The Eagle and the Bear:, Tales From World War Three Options

[Alex1guy]

1st June 2048
Molot Squadron
Somewhere over the English Channel

Chapter One: "All's Quiet on the Western Front"

Soundtrack: "Fallout 3 Battle Theme



"It's so dark down there..." Antoly Bondarev thought to himself as his four man squadron of Sukhoi SU-47's fighters passed over the English Channel. The horizon which would normally have been brightly lit was eerily dark, the British having long since enacted a blackout policy mimicking that of their ancestors almost one hundred years earlier. Antoly smiled grimly under his mask, the British were tough old dogs when they wanted to be and they had shown it at the siege of Ramsgate. Despite what the Russian media had said about them, they had clung on against the odds and sent Aleksander's gang of tooled up thugs packing and everyone knew it.

"This is Hijack two-one to all call-signs" Antoly's radio suddenly crackled "Jamming satellites are in effect we have about ten minutes before the Tommy's radar chain tracks us, how copy?"

Viktor Kovalev or "Hijack Two-One" as he was designated, was the leader of Molot Squadron. Kovalev was a small, quiet man only slightly older than the other pilots, but was something of a celebrity within the Federation. His career had started in Africa where in only a year, he had seventeen confirmed kills against the Global Liberation Army and the ragtag air force that they had cobbled together. But it had been when the European War had broke out that the Russian pilot had excelled himself. The opening blow against the European's Continental Air-Force in Germany at the war's opening had shaken enemy aerial capacity but after the initial shock had worn off, numerous squadrons of Euro-fighters and Harriers and screamed skyward from England and Spain to meet the Russian Air-force. In the many air engagements that followed, Kovalev had scored another fourteen kill's against the ECAF, in one instance bringing down four European fighters before he himself was finally shot down over Poland. He had been able to make his was back to the Federation lines where his story elevated him to the stuff of heroes. However, Numerous requests by the Russian media for interviews had been curtly declined by Kovalev, his only public statement ever being "there is a war to fight".

"This is Pay-Day Four-One" Antoly responded "Copy that Hijack Two-One". There was brief chatter as the other two pilots that made up the rest of the squadron responded.

Antoly on the other hand had only been in the air force for a few years and before the war started and even then had only flown a few combat missions during the invasion of Austria, by which time the ECAF has ceased to exist. What few fighters the Europeans could muster were largely being deployed to cover the retreating European ground forces which proved to be easy pickings. As the war dragged from weeks, to months, to years Antoly found himself flying more and more engagements as Federation pilots were shot down in ever increasing numbers. Despite this he didn't consider himself a great pilot by any stretch of the imagination, feeling luck had more than anything else to do with him still being alive.

"This is Hijack Two-One to all call signs, we are three minutes to destination."

Molot Squadron's target this evening was a dockyard near's Portsmouth which was providing supply for the Europeans still fighting in France. Recently the Untied States had become increasingly belligerent in their rhetoric towards the Federation and it was only believed to be a matter of time before the Yankees joined the fight. Russian High Command had made it their highest priority to break the French ground-forces before an American declaration of war was announced but with the Garone front having basically frozen after the European's use of nuclear weapons that seemed unlikely.

"Hijack two-one to all call-signs, one minute to destination check-weapons systems and..."

A sudden and urgent beeping from Antoly's on-board computer interrupted Kovalev. It was a sound that all pilot's dreaded.

"Shit, this is Pay-Day Four-One I've got missile lock! Breaking formation, deploying counter-measures."

The on-board computer began launching a barrage of ECM chaffs to blow the lock and designators began scanning wildly for it's source. Antoly's aircraft tore to the side, the pressure crushing him against his seat. The voice of another wing-mate came over the radio.

"This is Warlock Six-One, I have at least two targets, three-o-clock east, angels fifteen I'm going left after them".

Antoly glanced back as the SU-47 of Roman Makarov broke from the formation, flying into a wide arc to meet their attackers. He was the newest member to the air-wing and privately, Antoly believed he was better suited for the Tesla Corps. Makarov was hotheaded and quick to anger and not a month went by that he wasn't in a disciplinary with his superiors. Antoly's computer began howling at him once again, as a second missile lock was detected.

"This is Pay-Day Four-One I have another lock, repeat I have another lock, how the fuck did they find us?"

Usually, the Russian black-out satellites would cover their flights, jamming enemy detection over a wide and area making it difficult to pin-point enemy targets in the air and on the ground. In recent times however, these had been getting less and less effective as the British continued to update their search and destroy systems to counter Russian intelligence.

Antoly's computer once again launched ECM chaffs, clouds of magnetic fragment's exploding in his fighter's wake.

"This is Huntress Five-One I've got a two target's on scope, six-o-clock." That was Yulia Lebed, the fourth and only female member of the group. She too began to take evasive manurers, breaking her fighter from the formation.

Antoly pulled down his rear-vision visor and scanned for the fighters that were behind them. The computer identified them as Generation Three Harrier's, the most common but none-the-less deadly multi-role fighters in the European's arsenal. The computer began to simultaneously attempt to lock on to the pursuing fighters, who themselves were deploying various counter-measures to evade the SU-47's weapons.

"This is Warlock, I've got another two contacts three-o-clock, ten miles, angels fourteen and climbing, breaking to engage."

That made four enemies in total, Antoly thought bitterly. This was not going to be easy.

"This is Hijack Two-One to all call-signs, dumping speed to engage contacts on our six. Defending".

Kovalev's fighter suddenly appeared to stall as his aircraft opened it's flaps and rapidly lost speed. Antoly tore past him, the wing-leader's plane visible for less than an instant. One of the Harriers that had been chasing Antoly broke off to face this new threat that fallen behind them, arcing wide, leaving only one solitary fighter still chasing.

There was a brilliant burst of colour out of the left hand side as the Harrier's chain guns attempted to tear the Sukhoi from the sky. Instinctively Antoly steered away from the arcing orange lines, releasing another burst of flares and ECM's to throw off yet another attempted missile lock. He wasn't so lucky this time however.

"Blayd" Antoly spat. "I keep getting tone" he screamed angrily .

There was a cascade of orange light as the plane released a flurry of flares behind it. Antoly rolled to the right in a further attempt to confuse the incoming missile and there was an explosion somewhere behind him as it detonated, followed by more fire from the Harrier's chain guns.

"I need to get behind him."

Antoly could tell by the radio chatter that his comrades had the other fighters tied up for the moment so he needed to act quickly. He swung his fighter straight for a moment and then began to bank upwards, peeling back towards his attacker. The Su-47 was one of the most manoeuvrable fighters in the world and was more than capable of swinging behind her more cumbersome European counterpart. He began to bleed his speed allowing the Harrier to slowly overtake him and come into view, the targeting computer beginning to paint a lock.

The Harrier deployed chaffs in an attempt to evade the lock and began to climb rapidly. Antoly climbed after him, keeping the aircraft in his field of view.

"Come on" Antoly breathed as the targeting computer continued to paint through the Harrier's chaffs "Come on".

The computer began to flash rapidly, indicating a missile lock and Antoly squeezed the trigger. Two missiles launched themselves one after the other at the European air-craft, screaming across the blackness leaving a ghostly trail in their wake. The Harrier deployed flares catching one of the missiles but the concussion spun it into the other. The plane exploded violently and bits of white hot shrapnel tore off in different directions. Antoly peered behind him, secretly hoping for a parachute but saw none. He gasped suddenly, realizing he had been holding his breath throughout the entire engagement and relief flooded his body, but they were not out of trouble yet.

"This is Pay Day Four-One, splash one contact".

"Copy that Pay-Day" Lebed grunted back. "Can I get some fucking help then?" The others had each paired off against the other three Harriers and Antoly could see the blight lines of tracer firing criss-crossing the sky where Lebed was duelling with her opponent.

"I can't see him" she cried in frustration "He's got tone on me, deploying chaff".

"Hold on Huntress, I'm on him angels thirteen, get ready to break!"

Antoly had turned his fighter towards them, coming in from above. His computer began beep as it began to paint the Harrier pursuing Lebed. His hand squeezed the trigger as it confirmed a lock but a sudden burst of ECM's broke it.

"This is Pay Four-One I'm on his six, hold on Huntress".

There was another explosion and the excited voice of Makarov cut over the radio "This is Warlock, I can confirm another kill, repeat, splash one target".

About a second later the computer detected another explosion, which was followed by the robotic voice of Kovalev. "Target destroyed, moving to defend".

Now alone, the pilot chasing Lebed must have known he was in trouble but did not break off. He followed Lebed into a dive, his chain guns lancing after her as she descended.

"Get this suka off me!"

Antoly dived after them, his computer attempting to paint the Harrier again.

"Missile's away!" Antoly yelled as the computer finally locked the target. There was a bright flash as the Harrier attempted to deploy it's flares, but it was too late. One of the Sukhoi's missiles exploded beneath the Harrier's fuselage and it spun awkwardly to the side, one of it's wing's tearing loose from the main body.

As Antoly tore past, his caught a glimpse of the Harrier's canopy exploding off and the shape of the pilot go twisting into the night.

"This is Warlock Six-One I see a chute" Makarov called, "I'm going after him". As Antoly pulled out of the dive, he saw Makarov's Sukhoi bank around after the thin white shape drifting towards the earth.

"THAT IS A NEGATIVE WARLOCK, FALL BACK INTO FORMATION" Kovalev suddenly thundered.

There was a moment of stunned silence over the radio.

"But?"

"FALL BACK INTO FORMATION NOW OR I WILL SHOOT YOU DOWN MYSELF, THAT IS A FUCKING ORDER MAKAROV".

Antoly could imagine Makarov would be seething under his mask.

"Copy that Hijack Two-One... " he responded flatly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

2nd June 2048
Bricy Air Base
Orleans, Occupied France



The raid had gone as planned for the most part. They had encountered some resistance from ground flak as they passed over Portsmouth, but had not been enough to impede them. The loading cranes had been damaged, and one container ship had been sunk in port. It was technically a victory, but it knowing the ECA, that port would be operation within the next seventy two hours if not earlier. They had escaped back to Russian airspace without incident.

The warm morning air felt heavy after the recycled atmosphere of the cockpit and Antoly wearily opened the canopy and climbed out. One of the ground control officers helped him onto the tarmac offering him a drink which he gratefully accepted. As he removed his flight-mask he heard a arguing coming from nearby.

"You should have let me take him down" he heard Makarov snarl. "We at fucking war."

Antoly rounded behind Kovalev's Sukhoi where he and Makarov were glaring at each other, the ground control officers observing wearily.

"This is my squadron Makarov." Kovalev responded cooly.

"You know they would not offer us the same quarter" Makarov yelled back. "They say you are some big hero to the motherland but you cannot do what is necessary..."

Makarov was cut short by a swift punch to the jaw that sent him spiralling into the ground. Kovalev grabbed his collar and slammed him up against the Sukhoi's landing gear.

"This is my squadron, comrade." Kovalev almost spat the last word. "If you don't like my rules, they are always looking for good pilots over the Italian front". Makarov glared up at him, the Italian Front surprisingly, had seen some of the toughest fighting of the entire war with supplies and aircraft running freely from European Africa. "Do I make myself clear?"

Makarov's eyes blazed for a second, then he nodded. Kovalev stood up.

"That goes for the rest of you" he barked, glaring over at Antoly, Lebed and several other pilots who had gathered to see what the commotion was about.

"We are fighter pilots. We are not thugs. We have honour and if I ever see any of you shooting at a man in parachute, I will see to it that you never fly again."

He scanned everyone's faces with his gaze.

"Dismissed"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

EDIT: Sorry for posting this in the wrong sub forum, if the mod's could move it, that would be appreciated

This post has been edited by Alex1guy: 26 Jul 2013, 15:10

[Svea Rike]

Really nice fan-fic, but you should move it to the new Theatre of War subforum! Glad to see you're still making fics, Alex1Guy!

EDIT: Did you make that image? It is really good.

This post has been edited by swedishplayer-97: 25 Jul 2013, 13:30

[Alex1guy]

Really nice fan-fic, but you should move it to the new Theatre of War subforum! Glad to see you're still making fics, Alex1Guy!

Cna I do that or does a mod need to because I can and will

[Svea Rike]

Cna I do that or does a mod need to because I can and will

Not entirely sure... Better wait till MARS reads this.

[MARS]

Someone else - likely The Hunter - already moved this to the right place while I was away. Really great story there, Alex1guy. Hoping to see more of your work soon.

[Cobretti]

Pretty cool, though the Harrier isn't an air superiority fighter as it seems to be portrayed in the story.

[Tico1990]

Pretty cool, though the Harrier isn't an air superiority fighter as it seems to be portrayed in the story.

If it is all you have it sure is I guess

[flyingpancake]

Pretty cool, though the Harrier isn't an air superiority fighter as it seems to be portrayed in the story.

I think the ECA is trowing everything they got at Ivan right now, no matter if it perfectly fits the job description.
Anyway love story, keep it up

This post has been edited by flyingpancake: 25 Jul 2013, 23:23

[Comr4de]

Hey I dig this quite a bit, great work

[Alex1guy]

Pretty cool, though the Harrier isn't an air superiority fighter as it seems to be portrayed in the story.

Yeah I took this into consideration considering the Harrier 2's were more of strike aircraft rather than superiority fighters, but based on how they act in game I kind of got the idea that the Generation 3 Harriers were closer to the American F-35's, being mulit-role fighter with at least some capacity for air-to-air engagements, but figured they would be outmanoeuvred by the Russian purpose built ones.

Really nice fan-fic, but you should move it to the new Theatre of War subforum! Glad to see you're still making fics, Alex1Guy!

EDIT: Did you make that image? It is really good.

the images of the Sukoi I found on google. I just edited them with a night vision filter.

Thanks for all the comments guys

This post has been edited by Alex1guy: 26 Jul 2013, 0:35

[Shredder]

Just to add: It's written "Sukhoi" not "Sukoi" and it's pronounced as if written with a H - "Сухой"

[Knossos]

Molot squadron - do I sense an Ace Combat: Assault Horizon reference here?

Anyways, I dig this; it's some very nice story you have there.

[__CrUsHeR]

Very interesting and very well written, reminds me of Ace Combat, I want to read the next part.

[Pepo]

really good fanfic .i like it ,one of my favourites

[Alex1guy]

Just to add: It's written "Sukhoi" not "Sukoi" and it's pronounced as if written with a H - "Сухой"

Doh, good catch, fixing.

Molot squadron - do I sense an Ace Combat: Assault Horizon reference here?

Anyways, I dig this; it's some very nice story you have there.

A sneaky one yes

This post has been edited by Alex1guy: 26 Jul 2013, 12:17

[SpiralSpectre]

Love this one. We need more fics that deal with ideologies and personality clashes along with the big explosions and fancy military talk. Specially from the "villain's" side of the story.

[Serialkillerwhal...]

Why does the title remind me of "The Bear and The Dragon" by Tom Clancy?

[Alex1guy]

Long time between drinks but here we go.

Soundtrack: Medal of Honour

17th August 2048
The Saint Jaques Hotel
"Temporary HQ" of the 105th European Infantry
Toulouse, France.

Chapter Two: "Chaque chose vaut son prix"



The early morning sky was streaked with smoke and fire as rivers of ammunition cut against the murky clouds above and in the distance, the demented wail, and roar of artillery fire thundered menacingly. This was the backdrop to which Joseph Bertrand quietly sipped his morning coffee. The French Lieutenant had never thought that instant brew, served in a dirty cup, could taste as good as it did. These were indeed strange times.

With a gulp, he swallowed the last of the bitter liquid and rested his head in his hands, counting backwards slowly from five in an attempt to block out the humming of computers and low voices of officers. The last several days had been nothing short of chaotic, as the Russian Army attempted to dislodge the last of the European forces from Toulouse, the recent nuclear attack having funneled the Russians from the hellish countryside into the city. The tentative hold that the ECA had over the local bridges on the Garone River was being contested again and again, the American attack on Marseilles having kicked the proverbial wasp's nest, prompting an urgency and determination that the Russians hadn't shown in some time.

Despite tremendous amount of lend-lease assistance coming in from their North American and Australasian allies, the few dozen remaining men and women of the 105th Euro Infantry was woefully under-supplied, as Russian air and naval raids on merchant shipping reducing the expected torrent of aid to more of a trickle. The fact that the Russians were managing to maintain their own supply lines across thousands of kilometers of hostile territory added to the rising tally of factors that seemed to indicate that God himself might be rooting for Moscow. Joseph quickly dismissed the thought from his head and straightened his helmet, before peering out of the Hotel (turned HQ) window and across the river.

Dawn was still half an hour away but the Lieutenant could already make out the familiar ruins where the 3rd Russian Shock infantry lurked. They had taken over the adjacent University, turning the campus into a makeshift HQ from where they could launch their attacks. Between the two armies, spanning the river was the Pont Saint Pierre, a partially demolished bridge that had the potential to become one of the few causeways for the transit of vehicles and armor across the Garone, something both sides desperately wanted.

The Saint Pierre was had definitely seen better days however, and for now could only really be used by infantry. A rather unfortunate SPRUT had proved this about a week ago, when an attempted crossing saw it fall through the ancient stonework into the hungry waters below. It was still prime real estate nonetheless.

"Lieutenant?"

Bertrand spun around, instinctively returning the salute of Leona Muller, the tired German Captain with whom he had come to share command. The recent months had added years to the young woman, her face looking least a decade older than it was. In another life she would have been pretty, but war had a way of stripping that from people. Bertrand smiled inwardly, doubting that his own morning face looked any better. The German stood beside him and stared into the gloom outside for a moment.

"I was surprised Ivan didn't attack in the night".

Bertrand murmered something in agreement. He hadn't slept much in the last two days, as dreams of wailing shells and screaming men only permitted a restless few hours a night.

"Almost makes you wish they would just get it over with" Bertand sighed.

The captain smiled sadly "It will be today, it has to be, they'll never allow the Americans to reinforce our lines."

Bertrand nodded, recon had indicated that there had been a significant build up of Russian forces in their sector and despite the valiant efforts of the European forces the Russians had managed to somewhat clear the approaching roads for their tanks. The big one was coming today, there was little doubt. Radio officers had already requested whatever support the over stretched European Air-force in the area could spare. The American carrier, USS Clinton had apparently also promised to offer it's services, but latest reports indicated it had been dueling with the Russians somewhere in the Med, so Bertrand wasn't exactly hopeful. Did the Americans join any war on time?

We will hold them, we have too.

It was as the first sunlight began to spread across the city, that the thunderous report of Russian artillery rang in the din.

The sudden shout for "Cover!" sent Bertrand, Muller and the other officers diving to the ground. The air rang with the screaming of shells as the Russian artillery batteries opened up on the European positions. The noise was deafening, as ear splitting explosions tore through the ruins that the European soldiers were hunkered in, the occasional pinging of shrapnel retarding off of concrete adding to the demented chorus of sound. It seemed to go on for an eternity, but the bombardment can't have lasted more than a few minutes and it soon began to slacken. Then came the screams. All around him soldiers were dying, their agonized moans drifting into the morning air.

Bertrand however felt a surge of pride, as his men and women crawled from cover and manned their positions with grim determination. From somewhere behind the lines came the roar of counter-battery as mortar teams began to return fire, triangulating the Russian positions. Bertrand struggled to his feet, accepting a hand from Muller, as the first contacts came over the radio.

"Incoming infantry, over the bridge!"

There was a chatter of machine gun fire, as an Russian machine gun team opened up on the European defenders near the bridge. Bertrand could see about two dozen Russian soldiers moving up, the hail of bullets providing a lethal canopy of cover. Some were cut down as they ran, but other ducked behind the bridge's railings, presumably crawling forward on their stomachs.

"Get the mortars to fire on that Machine Gun team now!." Bertrand barked.

One of the officers chattered into the radio. "Fire mission, fire mission twenty two degrees, position Xerxes".

"Confirming co-ordinates, firing for effect".

Bertrand watched for a few moment as the machine gun team unleashed another fusillade of bullets. There was a whistling sound as the 60mm shell fell from the sky and exploded behind them. Both men were thrown into the air for a moment, before falling back to earth and crashing into the pavement with an audible thud. The Lieutenant grimaced for a moment, but the crack-bang of tank rounds quickly attracted his attention elsewhere.

"Kodiaks!" an officer groaned. "Two of them and... Something else?"

"What do you mean something else?"

Bertrand stepped over to one of the computers and glared at the shaking image on the screen. The Kodiak tanks presented a menacing image, but behind them was another vehicle. It looked like some sort of tank with a big ramp strapped to the front.

"It's a bridge layer!" Muller gasped. "They are trying to get their armor across the bridge!"

Bertrand cursed under his breath. If the Russians were able to get their tanks across, there would be no chance of holding them.

“How many rounds do our mortars have left?” He barked.

"Not enough sir, it would take a lucky hit to disable one of those Kodiaks."

"What about the Panzerfausts, how many of those do we have left?"

"Only four in total sir." Muller replied.

"Bring them up. I want those tanks stopped, do you understand me?"

"Yes sir!"

The officers began radioing the orders, and Bertrand sidled up to the window and risked himself a view of the carnage below. He spotted two of his men, dodging and darting into firing positions, each carrying a pair of tube-like launchers on their backs.

"Tell the men to aim for that second vehicle." he barked at his officers "I want that thing taken out!"

They had to kill it, Bertrand could see the troop trucks waiting behind the tanks, probably loaded with combat engineers. One of the Panzerfaust troopers had made it into position and was waiting behind a collapsed wall. He paused for a moment, offered up a quick prayer to a God who probably wasn't listening, stood up and hauled the launcher onto his shoulders. The Panzerfaust fired with a "whump" sending a charge screaming over the river and into the side of one of the Kodiaks. It impacted with little effect.

"Wrong tank!" Bertrand groaned "Don't aim for the Kodiaks!". The trooper was now crawling away to a new position under a withering hail of fire. However, about 20 meters down from him, the second trooper was in already tracking his target. He squinted down his sights for a moment, cursed, adjusted himself and then fired. The bridge layer collapsed sideways as the charge impacted on the treads, severing the tracks. It shuddered to a halt.

"HIT IT AGAIN!" Bertrand screamed, his voice a mix of excitement and desperation. The same trooper risked another shot raising his second launcher and taking aim. However, the Russians were ready this time, and one of Kodiak's 125mm cannon roared as he stood up. There was a mighty explosion, and the road where the trooper had been standing was reduced to a crater.

Bertrand winced "Please, don't let that man die in vain".

The first trooper was ready to fire again, having dragged himself to a new position. He peeked over a collapsed wall and ducked back down as a flurry of bullets ricocheted around him.

"Cover him! Tell the mortar teams to shell that entire bank."

"They are running out of munitions sir" Muller shouted. "Are you sure?"

"If we don't take that thing out, it won't matter. Do it!"

There was a chorus of whistling, as the mortars all fired and fell in rapid succession. The streets across the river was laced with explosions that sent the Russian infantry scrambling for cover. Seeing his chance, the lone Panzerfaust trooper stood up and took aim. The world seemed slow down as the launcher fired, sending the charge sailing through the void.

"Direct hit!" Muller screamed.

The hatches on the bridge-layer exploded outwards, billowing thick black smoke and flame. The writhing figures of the vehicle's crew began to clamber out, their uniforms ablaze. A European machine gun chattered and the crew were cut down.

Bertrand breathed a sigh of relief, that would hopefully slow them down. He glanced over to the bridge where the Russian infantry were falling back, perhaps they could do this...

"Sir! Another one!"

Bertrand felt his heart sink, as the shape of another bridge layer tank rounded a corner and began advancing steadily towards the bridge. One of the Kodiaks began shunting the burning wreckage of the previous vehicle with it's dozer blade, clearing a path. Bertrand cursed aloud, they were out of Panzerfaust launchers and now they were out of time.

"Fall back" he muttered. He turned to Muller, his back to the window " We need to fall back".

"But lieutenant we can't.."

"We don't have a choice, tell the men to prepare for demolition this bridge is..."

And then Muller suddenly started screaming and pointing in excitement. “WARTHOGS! WARTHOGS!”

Bertrand noticed for the first time, a dull droning noise and he rushed to the window. At first he saw nothing, but then his eye caught the sight of six shapes swooping in from over the horizon. A noise like tearing wind overtook all other sound, as the A-10's signature gatling cannons roared to life raining the other-side of the river with thousands of armor piercing rounds. As the fighters pulled up, the ground beneath them ruptured like a volcano obliterating the Russian armor and sending men flying into the air like rag-dolls.

“The Americans are here!” Muller was screaming and she wasn't the only one. “The Americans are here!”

The Russians were in complete disarray now, those lucky enough to survive the onslaught fleeing for cover. The troop tqansports were reversing down the streets, crashing into each other as they desperately attempted to escape the withering barrage. The building faces collapsed, sending rubble and bricks crashing onto fleeing Russian infantry. Bertrand could here his men cheering as another wave of aircraft made a pass.

"Bloody Americans" Bertrand sighed "They'll probably take all the credit for this one."

Muller grinned, "Hey, look on the bright side. At least we get to keep our bridge."



********************************************************************************

This post has been edited by Alex1guy: 10 Nov 2013, 11:05

[Svea Rike]

Very nice, Alex1Guy. What happened to Molot Squadron, will they make a reappearance or are these just tales of random battles across Europe?

Also, that soldier behind the night filter looks familiar... Is he from a video game?

This post has been edited by swedishplayer-97: 8 Nov 2013, 10:33

[MARS]

Excellent story. Do carry on please.

[Alex1guy]

Very nice, Alex1Guy. What happened to Molot Squadron, will they make a reappearance or are these just tales of random battles across Europe?

Also, that soldier behind the night filter looks familiar... Is he from a video game?

We will be hearing from Molot squadron again, don't worry.

That would be an EU soldier from Tom Clancy's End War

Excellent story. Do carry on please.

Thanks

[Alex1guy]

Post updated.

[Alex1guy]

Munich, Bavaria
Occupied Germany
The Atlas Hotel
3rd September 2048

Soundtrack: "Dearly Beloved"



"Liebe uberwindet alles"

The eyes of Major Mihail Zhukov slowly surveyed the quiet streets that lay below him, before swilling back the lukewarm whiskey still in his glass. Munich
had been abandoned in the early days of the Russian advance across Germany, as the European military consolidated it's defences around Berlin, sparing the ancient city the crucible of extended siege.

From the high balcony of the Atlas Hotel, the city appeared almost peaceful but Russian field hospitals and mortuaries told a very different story. The German resistance was alive and well in Munich and it's saboteurs and militia made life for the occupying Russian forces extremely difficult. Every day reports came in of patrols being ambushed, supply bases being raided and convoys being bombed by resistance forces. Everyone had their ideas on how to break the rebels and liberal applications of both honey and vinegar had been employed, but neither force nor friendship had succeeded as a deterrent. No matter what they did, Zhukov always felt they were five steps behind, their control over the district was shaky at best and the ever increasing body count reflected that.

We don't belong here.

He sighed heavily at the though and gazed silently at the ice melting at the bottom of his glass for a moment, when a warm body suddenly pressed against him.

“Are you alright Micky?” a voice asked softly. “Is there something wrong?”

Zhukov turned around. Alyx Holtzer looked up at him with shining gray eyes, her young face framed by long golden hair. Barely twenty years old, she was clad in a thin night gown with a blanket hanging off her shoulders. Zhukov felt her body shiver as a cold autumn wind blew through the room and he pulled her close to him. The breeze didn't bother the Moscow born Major, if anything it served to remind him of a home that seemed so far away now.

“You Russians don't seem to feel the cold at all” Alyx quipped hr lips planting a small kiss on the nape of his neck. Zhukov smiled warmly, pulled the balcony door shut and held the her soft frame against him for a few moments. He could still feel her quivering despite the blankets.

"You seem to though" he murmured, his fingers stroking her hair gently.

"I know a way we can fix that" she replied mischievously, her fingers adjusting the straps of her night-gown, allowing it to fall freely to the floor. She stood back from him for a moment, her teeth delicately biting her bottom lip. Zhukov couldn't help but feel a small jolt of guilt as he stared at the young girl gazing shyly back at him. She was a decade younger than the major himself and to her the world must be a very confusing place.

They had met during the first chaotic weeks of the occupation, before the resistance had surfaced. Zhukov remembered the looks on the faces of Munich's citizens as they drove through the empty streets when they first arrived. Germans had a reputation of stoicism that could crack any stiff British lip, but here the they took no shame in showing their contempt and hatred for their occupiers. Once the logistics of occupying the Bergmann-Kaserne military base had been sorted out, the major had spent most of his time helping the Military Police between drunken locals and equally drunk soldiers. A few men were reprimanded now and again but things for the most part were settled without incident.

One particular evening however, while Zhukov was trying to snatch a few hours of sleep, the MP captain burst into his quarters spluttering for him to come as quickly as possible. Groggily the major had pulled on his uniform and followed the terrified captain and his men down the road to what was becoming a notoriously troublesome bar. He had been initially irritated and asked why the captain had woken him up for a bar brawl. The captain didn't reply but as they got closer the foul stench of burning rubber and plastic assaulted his nostrils accompanied by horrified screaming and frantic shouting. What he heard next however, made Zhukov's stomach drop.

Shock wave after shock wave,

Shock wave after shock wave.

Blood and glory await us.

He immediately recognized the chaos that followed the Russian Shock infantry everywhere they went. The hulk of a car was burning fiercely in the middle of the road and troopers, still clad in their ugly rubber suits were throwing bottle of spirits into the fire, cheering as they exploded from the heat. From inside the bar he could hear women screaming and the smashing of glass.

Zhukov spun on the captain, "Go back to the back barracks" he snapped "Wake up the men, tell them to bring their rifles. Now!"

The captain nodded and sprinted in the direction of the base. Zhukov composed himself for a moment, before marching up to the nearest group of troopers.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!" he yelled, the ferocity in his voice surprising even himself.

One of the men staggered around, his face ruddy from drinking and sporting a stupid grin. "Who is asking" the trooper replied, prodding the Zhuvok's chest with a fat rubber finger.

He swatted the man's hand away "Major Mikial Zhukov of the 201st Rifle Division, where is your commanding officer?"

"The captain is inside sampling the local flavor." The other troopers roared with laughter.

Zhukov stormed past them angrily into the bar. His senses took a moment to adjust to the neon gloom and the booming music. It was an up-market affair, the kind of place that usually attended to businessmen and executives on Friday nights, however the room was impregnated with cigarette smoke and Zhukov's felt shattered glass crunch beneath his feet as he stormed in. The bar was situated against the opposite wall and he could see a mob of Shock troopers had a group of young girls trapped. Zhukov picked the leader immediately, a large bald headed man with a bullying swagger, tormenting a poor brunette girl in the corner.

"Come on bitch" the captain slurred "Don't want want to take a ride on a REAL man? We fought a whole army of Euro faggots to get here, if that ain't love I don't know what is?"

She recoiled with a scream as he lunged at her. "No please!" she sobbed.

"You look hot baby, here let me help you out of those clothes!" the captain grinned savagely, drawing a combat knife from his belt. His hand lanced out again but a bottle flashed through the air, smashing as it connected with back of the man's head. He bellowed like a wounded animal, spinning upon the young blonde girl standing defiantly behind him. His face contorted with rage and two of his men grabbed the girl's arms.

"Oh what do we have here?" He spat, his foots steps resonating as he stomped towards her. "Some little slut with a death wish." He grabbed the woman by her throat and held her aloft, her feet kicking the air.

"STAND DOWN" Zhukov roared. "UNHAND HER IMMEDIATELY". The men's heads all turned sharply to face him and the girl collapsed in an unconscious heap on the ground.

"Who the fuck are you" the Captain hissed, emphasis hanging on the last word.

"I am Major Mikial Zhukov of the 201st Rifle Division and I order you to unhand that woman at once!"

"I don't answer you army pricks" the captain snarled. He beat his chest with a meaty fist "We take our orders from Aleksander, not army fuckers like you."

Zhuvok fought to calm himself. "I am the commander of all Russian forces in this district, that includes you and your men. You are to leave this place at once and return to barracks or so help me, I will have you all court marshaled and see you rot in Siberia for the rest of your days. Let these women go NOW!"

"Are you gonna make me Major?" the Captain smirked raising his knife "How do you propose..."

A gunshot rang out, the girls screamed and the captain slumped to the floor. A thin trail of vapor rose up from the end of Zhukov's pistol. The other troopers stood back dumbfounded, as the Major carefully stepped over the corpse of their leader towards the girl crumpled on the ground. He bent down and hoisted her onto his shoulders before turning to the other girls still cowering in the corner.

"Go."

They didn't need to be told twice and they scurried for the exit as the MP captain came through the door, a dozen armed men following at his heels. He looked from Zhukov, to the dead captain, to the shock-troopers staring stupidly at the Major.

"Captain, arrest all these men. I wan't them detained until they can be sent back to whatever Prisons Aleksander dragged them from. I want it made certain that these animals never bring shame to the Motherland again."

The girl spent the next week or so recovering in the Bergmann-Kaserne field hospital and Zhukov found himself checking up on her daily. That all seemed a long time ago now.

"Micky?" Alyx giggled suddenly "Earth to Micky!"

Zhuvok realized he had been staring out the window for the last minute or so. Her smile faded and her eyebrows furrowed searchingly.

"If something is bothering you, you can tell me..."she rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "You don't need to worry about it."

She pushed him back suddenly.

“Oh you stupid, proud man. Talk to me!" she lambasted. "The soldiers may think your some tough, stoic hard-ass but not me! I know you! Or am I just some whore to warm your bed between campaigns?" she sat back on the bed with a huff, crossed her arms across her breasts and pouted back at him.

"Alyx, you know that's not the case" Zhukov sighed, he sat down on the bed next to her. "The less you know the better..."

"Don't shut me out like this Mikial, talking helps. Please let me help . I love you"

Zhukov was stunned at these words. He had no significant other, the military never allowed much time for love. The notion was alien but at the same time welcoming.

He kissed her.

"Okay..."

*******************************************************

It was around one-o-clock in the morning when Alyx stole out of the Atlas international Hotel and into the cold Munich night a bag strung over her shoulder. As she scurried past the front desk, the night staff eyed her her coldly. As she made her way to the door she could have swore she heard one of them mutter "whore" under their breath. She walked quickly down the street, keeping her head down in an attempt to ignore the accusing eyes of the locals who had become familiar with her.

She thought she had steeled herself for that, but the words still hurt. All she could do was pretend they did not do so.

The corner bar on the other end of the block was quiet save for a few young men that glared at Alyx as she walked in, their expressions angry and hateful. As she approached the bar, the the attendant looked at her with narrow eyes. They all knew who she was and who she was with, but Alyx tried to shrug it off and order a drink.

"Lemon and vodka please and is Jakob" she asked as politely as possible.

The attendant stared for a second, before pouring a shot of vodka into a glass of lemonade. Before he handed it to her, he hocked a thick glob of phlegm into the drink.

"It's on the house" he said icily. "Traitor bitch special".

Alyx could feel the eyes of all the patrons at her back, their gazes cutting into her like daggers. She attempted to compose herself.


"I just want a drink and to speak to Jakob"

"And you have one" the attendant nodded at the glass. "What, that not good enough for the Russian whore?" he spat.

"Drink it bitch!" someone behind her yelled. A hand fell on her shoulder and an angry face of one of the patrons glowered down at her "That's all collaborator scum deserve!"

Alyx fought back tears as she looked at the glass in front of her.

"Are you deaf? Drink it bitch, before I..."

"Enough thank you."The commanding nature of the voice caused everyone to pause. Jakob Reinhardt, the large, stocky owner of the bar stepped in through a door behind the counter. "Marco, make the girl her drink then send her up to my office. We have some business that we need to discuss."

Coldly the attendant poured another drink, his motions exaggerated and sudden. It was pretty obvious what 'business' he thought she and the manager had to "discuss". Still, he led her up the stairs to the office above. Without a word he banged on the door and stormed back down the stairs. Jakob showed her in and an uncomfortable silence fell upon the room.

"Well he said, let's get down to it".

Alyx winced at the choice of words and collapsed on the chair.

"What have you go for me?" Jakob inquired.

Alyx opened her coat and retrieved a small drive containing all the files that she had taken from Zhukov's computer.

Jakob noted her sudden hesitance"Is there something wrong?" he ventured. Alyx stared at the ground, unblinking."

"This is the last time I do this. I can take the insults, the curses but I can't keep doing this" she muttered finally. "He may be a Russian but he's a good man. I can't do this to him anymore."

Jakob cocked his head as he looked at her, then nodded.

"I understand. We will make the arrangements, you leave Munich tonight.

Alyx felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. Jakob stepped out from behind his desk and knelt down beside her.

"One day this war will be over."

Alyx nodded and looked up firmly.

"For victory..."

This post has been edited by Alex1guy: 5 Dec 2013, 7:15

[Spejjarn]

Awesome! I like the smooth style of yours.

[MARS]

Another excellent story. I like how you worked in the anthem of the Shock Divisions in all its brutish self-aggrandising foolishness.