be gone.”
<Siege of Kiev, Ukraine, January 14th, 2016>
Shells continued to pummel the courtyards and buildings of Kiev, pushing the Belarus and Ukrainian defense even closer to the brink of defeat. The Russian forces, over the past nine days, ever since China declared war on America, had conquered Belarus. In the midst of war, Captain Vladic Olsharski had spilled his resistance forces over to defend Ukraine, the last country standing between Russia and her allies and Western Europe. The Dnieper River, where Kiev laid upon, was littered with dead bodies and shotgun shells. Captain Olsharski, hidden in a deep, hidden barrack beneath Kiev, sat in the dirt tunnel with his loaded Mosin-Nagant, among his forces.
Moral was extremely low in these times, especially when the resistance force was overwhelmed with tanks and soldiers, out armed and outgunned. Olsharski had tried to rally his troops, but there was nothing that could boost such a dangerously low morale. The Russians had bombarded Kiev for eleven days, with jets, tanks, and battalions of infantry. The Resistance fighters knew that if they lost Kiev, Western Europe would go down in flames to the Russians and her allies attack. They were the last line of defense for Europe.
“Private Manulski, round up our machine gunners.” Olsharski rose up, his tattered jacket filled with dried blood. Bandages covered his right arm, and his Mosin-Nagant was filled with grime from a lack of cleaning. Vladic Olsharski’s teeth were yellow from days without caring for them. His men rose up as well; most of them worse off than Olsharski. Private Manulski nodded quickly, running off in the tunnel. Above their dirt tunnel, the Maidan Nezalexhnosti, a prominent square in Kiev, laid in ruins. Tanks pummeled any building that still stood, and snipers shot any Resistance fighter who showed his head. Olsharski had sat in the tunnel for a full day with his men, living off of rations and minimal water. He had sketched a plan in his mind, and today he would execute it.
Private Manulski came back with four machine gunners, all with a low amount of ammo left. Olsharski pointed to the exit of the tunnel, which was blocked off and hidden. Olsharski took point and lead a group of thirty Resistance fighters forward. He turned before the exit, crouching so he could pop his head up.
“Tonight, we will avenge those who have fallen. Tonight, my soldiers, we will reclaim Ukraine! Come, soldiers of war!” Olsharski shouted, and his voice was met by loud cheers and guns flung in the air. Olsharski pushed the barrier out, rising from the tunnel. The skies above were cloudy and gray, and shells continued to pound on the city. The ground shook as the soldiers poured out of the tunnel, the remaining men of the Resistance charging after the largest joint military force ever created. Sniper bullets razed near their position, but Olsharski kept charging through the square. From a large office building, a bullet shot out and hit a sub-machine gunner. He was immediately laid out on the ground, the bullet hitting his unarmored chest. Olsharski refused to look back at him, instead moving forward through the Russian sniper nests. He was determined to kill as many Russians as possible, before being overcome by their larger force.
<CIA Report on China and Her Allies, and a world on the verge of War, 2016>
China, who holds the world’s largest and most menacing army has declared war on the United States of America. Their allies include Russia, who is currently invading Eastern Europe, propelled by the ideas of the late Marc Iund for world domination. Italy and Italy-Africa are currently standing by, with fighter jets and tanks readied at a moment’s notice. The Middle East is still in turmoil with Israel now under attack by Hamas and al-Qaeda. Saudi Arabia reports that oil refineries have been attacked by rebels, and the oil has been spilled in the Arabian Sea. South Korea has been under relentless assault by the North, with shells flying in and ICBMs placed directly at Daegu, the new capitol of South Korea while Seoul is still under communist Korea’s control. Al-Qaeda is currently organized its ranks, making Marines in that region in danger, more than ever.
Portugal, the holder on Spain’s debt, has agreed to erase it to make their ally stable once more. There has been a realization among countries that allies will have to become tighter, and have unbreakable bonds. The United States and Great Britain have agreed to have a jointed black operations team, named Omega Nine. Omega Nine will run joint MI-6, CIA, and Delta Force missions together in unstable regions. France, who is crippled by the nuclear bomb detonated over Paris, has been helped by Marines and the Royal Navy, to aid in reconstruction. The Chinese assault on Paris killed millions, but the United States had enough restraint to halt a nuclear war. If another ICBM had been launched, nobody would be here this minute.
Italy and Italy-Arica, headed by the ailing Prime Minister Berlusconi, who some see as only a figurehead, has allied themselves with Russia and China. Italy has not yet agreed on the Chinese decision to harbor al-Qaeda terrorists. Some doubt they will, because of Vatican City being in Italy.
China has bought out Asian nations in hopes of expanding their empire even further. The bought countries are as follows: North Korea, Laos, Cambodia, Mongolia, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Vietnam, Burma, Bangladesh, Nepal, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Taiwan, and Sri Lanka.
India, who is now surrounded by their enemy, both Pakistan and China, has made a plea for help with the United States. They fear Sri Lanka is being used as a military base to attack Mumbai. Afghanistan is under constant pressure from China to sell itself for the sum of one trillion dollars, but the United States has pledged to defend Afghanistan from any outside interference.
In Eastern Europe, the city of Kiev has fallen. Few Resistance members still fight in Kiev, but will be overrun. Omega Nine has been dispatched to Ukraine to defend the country. If Ukraine falls, most analysts fear that the Russia’s, who claims this attack on Eastern Europe is to help the failing countries, will break through to Central and Western Europe. Poland, Moldova, Romania, Hungary, and Slovakia have been put on the highest alert level for foreign invasion.
We must pray for humanity.
Director of the CIA
January 19th, 2016
<Unknown location in Western Ukraine, January 20th, 2016>
“God damn, it’s hot out here.” Euclid opened up a bottle of water from his equipment pouch. Seven Omega Nine operatives were dispatched to Western Ukraine to stave off the Russian advances into Western Europe, a task that would probably get them all killed.
“Stop complaining and get down to work.” A thick Scottish accent told Euclid. The man’s codename was Hull. He was a battle-hardened veteran who fought in Iraq and Afghanistan in 2003 and 2004. The British SAS recruited him in 2005, deploying Hull to Somalia and many other hotspots around the globe. He was a grizzled veteran now, and it was his task to train and cope with the younger operatives around him.
“Aye.” Euclid murmured, lifting his M16 rifle onto his back. He hefted up a rifle, feeling its heavy compact metal. “So when are those greasy Resistance guys coming around?”
“Don’t call them that, Euc. They’re the reason we’re here, and we’re not fighting in Madrid now.” Kling, the American operative who aided Euclid in the Siberian attack, sat next to Euclid on the rocky outcrop where the nine were seated, waiting for their rendezvous with Resistance forces.
“I’d rather be in a beautiful city like Madrid than here in friggin’ Ukraine.” Euclid rose up, putting his sniper scope up to his eyes to scan the area.
“Speaking of friggers, any of you know where Warhawk got off to?” Hull asked, wiping at his bleary eyes.
“No, he just left after Miller was shot. No idea where he is.” Ripper jumped into the conversation moving away from the makeshift tent that was thrown up in wait for the Russian forces.
“Interesting.” Hull stood up, clearing his throat. “They’re never going to come. I was looking forward to seeing Olsharski again. I fought alongside him in Iraq; he’s a man of honor.”
“If he’s from Belarus then he’s damned well trained. They have high standards.” Yankee, another member of the nine-man defense team piped in.
The rumble of tanks roared through the mountainous valley, and jets screamed through the air. Loud footsteps took Hull’s attention away from his men, making him look at the oncoming army.
“We got Russians, lie down and wait for my orders.” Hull shouted through a headset that connected him with all nine members. “Take out your sniper rifle and wait. Aim down your sights and find someone to kill. Do not shoot.”
The Russian and Chinese forces moved swiftly, gaining more ground. Hull waited in cover, looking through his scope at a presumed-to-be officer, readying to fire at any moment. He heard the crash of missiles hitting down in the distance, hoping that Olsharski had made it safely.
“Shoot now!” Hull ordered, firing at the officer on the piedmont. He dropped into a puddle of blood. Other shoots came from the other eight, making Russian soldiers hit the rocky terrain.
“Change to your assault rifles, they’re coming up the foothills!” Hull shouted, throwing down his sniper rifle. He grabbed the FAL rifle off of his back, aiming down his sights to rain down fire onto the Russians, to stall for Olsharski and the incoming United States Marine Corp attack helicopters that were scheduled to aid them. Kling, Ripper, and Yankee, along with the other five, fired down along with Hull. Trying to stave off a large attack force was a hard task, but Hull had enough experience throughout his years to be a formidable force. After all, it was only two hours until the Marines came to defend Ukraine.
The ground shook before Hull as a large amount of missiles hit the foothills, pounding at the Russian attack. Hull turned around to see at least seven unidentified aircraft launch a flurry down at the Russian attack force. Hull looked for markings on it, not worrying about any surviving Russians. He shouted after it as they began to pull away.
“What’s your number? What country are you from?”
All those questions were lost as the unidentified vehicles flew away.
<Sao Paulo, Brazil, January 21st, 2016>
“Warhawk, you got a read on that white van?” A heavily accented voice asked into a headpiece in Warhawk’s ears. He laid prone on a rooftop, cradling the rifle that had killed Walt Miller in his hands. After being told to leave the nation by the Secretary of Homeland Security, Warhawk had left for Brazil. He enrolled in a cartel-busting group known as the Drogas Busters, which fired down narcotics groups that had fled into Brazil from Central America. It was sponsored by the government, and aided in military operations as well.
“Sure do, Lantern. They got a possible narcotics supplier in there?” Warhawk asked in Portuguese. Lantern and the other two in Warhawk’s fire team were at the ready in an alley the van was supposed to be headed into. Warhawk was to shoot out the tires, and then pick off any people who left the van to check on the blown-out wheels. Then Lantern and the two others, Carrasco and Tortuga, would seize the van, bringing it to the Brazilian government.
“Sure do. Get a lock on it now, blow out the back tires.” Tortuga popped into the conversation. Warhawk settled into a comfortable position, laying his rifle’s stock against his bicep. The white van rode by at a meager fifteen miles an hour, seemingly waiting to be shot at. Warhawk placed a perfect bullet hole in the right back tire, deflated it in seconds. The van slowed, letting Warhawk lace another bullet hole into the left back tire. The van slowed down, stopping seconds after getting both of its back tires shot off.
“Get ‘em, Warhawk. They’re coming out.” Carrasco warned. Warhawk head the clacking of a reloaded M4A1 rifle in the background. He turned his attention to the van, seeing five men walk out to see the tires. Warhawk quickly shot down one, effortlessly. The four others drew their weapons, but Lantern, Carrasco, and Tortuga ran out from the alley.
One of the men’s necks snapped, with Tortuga breaking it with his bare hands. Lantern kicked one of the men in the stomach, shooting him after he fell. Carrasco jumped into the van, seizing it while the others killed the men involved. Warhawk fired off a bullet at a short Mexican man who had gotten himself involved in a firefight with Tortuga, killing the Mexican man before he could injure or kill Tortuga.
“All clear in the front.” Lantern walked over to see it, noticing no harmful things.
“All clear in the back.” Warhawk muttered threw his comm while he got down from the shallow rooftop. He walked over to his group in the van, who were inside, looking for possible leads on other narcotics cases. Warhawk entered the packed van, seeing packets of drugs that were outlawed around the world. Tortuga was rifling through them, throwing the packets to Lantern and Carrasco.
“Hey, come look at this.” Warhawk picked up a folded piece of paper, opening it with his gloved hands. It had a picture of attack helicopters, with diagnostics of the inside and outsides. The location of the attack helicopters was given, as well, as a detailed instruction of the building. Warhawk handed it to Lantern.
“It looks like an attack plan. On the back of the sheet it says they’re headed for Western Ukraine. Probably to sell narcotics to the Russians and become buddies with them. Have the Russians help overthrow the Mexican government and make South America unstable.” Warhawk coughed as Carrasco accidentally opened a marijuana pouch.
“My friend, it seems they are already on their way. It left yesterday.” Lantern pointed out. Warhawk glanced at the back, seeing January 20th as their deployment date.
“Sure did. I heard from a contact in the USA that a bunch of attack helis destroyed an entire Russian platoon. Might they have misfired?” Warhawk asked, folding the paper and handing it to Lantern. “Hand this to Chancellor Alou, he needs to see this. I’m going to Britain, I’ll see you soon, buddy.”
<CNN Podcast, January 22nd, 2016>
“Hello all, it is 5:32 in the evening, on this fine Friday. This is Gerald Hernandez, delivering the news to you today.” Gerald Hernandez, who ended his shift in a few minutes, shifted in his chair. “The Russian invasion of Ukraine has halted for two days after a crippling attack on their forces by attack helicopters. Proof, found inside a narcotics van captured in Brazil, says that the attack helicopters were of Venezuelan origin, stolen by Mexican drug cartels. Those cartels planned to associate with the Russians, but an attack team headed by a branch of Omega Nine overtook these helicopters, killing an entire battalion of oncoming Russian forces. Russia has promised swift retaliation in Mexico.
“In other news, the New Year’s Day IED that injured thousands and killed an estimated hundreds, has been claimed by al-Qaeda. President Jacob Kryzgel is holding a press conference tonight on the State of the Union, discussing these matters. Now, telling you the news will be David Grey, after this short word from our sponsors.”
<State of the Union Address, January 22nd, 2016>
“Greetings, citizens of the United States of America. I am glad to say tonight, that we have made large strides as a nation. Our nation has been able to withstand terrorist attacks, cyber attacks, and military conflict. Our economy stands strong, even through inflated oil prices and economies around us falling apart. Our border with Mexico is secure, with only one cartel finding its way into the United States every month.” Jacob Kryzgel stood at his speaker’s desk, his eyes gleaming and shoulders straightened. “Although, this year has already become dark. On New Year’s Day, thousands were casualties to an IED that exploded in Times Square. Al-Qaeda has claimed responsibility for the attacks. In secret, I and Congress have voted. The United States shall enforce action in Pakistan, Yemen, and renew the reconstruction of Afghanistan. Our forces, overnight, have landed in Karachi and begun the assault. Sanaa, the capitol of Yemen, will be occupied by the American forces and the search for terrorists will begin. I promise that our forces will leave the Middle East by 2021, and eradicate almost all of al-Qaeda and Hamas.” Gasps came from the audience at his proclamation.
“The attack on the sovereign borders of Ukraine and Belarus by the Russians will be thoroughly stopped by the UN and other national forces. The Russians will not reach London or the fallen city of Paris.
“The Chinese have occupied Korea, and have set their sights on Japan. Their new empire will not capture Japan, and if it is attacked, NATO forces will be sure to defend them. Korea will be retaken by the end of 2020, and the transfer of government will begin then. Our fighting forces will end all horror in this world by 2030. Evil will be expelled from this world in the coming years.
“Among other issues, I will provide money this year to the allied Omega Nine, to fund the reconnaissance in Russia and those areas who were hit hardest by that nation’s military. On the other hand, the CIA will deal with the Chinese government. Our armed forces will be used as a last resort against that nation.
“Our nation will stand strong under our government and its people. I, Jacob Kryzgel, believe that we are indivisible, and the world will never break us. Thank you, good night, and God bless.”
<Karachi, Pakistan, January 25th, 2016>
“Machine gunners on that deck, wipe ‘em out!” Lieutenant Allen Harper shouted at the top of his lungs past gunfire and the sound of incoming jets. Explosions rocked his position behind fallen debris of a building, probably from an American bomber. Shouts from dying soldiers ripped out into the open, something Harper had heard too much in the past few days. Since January 22nd, the United States military landed in Karachi, Pakistan, and began the assault on the key Pakistani port. President Jacob Kryzgel had ordered the invasion of Pakistan, something many military planners were at awe in. Pakistan was funded by China, and sheltered many al-Qaeda and other extremist group members.
“I got it, sir!” Private Charlie Grady muttered over the interlinked headset, setting up near Allen and aiming towards the machine guns. The roar of an incoming airstrike brought fiery explosions around the Lieutenant, bringing down a large marina that shattered many yachts and hit the dirty water of Karachi.
Harper tightened his grip on his M4A1 rifle, suppressing the oncoming Pakistani military. Beside him, Charlie Grady and Braxton Ferdinand defended his flank. Allen tipped over the debris he used for cover, motioning for the two around him to move ahead towards the spot where the marina fell. Yachts, filled with hidden Pakistani militia, floated near the fallen marina, machine guns hidden in its cabin windows. Allen grabbed a fallen trashcan, throwing it over his crouched body. Bullets hit its thin metal, although they surprisingly didn’t penetrate. Harper set it down, turning to face an advancing American offensive. Streets were filled with dead bodies on both sides, but the Americans stepped over them like they meant nothing. Allen scowled, moving forward. A bomber dropped its barrage in the ocean, hitting the yachts and destroying them. Allen rounded up with Charlie Grady, Braxton Ferdinand, and Karim Jackson, the members of his fire team.
“You guys ready for some more of this?” Allen asked, walking through the dimly lit streets of Karachi, with the three others on his right.
“I’m fucking scared, Allen.” Karim Jackson spat out a glob of phlegm onto the sidewalks, onto the dead body of a Pakistani. “Pakistan is crazy.”
“They run right at you, with no regard for anything. Rifles ‘blazing, crazy looks on their faces, and they just will not stop.” Ferdinand shook a crazy look on his face. “I’ve never killed this many people.”
“Man up, Braxton, you signed up for it.” Charlie Grady grinned, shoving him. “Rangers lead the way!”
“Shut it, Charlie, before I rip off your geni-“Allen was cut off as Karim laughed.
“Good one, Sarge!” Jackson walked ahead of the group, his body trembling. The group was in the middle of the pack, heading towards their next destination – Thatta, an al-Qaeda controlled region.
<L’viv, Ukraine, January 27th, 2016>
“Hot damn, this place is a trash heap…” Ripper muttered under his breath to his Omega Nine group; Hull, Kling, Yankee, himself, Euclid, Sanderson, Blair, Leland, and Horseshoe.
“Watch what you say, Rip. These locals are like savages, and they know Russians are coming.” Hull hefted his FAL up once more as he walked with the group through the dirty city with his Omega Nine squad.
“They can’t understand us, and they’re all cooped up with their Mosin-Nagants, waiting for some Russian to walk by.” Ripper tugged at his black, bulletproof armor. “I can’t believe they make us wear these things.”
“It’s for our ops missions. Stop complaining, you’ll be wearing it until Omega Nine disbands or we all get killed in thermo-nuclear war.” Euclid flung a clip from his AK-47 rifle into the streets, clasping another one in.
The clacking of boots against pavement became louder, making Hull stop in his tracks.
“Team, get to your positions. We must defend this city, of all of Eastern Europe will fall.” Hull whispered, while the rolling of tanks was heard. So far, it seemed that the attack force had met no resistance. With a whole Air Force behind the squad, the battalion had little chance of succeeding.
Ripper settled down in a small alley, taking his ACR Rifle off of his back, replacing the USP .45 that he held in his hands. He slid the pistol into a chest compartment, working his way down to his stomach, glancing down the scope. He heard conversation over his encrypted cellular device, from Hull and Euclid, the two leaders of the squad. Finally, Ripper could see the red jacket of the oncoming Russian Spetsnaz.
Ripper fired, hitting the soldier with a round to the leg. The soldier flinched, stopping his movement. He gripped his leg, blood dripping from it. The soldier gasped, falling to the pavement. The first casualty of the Battle of L’viv was on the ground.
<Cardiff, England, January 31st, 2016>
“Prime Minister Ramsey?” A rough, croaky voice that had been worn down by continuous shouting beckoned the leader of Britain. Joseph Ramsey let out a short sigh, rubbing his temples from inside his Cardiff office.
“Come in.” Ramsey, a middle-aged man at fifty, let down his pen and turned to the opening of his office. A tall, cleanly-shaven man strode in, wearing a suit and tie. His hair was short, almost a buzz cut, contrary to Ramsey’s messy hair and pointy nose.
“Hello, Sir Ramsey. My name is Anthony Carlson,” The man, Warhawk, sucked in a sharp breath with his fake name. “I’m an Omega Nine operative, and I have a plan.”
“Plan about what, son?” Ramsey asked the twenty-five year old looking operative.
“About the world, in general.” Warhawk relaxed in his seat, pointing at Ramsey. “Great Britain needs to own up.”
“What do you mean, Mister Carlson?” Ramsey asked, squinting.
“Prime Minister, with all due respect, your government is falling apart. Parliament has been unwilling to vote on anything, because they fear a terrorist attack. Your country is scared that you will declare a state of emergency and destroy their Parliament. They know you aren’t taking the attack to Russia, Pakistan, or China. They fear London will burn at any moment.”
“Is this true, Mister Carlson?” Ramsey pretended to interest himself with a paper, acting like he didn’t care what Warhawk said.
“Yessir. You have only sent Omega Nine at Russia. Not one of your SAS, Royal Navy, or the British Army soldiers have stepped foot in Belarus or Ukraine. Already, Moldova has fallen. Then Poland. All the dominoes will fall, and then Russia will hit you. Russia, China, Italy, Italy-Africa, and Pakistan have all banded together. They are prepared for a global conflict. Only you, Prime Minister Ramsey, can halt the Russian invasion.” Warhawk, inside, grinned at his remarks.
“Mister Carlson, may I please have some privacy?” Joseph Ramsey watched Warhawk nod, headed back to the main lobby of the building. Ramsey quickly grabbed his cordless phone, preparing for a monumental task.
<CNN Podcast, February 2nd, 2016>
“The first loss by Russia came at the hands of the United States Air Force in L’viv, along with a handful of infantrymen. L’viv’s citizens armed themselves, holding the Russians back for a few key hours. Three divisions of the Air Force launched bombers and drones, knocking out Patriot missile batteries and twenty tanks. The Russians, in a statement by Premier Dmitri Egorov, will not end their conquest of Eastern Europe. Egorov says that, if needed, Russia will spark an all-out war with Europe. Their reason for the attack, which has been withheld until now, is to regain the territory they lost when the Soviet Union collapsed. Egorov, an admitted Communist, says he will stop at nothing to stop the evil that is spreading through the world. He points to Britain and France for being the root of all evil in Europe. He has warned the people of North America, especially Mexico, of a coming revolution in the world.
“The United States attack on Pakistan has entered Day Eleven. Karachi is under the banner of the United States now, although militias have attacked it. The city of Thatta, considered the third largest al-Qaeda controlled city, has been under siege for four days. President Kryzgel has said that he will make sure that Islamabad falls within seven months, and Thatta is only a minor roadblock to that ultimate goal.
“The attack on Yemen has ended with a peace treaty signed between the United States and the Prime Minister of Yemen. The Air Force will still be stationed in Yemen, but no ground forces will attack cities.
“The American forces in Japan, awaiting an Imperial China attack, have participated in war games with one another in anticipation. Patriot cruise missiles have been set up, and the Japanese and American Air Force have been practicing with one another. The world just may have to watch and see what happens in the following days.
“Prime Minister Berlusconi of Italy has died in a sudden stroke, and a re-election of a new Prime Minister has begun. Italy-Africa’s Deputy Chief Zareed Litsch, who was elected by the Italy-Africa people, has said that Italy-Africa will grow stronger without Silvio Berlusconi. Up for election is Preston Iund, MACR Iund’s twenty-nine year old son, Michel Gregor, the late Berlusconi’s primary aid. The popular vote sways towards Preston Iund, who promises to continue the ideals of his father. If he is elected, Preston Iund may ally himself with China, something Berlusconi refused to do.”
<Thatta, Pakistan, February 3rd, 2016>
Shards of metal tore apart from a destroyed American tank, flames bursting out as a result of an RPG hit. Lieutenant Allen Harper advanced through the hazy fog that had lain down on Thatta, trailed by Braxton Ferdinand, Charlie Grady, and Karim Jackson. In his hands, he held a shrapnel-laced M16 that a Private had dropped after being killed. Allen had lost his M4 during an IED explosion as the Americans reached the outskirts of Thatta. Every American soldier who had fought in this bloody battle had lost too much morale, more than they had lost at Karachi. As the Americans advanced into the heart of the city, more had been touched by the Hand of God and carried into the Heavens.
“Harper, you got a sniper locked on you!” A loud shout came from his left, making Allen turn. A bullet hit mere hairs away, hitting the soft, wet ground of Thatta. The shout came from Private Grady, who flung a frag grenade into the general area of the sniper. It detonated, destroying a mud hut.
“Jesus Grady!” Allen panted in desperation. “You saved me!”
“Enough, just move forward.” Grady shouted, firing a quick round into a small cul-de-sac of mud huts. As the group moved forward into the more al-Qaeda controlled area of Thatta, the heart of the city, Allen saw where most of the American forces were fighting. Tanks fired at a mountain range, hitting a cliff. It crumbled, throwing around sand into the fog-laden city. The old city was under siege now by a battalion of soldiers, some who were face to face with the Islamic extremists. Allen was thrown to the ground as a terrorist leaped out from behind a rock, three more hitting down Ferdinand, Grady, and Jackson. Harper tried to turn around to face his enemy, only seeing his turban and brown vest. Allen drew a knife, turning over to lie on top of the soldier.
The terrorist drew a knife from his belt, thrusting it forward. Harper parried, taking hold of the terrorist’s hand that held the knife. Harper cracked his wrist, holding it until he drew his M9 pistol. A bullet erupted from the muzzle, hitting and killing the terrorist at close range. His head hit the ground, blood pouring out of his forehead. Harper rose, sheathing his knife in his belt.
“You guys up?” Harper shouted.
“I’m up.” Grady jogged next to Allen.
“Up.” Braxton muttered, his hands throwing his rifle from its place on his back to his hands.
“Fucked up but up.” Jackson muttered, a hand cradling his right arm. “The fag bit my arm.”
“Alright, Jackson, put a wet cloth on it, and keep up.” Harper briskly ran towards a small, deserted hut with two windows.
“Grady, Jackson, take the left window. Look for any tangos; kill them as fast as possible. Ferdi, you’re with me on the right.”
Harper kneeled down to look out the window; his hulking frame too large for the hut. Ferdinand took point, aiming down his sights towards a tango. He shot twice, one bullet hitting the terrorist in the leg, the other in the left arm. Harper finished him, firing one into his chest as the man struggled to stand.
“Move out, we’re going to the heat of things now.” Harper walked out of the hut, followed by the other three. He gazed at the real battle. Soldiers died left and right, as terrorists charged at them with knives and pistols. Tanks explode don both sides, some fighting only inches away from each other. Dogfights above between the Pakistan military and American forces were brutal. AC-130s circled above, firing at each other and at the heat of the battle.
“You sure that’s a good idea, Lieutenant?” Braxton asked, his lips trembling.
“We’re Rangers, Ferdi. We’re fearless. We never let out comrades die while we’re beside them.” Harper ran forward with his fire team, heading towards the real Battle of Thatta.
<Uzhhorod, Ukraine, February 4th, 2016>
“Captain Hull, what a pleasure to meet such a bastard like you.” Captain Vladic Olsharski grinned, slapping Derek Hull on the back. The group of now ten sat inside a tavern, drinking to their heart’s delight. Hull turned, seeing the grinning, dirty face of Olsharski.
“Vladic!” Hull turned on his barstool to give Olsharski a hug. Hull, thirty-four years of age, only a year younger than Olsharski, was more physically imposing after years of training.
“So I hear you’re now in Omega Nine?” Olsharski threw down money on the counter, which was quickly taken by the bartender.
“Correct. I’m one of the few Americans in Omega Nine. I thought I could live peacefully in American suburbia, but duty called.” Hull took a long sip of a heavily liquor-laden drink. “How’s it on your end?”
“After seeing Saddam go down, I went back to the motherland of Ukraine. I started training our military, and became skilled with an assortment of weapons.” Olsharski’s drink came. He accepted it with a nod. “Seeing Georgia fall to the Russians worried me. MACR Iund was whispering into the ear of Vladimir Putin, it seems. I went through a tour of duty in Qatar, which passed by harmlessly. But when China nuked Paris, I knew something was up.” Olsharski sipped on his booze. “Then in late November of this past year, as you know, Russia and China became allies. MACR Iund was very prevalent, as he was known for making Italy take over Africa. Then Russia struck in Belarus. I headed a Resistance squad in Belarus and Ukraine, and you know how that went. So now I’m here, awaiting another Russian attack with you.”
“Helluva life.” Hull turned to Ripper, who was playing cards with Euclid and Yankee. “Go look outside.” Ripper nodded, rising and laying his cards down. Euclid peeked at his cards, but Yankee slapped his head.
“So true, Derek. Is the Air Force ready at a moment’s notice?” Olsharski asked.
“Yes. I have our weapons in a back alley. You have your Mosin-Nagant?” Hull threw a tip onto his desk, calling his group to come with him.
“As always. When is the attack coming?”
“Twenty more minutes, Vladic. The Russians are sending their air support, tanks, infantry, mortars, everything. All we have is us ten and a division of the Ukrainian Army. No tanks, but we have the United States Air Force at our beck and call.”
<New York City, New York, February 4th, 2016>
Warhawk walked through crowds of people in New York City, all of them in a rush as usual. He blended in, although he got many looks from women who found him attractive. Donning a black business suit and a silk red tie, his real motives were hidden. Warhawk, under the alias of Sean Pierce, wrapped his fingers tighter around his suit case. Inside of it were documents detailing Joseph Ramsey’s plans for war, Brazil’s commitment of forces to Europe and the Middle East, and the outline Warhawk had made for war from his point of view. In his sport coat’s pocket, an M9 pistol sat loaded. In the other pocket, a USP .45 sat, loaded.
The doors to the United Nations building opened for Warhawk, who nodded on past the metal detectors. His guns were plastered with an alloy that deflected metal detectors’ signals, something only master criminals could get their hands on. He smiled at a security guard, who checked his name tag. Sean Pierce had been masqueraded as a Russian ambassador, although his name was clearly American. Warhawk walked to the General Assembly Hall, but was stopped by the everyday security as every member was. He threw his suitcase on a conveyor belt, which then passed it onto the other side. Warhawk was patted down by a small white man, who started at his head and then moved down. Warhawk saw Ambassador Jacqueline Hamrahan of France walk by, finished with her search. Warhawk grimaced as the man went for his pockets.
Warhawk grabbed his hands, stopping them. His deep brown eyes met the white man’s green, but they were soon filled with pain. Warhawk cracked his arteries in his hand, and then threw him to the ground. Warhawk lunged for the second security guard, hitting his jugular vein. The guard crumpled to the ground. Warhawk walked through, taking his suitcase.
The assembly hall was filled with ambassadors from all over, meeting to discuss a world ripe with tension. Warhawk was guided by an usher to his seat, marked Sean Pierce – Russia. He sat down, looking at the contents in his suitcase. Rifling through, he pulled the document about Joseph Ramsey’s plan for war out. He set it on his desk, and then put his suitcase down. With a Russian identity, he was given many stern looks from American ambassadors. Warhawk pulled his sport coat up, feeling his two guns move. He grinned, seeing a Swiss ambassador on the floor, declaring his country’s neutrality in a potential war. Warhawk put his hand in his pocket, feeling the metal of his M9. He pulled it out slightly gauging the reaction. Nothing. His teeth showed now in a devilish smile, as he transferred it from his pocket to his hand. Next to him sat the Turkish ambassador. Warhawk spun the muzzle of his pistol towards the Turkish man, and then pulled the trigger.
His body slumped, head hitting the desk quickly. Warhawk turned, firing two shots at the people above. He heard a shot hit, and then screams flooded the assembly hall. Two guards ran in, rifles in hand. Warhawk grabbed an American ambassador, Paul Littlefield, holding him by his neck. He broke it, spinning around from his seat in the left side of the hall. Warhawk shot a bullet at an English member, hitting his chest. The guards fired their rifles, with one of their bullets hitting the German ambassador Warhawk used as a shield. He fired once, twice, at the two guards, killing them both in an instant. The M9 Pistol clicked as Warhawk reloaded it, firing several shots into the mangled crowd that was the fleeing ambassadors. He heard women scream, and men clamor to escape. Warhawk grinned, laughing. The Chinese, Russian, Italian, and Italy-African ambassadors had fled, but Warhawk would have spared them anyways. He spun his M9 pistol on his finger, shoving it back into his pockets. Everything was going according to plan.
<Moro, Pakistan, February 4th, 2016>
Mortars launched across the Indus River towards the city of Dadu, exploding into a glimmering show of lights and fire. Lieutenant Allen Harper stared across the Indus River as he sat on his storage backpack, drinking out of his canteen. The loss at Thatta by the Americans had lowered morale dangerously, making Allen tired and restless for a winning battle. General Sven Perry had ordered the withdrawal from forces in Thatta, after in seven days, a hundred thousand Americans died. Close-combat and surprise had claimed most of the American casualties. Perry ordered them to retreat to Karachi to reload on supplies, and then to march across the Indus River. Moro had agreed to surrender before fighting, and agreed to aid the American cause. Dadu, a Pakistani military outpost, was across from the lowly town. A mortar battle had begun, with neither side wanting to cross the Indus River to charge after each city.
A mortar launched from Dadu hit dangerously close to the American outpost, making Harper jump up and grab his pistol. He still wore his full armor, something Braxton and Karim Jackson had refused to do. Allen gazed across the Indus, grabbing his binoculars. The city was on fire; a tower collapsed as another mortar hit them. American jets circled over the city, firing their Gatling guns and launching missiles down at the city. Allen wiped sweat off of his brow, standing now. He moved the gun strapped on his back, seeing a Pakistani city burn.
<Oval Office, Washington DC, United States of America, February 4th, 2016>
“President Kryzgel, this is urgent news.” Secretary of Homeland Security Hank Lipton quickly murmured through the encrypted phone message to the President.
“What?” Kryzgel knew Lipton could be quite dramatic at times.
“The United Nations Assembly has been interrupted by an assassin; forty-five are dead, a dozen injured. Assassin’s name is Sean Pierce, Russian Ambassador.”
Kryzgel sighed. “Hank, is all this information correct?”
“Yes, verified by many departments.” Lipton’s voice cracked. “What should we do?”
“Declaring war on Russia is the only way, Hank. But we can’t have our military in Japan, Pakistan, Yemen, and now Russia. They’re military is allied with the Chinese, Pakistani, and Italians. If we declare war on them we’re declaring World War Three.”
“Whatever works, sir. I believe we can’t sit as we watch Paris be destroyed, Europe being conquered, and Italy electing Preston Iund. Remember Doha? We sat, and nothing happened. Then China nukes Paris because the French didn’t let them buy the Pacific Islands. Hideki Choi is a madman, Jacob. Dmitri Egorov is his best friend. They will continue this madness unless you act, Mister President. Walt Miller declared war on China but quickly retracted it after Korea fell.”
“Mister Lipton, please call back.” Kryzgel turned his phone off, rubbing his temples in desperation.
<In the Kremlin, Moscow, Russia, February 5th, 2016>
“…And with this horror of an event, the Americans have framed us. They point to Russia for the shooting at the United Nations Assembly Hall. Their Air Force attacked us without any provocation, making us fall at L’viv and Uzhhorod. Our military has pummeled Belarus, Moldova, and soon will destroy Ukraine for its resistance. I, Dmitri Egorov, Premier of the New Soviet Russia, declare war on the United States and her allies. Along with Imperial China, Italy, Italy-Africa, Pakistan, and their allies, we all declare war on the United States.”
<Oval Office, Washington DC, United States of America, February 5th, 2016>
Jacob Kryzgel sat, staring at his office’s white walls. His eyes were cloudy in the waning moments of Russia’s declaration of war on the United States. Jacob sifted through some papers, waiting for incoming calls from assistants. He was alone in his office, something that didn’t comfort him. Traffic of Washington DC was the only noise, aside from Kryzgel tapping his pen against his desk. He cleared his throat, turning to his computer. Kryzgel opened up a word document, and began the speech that would change the world.
<Press Conference, Washington DC, United States of America, 8:19 PM, February 5th, 2016>
Lights flashed from cameras as Jacob Kryzgel walked in large strides to the podium with a stern face. In his hands he held the hand-typed copy of the speech he typed up during the hours following the Russian declaration of war. He reached the podium, slapping the paper down and setting his hands at the edges of the podium in an imposing stance.
“Good evening, citizens of the United States of America. I come to you tonight with horrible news. Russia and her allies have declared war on the United States. Some may wonder ‘How will America go to war with yet another country’? I will begin by pulling all American soldiers out of Yemen and Afghanistan. I will reduce the amount of soldiers in Pakistan by the thousands. I shall take the fight to the Russians, and not wait for another tragedy, such as the massacre at the United Nations building and the Times Square IED. I will defend my nation to the best of my ability, but first, I must declare this. The United States is under a state of emergency. I will dissolve the House of Representatives to allow this war to be fought. The Senate will not be allowed to vote on war plans, but may on military spending and sending our creations to other countries. I will be allowed to bypass all voting in Congress and the Supreme Court in this state of emergency.” Lights flickered faster from cameras, and light whispering between reporters began.
“Hideki Choi of China declared war on the United States minutes after Dmitri Egorov. Italy’s Preston Iund declared before Egorov. Italy-Africa’s Deputy Chief Zareed Litsch tagged along with Preston Iund in war. Pakistan’s Prime Minister Mohammad al-Zawaheer said he will fight the Americans until they perish. Our country is under attack. Luckily, our allies; the European Union, excluding Italy after they seceded, Brazil, Ukraine, Iraq, Israel, Turkey, Australia, Japan, and South Korea will fight alongside us. This war will change the face of the Earth, along with every single person that is on this planet. As the great Albert Einstein said; ‘I know not what weapons World War Three will be fought with, but World War Four will be fought with sticks and stones.”
With that, Jacob Kryzgel bit his lip and walked away from the podium, leaving America confused with its situation.
<Hank Lipton’s Office, February 5th, minutes after Kryzgel’s speech>
“Everything is going according to plan, Warhawk.” Hank Lipton whispered from the comfort of his office. Warhawk grimaced, rising from his seat across form Hank.
“You’re evil, Lipton.” Warhawk raised his USP .45 from his sport coat’s pocket, and with the pull of a trigger, Hank Lipton, the man who coordinated the UN Massacre and Times Square IED, was dead.
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